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having become skilled at concealing her feelings during her marriage.
    ‘That is the Earl of Bramwell, who is at this moment being joined by Mr Frederick Isherwood,’ explained Sir Seymour, observing the second gentleman who had come to stand next to Lord Bramwell. ‘It is unusual to see either at an event like this, but Mr Isherwood is Lady Pargeter’s nephew so that must be the reason for their attendance this evening.’
    ‘Lord Bramwell cuts a very handsome figure,’ said Harriet in a low voice.
    ‘He is considered a Corinthian, a man who excels in every sporting pursuit, but I think him a little reckless,’ remarked Sir Seymour. ‘He has a devil-may-care approach to life which seems attractive to ladies. However, it would be injurious to my health to indulge in the ill-advised escapades which appeal to Lord Bramwell.’
    ‘Ill-advised escapades?’ echoed Harriet, intrigued.
    ‘Oh, nothing too serious, you understand – he is a leader of the ton , after all – but Lord Bramwell is usually to be found at the centre of some harebrained scheme or sporting bet,’ explained Sir Seymour. ‘I hear he intends to drive down to Brighton tomorrow in his curricle in less than four and a half hours, simply to answer a wager. Madness! I should be confined to bed for a week if I attempted such a feat.’
    ‘Any reasonable person would not attempt it,’ agreed Isabella vehemently. She was aware of Harriet’s look of surprise – this was severe criticism for an activity which most young men of the day took part in and was generally considered harmless – but as far as Isabella was concerned, Lord Bramwell had already earned her scorn. She had endured enough reckless and inconsiderate behaviour to last a lifetime and had no desire to become acquainted with anyone who followed that path.
    However, this stern resolution was destined to be quickly broken: Isabella, alone for a few moments some time later, found Lord Bramwell’s tall figure had suddenly appeared at her side.
    ‘I have appealed to Lady Pargeter for the last hour to introduce me, but either you are engaged, or her attention is diverted before she can do so, and I can wait no longer,’ he said. ‘May I introduce myself and hope that you will excuse my abominable lack of manners? It is only because I am impatient to meet you.’ He bowed and smiled engagingly. ‘Lord Bramwell, at your service, Lady Vane.’
    Forced to acknowledge him, Isabella turned to look up into his face. Lord Bramwell was undeniably handsome; his features were well defined and attractive, there was no dandyish affectation in his courteous manner and his physique was clearly that of a sportsman. A smile lurked in the grey eyes which gazed down into hers and he was close enough for Isabella to have momentarily felt his warm breath on her cheek as he spoke. The smooth rich timbre of his voice washed over her and, unbidden, the thought flashed into her mind that Lord Bramwell was the embodiment of her ideal. She pushed it away ruthlessly; having already been introduced to Sir Seymour and the amiable Mr Isherwood, who was quite as handsome as Lord Bramwell, with no similar effects, Isabella felt annoyed at her reaction.
    Reluctantly, she gave him her hand, aware of the latent strength in his grasp. A quiver ran through her as he unexpectedly bent his head to brush his lips over her knuckles. ‘Good evening, Lord Bramwell,’ she replied in a voice of cool disdain and snatched her hand away.
    He raised his brows at her icy tone but merely said, ‘Are you enjoying Lady Pargeter’s hospitality?’
    ‘She has been most kind; Lady Pargeter is an old acquaintance of my aunt’s.’
    ‘I see. I understand that you are newly arrived in London and have taken a house in Curzon Street?’
    ‘Yes.’ Isabella felt her animosity rise: had he been making enquiries about her? She knew she was being unjust – his comments were innocuous to say the least – but she only felt secure if the relative