“Do tell, Ashbourne,” Dunford laughed. “Why are you here?”

“Why, indeed,” Alex muttered. “I’m beginning to wonder the same thing.” He’d arrived at the ball a full hour earlier, and during that time he’d scoured the mansion, surprising many a footman and serving maid and interrupting no less than three clandestine couples. Not a single sign of Meg. In desperation, he’d actually entered the ballroom, figuring that there might be a chance that Meg was tending to the refreshments. But he’d had no luck. The serving girl was nowhere to be found. And although he found the prospect of defeat bitter indeed, he was just about to give up his search. Alex sighed and turned to face his friend, happily turning his back on the ogling crowds.

“Fess up, chap,” Dunford prodded.

Alex sighed. “It’s a long story. I doubt you’d be interested.”

“Nonsense. It’s the long stories which are usually the most interesting. Besides, if this ‘story’ has actually brought you into the ranks of polite society, it must involve a female. And that means, of course, that I’m terribly interested.”

Alex turned to his friend and briefly recounted the story of how his nephew had been saved by a brave kitchen maid, omitting the part about the strong attraction he felt for her. “So you see,” he concluded, “you needn’t get so excited. My tale lacks both romance and lust. I’m afraid that you’re going to have to accept that my behavior tonight is completely above reproach.”

“How dull.”

Alex nodded wearily. “Indeed, and I can’t stand this crush. I think I’ll suffocate if one more blasted dandy comes up to ask me how I’ve arranged my cravat.”

“You know,” Dunford began thoughtfully, “I was just thinking that I might take my leave now as well. Why don’t we retire to White’s and have a few drinks? A good game of cards might be just the thing after your tiring sixty minutes of the social whirl.”

Alex smiled caustically at his friend’s sarcasm but agreed immediately to the proposal. “Good idea. I can’t wait to get—” He stopped short when he heard the sharply indrawn breath of his friend. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Good Lord,” Dunford breathed. “That coloring…”

“For Christ’s sake, Dunford, who is it now?”

Dunford paid no mind to his words. “It must be Emma Dunster. How could something so lovely have come from those godforsaken Colonies?”

“They’re not our colonies any longer, Dunford,” Alex muttered, remembering Meg’s tirade. “They’ve been free for several decades and should really be referred to as the United States of America. It’s only polite.”

Alex’s strange speech broke Dunford out of his reverie. He turned to his friend with an odd look on his face. “Since when have you become so sympathetic to our errant Colonies?”

“Since—oh, never mind. Who is this blasted woman who’s got you so paralyzed with desire?” Alex still hadn’t turned to face the ballroom.

“Look for yourself, Ashbourne. Not a classic beauty, I’ll admit, but she doesn’t look cold, if you know what I mean. Auburn hair with specks of fire, soft violet eyes…”

A singularly unpleasant feeling began to grow in the pit of Alex’s stomach when he heard Dunford’s description of Miss Emma Dunster. It couldn’t be…No, he assured himself, a gentle lady wouldn’t….Alex slowly turned around. There, across the ballroom, stood his brave Meg. Except she was no longer Meg, he corrected himself. She was Emma.

Alex reacted instantly. Every muscle immediately tensed to the point of near-pain, and he couldn’t decide whether he was furious over her deception or merely overcome with desire. He watched silently as Emma, unaware of his presence, smiled wearily at one of her suitors and rubbed her head absently. Damn, but what was she thinking, dancing the night away when she probably had a serious head injury? Alex scowled, thinking that he’d like to march across the dance floor, grab her by the shoulders, and shake a little sense into her.

But Lord, she really was lovely. Her petite body was wrapped in a gown of violet satin that bared her creamy shoulders and showed just the slightest swell of her breasts. Young women out for their first season were supposed to wear pale pastels, but Alex was glad that Emma had defied convention and chosen a more daring color. It matched her spirit, and, in a sea of washed-out insipid misses, she was a beacon of fire and vitality. She had left her hair unfashionably loose, having secured the front strands up atop her head with a clasp but letting the bulk of it flow down her back like a sheet of fire.

Her coloring spoke of a wild nature, and Alex well remembered her quick temper. But he could also see vulnerability in her eyes, and she was so achingly small. She looked tired, and Alex was positive that her head was still bothering her. Something about her made him fiercely protective, and he was enraged that she might be endangering her health with too much activity.

Dunford chuckled as he watched myriad emotions pass across Alex’s face. “I can see that you agree with my assessment.”

Alex broke his gaze away from Emma and turned to face his friend. “Don’t touch her,” he said slowly. “Don’t even think about her.” He scowled as he noticed that he was not the only man in the room who’d succumbed to her appeal. The young bucks were practically lined up to gain an introduction to the American girl. He made a mental note to have a word with a few of the more eager ones.