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undeniable force of character. A curious exhilaration beat in her blood. With a faint shock, she realized that from the moment she’d seen him in the landau, she’d wanted to meet him. Yet she could forget neither his identity nor his audacity.
    “You might have asked me instead of ordering me.”
    Sliding an arm around her waist, he clasped her hand in his. “Would you have agreed?”
    “Of course not. Lord Breeton signed my card for this waltz.”
    “Breeton,” he scoffed. “He’d only bore you with his exploits at the hunt.”
    She swallowed an unexpected bubble of laughter. “He’s a superb dancer.”
    “So am I,” Kent Deverell said with unashamed conceit. “And since you’ve already danced with that popinjay—and every other man here—it’s my turn now.”
    As he guided her around in perfect time to the Viennese waltz, Juliet felt as graceful as a lily petal scudding over a crystal pond. Through her thin glove, his hand felt strong and calloused, unlike Breeton’s baby soft palm. When she spied, on the fringe of the crowd, his lordship’s sulky face, she could summon no remorse. Her gaiety faltered only when she noticed a number of guests staring and murmuring.
    Because a Carleton was dancing with a Deverell? Or because of the scandal surrounding the death of the duke’s wife?
    The impulse to defend him seized her; absurd, because he looked more than capable of defending himself. Yet she lifted her chin in studied nonchalance and softened her lips into a smile. Let people talk. She would enjoy her dance with the handsome duke.
    “When a woman smiles like that,” he said, “it generally means she’s up to something.”
    “Or that she simply enjoys a fine waltz.”
    “I’m glad you find dancing with me such a pleasure.”
    His nearness, his bold stare, unsettled Juliet. She lowered her gaze to the white, bell like blossom adorning his lapel. “Where did you get that foxglove bloom? You weren’t wearing it when you came in.”
    “I noticed you prefer a man who sports flowers.”
    “Lord Breeton again?”
    “None other.” His voice lowered to a husky undertone. “And I do so want to win your favor.”
    A slow heat suffused her. “Why?”
    “Are you angling for compliments, Miss Carleton?”
    Her cheeks grew hotter. How easily he could fluster her. “Foxglove is an odd choice. The flower of a poisonous plant.”
    “Rosebuds are too tame. You strike me as the sort who prefers something wilder, more exotic.”
    “Perhaps,” she said breathlessly. “But you never answered my question. We haven’t any foxglove in our garden.”
    “On the contrary. I’ll show you.”
    In a smooth motion, he spun her through the throng of dancers and out an opened doorway. The terrace lay in moon dappled shadow, the formal gardens lit by strings of festive lanterns that bobbed against the starry sky. Couples strolled the concentric pathways. After the stifling closeness of the ballroom, the balmy night air caressed her skin and aroused a reckless anticipation inside Juliet. The breeze carried the vivid odors of blooming roses and fresh turned loam, along with a heady hint of the duke’s masculine scent.
    He released her hand, but kept his arm curved around her waist as he escorted her down the marble steps. “Far more agreeable out here, isn’t it? Not only do the Carletons sponsor the finest ball of the season, they manage to order perfect weather as well.”
    The trace of derision rang a discordant note into the music drifting from the ballroom. Stepping away, she turned, searching the lean angles of his face through the velvety shadows.
    “Why did you wait outside the house this afternoon?”
    “Because I heard Emmett Carleton had a pretty daughter. And for once, the gossipmongers told the truth.”
    The silken words warmed her. “You must have had more reason than that,” she persisted.
    “As I told your mother, I want to end the hostility.”
    “But why now? Why tonight?”
    His tall form