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her papa, she had noticed him glance several times at Georgia, as she danced, and then as she had returned and chatted animatedly with her dear friend, Arabella. But he had also made conversation with herself, and Philippa, and even young Victoria. He had asked her father if he might call upon them, and her father, much to her surprise, had nodded his agreement and even gone so far as to invite Captain Bowen to accompany Uncle Percy to dinner on Christmas Eve. Sasha closed her eyes, falling asleep on her last, and pleasant, thought—that soon she would see the very handsome Captain Reid Bowen again.

Chapter Two
    D espite retiring in the early hours of morning, Reid was awake and up at his usual time, his routine dictated by a lifetime of military discipline. He had declined his uncle’s invitation to stay with him and had taken a room in the Officer’s Mess of the Royal Fusiliers, conveniently situated for the town and stables behind the barracks near the Tower of London. At nine o’clock precisely his batman came in with his shaving gear and a bowl of hot water. Reid shrugged on a robe and dutifully sat down to be shaved, facing the light of a long sash window.
    Through the open curtains of thick, dark green brocade, he could see a square of blue sky. He would take a ride in Hyde Park before luncheon; it would help to clear his mind. He was not a man who usually brooded, or had any difficulty in life that required mental wrestling, but on this bright December morning his thoughts were indeed a little disordered, and that irked him.
    All was not going according to plan. The intention was that he would acquire a wife, take her with him to St Petersburg, and settle down to enjoy his career. But here was the rub—choosing a suitable woman was not as easy as he, or Uncle Percy, had thought it would be. In the past he had felt no inclination to acquire anything as permanent as a wife, and, thoughhe was not a man who felt the constant need for a woman, he had enjoyed the occasional, yet discreet, liaison. Always with a woman who was very beautiful, not very intelligent and yet one who understood that she could expect nothing more than his presence in her bed. When the attraction had been satisfied, and one or the other of them had moved on, there had been no great dilemma or drama, as neither had expected any form of commitment. Ah, Reid mused as he rinsed his face clean in the hot water and stroked his fingers over his smooth jaw, perhaps it was the noose of commitment that he could feel tightening around his neck that bothered him this morning.
    He went to his dressing room and selected a tweed riding jacket and fawn breeches, a cream shirt and matching cravat, pondering that perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it was the memory that lingered in his mind of dancing a waltz with a certain Miss Packard. She had been so unlike any woman he had ever met before. Graceful—yes, she had been light as a feather dancing in his arms. Intelligent—undoubtedly, her knowledge of Russia, of languages and music and goodness knew what else had been most apparent, and yet she had not been a bore at all, interspersing her conversation with humorous, wry little snippets and that delightful, husky, almost shy laugh. Yet in appearance she was not the sort he would normally lust after—indeed not! He admonished himself, for Miss Packard was far too respectable to be his mistress! On the other hand, one does not choose a wife according to the standards of a mistress. She might not be blonde and buxom, but there was a certain charm about her dark haired and creamy-skinned femininity that appealed to him. She was certainly intelligent and well read; he could envisage many a cosy evening together and the conversation would be neither boring nor stilted. She was petite, though, which in itself he found quite attractive and he entertained himself with delicious thoughts of carrying her up the stairs to bed, or sitting