Evie met his gaze. "Are you trying to deduce which one of us is which, or are you trying to decide which one of us takes your fancy?"

"Oh, I don't think he wants an old crone like me," said her mother, who swept over to the marquess. "Lord Frampton, would you lead the way?"

Frampton's eyes lit up, and he smiled brightly as he eagerly offered her his arm. Why couldn't Lord Gareth do the same with Evie? She glanced back at him, but he only exhaled, as if in relief, before offering his arm. "Miss Benedict?"

"Do try to curb your exuberance, my lord," she murmured.

Frampton sat at the round table flanked by Evie and Lady Cranston, while Evie's mother sat opposite the marquess, with Bradbury and Lord Gareth on either side of her.

Frampton spent the first half of the meal chatting with Lady Cranston, while Evie struggled to make small talk with the Duke of Bradbury, who gave no indication that he recalled their conversation on the staircase earlier this week. It was obvious, however, that he hadn't repeated a word of it to Lord Gareth—yet.

Otherwise, she felt no connection to the duke whatsoever—certainly not the kind of connection she sensed with his younger brother, but of course, she'd never encountered Bradbury at Madame Delphine's. He'd never caressed her, or suckled her—she tried, as unobtrusively as possible, to catch a glimpse of Lord Gareth, who looked as if he'd rather talk to anyone but Evie's mother. He ate very little, and refilled his wine glass at least twice. He looked very uncomfortable as her mother prattled away at him about how her son and daughter-in-law met and married. When the second half of the meal arrived, he visibly sighed in relief and finally started eating while listening to Lady Cranston.

Evie turned to Frampton, who said, "I'm sure you'd rather continue talking to Bradbury. I'm old enough to be your father."

"But not old enough to be my grandfather, as Lord Milner was, heaven rest his soul. He was old enough to be my mother's father, but she didn't let that stop her."

"No, indeed she did not," Frampton said with a sigh.

"Still, I can't deny I've always been glad she married him, instead," Evie conceded. "He was much more agreeable to me as a stepfather." You would be, too, she longed to add. Maybe Lord Gareth could conjure a scheme in which his brother would find Lord Frampton and Lady Milner in a bedchamber together. The library was for reading, and she doubted Lord Frampton had one in this house anyway, since he seldom came to London.

Frampton peered across the table at Lord Gareth. "I say, Gareth, but you look as if you might be eavesdropping on our conversation. Did you not know that Miss Benedict was betrothed to Lord Milner once upon a time?"

Evie didn't have to wonder why he was eavesdropping on her and Frampton instead of listening to Lady Cranston's prattle. "I told him the day we met at my brother's wedding, my lord. All about how it was arranged by my uncle, but as I was barely eighteen at the time and didn't want to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather, my mother married him, instead."

"Ha!" Frampton chortled. "She didn't just marry him—she eloped with him to Gretna Green—and straight from my own castle near the border!"

"Besides, I couldn't let her marry him when she had her whole life ahead of her," said her mother. "I thought she had plenty of time to make a more agreeable match."

Evie had thought the same thing, at the time. Seven years later, she was on the shelf and wishing—or at least she considered thinking about the possibility of wishing—that she'd married Milner when she had the chance. Of course, it meant she'd be a widow now, albeit a wealthy one. She might have used her widow's portion to attract a younger, more agreeable husband, such as, oh, Lord Gareth. But would she have met him under any other circumstances than at Madame Delphine's?

"Well, she has the chance to make a most agreeable match right now," Frampton said.

Evie's heart tumbled. "With whom, my lord?"

"Why, you and Bradbury, of course. You're now the sister of an earl. And it's not as if he needs an heiress, unlike his brother. Why else would he insist to me that I invite you and your mother this evening, but to announce the splendid match he's made?"

"That's exactly why we're here," Bradbury said. "I wanted you to be the first to know, uncle, before we make it public—well, Gareth and Miss Benedict know already, and—"

"Well, I should hope Miss Benedict knows." Frampton set down his wine goblet with an emphatic clunk. "My felicitations to both of you!"

Evie pressed her feet to the floor to keep herself from sliding beneath the table in mortification—until Bradbury took her mother's hand into his and kissed it.

"What the devil are you doing?" Frampton stiffened in his chair. "That's Lady Milner's hand you're kissing, Bradbury." He paused before adding, "Isn't it?"

Still holding her mother's hand, Bradbury said, "It is. And I've asked her to be my wife."

Frampton bolted straight up out of his chair. "Lady Milner? And she's accepted you?"

"I take it you object?"

"I most certainly do."

"I object," Evie murmured.

"So do I," Lord Gareth put in.

"Everyone objects," Frampton declared.

"Lady Cranston has yet to say anything," Bradbury pointed out.

"Oh, I'm a guest of Lady Milner's and dare not say anything," Lady Cranston replied.

"In other words, Lady Cranston objects," Lord Gareth said.

"But why do all of you object?" Bradbury asked. "Let us go around the table, shall we? Lady Cranston?"

"Your Grace should marry her daughter instead. What's wrong with Miss Benedict?"

That was precisely what Evie wanted to know.

But instead of answering that, the duke glanced at the marquess. "Uncle?"

"Lady Milner is too—that is, you're too—" Frampton threw down his napkin. "Well, what is wrong with Miss Benedict?"

The duke cast his gaze upon her. "Miss Benedict?"

"I have no idea what's wrong with me, Your Grace."

"That's not what I'm asking everyone. The question is why do you object to this betrothal?"

She'd already told him the other day. Did he expect her to confess the truth at this table? She rose to her feet. "No, Your Grace. The real question is the one everyone keeps asking. What is wrong with Evangeline Benedict?"

She threw down her own napkin and stormed away from the table, out of the dining room, and into the hallway. From there she wasn't sure where to go, but she wasn't about to go into any library, even if there was one in this house and she knew where to find it.

Yes, there had to be something wrong with her. She resembled her mother enough that people sometimes confused them. But if her mother looked young for her age, did that mean Evie looked old for hers?

"I suppose I should go after her," she heard her mother say.

"No!" Evie cried. "Not unless you can explain what's wrong with me, and don't tell me there's nothing wrong. If that's true, then why...?" Her voice caught on a sob clogging her throat, and she fled into the nearest room, which happened to be the drawing room, already lit.

She plopped down in the middle of the sofa and stared at the fireplace, focusing on the flames crackling within as she fought to keep the tears back and her wits together. She didn't know how much time passed, but when she finally glanced away from the fireplace, she gasped at the sight of Lord Gareth standing in the open doorway.

"It's just me," he said.

No, it wasn't just him. He was the man who'd ruined her. The man who'd touched her and awakened strange desires that still stormed within her, and she knew the tempest would never calm until he finished what he started that night.

But he couldn't finish it unless she told him that she, and not her mother, was the one he'd compromised.

Only what would he think of her if she confessed? Would he offer to do the honorable thing and marry her, or would he reject her in shock and revulsion because she was a lightskirt who dared to do forbidden things like attend Cyprian balls and let strange men touch her in her most secret places? Even now she felt flames kindling in her core, and all because of his presence, especially as she recalled the first time they'd met, under very similar circumstances.

She'd been lying on a chaise in a vacant chamber at Madame Delphine's when he suddenly appeared in the doorway, just as he did now.

"What do you want?" she'd asked.

"I've lost someone," was all he'd said.

"Or maybe you've just found someone," and in the blink of an eye he was sitting on the edge of the chaise, pouring out his troubles to her. He didn't usually come to Madame Delphine's, he said, but he was looking for someone he'd been told was there, someone who shouldn't have been there any more than Evie should have been.

"I found her, but at the same time, I lost her. She's gone to someone else."

"I'm so sorry," Evie had said, her heart going out to him, for he'd looked so forlorn. He must have loved this woman, and Evie was duly jealous of her, whoever she was.

But if he'd lost her, then Evie had no cause to be jealous. She could have him instead.

"Who is your protector?" he'd asked.

"You are."

"Only if you don't have one already."

"You don't see him here, do you? I only see the two of us."

"Then you're not waiting in here for someone else?"

And Evie had replied, "If I am, I'm waiting for you." She'd held out her arms to him, and next thing she knew, he was practically on top of her, kissing her, caressing her, playing with the butterfly pendant before pulling down her bodice to expose one breast...burrowing under her skirt to explore and introduce her to sensations she'd never dreamed possible.

But that was then, and this was now.

"What do you want?" she asked, just as she had the first time, and in the same tone of voice.

He gazed at her for a long moment, as if trying to remember. As if he knew he'd heard those words before, spoken with the same voice and tone.

"Did you lose something?" she prodded.

"No, I was looking for you," he said, still standing in the doorway. "And I found you. I just want to say there is nothing wrong with you, Miss Benedict."

She swallowed hard as fresh tears stung her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to turn into a watering pot. "Then why is my mother able to snap up husbands so easily and so often? What do they see in her that they don't see in me, if we look so similar?"

"I don't believe it's a question of looks. What about her list that you showed me the other day? Have you received other offers since then?"

"No, it's still only Kingsley, the only bachelor with no interest in my mother."

To her annoyance, he didn't take the bait. "If I could somehow persuade my brother to offer for you instead, would you accept him?"

"No, I would not."

"Why? He's a duke. And you'd finally be married."

"I don't want to marry him," Evie said firmly. "I'd just as soon marry Kingsley."

Gareth sighed. "Then maybe there really is something wrong with you, Miss Benedict."

Anger flared within her. Blast it, why didn't he offer marriage to her?

Because he knew what was wrong with her, at least as it affected him. And that something was his interlude with the person he believed to be her mother.

She'd have to tell him the truth, and that was that. There was only one way to go about it—the direct way.

"There's something you should know," she said, as her pulse quickened and jumped. "That wasn't my mother you met that night."

"What night? Where?"

"It was someone else."

"Someone I know?"

Oh, why did he have to ask that? He didn't know Evie then, but he knew her now. "It wasn't my mother," she said again.

"Wait a minute." He finally ventured a step over the threshold. "What night are you talking about, Miss Benedict? And where?"

"The night of Lady Whitbourne's masquerade ball." That much was accurate. She could first tell him that she meant to go to Lady Whitbourne's, before revealing that Flora dragged her to Madame Delphine's, instead.

"Lady Whitbourne's? Oh, you mean you were there?"

"Of course she was," said Evie's mother from behind him. "I remember that night well, though I didn't go with her."

He didn't even turn around. "No, Lady Milner, I don't believe you did," he said coldly. To Evie, but not so coldly, "Are you saying, Miss Benedict, that someone at Lady Whitbourne's confused you with your mother?"

Aargh! Evie curved her fingers into claws, not sure if she wanted to tear her hair from her scalp or gouge out his eyeballs.

"You saw it with Lord Frampton earlier, and he's known us for years," her mother said. "And now, Evie, we're going home. Lady Cranston isn't feeling well and Lord Frampton means to ring a peal over Bradbury's head. He doesn't approve of our betrothal, either."

Evie rose to her feet. "Mother, why do you want to marry the duke?"

"Do you want to marry him?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then there is something wrong with you, and what difference should it make to you if I marry him? Come, let us go. Good night, Lord Gareth."

Still not looking at her, Gareth said, "Good night, Lady Milner." He stepped to one side as Evie approached the doorway, and his green eyes met hers as he said, more gently, "Good night, Miss Benedict. Whoever he is, I hope you find him."

She knew exactly who he was, and she'd already found him.