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pointed her cane at Corinna. “You will have charming children, I am certain.” She touched Corinna on the sleeve.
    A jolt of heat coursed through Corinna from brow to toe. Her ears went cottony, the sounds of people moving through the chamber, talking, all abruptly muted. She blinked and gasped a hard breath. The earl’s hand hovered over his brow, his eyes half closed.
    With a single shake of his head he seemed to recall himself.
    “I will return shortly,” Corinna said, blinking again to focus her vision, and hurried off.
    She found a little gray reticule tucked behind a life-sized statue of Ares, the god of war. She looked about for the earl and the old woman, but the hall had grown crowded. Instead, she followed the wall around the perimeter until she saw him ahead. He was taller than most of the men in the place, and she followed the sight of his glossy black hair until she reached them.
    The old woman sat in a fragile heap on the stone bench, so thin beneath the gray gown that her bones protruded.
    “Here you are, ma’am,” Corinna said and offered the reticule. The woman clutched it with gnarled fingers and smiled.
    “Thank you, dear girl.” Her eyes glistened. “And thank you, my lord. I enjoyed hearing about your mother’s projects.”
    He made an elegant bow. “And I about your grandchildren.” He took her arm and drew her up from the bench. “May I escort you to your friends now?” he asked.
    “Oh, no. I am here with my son, but he’s somewhere about the place nearby, I suspect, and shall find me soon.”
    “Then to your carriage?”
    She chuckled. “What a fine gentleman you are.” She patted his sleeve again, then turned to Corinna. “You keep this one close, dear. Men like him don’t grow on trees.”
    Corinna resisted choking on her tongue as the woman tottered away into the crowd, reticule clasped tightly to her bony breast.
    The earl moved beside her. “A lady of great taste, obviously,” he said, laughter in his voice again.
    Corinna’s bemusement scattered. “More likely blind, and certainly deaf,” she replied, then looked up at him.
    She should not have. Where quiet pleasure had shaped his handsome features in the presence of the stranger, now cold aversion shone.
    “You would know about an existence deprived of the senses, wouldn’t you?” he said. Without awaiting her riposte, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter Four
    D AMN AND BLAST HIS MOTHER.
    No. That wasn’t just. Ian had enormous admiration for his mother. She had a fine character and a formidable mind, both of which she’d been obliged to hide for years because of her husband’s ignorant, intolerant cruelties.
    But since the death of his father nine years earlier, his mother had finally made her life what she wished, filled with projects and people the late earl would never have allowed in his home. Though she never asked more from him than her widow’s jointure, Ian always supported her projects. He cared for her deeply.
    But that run-in with Corinna Mowbray at the museum was enough to have a man damning Saint Mary if he thought she was even partially to blame for it.
    Corinna Mowbray. The burr in his memories of childhood. The bane of his youth. Even Christmas held a blot because of that female and her ceaseless superiority, the same nose-in-the-air, better-than-thou attitude she still cultivated.
    He couldn’t have been more than twelve, she a few years younger. The house overflowed with guests for the holidays. He’d been in the stable brushing down his horse after a ride. Even as a child he’d liked several hours alone each day with the horses. The muted sounds of snuffling and chewing, and the scents of straw and animals comforted him. The morning was clear and cold, the stable warm, and he was content.
    Then she appeared at the door and his happiness evaporated.
    He’d told her to go away. She responded by informing him that he was an imbecile—as usual—and he was doing it all