LITMIR.BIZ

      ZEBRA BOOKS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      This one’s for my agent, Jessica Faust,

       and my editor, Hilary Sares

      And, as always, for Kevin

      contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 1

      Lady Grace Belmont stepped through the wide double doors into the Duke of Alvord’s ballroom.

      Dear God.

      She froze on the small landing. Hundreds of candles lit hundreds of faces—and she’d swear every single face was turned toward her. Men in precisely fitted black coats and snowy white cravats raised their quizzing glasses. Brilliantly-gowned women, plumes bobbing, fans shielding their lips, tittered and whispered.

      Dear, dear God. She couldn’t escape fast enough—except she couldn’t escape at all. A gaggle of elderly women blocked the stairs.

      Blast! Grace swallowed and clenched her hands. She tried to take a deep breath, but the air was too thick with the scent of candle wax, perfume, and infrequently washed bodies. Black dots swam before her eyes. Was she going to swoon? That would be an even more entertaining spectacle for the duke’s guests—the Amazon from Devon, all five feet nine inches and eleven stone of her, collapsing into an ignominious heap—a very large ignominious heap—on the ballroom floor. What a lovely way to begin her first—and last—London Season.

      “Isn’t it splendid?”

      “What?” Grace looked down at her petite, ethereally beautiful aunt, Lady Oxbury.

      “The ballroom, the guests…isn’t it all splendid?” Aunt Kate almost glowed with pleasure. “It reminds me of my own come-out. The room is much the same, but the gentlemen then all wore lace and velvet, of course. They were as colorful as—perhaps more colorful than—the ladies.” She sighed, smiling wistfully. “I was completely enchanted.”

      Enchanted? Enchantment was not one of the emotions swirling through Grace’s gut at the moment. Nausea—well, nausea was not precisely an emotion. Terror, mortification, self-consciousness, anger…there was a lively stew brewing inside her, but enchantment was not one of the ingredients—it wasn’t even one of the seasonings.

      “You were only seventeen,” Grace said, “and lovely. I am twenty-five and large.”

      “Grace!” Aunt Kate frowned at her. “Don’t say that. You are quite regal.”

      “Regal.” How Grace detested that word! It was uttered kindly by tiny women like her aunt, women who made her feel like a female Gargantua simply by standing next to her. Unless one were actually of royal lineage, regal was merely a synonym for large.

      “Yes, regal. You are very striking. Don’t you see how the gentlemen are admiring you?”

      They were certainly admiring one specific part of her. “They are staring, Aunt Kate. That is not the same thing at all.”

      “Nonsense. They are all struck by your beauty.” Aunt Kate smiled, but the curve of her lips looked strained. “However, if you keep scowling like that, you will scare them all off.”

      One can only hope. “Aunt, can’t you see where all those quizzing glances are directed? Those men aren’t studying my expression; they are examining my bos—”

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