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“Is that so? And have you read enough to form an opinion?”

      Nicole bit her bottom lip for a moment and then nodded. “Truthfully? My sister may not agree with me, but for as much as I have so far read, I believe the man makes an incendiary argument consisting of a mixture of unpalatable truths and dangerous nonsense.”

      Lucas threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Rafe! Did you hear that? I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

      “You have said it yourself,” Fletcher pointed out, looking at Nicole curiously. “It’s almost eerie.”

      Lucas caught out Rafe and his lovely wife exchanging rather confused looks, as if they’d never expected to hear Nicole say anything like what she’d just said. Yet they hadn’t seemed shocked to hear that her sister had read Paine’s works. Or was there more to it than that?

      He decided to find out.

      “As you read Thomas Paine,” he asked Nicole as they ate, “I would imagine you’ve also read some of the works of Wieland, Gibbon, Burke?”

      “You most certainly can imagine that. You can imagine that all you wish,” she answered brightly, and he knew he had just been put very firmly in his place. By a young girl clearly not easily put out of countenance by clumsy buffoons like himself.

      “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, only to have her place her hand on his forearm and lean closer to him.

      “And I should not have pretended to be someone I am not. Lydia stole all the brains, I believe, leaving me nothing but an only ordinary intelligence. But I did sound convincing, didn’t I? The use of incendiary was very nearly inspired, I think.”

      And that was that. Beauty such as Nicole’s was not to be sneezed at and certainly he enjoyed looking at her, would like to possess her because of that beauty. But as he looked into those remarkable eyes, and saw what could only be a small imp of the devil looking back at him, Lucas was in serious danger of becoming completely and utterly lost. And he knew it.

       CHAPTER THREE

      AS IF TO PUNISH NICOLE for what she knew to be her outrageous behavior the night of the dinner party, there was such a downpour for the next two days that no sane person in London ventured outdoors, let alone took drives to Richmond or anywhere else.

      In desperation, she had picked up Lydia’s copy of Jane Austen’s Emma, and hidden herself away in her room until all of the characters were nicely settled with their soul mates and Emma had finally opened her eyes to the charms of Mr. Knightley.

      She hadn’t enjoyed the story very much. All this upset about matching this one to that one and keeping another one from making a mistake by bracketing herself to a clearly unsuitable person seemed silly.

      Was there really nothing else for women to do but concern themselves with such mundane matters? Clearly her own decision never to marry would save her from a life of such nonsense, for which she’d be eternally grateful.

      Although, considering herself more talented in the area than the fictional Emma, Nicole did think it might be fun to find a suitable husband for Lydia. For, although she saw no need to dip her own toe in matrimonial waters, clearly her sister needed to be loved, needed to love in return.

      Nicole thought about the Viscount Yalding, who seemed a nice enough man, if rather nervous. Would he be a good match for Lydia? She hadn’t mentioned him, not even once, since the dinner party.

      Lydia had, however, spoken often about the Marquess of Basingstoke. He’d been a soldier, like Captain Fitzgerald. He read Thomas Paine, like Captain Fitzgerald. He treated her kindly and obviously admired her intelligence. Like Captain Fitzgerald. But what did that mean, other than that Lydia still thought and spoke often of poor dead Fitz?

      By the morning of the third day, marked by a thin, watery sun and with their escorts just arriving in Grosvenor Square in a pair of lovely curricles, Nicole had convinced herself that Lucas Paine was a man just like any other man, and that her intense reaction to him had been merely an aberration. She had more worlds to conquer than just this one man, and he could not be allowed to invade her mind to the degree that he had thus far, in only two brief meetings.

      Nicole prided herself on being in charge of her own life, her own mind—and most definitely her own heart. So why did just the thought of seeing the man again turn her insides into jelly?

      Well, enough of that sort of missish silliness! Today she would make certain that she was the one in charge.

      So thinking, as she watched Lydia tie the strings of her bonnet beneath her chin—the blue ribbon picked out for her most expressly by Captain Fitzgerald the previous year—Nicole tried to imagine her sister married to the Marquess of Basingstoke.

      She bit her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment as she felt a slight, unidentifiable pang, but then pushed on with the idea.

      “Lydia?” she asked her as they walked toward the staircase, for they’d been warned by Rafe and Charlotte both that it was not polite to allow their lordships’ horses to stand waiting too long. “What do you think of the marquess?”

      Lydia stopped with her hand just on the railing of the staircase. “What do I think of him? I’m sorry, Nicole, but I don’t believe I think of him at all, not in any way that matters. What do you think of him?”

      Nicole avoided the question by asking another of her own. “You don’t find him handsome?”

      Lydia took hold of Nicole’s arm and steered her away from the stairs. “Nicole, what’s wrong? I thought you liked the man. You seemed to the day we met him, and he certainly was a delightful dinner companion. Rafe likes him. Charlotte likes him. Are you going to be contrary and decide to dislike him now, because everyone else likes him?”

      “I don’t do things like that,” Nicole protested. “Do I?”

      “No, I suppose not, except maybe for needlepoint. And turnips. But you do worry me sometimes. You don’t have to conquer every man you meet, you know. If you’ve decided that his lordship isn’t going to be your first…conquest, as you call it, then please, don’t feel you need to continue seeing him. Not that I approved of the idea in any case.”

      “I don’t feel as if I have to conquer every—Do you know something, Lydia? Sometimes I don’t like me very much. This Season was supposed to be fun. London, the parties, the gaiety. I’ve lived for this moment ever since I can remember wanting anything. I didn’t have to think about the rest of my life, as everyone said I should do. And then he came along. If I could cry off from our drive, I would. He’s a most disconcerting man.”

      Lydia looked at her for a long moment, and then a slow smile lit her face. “Why, Nicole, you like him.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.”

      “I’m not being ridiculous, although I think someone standing here is. All your plans, your boasts—and all it takes is one man to scatter those plans to the four winds. Now do you understand, Nicole? You don’t choose. Fate chooses for you.”

      “Maybe for some people. But not for me. Oh, come along. We shouldn’t keep the horses standing, remember?”

      “I wouldn’t dream of it. Suddenly I’m quite looking forward to this afternoon,” Lydia said, turning back toward the stairs, but not before Nicole realized that her sister, seemingly asleep, wandering listlessly through life since last June, had a tiny bit of sparkle in her eyes once more.

      “Well, I’m not!” Nicole groused, just to please her twin, and then followed her down the stairs.

      LUCAS SLICED ANOTHER LOOK at Nicole, her profile all but hidden by the brim of her fetching straw bonnet.

      She’d greeted him rather coolly, climbed up onto the seat almost before he could assist her and had said less than ten words to him as they wended their way toward Richmond.

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