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wife. Or as anything else."
    "No, Hale. Your words didn't."
    * * * *
    After dancing for half an hour and fending off the dogged attentions of Guy Hammond and Felix Faulkner— two handsome rakes who recently lost sizeable wagers to her and now sought to claim something in return for their trouble— Raven was eager for respite. About to slip backward out of the ballroom and find her mother, she was stopped abruptly by a deep voice.
    "You realize, of course, that you broke the rules. But I understand that's something of a Deverell specialty."
    Tiny, impish footprints darted up her spine, and made her draw a quick breath, as if her corset had just tightened another inch. Her skin prickled, sensing the ghost of his touch upon it. But unlike most ghosts, this one did not come from the past; it came from the future. And it was certainly not a cold or timid caress.
    "Rules?" She didn't turn immediately, but kept her back to him.
    "Yes, Miss Deverell. Standards by which all members of the Racers' Club are bound to comply."
"I'm not a member of this... Racers' Club , whatever that might be," she replied in her mother's most dismissive tone of hauteur. "I have no inkling of what you mean to accuse me."
    "Riding a horse, madam, in a race that was strictly for men only."
    Raven laughed lightly. "I hate to disappoint, but you are quite mistaken, sir."
    And then he must have stooped to whisper, for she felt his breath on the back of her neck. It almost stopped her heart. "I know it was you, Miss Deverell. You winked at me as you rode that horse this afternoon. You wanted my attention. Again." His breath moved closer, disturbed a curl beside her cheek. "Now you have it."
    Spinning around, just as he straightened up to his full height, she found herself facing a grey felt waistcoat that no man of fashion would wear in the evening. In fact, she saw by his suit of clothes that he'd come directly from Bourne Lodge, not bothering to change. She looked upward. And kept looking up until, somewhere in the rarified air above her, she located a hard, chiseled jaw clenched in an emotion deeper and darker than anger. Apparently he thought to intimidate her.
    "But I, sir," she gave him an arch smile, "know nothing about your silly club. I'm sure I wouldn't be allowed in it."
    "No. You certainly would not." Finely sculpted lips parted, so slightly it was a miracle any words escaped. "But you were aided in this deception by your friend, who hosted the race today and who is a member of our silly club. For now. Until I have him tossed out."
    His demanding gaze bore down upon her and she felt undone by it, as if he'd found a single hook on the back of her gown that somehow, once released by a solitary brush of his regard, let the silk fall to her ankles. Raven kept her head high, despite the quickening of her breath and the erratic skip of her pulse. "My friend? I have many. Which can you mean?"
    "Young Bourne. I could have your lover cast out for life after that little ruse today. With one word from me he'd never get his horses in another race."
    Just like that he had assumed they were lovers, of course. "Why tell me all this? I don't even know who you are."
    His cold smirk told her that he knew this was a lie.
    She swallowed and moved to pass. "Neither do I care. Excuse me, sir, I must—"
    Suddenly he had her around the waist and before she could object, they were waltzing. He hadn't even asked.

Chapter Five
    She felt the stinging, envious rebuke of every woman there, while the men watched in varying degrees of amazement. Queen Victoria herself might have entered the ball at that moment and possibly been mistaken for a small, plain woman of no particular importance. If she was noticed at all.
    Because the very proper, well-respected gentleman, Sebastian Hale, Earl of Southerton, was dancing with the notoriously naughty Raven Deverell. An odd couple, indeed.
    "You're not even dressed for a ball, sir. What could you be thinking? I'm surprised they didn't