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terrace. “Do you think he overheard our conversation?”
    Lily rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.” She smoothed her gown and tried to contain a wave of self-pity. This was the ultimate humiliation, an end to her infatuation with Remmington that would haunt her forever. She would never be able to face him again, or even remain at the same ball or party they both might happen to attend. Unfortunately, Remmington received an invitation to every noteworthy event. Her social life was at an end. “If you don’t mind, Sophie, I believe I’ll find Papa and see if he’s ready to leave. I don’t think I can handle much more excitement this evening.”
    “You aren’t going to let him chase you off.” “Of course not. The message I came here to deliver is in the safety of your aunt’s hands, I am undoubtedly the subject of every gossip in that ballroom, and I managed to reveal my most humiliating secret to a man I thought I cared for.” Lily shrugged her shoulders. “I would say I have accomplished everything that I possibly could in one evening. What reason do I have to stay?”
    ----
Chapter Two

     
    Two hours later, the curtains in Lily’s bedroom fell back into place as she turned away from her window. She’d stared at the fog-shrouded silhouettes of West End town houses for over an hour, trying to think of anything or anyone other than Remmington. It wasn’t working.
    At least her father hadn’t argued over her abrupt request to leave the ball. The earl of Crofford disliked parties almost as much as Lily did, and he’d decided to spend the remainder of the evening at his club. If the earl fell into a philosophical debate with one of his friends at White’s, it would be hours yet before he returned home.
    Lily’s slippered feet padded across the soft Aubusson carpet, and she sat down before a vanity table that was tucked away in one corner of her room. The servants often remarked on the oddness of the room’s decor, for the vanity was the one small concession to femininity in the starkly furnished bedroom. A green and blue plaid covered the massive, old-fashioned bed, while dark chests with heavy brass handles were lined up against one wall, as orderly as a row of soldiers. A few contained the personal articles of clothing normally found in a woman’s room, but most were stuffed with writing papers, inks, and any number of ancient documents and odd mementos. Books and papers covered every available surface and a flat, rectangular stone tablet balanced precariously atop two of the chests, its weathered granite face covered with hieroglyphics. The chiseled miniature pictures were strange in their foreignness, yet beautiful in their simplicity.
    Altogether, it looked a very masculine room, one that a man would feel comfortable in. Lily’s delicate, feminine beauty looked completely out of place. But the room was hers, and the furnishings reflected much more of her personality than her appearance ever would.
    She arranged the folds of her blue silk robe around the stool and stared into the oval mirror that hung above the table. She hated her hair. It so perfectly complemented the practiced expressions she’d worn earlier that night. The curls had swirled and bounced ridiculously when she bestowed empty smiles on Lord Allen and Lord Poundstone. Her fingers tugged at the braid and curls until her hair spread across her shoulders in a rich auburn cape. She pulled a brush through the long tresses, and tears came to her eyes.
    Remmington thought her a fool. Everyone thought her a fool. She was greatly tempted to show everyone how wrong they were, to do something so outrageously intelligent that no one would treat her like a witless doll ever again. Detailing her theories about hieroglyphics at the next Antiquities Society meeting would do nicely. Admitting her role in the war effort would remove any lingering doubts.
    That was impossible, of course. Staring at the witless fool she’d created, Lily knew she would