This was the masked Cyprian he'd dallied with at Madame Delphine's that unforgettable night three months ago?

One didn't see a necklace like this every day—a chain of diamonds shaped like tiny flowers, with a gold-rimmed butterfly pendant made entirely of diamonds that constantly captured the light in its many facets as it nestled against her lacy bodice. If not for the diamonds, the butterfly might have been lost in all the froth and frills.

There couldn't be another necklace like this in all of England, let alone here in London, where he'd last seen it drawing his gaze to her cleavage like a magnet for the eyes—as if he wouldn't notice her bosom without it. So this had to be the same woman. Only he didn't recall that she was this—this—

Well, it had been darker in that chamber than it was on the front steps of this house. She'd seemed so much younger in soft candlelight. Older women—old enough to be Miss Benedict's mother—usually did.

All this time, she was prattling to her daughter as if he wasn't even there. Maybe she recognized him, and for that reason alone had no wish to make eye contact with him. The feeling was quite mutual.

"A pity what happened to Tabitha's bouquet. You might have caught it otherwise."

"Mother, you know I've never caught a bouquet in my life. If someone else didn't catch it, then of course it had to fall into the chandelier and catch fire."

"And here is the gentleman who saved us all from disaster." The mother finally cast him a glance, but he discerned not a flicker of recognition on her face. He surmised that for such a woman, that ability was part of her profession, such as it was.

That ability was certainly an important part of his—such as it also was, now that the war was over. Still, he couldn't resist asking, "Have we not met before?"

"Oh no," Miss Benedict muttered as she swayed, in grave peril of falling backward down the steps. With his hand he gently cupped her elbow to steady her.

"I don't believe we have." The older woman's reply wasn't that surprising. He couldn't expect her to mention their first meeting in front of her daughter. "I should have allowed my daughter to introduce us. Evie?"

But instead of making the proper introductions, Miss Benedict gaped at Gareth, dark eyes wide as if in dismay, and asked, "Pray, whatever makes you think you've met my mother before?"

"I never said that," he replied quickly, as guilt washed over him. "I only asked—"

"Maybe not in those very words," she retorted. "But the sentiment behind them—"

"No sentiment, I assure you, Miss Benedict," he said brusquely.

"Yet you don't believe you've ever seen me before?"

"On further thought, maybe you saw me at a ball somewhere in Mayfair. There seems to be one every night during the season." When she didn't answer, but only inexplicably glowered at him, he added, "Don't tell me you haven't been to any balls in Mayfair?"

"Then I won't. Because I haven't."

"Rest assured I've never met this gentleman before, Evie," her mother said. "Won't you please introduce us?"

Fire flashed in Miss Benedict's eyes as she stiffened all over, pressing her lips together as if no amount of torture would ever induce her to reveal his name.

On the other hand, it was quite possible she'd forgotten it already, since she'd only heard it once, and it went against propriety for her to use it in conversation with him.

He sketched a bow. "Lord Gareth Armstrong, at—" He cut himself off before he could add your service.

No need to remind her that he'd already been at her service, so to speak.

She curtsied. "And I am Lady Milner, mother of the bridegroom. Then you must be Bradbury's younger brother?"

"Indeed, my lady." Now he remembered who she really was. The dowager Lady Milner was once an infamous courtesan—or so the rumors went, implying that she abandoned the profession upon her first marriage.

But based on what Gareth had seen a few months ago, she must have taken it up again.

Now his brother was about to marry her daughter. Well, her mother's past was hardly Miss Benedict's fault. Still, it might explain why she'd never been to Almack's, or any Mayfair balls. Gareth's brother had a penchant for otherwise unsuitable women. With any luck, marriage to the duke would wash away the sins of the mother.

Only why would her mother return to her old way of life, and at her age? The late Lord Milner had been a wealthy baron with no direct heirs. And Lady Milner's son, the new Earl of Tyndall, had inherited a great deal of wealth and property along with his title.

Gareth didn't particularly want to leave Miss Benedict's company, but he definitely didn't want to spend another moment in the presence of her mother. Queasiness knotted his stomach at the realization that he'd been intimate with Miss Benedict's mother.

Her voice drifted to him as if from far away, at the end of a long tunnel lined with sheep's wool: "Are you all right, my lord? Perhaps you inhaled too much smoke when you bravely stamped out that fire."

"You remind him of someone, Mother," said Miss Benedict, her voice just as far away, though she still stood next to him. "That's why he asked if the two of you had met before."

"But we haven't—"

"No, but I daresay something has triggered a memory he'd rather forget. Some lost love, perhaps? Or someone whose heart he broke, and now he feels guilty about it?"

Gareth wasn't aware he'd broken any hearts that night. But he certainly felt guilty about a memory he'd rather forget. His own heart had been smashed that night, but not by Lady Milner.

"Please excuse me, ladies," he heard himself say. "You're right, Lady Milner, that I'm suddenly not feeling at all the thing—and maybe you're right that it's the smoke."

She reached for his sleeve, and he instantly recoiled, hating himself for it all in the same moment. "Oh, dear. I'll fetch the duke." The wooly tunnel vanished, and with it, Lady Milner.

Then Miss Benedict touched his sleeve in the very same spot, yet he did not so much as flinch. Well, of course not. He'd never seen one of her breasts before.

"Are you all right, Lord Gareth?" she asked softly. "You don't look as if you've seen a ghost. Instead, you look as if you've just seen a pit teeming with Lucifer's minions."

"Demons," he rasped.

"My mother is known to be quite wicked," she added. "But I never realized she was that wicked."

Poor Miss Benedict had no idea.

"Shall we go back inside, my lord? Perhaps some lemonade...?"

No, what Gareth needed at this moment was a very strong brandy.

An anxious-looking Lady Milner reappeared with his brother, who asked, "Whatever is the matter, Gareth?"

"I...can't say." He truly couldn't. He pressed a hand to his chest as if that would calm his hammering heart.

It didn't.

"Shall we summon a surgeon?"

"I don't think that would help."

"What brought this on?" His brother turned to Lady Milner. "You didn't tell him, did you? Remember when I said he'd probably have a heart attack when he found out?"

"I told him nothing, Dane."

Dane? Lady Milner was addressing Gareth's brother, Demetrius Aubrey Norbert Elton Armstrong, His Grace the Duke of Bradbury, by a name only his most intimate intimates used? As if—as if—

"Found out what?" Gareth dropped his hand to signify his heart was perfectly fine.

That, and pressing his hand against it wasn't doing a damn bit of good.

"Since they're both here together, we may as well tell them now, Dane," Lady Milner said ruefully.

Dane?

"Tell us what?" Miss Benedict demanded. "And what does it have to do with me and Lord Gareth being...together?" She pressed her hand against her bosom.

"Don't bother, Miss Benedict," said Gareth. "It doesn't work."

Dane glanced over his shoulder, as if to check that no one was hovering nearby, eavesdropping, then turned back and said, "Lady Milner and I are betrothed."

* * *

Evangeline didn't know whether to be relieved that she wasn't going to marry the Duke of Bradbury, after all, or...upset that she wasn't going to marry the Duke of Bradbury, after all.

One thing she did know: She was greatly upset that her mother was marrying for the fourth time or maybe fifth, while Evie had yet to marry even once.

This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

Through the crimson blur descending over her eyes, she glimpsed her mother smiling and flicking her fan as if the matter under discussion was no more significant than yet another tea party. "We knew you'd both be surprised..."

Surprised did not even begin to describe the emotion churning madly inside of Evie.

"...and maybe even a little vexed..."

"Little compared to what?" Evie hated that she sounded so—well, vexed. "Russia?"

"Now, Evie, don't think I don't know why you're so distressed," her mother said. "You had the chance to marry, but you refused. You said you weren't that desperate."

Well, that was then. This was now.

"Not desperate enough to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather. Besides, Lord Gareth here was under the misapprehension that I was to marry His Grace."

"A mistake for which I must apologize to both you and my brother, Miss Benedict," he finally said, turning to said brother. "When you told me that she and I were soon to be related, Dane, naturally I assumed you meant that she was to be your bride."

Evie likewise turned to said brother. "He said, Your Grace, that our betrothal must have been arranged many years ago, by your father and my—my—" She glanced at her mother, who very leisurely fanned herself. "Was it my uncle or my grandfather? It must have been my grandfather. It couldn't have been Papa."

"No, my dear, I'm afraid there was never a betrothal arranged by anyone for you and His Grace. Not that I'm aware. Now, you will recall that your uncle, the previous Earl of Tyndall, did arrange a marriage for you when you came of age, but..."

"Miss Benedict, why do you think I introduced you to my brother?" queried the duke. "Not only because you're soon to be related, but your mother and I thought...well..." And he cast a questioning look at Lord Gareth.

"You thought to match me with your brother here? May I ask why?" Was it really possible the duke had some knowledge of Evie's scandalous encounter with Lord Gareth several months ago? Had Lady Flora told him?

"Why not?" countered the duke.

"Weddings such as today's are great occasions for more matches to be made," Mother said blithely.

Evie slowly turned her head to survey Lord Gareth. He gazed back at her with not a flicker of recognition in his green eyes. Her earlier fears were true. Thanks to the diamond butterfly necklace her mother chose to wear for Ross and Tabitha's wedding, the poor man evidently thought he'd been with Evie's own mother the night of that masquerade!

Evie wouldn't stand a chance with him, unless she brazenly confessed all to him—assuming he'd even believe her. Just as he surely objected to his brother marrying a woman he'd already—scarlet heat flamed in Evie's face at the thought—well, just as surely as that, he'd almost certainly have a problem marrying that woman's daughter.

No matter which way you cut it, or sliced it, or chopped it, or even whipped it up into a fine purée—this whole situation threatened to make for some exceedingly awkward family gatherings.

Right on cue, a middle-aged matron swept out the front door, almost placing herself between the duke and Evie's mother. Evie recognized her at once as Lady Nellis, one of the most notorious gossips in London. How much had the old harridan heard?

"Did I hear something about another match being made in the wake of today's wedding?" she asked, directing her gaze at Evie, who wasn't surprised that Lady Nellis all but ignored Lady Milner. "Miss Benedict, I thought I saw you out in the garden earlier with Lord Gareth here. And you might have caught that bouquet had it not landed in the chandelier and caught fire before he extinguished it. Do we hear more wedding bells?"

"No, Lady Nellis, I'm afraid you don't. You've heard all for today."

"Oh, what a pity. I was just saying to Lady—"

"Please excuse me, Mother, Your Grace, my lord. And Lady Nellis," Evie cut her off. "I must walk in the park to clear my head." Luckily, Hyde Park was just across the street.

As she dashed down the steps and headed for the curb, she thought she heard Bradbury say, "Well, Gareth, I guess she still isn't that desperate. And you're of an age with her."

Fuming, Evie waited for several carriages to pass before she could safely cross Park Lane. When the way was clear, she made a run for it, heedless of her mother calling her name.

Why? What could her mother want now? She'd said all that needed to be said. Maybe if Lord Gareth called to her, she might have paused in the middle of Park Lane to turn around and see what he wanted, even if it meant—"Miss Benedict!" he called out to her.

She spun around to face him as he stepped off the curb.

"Miss Benedict, do allow me to—watch out!"

At that same moment, she heard the thunder of horses'hooves approaching. She looked one way,then the other. Of course, it was theother way from which the carriage was bearing down on her.