Break some rules

London, England April 1813 Lady Calpurnia Hartwell blinked back tears as she fled the ballroom of Worthington House, the scene of her most recent and most devastating embarrassment. The welcome night air was crisp with the edge of spring as she rushed down the great marble steps, desperation shortening her footsteps and propelling her forward into the shadows of the vast, darkened gardens. Once hidden from view, she let out a deep sigh and slowed her pace, finally safe.

Her mother would be livid if she discovered her eldest daughter outside without a chaperone, but nothing could have kept Callie inside that horrible room. Her first season was an utter failure. It hadn't even been a month since she'd made her debut. The eldest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Allendale, Callie should by all rights have been the belle of the ball; she'd been raised for this life-all graceful dancing and perfect manners and stunning beauty. That was the problem, of course. Callie might be a fine dancer with impeccable manners, but a beauty? She was nothing if not pragmatic, and she knew better than to believe she was one of those. I should have known this would be a disaster, she thought as she plopped herself down onto a marble bench just inside the Worthington hedge maze. She'd been at the ball for three hours and had not yet been asked to dance by a suitor who wasn't entirely unsuitable. After two invitations from renowned fortune hunters, one from a crashing bore, and another from a baron who couldn't have been a day under seventy, Callie hadn't been able to continue feigning enjoyment. It was obvious that she was worth little more to the ton than the sum total of her dowry and her ancestry-and eventhat total was not enough to garner a dance with a partner she might actually like. No, the truth was, Callie had spent the better part of the season overlooked by eligible, coveted, young bachelors. She sighed. Tonight had been the worst. As if it weren't enough that she was visible only to the boring and the elderly, tonight she'd felt the stares of the rest of the ton. "I never should have allowed my mother to pour me into this monstrosity," she muttered to herself, looking down at the gown in question, at its too-tight waistline and its too-small bodice, unable to contain her breasts, which were a good deal larger than fashion dictated. She was positive that no belle of the ball had ever been crowned in such a vibrant shade of mandarin sunset. Or in such a hideous frock, for that matter. The dress, her mother had assured her, was the very height of fashion. When Callie had suggested that the gown was not the most flattering to her figure, she had been informed by the countess that she was incorrect. Callie would look stunning, her mother had promised as the modiste had flitted around her, poking and prodding and squeezing her into the gown. And, as she watched her transformation in the dressmaker's mirror, she'd begun to agree with them. She did look stunning in this dress. Stunningly awful. Wrapping her arms tightly around her to ward of the evening chill, she closed her eyes in mortification. "I cannot return. I shall just have to live here forever." A deep chuckle sounded from the shadows, and Callie shot up, gasping in surprise. She could barely make out the figure of a man as she pulled herself up to her full height and attempted to slow her pounding heart. Before she could think to escape, she spoke, allowing her distaste for the entire evening to lace her tone. "You really shouldn't sneak up on people in the dark, sir. It isn't gentlemanly." He responded quickly, the deep tenor of his voice sweeping over her. "My apologies. Of course, one might argue that lurking in the darkness isn't exactly ladylike." "Ah. There you have it wrong. I am not lurking in the darkness. I am hiding in it. Quite a different thing, altogether." She pressed back into the shadows.

"I shan't give you away," he spoke quietly, reading her mind as he advanced. "You might as well show yourself. You're well and truly trapped." Callie felt the prickly hedge behind her even as he loomed above and knew that he was right. She sighed in irritation. How much worse could this night get? Just then, he stepped into a sliver of moonlight, revealing his identity, and she had her answer. Much worse. Her companion was the Marquess of Ralston-charming, devastatingly handsome, and one of London's most notorious rakes. His wicked reputation was matched only by his wicked smile, which was aimed directly at Callie. "Oh no," she whispered, unable to keep the desperation from her voice. She could not let him see her. Not like this, trussed up like a Christmas goose. A mandarin sunset Christmas goose. "What could be so bad, moppet?" The lazy endearment warmed her even as she looked about for an escape route. He was close enough to touch now, towering over her, a good six inches taller than she. For the first time in a long time, she felt small. Dainty, even. She had to escape. "I...I must go. If I were found here...with you...." She left the sentence unfinished. He knew what would happen. "Who are you?" His eyes narrowed in the darkness, taking in the soft angles of her face. "Wait..." She imagined his eyes flashing with recognition, "You're Allendale's daughter. I noticed you earlier." She could not contain her sarcastic response, "I'm sure you did, my lord. It would be rather difficult to overlook me." She covered her mouth immediately, shocked that she had spoken so baldly. He chuckled. "Yes. Well, it isn't the most flattering of gowns." She couldn't help her own laughter from slipping out. "How very diplomatic of you. You may admit it. I look rather too much like an apricot." This time, he laughed aloud. "An apt comparison. But I wonder, is there ever a point where one looks enough like an apricot?" He indicated that she should resume her place on the bench and, after a moment's hesitation, she did so. "Likely not." She smiled broadly, amazed that she wasn't nearly as humiliated by his agreement as she would have expected. No, indeed she found it rather freeing. "My mother...she's desperate for a daughter she candress like a porcelain doll. Sadly, I shall never be such a child. How I long for my sister to come out and distract the countess from my person." He joined her on the bench, asking, "How old is your sister?" "Eight," she said, mournfully. "Ah. Not ideal." "An understatement." She looked up at the star-filled sky. "No, I shall be long on the shelf by the time she makes her debut." "What makes you so certain you're shelf-bound?" She cast him a sidelong glance. "While I appreciate your chivalry, my lord, your feigned ignorance insults us both." When he failed to reply, she stared down at her hands, and replied, "My choices are rather limited." "How so?" "I seem able to have my pick of the impoverished, the aged, and the deadly dull," she said, ticking off the categories on her fingers as she spoke. He chuckled. "I find that difficult to believe." "Oh, it's true. I'm not the type of young lady who brings gentlemen to heel. Anyone with eyes can see that." "I have eyes. And I see no such thing." His voice lowered, soft and rich as velvet as he reached out to stroke her cheek. Her breath caught, and she wondered at the intense wave of awareness coursing through her. She leaned into his caress, unable to resist, as he moved his hand to grasp her chin. "What is your name?" he asked softly. She winced, knowing what was to come, "Calpurnia." She closed her eyes again, embarrassed by the extravagant name-a name with which no one but a hopelessly romantic mother with an unhealthy obsession with Shakespeare would have considered saddling a child. "Calpurnia." He tested the name on his tongue. "As in, Caesar's wife?" The blush flared higher as she nodded. He smiled. "I must make it a point to better acquaint myself with your parents. That is a bold name, to be sure." "It's a horrible name." "Nonsense. Calpurnia was Empress of Rome-strong and beautiful and smarter than the men who surrounded her. She saw the future, stood strong in the face of her husband's assassination. She is a marvelous namesake." He shook her chin firmly as he spoke. She was speechless in the wake of his frank lecture. Before she had a chance to reply, he continued. "Now, I must take my leave. And you, LadyCalpurnia, must return to the ballroom, head held high. Do you think you can do that?" He gave her chin a final tap and stood, leaving her cold in the wake of his departure. She stood with him and nodded, starry-eyed. "Yes, my lord." "Good girl." He leaned closer and whispered, his breath fanning the hair at her nape, warming her in the cool April night. "Remember, you are an empress. Behave as one, and they will have no choice but to see you as such. I already do..." He paused, and she held her breath, waiting for his words. "Your Highness." And with that, he was off, disappearing deeper into the maze and leaving Callie with a silly grin on her face. She did not think twice before following him, so keen was she to be near him. At that moment, she would have followed him anywhere, this prince among men who had noticed her, not her dowry, or her horrible dress, but her! If I am an empress, he is the only man worthy of being my emperor. She did not have to go far to catch him. Several yards in, the maze opened on a clearing that featured a large, gleaming fountain adorned with cherubs. There, bathed in a silvery glow was her prince, all broad shoulders and long legs. Callie caught her breath at the sight of him-exquisite, as though he himself had been carved from marble. And then she noticed the woman in his arms. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp-her hand flying to her lips as her eyes widened. In all her seventeen years, she'd never witnessed something so...wonderfully scandalous. The moonlight cast his paramour in an aethereal light, her blond hair turned white, her pale gown gossamer in the darkness. Callie stepped back into the shadows, peering around the corner of the hedge, half-wishing she hadn't followed, entirely unable to turn away from their embrace. My, how they kissed. And, deep in the pit of her stomach, youthful surprise was replaced with a slow burn of jealousy, for she had never in all her life wanted to be someone else so very much. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine it was she in his arms: her long, delicate fingers threading through his dark, gleaming hair; her lithe body that his strong hands stroked and molded; her lips he nibbled; her moans coursing through the night air at his caresses. As she watched his lips trail down the long column of the woman's throat, Callie ran her fingers down the same path on her own neck, unableto resist pretending that the feather-light touch was his. She stared as his hand stroked up his lover's smooth, contoured bodice and grasped the edge of the delicate gown, pulling it down, baring one high, small breast to the night. His teeth flashed wickedly as he looked down at the perfect mound and spoke a single word, "Gorgeous," before lowering his lips to its dark tip, pebbled by the cool air and his warm embrace. His paramour threw her head back in ecstasy, unable to control her pleasure in his arms, and Callie could not tear her eyes from the spectacle of them, brushing her hand across her own breast, feeling its tip harden beneath the silk of her gown, imagining it was his hand, his mouth, upon her. "Ralston..." The name, carried on a feminine moan, sliced through the clearing, shaking Callie from her reverie. In shock, she dropped her hand and whirled away from the scene upon which she had intruded. She rushed through the maze, desperate for escape, and stopped once more at the marble bench where her garden excursion had begun. Breathing heavily, she collected herself, shocked by her behavior. Ladies did not eavesdrop. And they certainly did not eavesdrop in such a manner. Besides, fantasies would do her no good. She pushed aside a devastating pang of sorrow as the truth coursed through her. She would never have the magnificent Marquess of Ralston, nor anyone like him. She felt an acute certainty that the things he had said to her earlier were not truth, but instead the lies of an inveterate seducer, carefully chosen to appease her and send her blithely off, easing his dark tryst with his ravishing beauty. He hadn't believed a word of it. No, she was not Calpurnia, Empress of Rome. She was plain, old Callie. And she always would be.

April 1823 The incessant pounding woke him. He ignored it at first, sleep clouding the source of the irritating noise. There was a long pause and a thick silence fell over the bedchamber. Gabriel St. John, Marquess of Ralston, took in the early-morning light washing over the decadently appointed room. For a moment, he remained still, registering the rich hues of the chamber, adorned with silk wall coverings and gilded edges, a garish haven of sensual pleasure.

Reaching for the lush female beside him, a half smile played over his lips as she curved her willing, naked body into his-the combination of the early hour and her heated flesh returning him to the edge of slumber. He lay still, eyes closed, trailing his fingertips idly across his bedmate's bare shoulder as one lithe, feminine hand stroked down the rigid planes of his torso, the direction of the caress a dark erotic promise. Her touch became stronger, firmer, and he rewarded her skill with a low growl of pleasure. And the pounding began again-loud and constant on the heavy oak door. "Cease!" Ralston surged from his mistress's bed, entirely prepared to terrify his intruder into leaving him in peace for the rest of the morning. He had barely pulled on his silk dressing gown before he tore the door open with a wicked curse. On the threshold stood his twin brother, impeccably dressed and perfectly manicured, as though it were entirely normal to call upon one's brother, atthe home of his mistress, at the crack of dawn. Behind Nicholas St. John stood a sputtering servant, "My lord, I did my best to keep him from-" An icy look from Ralston stopped the words in the man's throat. "Leave us." Nick watched as the footman scurried away, one brow arched in amusement. "I had forgotten how charming you are in the morning, Gabriel." "What in God's name brings you here at this hour?" "I went to Ralston House first," Nick said, "When you weren't there, this seemed the most likely place to find you." He let his gaze slide past his twin to land on the woman seated in the center of the enormous bed. With a lazy grin, Nick gave a nod of acknowledgment in the direction of his brother's mistress. "Nastasia. My apologies for the intrusion." The Greek beauty stretched like a cat, sensual and sybaritic, allowing the sheet she held in feigned modesty to slip, revealing one luscious breast. A teasing smile played across her lips as she said, "Lord Nicholas. I assure you, I am not the least bit put out. Perhaps you would like to join us..." She paused suggestively. "For breakfast?" Nick smiled appreciatively. "A tempting offer." Ignoring the interaction, Ralston prodded. "Nick, if you are in such need of female companionship, I am certain we could have found you a destination that did not so summarily disturb my rest." Nick leaned against the doorframe, allowing his gaze to linger on Nastasia before returning his attention to Ralston. "Resting, were you, brother?" Ralston stalked away from the door, toward a basin in the corner of the room, hissing as he splashed bracing water on his face. "You are enjoying yourself, aren't you?" "Immensely." "You have mere seconds to tell me why you are here, Nick, before I grow weary of having a younger sibling and toss you out." "Intriguing that you would select such a relevant turn of phrase," Nick said casually. "As it happens, your position as eldest sibling is why I am here." Ralston lifted his head to meet his brother's gaze as droplets of water coursed down his face. "You see, Gabriel, it appears that we have a sister."

A half sister." Ralston spoke flatly, staring down his solicitor, waiting for the bespectacled man to overcome his nerves and explain the circumstances of this surprise announcement. Ralston had perfected the intimidation tactic in gambling hells across London and expected that it would work quickly to get the little man talking. He was correct. "I-that is, my lord-" Ralston cut him off, stalking across the study to pour himself a drink. "Spit it out, man. I haven't got all day." "Your mother-" "My mother, if one may use such a word for the unloving creature who bore us, departed England for the Continent more than twenty-five years ago." He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, affecting a look of boredom, "How are we to believe this girl is our sister and not some charlatan eager to capitalize on our goodwill?" "Her father is a Venetian merchant with plenty of money, all of which he left to her." The solicitor paused, adjusting his spectacles, warily eyeing Ralston. "My lord, he had no reason to lie about her birth. Indeed, by all accounts, it appears that he would prefer not to have alerted you to her existence." "Then why do so?" "She has no other family to speak of although I am told that friends were willing to take her in. According to the documents that were sent to my offices, however, this is your mother's doing. She requested that her"-he paused, uncertain-"husband...send your...sister...here in the event of his death. Your mother felt certain that you would..." He cleared his throat. "Do right by your family." Ralston's smile held no humor. "Ironic, is it not, that our mother has called upon our sense of familial obligation?" The solicitor did not pretend to misunderstand the comment. "Indeed, my lord. But, if I may, the girl is here and very sweet. I'm not certain what to do with her." He spoke no more, but his meaning was understood. I'm not certain I should leave her in your hands. "Of course, she must stay here," Nick finally spoke, drawing the grateful attention of the solicitor and an irritated look from his brother. "We shalltake her in. She must be rather in shock, I'd imagine." "Indeed, my lord." The solicitor readily agreed, latching onto the kindness in Nick's eyes. "I had not realized that you were able to make such decisions in this house, brother," Ralston drawled, his gaze not wavering from the solicitor. "I'm simply shortening Wingate's agony," Nick replied, with a nod to the lawyer. "You won't turn away blood." Nick was, of course, correct. Gabriel St. John, seventh Marquess of Ralston would not deny his sister, regardless of his deep-seated desire to do so. Raking a hand through his black hair, Ralston wondered at the anger that still flared at the thought of his mother, whom he hadn't seen in decades. She had been married at a young age-barely sixteen-and had borne twin sons within a year. She was gone a decade later, escaped to the Continent, leaving her sons and their father in despair. For any other woman, Gabriel would have felt sympathy, would have understood her fear and forgiven her desertion. But he had witnessed his father's sorrow, felt the pain that the loss of a mother had caused. And he had replaced sadness with anger. It had been years before he was able to speak of her without a knot of fury rising in his throat. And now, to discover that she had destroyed another family, the wound was refreshed. That she would bear another child-a girl no less-and leave her to a life without a mother infuriated him. Of course, his mother had been correct; he would do right by his family. He would do what he could to atone for her sins. And perhaps that was the most maddening part of this whole situation-that his mother still understood him. That they might still be connected. He set his glass down, resuming his place behind the wide mahogany desk. "Where is the girl, Wingate?" "I believe she's been placed in the green room, my lord." "Well, we might as well fetch her." Nick moved to the door, opening it and sending an unseen servant to retrieve the girl. In the ensuing, pregnant silence, Wingate stood, smoothing down his waistcoat nervously. "Indeed. If I may, sir?" Gabriel fixed him with an irritated look. "She is a good girl. Very sweet." "Yes. You've mentioned as much. Contrary to your clear opinion of me, Wingate, I am not an ogre with a taste for young girls." He paused, one sideof his mouth kicking up. "At least not young girls to whom I am related." The arrival of their sister prevented Gabriel from taking pleasure in the solicitor's disapproval. Instead, he stood as the door opened, his eyes narrowing as he met the eerily familiar blue gaze leveled at him from across the room. "Good Lord." Nick's words mirrored Gabriel's thoughts. There was no question that the girl was their sister. Aside from her eyes, the same rich blue as her brothers', she shared the twins' strong jaw and dark, curling hair. She was the image of their mother-tall and lithe and lovely, with an undeniable fire in her gaze. Gabriel cursed beneath his breath. Nick regained his composure first, bowing deeply, "Enchantée, Miss Juliana. I am your brother Nicholas St. John. And this"-he gestured to Ralston-"is our brother Gabriel, Marquess of Ralston." She curtsied gracefully, rising and indicating herself with a delicate hand, "I am Juliana Fiori. I confess, I was not expecting-" She paused, searching for the word, "I gemelli. My apologies. I do not know the word in English." Nick smiled. "Twins. No, I imagine that our mother did not expect i gemelli either." The dimple in Juliana's cheek was a perfect match for Nick's. "As you say. It is quite striking." "Well." Wingate cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the rest, "I shall take my leave, then, if my lords have no further need of me." The little man looked from Nick to Ralston, eager to be set free. "You are free to go, Wingate," Ralston said, his tone icy. "Indeed, I look forward to it." The lawyer exited, bowing quickly, as if afraid that he might never escape if he tarried too long. Once he had left the room, Nick consoled Juliana, "Don't let yourself be fooled by Gabriel. He's not as wicked as he seems. Some days, he simply likes to play the lord of the manor." "I believe that I am the lord of the manor, Nicholas," Ralston pointed out dryly. Nick winked at their sister. "Four minutes older, and he cannot help but hold it over me." Juliana offered Nick a small smile before turning her clear blue gaze on her eldest brother, "My lord, I should like to leave."

Gabriel nodded. "Understandably. I will have your things brought to one of the chambers above stairs. You must be weary from your travels." "No. You do not understand. I would like to leave England. To return to Venice." When neither Gabriel nor Nick spoke, she continued, her hands moving in time with her words, her accent thickening as emotion crept into her speech. "I assure you, I cannot comprehend why my father insisted I come here. I have friends at home who would happily welcome me-" Gabriel cut her off, firmly. "You will stay here." "Mi scusi, my lord. I would prefer not to." "I'm afraid you do not have a choice." "You cannot keep me here. I do not belong here. Not with you...not in... England." She spat the word as though it were foul-tasting. "You forget that you are half-English, Juliana," Nick said, amused. "Never! I am Italian!" Her blue eyes flashed. "And your personality shows it, kitten," Gabriel drawled. "But you are the very portrait of our mother." Juliana looked to the walls. "Portraits? Of our mother? Where?" Nick chuckled, charmed by her misunderstanding. "No. You will not find pictures of her here. Gabriel was saying that you look like our mother. Exactly like her, actually." Juliana slashed one hand through the air. "Never say such a thing to me again. Our mother was a-" She stopped herself, the silence in the room heavy with the unspoken epithet. Ralston's lips twisted in a wry smile. "I see we have found something upon which we can agree." "You cannot force me to stay." "I am afraid I can. I've already signed the papers. You are under my protection until you marry." Her eyes widened. "That is impossible. My father would never have required such a thing. He knew I have no intention of marrying." "Whyever not?" Nick asked. Juliana spun on him, "I should think you would understand better than most. I will not repeat my mother's sins." Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "There is absolutely no reason that you would be anything like-" "You will forgive me if I am not willing to take such a chance, my lord. Surely we can reach an accord?"

In that moment, Gabriel's decision was made. "You did not know our mother?" Juliana held herself perfectly straight and proud, meeting Ralston's gaze without flinching. "She left us nearly ten years ago. I believe it was the same for you?" Ralston nodded. "We were not even ten." "Then I imagine neither of us has much love lost for her." "Indeed." They stood like that for a long moment, each testing the truth of the other's words. Gabriel spoke first. "I will offer you a bargain." Juliana shook her head in an instant denial before Ralston lifted one hand and halted her words. "This is not a negotiation. You will stay for two months. If, after that time, you decide that you would prefer to return to Italy, I will arrange it." She tilted her head as though considering the offer and the possibilities for escape. Finally, she nodded once in agreement. "Two months. Not a day more." "You may have your pick of the bedchambers above stairs, little sister." She dropped into a deep curtsy. "Grazie, my lord." She turned toward the door of the study and was stopped by Nick's curiosity. "How old are you?" "Twenty." Nick cast a fleeting look at his brother before continuing. "You will need to be introduced to London society." "I hardly think it necessary as I am only here for eight weeks," Her emphasis on the last words was impossible to mistake. "We shall discuss it when you are settled in." Ralston ended the conversation and escorted her across the room, opening the door to the study and calling for the butler. "Jenkins, please escort Miss Juliana upstairs and have someone assist her maid in unpacking her things." He turned back to Juliana. "You do have a maid, do you not?" "Yes," she said, amusement crossing her lips. "Must I remind you that it was the Romans who brought civilization to your country?" Ralston's eyebrows rose. "You plan to be a challenge, do you?" Juliana smiled angelically. "I agreed to remain, my lord. Not to remain silent." He turned back to Jenkins. "She will be with us from now on."

Juliana shook her head, meeting her brother's eyes. "For two months." With a nod, he revised his statement. "She will be with us for now." The butler did not blink at the surprising announcement, instead offering a calm, "Very good, my lord," and sending several footmen scurrying to remove Juliana's trunks above stairs before leading the young woman away. Satisfied that his bidding would be done, Ralston closed the door to the study and turned back to Nick, who was leaning against the sideboard, a lazy smile on his face. "Well done, brother," Nick said. "If only the ton knew that you have such an inflated sense of familial obligation...your reputation as a fallen angel would be shattered." "You would do well to stop talking." "Truly, it's heartwarming. The Marquess of Ralston, in all his wickedness. Laid low by a child." Ralston turned away from his brother, stalking across the room to his desk. "Don't you have a statue somewhere that must be cleaned? An elderly woman from Bath with a marble in desperate need of identification?" Nick extended his legs and crossed one shining Hessian over the other, refusing to rise to his brother's bait. "As a matter of fact, I do. However, she -along with my legions of fans-shall have to wait. I should much rather spend the afternoon with you." "Do not stay on my account." Nick became serious. "What happens in two months? When she still wants to leave and you cannot allow it?" When Ralston did not reply, Nick pressed on. "It has not been easy for her. Deserted by her mother at such a young age...then losing her father as well." "No different than our own circumstances." Ralston feigned disinterest as he sorted through a pile of correspondence. "In fact, I would remind you that we lost our father along with our mother." Nick's gaze did not waver. "We had each other, Gabriel. She has no one. We know better than anyone what it is like to be in her position; to be deserted by everyone you have ever had-everyone you have ever loved." Ralston met Nick's eyes, somber with the memories of their shared childhood. The twins had survived their mother's desertion, their father's descent into despair. Their childhood had not been pleasant, but Nick was right-they had had each other. And that had made the difference. "The one thing I learned from watching our parents is that love is overrated. Whatmatters is responsibility. Honor. Juliana will be better for understanding that at such a young age. She has us, now. And likely she thinks it not much. But it will have to be enough." The brothers fell into silence, each lost to his own thoughts. Eventually, Nick said, "It will be difficult to get the ton to accept her." Ralston swore roundly, recognizing the truth in his brother's words. As the daughter of a woman who had not received a proper divorce, Juliana would not be immediately accepted into society. At best, Juliana was the child of a lady exiled from polite society, and she would struggle to cast off the heavy mantle of her mother's soiled reputation. At worst, she was the illegitimate daughter of a fallen marchioness and her common-born Italian lover. Nick spoke again. "Her legitimacy will be questioned." Gabriel thought for several moments. "If our mother married her father, it means that the marchioness must have converted to Catholicism upon arriving in Italy. The Catholic Church would never have acknowledged her marriage in the Church of England." "Ah, so it is we who are illegitimate." Nick's words were punctuated with a wry smile. "To Italians, at least," Gabriel said. "Luckily, we are English." "Excellent. That works out well for us," Nick replied, "but what of Juliana? There will be many who will refuse to socialize with her. They shan't like that she is the daughter of a fallen woman. And a Catholic no less." "They wouldn't have accepted Juliana to begin with. We cannot change the fact that her father is of common birth." "Perhaps we should attempt to pass her off as a distant cousin rather than a sibling." Ralston's response brooked no refusal. "Absolutely not. She is our sister. We shall present her as such and face the consequences." "It is she who will face the consequences." Nick met his brother's eye as the words hung in the air, heavy with importance. "The season will soon be in full swing. If we are to succeed, our activities must be entirely aboveboard. Our reputation is hers." Ralston understood. He would have to end his arrangement with Nastasia -the opera singer was renowned for indiscretion. "I shall speak with Nastasia today."

Nick nodded in acknowledgment before adding, "And Juliana will need an introduction into society. From someone with an impeccable character." "Yes, I thought of that myself." "We could always call on Aunt Phyllidia." Nick shuddered even as he referred to their father's sister who, despite being certain to arrive full of loud opinions and brash instructions, was a dowager duchess and a pillar of the ton. "No." Ralston's response was short and immediate. Phyllidia would not be able to manage such a delicate situation as this-a mysterious, unknown sister arriving on the doorstep of Ralston House at the start of the season. "None of our female relatives will do." "Then who?" Twin gazes locked. Held. Their determination matched, their commitment equal. But only one was the marquess. And his words left no room for questions. "I shall find someone."

Then with a burst of tears she ran straight toward him, and flung her arms about the neck of Odysseus, and kissed his head, and spoke: "Lo, thou dost convince my heart, unbending as it is." And in his heart aroused yet more the desire for lamentation; and he wept, holding in his arms his dear and true-hearted wife. Callie Hartwell paused in her reading, and released a deep, satisfied sigh. The sound rent the silence of the Allendale House library, where she had escaped hours earlier in search of a good book. In Callie's opinion, a good book required an enduring love story...and Homer delivered.

Oh, Odysseus, she thought soulfully, turning a yellowed page in the leather-bound book and wiping away a stray tear. Twenty years later, back in the arms of your love. A well-deserved reunion if ever I've read one. She paused in her reading, leaning her head back on the high padded chair and breathing deeply, inhaling the rich scent of long-loved and welloiled books and imagining herself the heroine of this particular story-the loving wife, the object of an heroic quest to return home, the woman who, through love, inspired her wonderfully flawed husband to fight the Cyclops, to resist the Sirens, to conquer all for a single goal-to resume his place by her side. What would it be like to be such a woman? One whose unparalleled beauty was rewarded with the love of the greatest hero of his time? Whatwould it be like to welcome such a man into one's heart? Into one's life? Into one's bed? A smile played across Callie's lips as the wicked thought flashed through her mind. Oh, Odysseus indeed. She chuckled. If only others knew that Lady Calpurnia Hartwell, proper, well-behaved spinster, entertained deep-seated and certainly unladylike thoughts about fictional heroes. She sighed again with self-deprecation. She was well aware of how silly she was, dreaming of the heroes in her books. It was a terrible habit, and one she had harbored for far too long. It had begun when she had first read Romeo and Juliet at age twelve and followed her through heroes great and small-from Beowulf and Hamlet and Tristan to the dark, brooding heroes of gothic novels. It didn't matter the quality of the writing-Callie's fantasies about her fictional heroes were entirely democratic. She closed her eyes and imagined herself far from this high-ceilinged room, filled to the brim with books and papers collected by a long line of Allendale earls. She imagined herself not the spinster sister of the Earl of Allendale, but instead, as Penelope, so deeply in love with her Odysseus that she had spurned all suitors. She conjured her hero into the vision, she, seated at a loom, he, standing strong and intense in the doorway to the room. His physical appearance came easily-it was one that had been used again and again in her fantasies for the last decade. Tall, towering, and broad, with thick dark hair that made women itch to touch it and blue eyes the color of the same sea that Odysseus had sailed for twenty years. A strong jaw, marred only by a dimple that flashed when he smiled-that smile-a smile that held the equal promise of wickedness and pleasure. Yes...they were all modeled on the only man about whom she'd ever dreamed-Gabriel St. John, the Marquess of Ralston. One would think that after a full decade of pining, she would have given up her fantasy...but it appeared that she had fallen for the rake quite squarely and most regretfully, and she was doomed to spend the rest of her life imagining him the Antony to her Cleopatra. She laughed outright at the comparison. The fact that she was named for an empress aside, one would have to be severely touched to think Lady Calpurnia Hartwell anything close to Cleopatra. For one thing, Callie had never laid a man low with her beauty-something Cleopatra was reportedto have been extraordinarily skilled at doing. Cleopatra did not share Callie's ordinary brown hair and ordinary brown eyes. Nor could the Queen of Egypt have been described as plump. Nor did Callie imagine that Cleopatra had ever been left on the edge of a ballroom for the entirety of a ball. And, Callie was certain there was absolutely no evidence that the Queen of Egypt had ever worn a lace cap. Unfortunately, the same things could not be said of Callie. But, for now, in this moment, Callie was the beautiful Penelope and Ralston the devastatingly handsome Odysseus, who had rooted their marital bed to the ground with a living oak tree. Her skin grew flushed as the fantasy played out, and he approached her and that legendary bed, slowly lifting his tunic, baring a chest bronzed from years in the Aegean sun-a chest that could have been molded from Grecian marble. When he reached her and gathered her into his arms, she imagined the heat of him wrapping around her, dwarfing her with his size. He had spent years waiting for this moment...and so had she. His hands stroked her skin, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched, and Callie imagined him leaning down to kiss her. She could feel his body pressed against her, his hands on her face, his strong, sensual lips parting just a hairsbreadth from her own. Just before he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss, he spoke in a low whisper, the words private, the sound barely reaching her ears. "CALLIE!" She jerked up in her chair, dropping her book, startled by the piercing sound outside the door to the library. She cleared her throat, heart pounding, silently wishing that whoever it was would go away and let her finish her daydream. The thought was fleeting-quashed with a sigh-Callie Hartwell was nothing if not impeccably mannered, and she would never reject a caller out of hand. No matter how much she might like to. The door to the library flew open, and her sister bounded in, all energy and excitement. "Callie! There you are! I've been looking everywhere!" Callie took one look at her sister's bright, eager face and couldn't help but smile. Mariana had always been a charming, ebullient force- immediately adored by all who met her. At eighteen, Mariana was the belle of the season...the debutante who had earned the attentions of the entire ton -and the nickname The Allendale Angel.

Today, she was bathed in the diffused sunlight of the library, swathed in gossamer chiffon the color of buttercups, her sweet, loving smile perfectly framed by chestnut ringlets. Callie could easily understand why London society adored her sister. It was hard not to love Mariana. Even if her perfection could be rather trying at times to a much older, much less perfect sister. With a teasing smile, Callie spoke. "Whatever could you possibly need me for? I think you've done quite well on your own today, Mari!" A pretty pink blush spread across Mariana's porcelain skin-one Callie would have envied for its demureness and evenness if she hadn't lived with such perfect flushes for her entire life. "Callie! I can't believe it! I've been pinching myself all day!" Mariana flew across the room and threw herself into the leather chair opposite her sister. In a dreamy, dazed voice, she continued, "He proposed! Can you believe it? Isn't it wonderful?" "He" in this case was James Talbott, the sixth Duke of Rivington and the single most coveted catch in all of Britain. Young, handsome, wealthy, and titled, the duke had taken one look at Mariana at a preseason ball and become quite thoroughly infatuated. A whirlwind courtship had followed, and the duke had arrived at Allendale House that morning to ask for her hand in marriage. Callie had been barely able to contain her amusement at Rivington's nervousness; for all his title and wealth, he had been obviously eager for Mariana's answer-a fact that had only served to endear him further to Callie. "I can, indeed, believe it, sweet." She laughed. "He arrived with stars in his eyes...very similar to the ones in your own right now!" Mariana dipped her head shyly as Callie continued, "But you must tell me! How does it feel to have caught a man who loves you so very much? And a duke no less!" "Oh, Callie," Mariana gushed, "I don't give a farthing about James's title! I care only for James! Is he not the most wonderful, pillar of a man?" "And a duke no less!" Both women turned in surprise at the statement, spoken in a shrill pitch of barely contained excitement from the doorway of the room. Callie sighed as she recalled what had sent her into hiding earlier in the day. Her mother. "Callie! Is it not the most wonderful news?" Wryly wondering just how many times she would have to answer that particular question that day, Callie opened her mouth to reply. Not quickly enough, however. "Why,Rivington is deeply in love with Mariana! Can you imagine? A duke! In love with our Mariana!" Again, Callie began to answer, only to be cut off. "There is so very much to do! A wedding to plan! A betrothal ball to host! Menus to design! Invitations to send! Not to mention Mariana's gown! And trousseau! Oh! Mariana!" The utter bliss on the dowager countess's face was rivaled only by the utter terror on Mariana's. Callie bit back a smile and entered the fray to rescue her sister. "Mother, Rivington only proposed this morning. Don't you think we should allow Mariana some time to enjoy this momentous occasion?" Laughter entered her tone as she continued, offering a knowing look to her sister, "Perhaps, a day or two?" It was as though she had not spoken. The dowager countess pressed on, her volume becoming more and more earsplitting. "And you, Callie! We shall have to think carefully about what kind of gown you shall wear!" Oh, no. The Dowager Countess of Allendale was many things, but a reliable modiste for her elder daughter was not one of them. If Callie did not provide a distraction for her mother soon, she would be destined to attend her sister's wedding in a feathered monstrosity complete with matching turban. "I think we should tackle first things first, don't you, Mother? Why not hold a small celebratory dinner party this evening?" She paused, waiting to see if her mother would take the bait. "A wonderful idea!" Callie let her breath out slowly, pleased with her quick thinking. "We should! It will be family only, of course-because we must hold the official announcement for the betrothal ball-but I think a dinner tonight is just the thing! Oh! So much more to do! I must send invitations out and speak with Cook!" The dowager countess swiveled around and rushed to leave, propelled by her excitement. At the entrance to the room, she turned back abruptly. Unable to contain her exuberance, her face red and her breathing heavy, she exclaimed, "Oh! Mariana!" And, with that, she left. In the silence that followed their mother's departure, Mariana sat stunned by the scene that had just taken place. Callie couldn't help but smile. "You didn't think it would be easy, did you, Mari? After all, our mother has been waiting thirty-two years for a wedding, since Benedick was born. And now, thanks to you, she's got one."

"I don't think I can survive this," Mariana said, shaking her head in bemusement. "Who was that woman?" "A mother with a wedding in her future." "My God," Mariana spoke, dazed. "How long do you think she's going to be like that?" "I can't be certain, but I'd guess at least the season." "A whole season! Is there a way out of it?" "There is one," Callie paused for dramatic effect, thoroughly enjoying herself. Mariana pounced. "What is it?!" "Do you think Rivington would consider Gretna Green?" Mariana groaned in anguish as Callie dissolved into laughter. This was going to be an extraordinarily entertaining season. This was going to be the most painful season of her life. Callie stood at the corner of the sitting room, where, after dinner and postmeal rituals of cigars for men and gossip for women, the entire family had resumed showering Mariana and her duke with well-wishes. Dozens of candles cast a lovely soft glow over the room's inhabitants, transforming the space into an intimate scene. Ordinarily, Callie adored events that could fit into the sitting room, for they were typically cozy, happy occasions that made for warm memories. Not so, tonight, however. Tonight, Callie was ruing the moment that afternoon when she had suggested a small, intimate dinner. Tonight, even the ancestors watching from the portraits lining the sitting-room walls seemed to be mocking her. She swallowed a sigh and forced a smile as her aunt Beatrice approached her, beaming. Callie knew exactly what was coming...knew, too, that it was unavoidable. "Isn't it wonderful? Such a happy couple! Such a fine match." "Indeed it is, Aunt," Callie intoned, turning her head to gaze upon the happy couple in question. She had discovered over the course of the interminable evening that looking at an elated Mariana and Rivington made stomaching this particular conversation slightly easier. Very slightly easier. "It is a treat to see Mariana so very happy." Her elderly aunt rested a wrinkled hand on Callie's arm. Here it comes, Callie thought to herself, gritting her teeth. "I'm sure your mother is happyfinally to have a wedding to plan!" the old woman cackled with amusement as she spoke. "After all, between you and Benedick, there was little guarantee that she'd ever see the day!" Callie forced a laugh that came out a little too loud as she cast a desperate eye around the room in search of someone, anyone, to save her from a seemingly endless string of rude and impertinent family members. In the three hours since the guests had arrived for dinner, Callie had had some variation of this conversation with twelve different people. Dinner had been particularly difficult, considering she'd been sandwiched between Rivington's opinionated grandmother and a particularly callous cousin, both of whom seemed to believe that Callie's unmarried state was well within the bounds of proper conversation. She was beginning to believe that there was not a single person in either the Rivington or Allendale families with even a modicum of tact. Did they really believe that she would take no offense to being consistently reminded that she was a dusty old spinster set firmly upon the shelf? It was really too much. Seeing no salvation in her future, she settled for waving down a footman with a tray of sherry. Selecting a glass for herself, she turned to her aunt, asking, "May I offer you a refreshment, Aunt Beatrice?" "Dear me, no! I cannot stomach the stuff," the elderly woman spoke, a note of indignation in her tone. "You know, Calpurnia, drinking wine in company is liable to damage your reputation." "Yes, well, I should think there's no need for me to worry about that this evening, don't you agree?" "No, I suppose your reputation is not at risk, Calpurnia." Aunt Beatrice patted her arm with unconscious condescension. "It is a tragedy, that, isn't it? You couldn't have predicted it. With your dowry, no one would have expected you never to marry." The implication that only her dowry served to recommend Callie as a wife clouded her consciousness with shock and anger. Before she could respond, Aunt Beatrice had pressed on. "And now, at your age, we should simply give up hope. It's virtually impossible to imagine someone offering for you. Unless, of course, it was an older gentleman seeking companionship as he shuffles off this mortal coil. Perhaps that could happen." A vision flashed through Callie's mind, a pleasing fantasy that ended with Aunt Beatrice doused in sweet red wine. Shaking herself from herreverie, she carefully set down her glass and returned her focus to her aunt, who was still speculating on Callie's spinsterhood. "Of course, it does not help that your figure is-well-rather less than desirable? After all, we are long past the days of Rubens, Calpurnia." Callie was struck mute. She could not have possibly heard the odious woman correctly. "Have you considered a diet of boiled eggs and cabbage? I hear it works wonders. Then you would be less...well, more!" Aunt Beatrice cackled, entirely amused by and thoroughly oblivious to her own rudeness. "And then, perhaps we could find you a husband!" Callie had to escape before she did serious damage either to a member of the family or to her own sanity. Without meeting Beatrice's eyes-she could not guarantee that she wouldn't say something thoroughly nasty to the horrible woman-Callie made her excuses, "Pardon me, Aunt, I think I should see to the...kitchens." She didn't care that the explanation made little sense, what with dinner long over; she simply had to flee. Holding back tears, Callie escaped to her brother's study-the nearest room where she knew wayward guests would not disturb her. Guided by the moonlight spilling in through the enormous windows that lined one wall of the study, she made her way to the sideboard and retrieved a glass and a bottle of sherry before moving to a large chair in the far corner of the room that had long been a sanctuary for Allendale men. It will have to serve the purpose for an Allendale female tonight, she thought, letting out a long, slow breath as she poured herself a glass of sherry, set the heavy crystal decanter down on the floor, and threw her legs over one arm of the chair, making herself comfortable. "What has you sighing, sister mine?" Callie gave a little start, turning in the direction of the imposing mahogany desk at the other side of the room. She saw the shadowed figure behind it and smiled broadly into the darkness. "You startled me." "Yes, well, forgive me if I don't apologize. You entered my lair." Benedick Hartwell, Earl of Allendale, rose and moved across the room to seat himself in the chair opposite Callie. "I hope you have a good reason, or I shall have to send you back." "Oh? I should be interested in seeing how you accomplish that, as you cannot reveal my escape without calling attention to your own," she teased. "Too true." Benedick's white teeth flashed. "Well, then, you can stay."

Thank you." She toasted him with her glass of sherry. "You are too kind." Benedick swirled a glass of scotch lazily as Callie drank deeply and relaxed in the chair with her eyes closed, enjoying their companionable silence. After several minutes, he spoke. "And so, what sent you fleeing the familial rite?" Callie did not open her eyes. "Aunt Beatrice." "What did the old bird do now?" "Benedick!" "Are you about to tell me that you don't think of her in a remarkably similar way?" "Thinking of her in such a manner is one thing. Saying it aloud is quite another." Benedick laughed. "You are too well behaved for your own good. So what did our dear, revered, valued aunt do to send you fleeing to a darkened room?" She sighed, refilling her glass. "She did nothing that no other member of the two families represented in that room failed to do. She simply did it more rudely." "Ah. Marriage." "She actually said-" She paused, taking a deep breath. "No. I will not give her the pleasure of repeating it." "I can imagine." "No, Benny. You cannot." She sipped her sherry. "I vow, had I known that this was how spinsterhood would be, I would have married the first man who proposed to me." "The first man who proposed to you was an idiot vicar." "You shouldn't speak ill of the clergy." Benedick snorted and took a long pull of scotch. "Fine. I would have married the second man who proposed. Geoffrey was quite attractive." "If you hadn't turned him down, Callie, Father would have. He was an inveterate gambler and a notorious drunk. He died in a gambling hell, for goodness sake." "Ah, but then I would be a widow. No one insults widows." "Yes, well, I'm not sure that's true, but if you insist..." Benedick paused. "Do you really wish you were married to one of them?"

Callie drank again, letting the sweet wine linger on her tongue as she considered the question. "No, not to anyone who has ever asked me," she said. "I wouldn't like to be chattel to some horrible man who married me only for money or land or to be aligned with the Allendale earldom...but I wouldn't refuse a love match." Benedick chuckled. "Yes, well, a love match is an entirely different thing altogether. They don't come along every day." "No," she agreed, and the two lapsed into silence. After several long moments of contemplation, Callie said, "No...what I would really like is to be a man." "I beg your pardon?" "I would! For example, if I told you that you had to spend the next three months suffering unfeeling remarks related to Mari's wedding, what would you say?" "I should say, 'Hang that,' and avoid the whole thing." Callie used her sherry glass to point in his direction. "Exactly! Because you are a man!" "A man who has succeeded in avoiding a great number of events that would have led to criticism of my unmarried state." "Benedick," Callie said frankly, raising her head, "the only reason you were able to avoid those events is because you're a man. I, unfortunately, cannot play by the same rules." "Whyever not?" "Because I am a woman. I cannot simply avoid the balls and dinners and teas and dress fittings. Oh, God. Dress fittings. I'm going to have to suffer through all these horrid piteous stares again...while Mariana is in her wedding gown...in a modiste's shop. Oh, God." She covered her eyes against the image. "I still fail to see the reason why you cannot just avoid the horrid events. Fine, you have to be at the ball announcing their engagement. You must attend the wedding. But beg off everything else." "I cannot do that!" "Again, I ask, whyever not?" "Decent women no more beg off events like that than they take lovers. I have a reputation to worry about!" Now it was his turn to snort. "What utter nonsense. Calpurnia. You are twenty-eight years old."

"It's not very gentlemanly of you to speak of my age. And you know I hate it when you call me Calpurnia." "You'll suffer through. You are twenty-eight years old, unmarried, and have, quite possibly, the most pristine reputation of any member of the ton, no matter their gender or their age. For God's sake, when was the last time you went anywhere without your lace cap?" She glared at him. "My reputation is all I have. That's what I'm trying to tell you, Benedick." She reached down to pour another glass of sherry. "Indeed, you're right. It's all you have now. But you could have more. Why not reach out and take it?" "Are you encouraging me to tarnish our good name?" Callie asked incredulously, freezing, decanter in one hand, glass in the other. Benedick raised one eyebrow at the tableau. Callie set the bottle down. "You do realize that if I do so, you, as the earl, will likely suffer the repercussions?" "I'm not suggesting you take a lover, Callie. Nor am I hoping that you'll cause a scene. I'm simply arguing that you hold yourself to a rather high standard for...well...someone who need not worry so much about a slight mark on her reputation. I assure you, skipping odious wedding-related events will not impact the state of the earldom." "While I'm at it, why not drink scotch and smoke a cheroot?" "Why not?" "You don't mean that." "Callie, I feel certain that the house will not crumble around us if you have a drink. Though I'm not certain you would enjoy it." He let silence stretch out for several minutes before continuing. "What else would you want to do?" She thought carefully about the answer to that question. What if there were no repercussions? What would she do? "I don't know. I've never allowed myself to think of such things." "Well, allow yourself now. What would you do?" "As much as I could." The answer came fast, surprising them both, but once the words were spoken, Callie realized the truth in them. "I don't want to be impeccably mannered. You're right. Twenty-eight years of perfect behavior is too long." She laughed as she heard herself say the words. He joined her. "And, so? What would you do?" "I would throw away my lace cap."

"A given, I would hope." He scoffed at her. "Come now, Calpurnia. You can be more creative than that. No repercussions, and you choose three things you can do in your own home?" She smiled, cuddling deeper into her chair, warming to the game. "Learn to fence." "Now you've got it," he said, encouragingly. "What else?" "Attend a duel!" "Why stop there? Use your newfound fencing skills to fight one," he pointed out matter-of-factly. She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think I actually want to hurt anyone." "Ah," he said, all seriousness, "so we have found the line you do not wish to cross." "One of them, it seems. But I should enjoy firing a pistol, I think. Just not at another person." "Many do enjoy that particular activity," he allowed. "What else?" She looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "Learn to ride astride." "Really?" She nodded. "Really. Sidesaddle seems so...missish." He laughed at her disdain. "I would-" She stopped as another item flashed through her mind. Kiss someone. Well. She certainly couldn't say that aloud to her brother. "I would do all the things men take for granted. And more," she said. Then, "I would gamble! In a men's club!" "Oh ho! And how would you manage that?" She thought for a moment. "I suppose I should have to masquerade as a man." He shook his head in amusement, "Ah...mother's Shakespeare fascination finally becomes relevant to our lives." She giggled as he continued, "I think that's where I would draw the line. The Earls of Allendale could lose privileges at White's if you tried that." "Well, lucky for you, I am not about to attempt to sneak into White's. Or do any of those other things, either." Was that disappointment in her tone? Silence descended again, both siblings lost in their own thoughts, until Benedick raised his glass to his lips to finish his drink. Before it reached his mouth, he paused and, instead, held the glass out, arm extended toward his sister in a silent offer. For a fleeting moment, Callie considered the crystaltumbler, knowing full well that Benedick's offer was for more than the finger of scotch left in the glass. She shook her head finally, and the moment passed. Benedick threw back the liquid and spoke again. "I am sorry about that," he said, rising from his chair. "I should be happy to hear of you taking a risk or two, sister." The comment, spoken carelessly as he moved to leave, landed heavily on Callie's ears. She barely listened to the dry question that followed, "Do you think I'm safe in leaving this room? Or will we have to hunker down until the wedding?" She shook her head distractedly, and replied, "I should think you're safe. Tread carefully." "Will you join me?" "No, thank you. I think I shall remain here and ponder a life of adventure." He grinned at her. "Excellent. Let me know if you decide to set sail for the Orient on the morrow." She matched his smile with her own. "You shall be the first to hear of it." With that, he made his exit, leaving Callie to her thoughts. She sat for a long while, listening as the sounds of the house quieted, guests leaving, the family retiring to bed, the servants clearing the rooms that were used for the dinner, all the while playing the last moments with Benedick over and over in her mind and wondering, What if? What if she could live a life other than the staid, boring mockery of one that she currently lived? What if she could do all the things that she would never dream of doing? What was to keep her from taking such a leap? At twenty-eight, no one much thought about her. Her reputation had been impeccable for years-for all the years that it had mattered that she retain such an untarnished name. It wasn't as if she were about to traipse off and completely destroy that reputation, anyway. She wasn't going to do anything that a well-respected male member of the ton wouldn't do on any given day without a second thought. And if they could, why shouldn't she? She reached up and removed the pins securing her lace cap. Once it came free from its moorings, she plucked it from her head, several long curls of hair tumbling free as she did so, and held it in her hands, turning it over and over as she considered her next move. When had she become the type of woman who wore lace caps? When had she given up hope of being envogue? When had she become the type of person to allow Aunt Beatrice's malice to send her into hiding? She stood, slightly unsteady, and moved slowly to the fireplace, wringing the cap in her hands, the heady combination of her conversation with Benedick and the sherry offering a heightened sense of power. She stared down at the dying embers, the hiss of the orange coals taunting her. What would she do if she could change it all? Without pause, she tossed the lace cap into the fireplace. For a few long moments, nothing happened; the round disk of cloth simply lay there, its pristine whiteness in stark contrast to the hot, charred wood. Just as Callie began to wonder if she should reach in and retrieve the now-ruined garment, it burst into flames. She gasped, taking a small step back in the face of the angry orange fire that engulfed the small piece of lace, but was unable to stop herself from crouching low and watching as the finely wrought fabric took on a life of its own, curling and coloring until every inch of it was aflame. Watching her lace cap burn, Callie started to laugh, feeling at once scandalous and wonderful-as though she could do anything she had ever dreamed. Spinning on one heel, she marched across the room to the earl's desk. After lighting a stubbed candle, she opened the top drawer and removed a clean sheet of paper from its place. Smoothing her hand across it, she pondered the vast, ecru expanse before nodding emphatically, opening the silver inkpot that sat nearby, and reaching for a pen. She dipped the nib of the pen in the black ink and considered the list of things that she would do...if she had the courage. The first answer was obvious and, while she hadn't wanted to share it with Benedick earlier, she felt strongly that she should be honest with herself and commit it to paper. After all, it was the only item she could think of that she truly dreaded never being able to complete. Setting the nib to the parchment, she wrote, her script strong and certain.

Kiss someone.

She looked up as soon as the words were written, half-afraid that she would be discovered writing such a scandalous thing. Returning her attention to the words on the paper, she cocked her head to one side. It didn't seem enough, did it? "Kiss someone" didn't seem to capture exactly what she meant. Biting her lower lip, she added one word. Kiss someone-Passionately Callie let out a long breath-one that she hadn't known she was holding in. No turning back now, she thought to herself, I've already written the most scandalous thing. The next few items came easily, born of her conversation with Benedick.

Smoke cheroot and drink scotch .

Ride astride Fence

Attend a duel

Fire a pistol

Gamble (at a gentleman's club)

After a flurry of activity, Callie brought her head up and sat back, looking at the words she had written. A hint of a smile played across her lips as she considered each item, imagining herself seated in a smoky room at White's,scotch in one hand, playing cards in the other, sabre lying at her feet, discussing the duel she was to attend the next morning. The image brought a deep chuckle from far within. Imagine! She almost stopped there, with the seven items that had come quickly. But for all that the list was a flight of fancy, Callie knew that it was much more. It was a chance for her finally to be honest with herself. To write down the things that she would most desperately like to experience. The things that she had never admitted to anyone-not even herself. With a heartfelt sigh, she eyed the list, knowing that the next few items would be the most difficult to write. "Right, then." She spoke the words in a strong tone, as if preparing herself for battle. Then, she set pen to paper.

Dance every dance at a ball

Her lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile. Well, Callie, that item proves that this is an imaginary list. She adored dancing. She always had. When she was a child, she used to sneak from her bedchamber to watch the balls her parents had hosted. There, high above the ballroom, she would twirl and twirl in time to the music, imagining that her night rail was a beautiful silk gown to rival the ones swirling below. Dancing was the one thing that Callie had looked forward to when she had her first season; but as she had aged into spinsterhood, invitations had tapered off. She hadn't danced a country dance in-well, it had been a long, long time. Too long. There in the darkness, she allowed herself to admit that all those years of standing on the edges of ballrooms across London had taken their toll. She loathed being a wallflower, but she had never been able to lift herself out of that position. And, in the ten years since her debut, she had become so comfortable as a witness to the elegance of society that she couldn't imagine actually being at the center of it. Of course, she would never be at its center. The women at the nexus of the ton were beautiful. And Callie was too plain, too plump, too boring to be considered beautiful. Blinking back tears, she scrawled the next item on the list.

Be considered beautiful. Just once.

. It was the most unlikely item on the list...she could only remember one time, one fleeting moment in her life when she had even come close to achieving the goal. But, thinking back on that night long ago, when the Marquess of Ralston had made her feel beautiful, Callie was certain that he hadn't perceived her that way. No, he was just a man who did what he could to make a young girl feel better so that he could escape to a midnight tryst. But in that moment he had made her feel beautiful. Like an empress. How she wanted to be that girl again; how she wanted to feel like Calpurnia again. Of course, she couldn't do it. It was just a silly exercise. With a sigh, Callie stood from the desk, folding the paper carefully and tucking it just inside the bodice of her gown before she replaced the ink and pen. Snuffing the candle, she moved quietly toward the door. Just as she was about to exit the study and make her way upstairs, she heard a noise from outside-quiet and unfamiliar. Opening the door carefully-just a crack-Callie peered into the darkened hallway, squinting to make out anyone who might be there. The blackness beyond made it impossible to see, but there was no question that she was not alone; the open door allowed a soft giggle to reach her. "You are beautiful tonight. Perfect. The Allendale Angel indeed." "You're required to say so...to flatter your fiancée." "My fiancée." The reverence in the words was palpable. "My future duchess...my love..." The words trailed off on a feminine sigh, and Callie's hand flew to hold in her shocked laughter as she realized that Mariana and Rivington were in the darkened foyer. She froze for a moment, eyes wild, uncertain of her next move. Should she close the door quietly and wait for them to leave? Or should she contrive to stumble upon them and end what was most definitely a lovers' tryst? Her thoughts were interrupted by a little gasp, "No! We shall be caught!" "And what then?" the words came on a masculine chuckle. "I suppose then you shall have to marry me, Your Grace." Callie's eyes widened at the blatant sensuality in her little sister's tone. When had Mariana become a doxy?

Rivington groaned in the darkness. "Anything that gets you into my bed more quickly." It was Mariana's turn to laugh, entirely inappropriately. And then there was silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of lips on flesh and silk on skin. Callie's mouth dropped open. Yes, she should definitely close the door. Then why didn't she? Because it wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair that her baby sister-who had looked up to her for so long, who, for so many years, had turned to her for advice and guidance and friendship-was now experiencing this remarkable new world of love. Mariana had come out with a vengeance, the star of the season, and Callie had been so very proud of her. And when Mari had caught the eye of Rivington, the catch of the ton, Callie had celebrated alongside her little sister. And Callie was happy for Mariana. But how much longer could she happily stand by as Mariana lived the life that Callie herself had longed for? Everything would change. Mariana would do all that Callie had never done. She would marry, and bear children, and run a household, and grow old in the arms of a man who loved her. And Callie would remain here in Allendale House, a spinster. Until Benedick found a wife. And she was relegated to the country. Alone. Callie swallowed back the sting of tears, refusing to allow herself to feel self-pity in the face of Mariana's happiness. She moved to close the door to the study softly, to leave the lovers in peace. Before she could, however, Mariana spoke, breathlessly. "No, Riv. We cannot. My mother would horsewhip us both if we ruined her chance for a wedding." Rivington groaned softly. "She has two other children." "Yes, but..." There was a pause, and Callie did not have to see her sister to read her thoughts. What are the odds that either of them will marry anytime soon? "Benedick will marry," Rivington said, humor in his tone. "He's simply waiting until the last possible moment to do so." "It is not Benedick about whom I worry." "Mari, we've discussed this. She is welcome at Fox Haven."

Callie's mouth dropped open in outrage at the mention of Rivington's country seat. She? Could they mean her? They had discussed her fate? As though she were an orphaned child in need of care? As though she were an unmarried female with no prospects. Which, of course, she was. Her mouth closed. "She will make a wonderful aunt," Rivington added. Excellent. He's already sloughing off the heirs to the dukedom on the spinster aunt. "She would have made a wonderful mother," Mariana said, and her emphatic words brought a watery smile to Callie's face. She tried to ignore her sister's use of the past tense as Mari added, "I only wish she could have had what we have. She so deserves it." Rivington sighed. "She does. But I am afraid that only Callie can seize such a life for herself. If she remains so..." He paused, searching for the word, and Callie strained to hear-the angle of her body so unnatural that she risked toppling over entirely. "Passive...she shall never have those things." Passive? Callie imagined Mariana nodding her agreement. "Callie needs an adventure. Of course, she shall never seek one out." There was a long pause as their words-so lacking in malice and still so painful-echoed around Callie, suffocating her with the heavy weight of their meaning. And all at once, she could not seem to catch her breath or stop the tears from welling. "Perhaps you would like an adventure for yourself, my beauty." Rivington's sensual tone was restored, and Mariana's responding giggle proved too much to bear. Callie closed the door quietly, blocking out the sound. If only she could block out the memory of their words. Passive. What a horrible word. What a terrible sentiment. Passive and plain and unadventurous and destined for a boring, staid, utterly uninteresting life. She choked back tears, leaning her forehead against the cool mahogany door and considering the very real possibility that she was about to cast up her accounts. Taking great, heaving breaths, she attempted to calm herself, the powerful combination of sherry and emotion threatening to bring her low.

She did not want to be that woman-the one of whom they spoke. She had never planned to be that woman. Somehow, it had happened, however...somehow, she had lost her way and, without realizing it, she had she chosen this staid, boring life instead of a different, more adventurous one. And now her younger sister was mere feet away, on the brink of selfinduced ruin, and Callie had never even been kissed. It was enough to drive a spinster to drink. Of course, she'd done enough of that tonight. It was enough to drive a spinster to action. Reaching into her bodice, she produced the folded piece of paper she had placed there only minutes earlier. Fingering the rounded edges of the square, she considered her next move. She could go to bed, drown herself in tears and sherry, and spend the rest of her life not only regretting her inaction but-worse-knowing those around her believed her passive. Or, she could change. She could complete the list. Now. Tonight. She smoothed back an errant lock of hair; noted her missing lace cap. Tonight. She would begin with an item that was a challenge. An item that would set her squarely on this new, bold, un-Callie-like course. Taking another deep breath, she pulled open the door to the study and stepped into the darkened foyer of Allendale House, no longer caring if she stumbled upon Mariana and Rivington. In fact, she barely registered that they were gone. She hadn't time for them, anyway, she thought as she hurried up the wide marble staircase to her bedchamber. She had to change her gown. Lady Calpurnia was going out.