Lady Emma offered Viscount Thumpston a brief smile enough to appear courteous, but not too wide that he would know the depth of feelings she secretly harboured for him in her heart at this moment. She placed one palm gently on his offered arm, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. Her other hand lifted the skirt of her gown, just a tad, ensuring she walked with ease.

As the waltz began, Arthur Burward bowed, to Emma. She smiled shyly. There were many dukes and high ranking peers on the Marriage Mart, but the viscount in whose arms Emma was in, was the only gentleman she secretly pined for.

‘Have you promised the supper dance to another?’ He asked Emma with a small measure of hope.

‘Not yet,’ she smiled, elated that they would have an opportunity to talk.

‘Allow me then, my lady,’ he requested.

‘Thank you,’ Emma glided easily in Arthur’s arms.

‘My sister and a few friends are attending the Opera this Friday,’ he mentioned. ‘If you and Lady Fallon do not have prior engagements, we have additional seats in our box,’ he offered.

‘Oh that will be splendid,’ she politely acknowledged. ‘I will speak to mama and Fallon does love the opera. I am certain she will also be agreeable. I would enjoy your company,’ she boldly added.

He blushed at her acquiescence. The young viscount was not yet accomplished in the courtship of women as was the dashing Earl Braeden Kerrich. Now that was a gentleman totally at ease with the ladies and they adored his attention as much as he enjoyed a beautiful lady on his arm.

The waltz ended. Arthur bowed graciously. 'Thank you for this dance,' he grinned. 'You are a good dancer my lady. I am delighted, my toes are pretty safe.'

Emma laughed shyly. 'I take it you have had an unfortunate encounter or two, Lord Burward.'

'I shall be a gentleman and show tolerance to the debutants who have seemed most embarrassed at their ___ shall we say, lack of skill. A situation that shall remedy itself with time, I am certain,' he laughed as they glided around the dance floor.

'You are most forgiving my lord. I like that,' Emma uttered with a sudden another spurt of boldness. Arthur laughed pleasantly. Emma curtsied, as he returned her to where her mother stood.

Fallon bravely stifled the pain as the libertine shoved her none too gently against the balcony wall. She would not cower. Even though his rough handling gripped her with a sense of fright, Fallon hoped it did not reflect in her eyes or her body language. How could he treat her in this manner? She was a gentle lady...the ton seemed to think so. He was supposed to be a gentleman! Fallon decided the best form of defence was attack.

'You wish to offer for me my lord?'

'What!' Braeden stepped back, all intent on punishing the chit forgotten.

Fallon smiled victoriously. 'You do not presume my lord, that I shall allow you to have your wicked way with me, or risk you compromising me without consequence,' she challenged.

The chit was right. What was he thinking? He took two steps backwards, creating a respectable distance between them. If truth be acknowledged, he had not been thinking. She had riled him so, that he had been driven to ravish her, with the intention that when she would beg him for his love he would humiliatingly thrust her away. Only, she had deprived him of his anticipated pleasure of tasting her delectable lips. She had robbed him of his spoils. He had intended to discard her away from him. He wondered now, would he have had the will to release her? Every part of him wanted her in his arms. His lips ached to taste her.

He watched how her bosom heaved and bobbed beneath her fashionable gown fitting so perfectly against her curvy figure. She felt something too, the chit. His eyes glinted mockingly. Her eyes were dilated. Clearly she was not much in control as she let out. He smiled, a wicked smile, she could still be his, he determined. He aimed to have her. He would bide his time.

'Has the cat stolen your tongue perhaps?' She sneered.

Braeden's eyebrows arched cynically. The hoyden has gall!

'You have some interest in my tongue then?' He took a step towards her threateningly.

Fallon huffed at his impertinence. She needed to put an end to this prig's audacious behaviour.

' Neither your tongue nor any other part of your anatomy interests me in the slightest manner___ my lord,' her chin flew up snobbishly. ‘Good bye.’ I should not forget, he desires my sister! Fallon gathered the folds of her skirts and hastily made her way into the dance room again. She shall not waste another second on that___that reprobate.

‘Ah Lady Fallon, there you are.’ Drew smiled. ‘I have been searching for you. I had hoped to take you into supper.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed a sigh of relief and nodded to the Marquis of Dunbar, Drew Frewer. ‘I would love that.’ She was safe with Drew. He was a respectable gentleman. Though not unattractive, Drew was not blessed with generous good looks as that rogue, it was also fortunate that Drew had his eye on Lady Carissa. Drew liked that Fallon saw him as a friend and not Marriage Mart material.

How easily that rogue was able to charm women to dance to his tune. Fallon fumed inwardly that he already had another unsuspecting young maiden on his arm. He was not yet ready to go into supper it seemed. For he was leading the young lady back into the very garden they had just vacated. Damn pious prig!

The following morning, in the Fulham residence, Fallon was rather non-committal at the breakfast table. She aimlessly tossed around the pancake in her breakfast plate, adding another dollop of honey. She was still seething from the discourteous manner that excuse for an earl had adopted with her last night. She cast a wary eye at her parents, the Baron and Baroness Fulham, fortunately for Fallon her parents were preoccupied, perusing invitations and debating which to accept. Had they looked in her direction and observed her fallen countenance. Lady Fulham would demand to know why her younger daughter was scowling.

Fallon knew she and Emma had an appointment at Madam Claire, the modiste on Bond Street this morning. They were to be measured for new gowns for the autumn season. How she wished she could just escape to the lending library for the rest of the day. She would much rather soak up on the reading of Charlotte Brontë or Arthur Conan Doyle. Fallon dipped her head, hiding a smile. Lord Fulham would take a hide to her backside, if he caught his daughter reading Conan Doyle. He opined, she was a lady and should read books that improved her deportment not adventure stories. Emma had a smile as bright as the sun and seemed to have her head in the clouds for obvious reasons, Fallon guessed.

‘I take it you have an escort to the Opera,’ Fallon ventured.

‘Yes,’ Emma grinned at her sister. She assumed Fallon guessed it was the viscount taking her. Fallon chastised herself silently at her rage that Emma was to be escorted by him. She should not exhibit such covetousness against her own sister, yet she could not help herself. She was only human. The heart is wicked above all things, who can control it?

The business of the invitations concluded, Lady Fulham smiled at her daughters. She enquired from both if they had enjoyed the previous evening. She was more curious to discover how Fallon’s come out Ball went at Almack’s Assembly Room. Neither of her daughters volunteered much information. Emma was too shy and insecure to assume anything could come of her dance with Arthur. He had danced with many partners and so had she. Perhaps on Friday at the Opera... Fallon was still boiling with rage to even contemplate the success of her evening, not that she’d received any offers. So how could she offer her mama any positive response? Instead she preferred to hold her cards close to her chest. Surely she could not tell her parents the Earl of Hampton the rake__the reprobate___the scoundrel had almost compromised her! Whatever would her father say? Surely he would call out Hampton and why was she fearfully convinced that if her father did call Braeden out it would not be her father still standing?

Fallon determined it was time to get even with Braeden Kerrich, Earl of Hampton and with a shrewd smile duly put her wicked plan into action.

The butler arranged the napkin and silverware in front of Braeden. He was ravenous. He looked hungrily at the spicy lamb sausages, helping himself to three of them. He added a few rashers of bacon to his plate. There was still place on his plate for some scrambled eggs and toast.

‘Coffee please,’ Braeden rubbed his hands together, eager to tuck into his feast.

‘Yes my lord,’ the butler hurriedly complied.

‘Thank you Kilner,’ Braeden dug heartily into his bacon and eggs.

‘Should the horses be prepared for a visit to your townhouse in St. James’s Square my lord?’

His official seat was here in Kensington. He had a sprawling estate where he enjoyed taking his Arabian stallions for a brisk run each morning. Braeden was about to answer in the affirmative and put another fork full of food into his mouth when his grandmother paused his appetite.

‘Hampton, good morning.’

He stared as her cane poked into the expensive carpet. ‘Grandmeré,’ he set down his knife and fork.

‘I wish to pay calls this morning,’ she met his eyes squarely.

‘I shall arrange a chaise for you,’ he swallowed his coffee.

‘I would like you to accompany me,’ she instructed.

Appetite lost, Braeden groaned into his napkin. He knew what her plan was, to line up eligible maidens for him. Would Lady Fallon be on that imaginary list?