Having suffered sufficient self banishment, Fallon unwilling returned to Lady Beckinsdale's drawing room. She was further infuriated to see her sibling and the dolt sitting huddled together, chuckling about something. The dowager, Lady Beckinsdale and Baroness Fulham were deep in conversation about some matter. Braeden looked up where she stood at the entrance to the drawing room. Emma stopped chuckling. Her cheeks were aglow. Braeden's eyes mocked Fallon.

Fallon lifted her chin and strode purposefully to where the three ladies were stationed. She was going to regret this later, but something harkened her to occupy the vacant seat next to the dowager. Fallon could quite easily guess why her sister was looking so enamoured. Ignoring the vacant seat next to Braeden, Fallon purposefully strode to the sofa her mother was sharing with Lady Beckinsdale and lowered herself in the uncomfortable space between the two ladies. Baroness Fulham stopped in mid conversation, sensing from her younger daughter's body language that Fallon was in a pelter about something.

'Would you like more tea, dear?' Her mother's eyes narrowed warningly in Fallon's direction.

'No thank you,' Fallon answered, crossing her hands on her lap. Her eyes travelled to the opposite sofa and found Braeden's eyes trained on her again. A sardonic gleam flared in his eyes. For some stupid reason, heat flooded over her face. He smiled in that cock sure way. What amused that jingle brained coxcomb so?

Unbeknownst to Fallon, The Dowager was acutely observing her without her eyes even trained in Fallon's direction. The Dowager wondered if she was correct. What had transpired before the younger Brightmore girl had stormed off towards the balcony? Now she paid scant attention to her beloved grandson. What was wrong with her? She had seen maidens and ladies alike stare with intent at her grandson and this chit bothered not to offer him even due courtesy.

She sensed her grandson held some interest in the Lady Fallon. Before Braeden had masked his eyes, she had seen something akin to healthy male interest reflected there. Braeden was not overly enthusiastic when he accompanied her, but as a well bred gentleman, he portrayed polite interest whenever he did accompany his grandmother. Yet just now, she had observed, not only a light flicker in her grandson's eyes, he had actually stood up and followed the chit when she had been paying much interest at the valuable Beckinsdale artwork. So she knew good art ... interesting.

The Dowager smiled inwardly. The younger Brightmore wench was certainly the kind of lady she wanted to see on her grandson's arm. Lady Fallon had spirit, spoke her mind, would never pander to her grandson's whims and her body would be pleasing to her grandson, she knew that. But would she settle for an earl, or was she aiming higher?

Fallon was fuming inwardly when she looked up to see Braeden on his feet extending his arm to Emma, who seemed to smile adoringly up at Braeden.

'We're walking in the garden mama,' Emma informed her mother in a breathless voice, barely concealing her excitement.

'Do not stray too far,' her mother cautioned even though her daughters' maid was on hand to chaperone Emma.

Fallon tried to ignore Braeden's insensitive gesture, though why she thought it insensitive, she could not substantiate, because if some gentleman invited her to go walking, she would most certainly have accepted the offer. Pretending not to notice Braeden and Emma leaving, Fallon reached for a biscuit and helped herself to more tea. She did not want to drink the tea, she would much rather muddy his face with it.

'Delightful, don't you think?' the dowager murmured to Fallon, her eyes admiringly on her grandson.

I knew I was going to regret taking this seat.

'They really are delicious biscuits,' Fallon took a bigger bite, her eyes meeting the dowager's.

Fallon heard the spontaneous crackle of laughter and smirked into her teacup.

'Are you going to accept the Duke of Baxendale's offer?'

Fallon almost choked on her tea. She could not help her eyes flying to meet the dowager's inquisitive ones.

'Oh nothing in the ton escapes my attention,' she smiled wickedly. It did not reach her eyes.

Fallon set down her cup, putting on a big smile. 'What young lady would say no to becoming an esteemed duchess?' The Duke is arguably the wealthiest and most eligible in the ton,' Fallon continued to goad the dowager.

'Mmm,' the dowager grumbled, thinking her grandson, the most prized, 'but the duke is not attractive like ___.'

'Good afternoon everybody,' Lady Carissa waked in like a breath of fresh hair.

'Good afternoon,' Fallon was up like a bolt of lightning. She embraced Carissa warmly.

'I am so bored,' Fallon whispered in Carissa's ears.

'Our dear Braeden losing his touch?' Carissa whispered in her ear.

'What?' Fallon exclaimed.

'Hello, Lady Carissa,' Braeden and Emma returned.

'Hello my lord,' Carissa extracted herself, ignoring Fallon's question. She greeted Braeden with an enthusiastic embrace.

'Good afternoon Lady Emma,' Carissa smiled. 'So sorry to arrive late.'

'Come and have some tea dear,' Lady Beckinsdale invited.

'Thank you Lady Beckinsdale,' Carissa sat down, after greeting the dowager and Baroness Fulham. 'I had to attend to a horse with foal,' she offered for her late arrival.

'Everything go well?' Braeden enquired, standing near the fire place.

'Yes, thank you, father is there now. It gave me the opportunity to escape,' she laughed pleasantly.

They enjoyed more drinks and cakes, and when the conversations died down, Carissa asked, ''Are we all meeting at Lady Parsnips ball then?'

There were affirmations from everybody around the drawing room. Braeden had not responded, his eyes trained on Fallon, neither had she, her eyes were glaring at him icily.

'Mama may we take our leave?' Fallon murmured softly.

The baroness looked up surprised. She assumed Fallon would have wanted to stay longer now that her friend Carissa had arrived.

'Please?' Fallon pleaded.

'Okay dear,' the baroness wondered if her younger daughter was feeling under the weather.

Fallon sat on the single sofa in her chamber, peering out the window as the mid-morning sun was spilling into the room. A bleakness passed over her face.

I should stop thinking of him.

What was wrong with her? She was not one to sit about and mope. She should go out; to the lending library, or ride in the park; or something. She hoped to shake the morbid mood she was in. A chamber maid knocked on Fallon's door, announcing Lady Carissa.

'Morning,' Fallon smiled, greeting her friend.

'I do apologize for arriving without notice,' Carissa took Fallon's hands, 'but I was concerned about you yesterday.'

'I am fine, thank you,' Fallon smiled. Holding Carissa's hand, she led her to the sofa in the drawing room.

'Are you sure?' Carissa was suspicious. 'You were so unusually quiet.'

'I was just tired,' Fallon lied.

'Lady Carissa,' Emma rushed into the room enthusiastically.

'Hello,' Carissa stood up and embraced Emma.

'Thank you for visiting,' Emma smiled happily.

'I was just concerned about this one,' Carissa nudged Fallon's elbow.

'I am fine,' Fallon laughed.

'I had a lovely afternoon yesterday,' Emma smiled mischievously.

Fallon rolled her eyes as Emma sat down on the other side of Carissa.

'I noticed,' Carissa laughed. 'You and Braeden taking a romantic stroll in the garden.

'No___,' Emma gushed. 'It was not like that.'

Oh what was it like? Fallon's accusing eyes questioned her sister.

How could Emma defend herself? Braeden was not the one she'd she set her cap on. She was not yet ready to disclose her feelings for Arthur Burward. She did not understand why Braeden had invited her to a walk, but she was too well bred and polite to decline the invite and she liked Braeden as a friend, and he was a gentleman. Their conversation in the garden was about the Parsnip ball. Braeden was curious and enquired what time they would arrive and said he was looking forward to being there. Emma hoped Braeden was not developing an interest in her, it would be so wasted. Emma wished she could be bold and confident like Fallon, who was always the centre of attention at every social function.

'I think he is rather dashing,' Emma heard Carissa giggle.

'Does Drew know you are already hunting, when you've scare given him a heir?'Fallon narrowed her eyes at her friend.

'Fallon!' Emma exclaimed, red faced for her sister's impolite accusation.

Carissa just laughed. 'Fallon, darling, you know Drew is the one I want,' she linked her hand in Fallon's. 'But let us be honest here, Braeden is definitely the most attractive of the lot.'

'Bag of moonshine!' Fallon rubbished Carissa's claim, though secretly, she concurred with Carissa. 'I shall be informing my friend that you are lusting after Hampton.'

'Oh Drew lacks no confidence where I am concerned,' Carissa laughed.

'Are you two seeing a lot of each other then?' Emma smiled, as Fallon had not responded to Carissa's comment.

'Thanks to Fallon,' Carissa smiled, tapping Fallon's arm in acknowledgement. 'Drew is a remarkable gentleman.'

'Has the marquis offered then?' Emma asked sotto voice.

'No,' Carissa laughed. 'Not yet,' her eyes met Emma's, 'but I do hope he does so soon.'

'So ___ why are you so confident that the marquis ___?'

'Emma!' Fallon rolled her eyes.

'What?' Emma asked self consciously, looking shamefaced.

'It is obvious even to the blind, how Carissa feels about Drew.'

'How can it be obvious to the blind___?'

Carissa's soft laugh interrupted Emma's question, 'Perhaps more interesting is what you and Hampton were in conversation about in the Lady Beckinsdale's garden?' Carissa teased.

Yeah spill the beans! Fallon was most curious, but had not asked her sister. She did not want Emma guessing her curious interest in that rake.

'Just polite conversation,' Emma smiled innocently. 'He said he was looking forward to Lady Parsnip's ball. He asked me to save a dance,' she shrugged her shoulders. 'He did not specify any preference.'

No doubt you will be saving a waltz for him! Fallon sulked inwardly.

Carissa looked enquiringly from Fallon to Emma. 'Do you think Hampton will ever offer for a lady?'

Fallon's first thought was no. She did not speak, curious about Emma's response.

'He is rather dashing,' Emma grinned. 'He should.'

'If he does find somebody, she will have hell to deal with, with the dowager countess,' Carissa threw in.

'The countess is not that bad,' Fallon stated.

Carissa and Emma stared at each other oddly. 'Fallon, she is a real ___ battleaxe,' Carissa murmured.

'Oh, under the wolf's exterior, she is like a lamb,' Fallon replied, with a smile.

Emma and Carissa laughed. 'Only you Fallon will think the countess a lamb. Grown men, shiver before her,' Carissa stated.

'Enough of the Hampton's,' Fallon dismissed. 'Let's talk about Lady Parsnips Ball.'

'I do believe every duke in the ton and his mother is going to be there,' Carissa smiled wickedly.

Emma and Fallon laughed.

'Fallon and I have already ordered our gowns,' Emma smiled. 'Mine is a scarlet gauze brocaded with white silken flowers. I guess Fallon is going to be secretive as always.'

Fallon shrugged. 'The two of you find talking about gowns interesting. I do prefer more intellectually stimulating topics.'

'Oh I do believe you like to keep the impact of your entrance dramatic,' Carissa laughed. 'Nevertheless, I am happy to mention, I will be wearing a Castilian robe of pearl grey sarsnet, elegantly trimmed, I'm told, with pink satin___ the gown is fabulous,' Carissa sighed pleasurably.

'Oh Carissa you look adorable in pink,' Fallon hugged Carissa's arm.

'Still not telling?' Carissa grinned.

'No,' Fallon grinned back mischievously.

At Lady Parsnips Ball, Braeden was speechless. His eyes widened. He could not take his eyes of Fallon. She was in a bright gown, blue like the ocean, on a hot summer's day ... just like her eyes, when she smiled. He inhaled. How beautifully it fitted her bosom and curved around her tiny waist and again expanded over her ample hips...delightful.

He had not yet entered the ballroom itself. He was merely a foot in at the entrance way. Lady Fallon looks magnificent. Braeden's eyes drank in her extravagant gown a sapphire blue crepe frock over grey coloured satin, exquisitely round the border with tulle, blond, and garlands of roses with a wreath à-la-Flore round the hair. She looks delightful.

'Do not announce me,' Braeden instructed.

The butler looked surprised. 'You are an earl! It is proper I do, my lord.'

'Not tonight,' he brushed past and walked to the drinks table. He was going to need it.

Fallon turned around, her eyes arching at the entrance way. She could not understand why she had been drawn to turn at look there, for there were just the butler and a footman receiving the guests, nobody else. Her flesh broke out in goose bumps. The air seemed charged, but she knew not why?

Where is that rake? Why is he not here yet? Has he changed his mind perhaps?

Fallon scanned the ballroom trying to find a tall strapping gentleman, that would easily stand head and shoulders above the rest. She saw none. Braeden being the powerful, confident lord that he was, would circle the ballroom and greet everybody he knew. She knew he was polite that way. So obviously he has not yet arrived. No doubt still in the arms of a paramour!

'My lady,' the Duke of Baxendale towered over Fallon.

Fallon would prefer the earth to open up and swallow her whole. He was so not one of the gentlemen she wanted to encounter, so early in the evening.

'Your Grace, good evening,' Fallon smiled politely, only too conscious of her mother just behind her shoulder.

'May I have your card please,' he held out his hand. 'You have not filled it yet have you?' he enquired hopefully.

'No Fallon has not Your Grace, and good evening,' the baroness' spoke on Fallon's behalf. Fallon had secured a few of the more social dances, where distance would not allow intimate conversations. It was the waltz that she had been saving for a certain somebody.

'If I may, will you allow me the first waltz and the one just before dinner?' he ticked her card anyway, before she even formed the words to deny him.

Fallon would not admit to it, but she had intended to keep the waltz before dinner open. That way if Braeden should unexpectedly ask her to dance, she would have only that one available and he could walk her into supper as well, not that she would have confessed to that even if her life depended on it. Now that the duke had asked for her card, she could not lie to him. He would see for himself they were open, even if it had been secretly reserved for that damn infuriating rake.

'Thank you,' he bowed elaborately and disappeared.

The baroness turned towards Fallon and smiled delightedly. 'I do think the duke has his eye on you dear.' He will certainly be a desirable catch for one of my daughters.

Fallon said nothing. She did not want the duke. She cared nought for his title or his wealth. IF she accepted an offer and IF one was forthcoming from a certain rake, then she may consider marriage.

As the evening progressed, Fallon hardly had a chance to sit. She danced every dance with different partners. Even her sister seemed to be having a spectacular evening. Fallon could see Emma laughing and conversing happily with just about everybody.

Fallon had finally spotted Braeden when she was dancing with Drew Frewer. He had been teasing her about the attention she was getting from the Duke of Baxendale. Fallon had laughed, pretending she was enamored by the duke's attention. It was then that she had spotted Braeden talking to two gentlemen. He had smiled mockingly and waved his glass in her direction. Annoyed that he had not approached her for a single dance, Fallon had ignored him and focused her attention on Drew.

As the evening progressed, Fallon was increasingly developing a severe bout of disappointment. She wanted at least one dance with Braeden, but he had not ventured in her direction. When Fallon encountered Emma at the drinks table, Emma had delighted in informing Fallon she had enjoyed a waltz with Braeden.

Damn varl. Cursed spawn of satan...

It was the quadrille before the supper. Fallon dragged herself disappointedly to where her mother stood to await the duke. She wished this night was over. She should have rather stayed home. She was not enjoying the ball. She had danced for every song played so far, yet she felt empty, lost, lonely.

'Good evening, my lady Fallon,' Braeden stood charmingly in front of her, tall, dark, arrestingly dapper, by far the most well dressed gentleman at the ball tonight.

Fallon's eyes widened. She looked around the room and could not see the duke anywhere.

'I know you would much prefer to dance with the duke,' Braeden mocked, 'but he has an emergency and had to hurry home. 'He asked me to honor his dances with you.'

Fallon barely managed to contain her enthusiasm. She was dumbfounded for once in her life.

Braeden held out his hand. 'I know you want nothing to do with me my lady, but I must honour the duke's request. Shall we?'

'Had I known, I would have made the excuse of a migraine and departed myself,' she spoke softly only for his benefit.

Nevertheless, she accepted his hand, placing hers in his huge palm. Her flesh tingled. His hand closed tightly around hers, leading her to the dance floor. Fallon wanted to speak, wanted to show Braeden that she was no nincompoop, but words failed her.

Fallon followed his lead silently. She felt the strength of his left arm at her upper back comforting. Even though his body was the respectable appropriate distance away from her, she felt the heat of his body deflecting onto hers. It excited her, also his warm breath with a tinge of brandy ...caressed her cheek. It roused her senses.

The ball was in full swing. The room was noisy and crowded. Laughter and gaiety filled the air from the couples on the dance floor.

Braeden's eyes were mesmerized as he gazed at her. Her eyes was so incredibly blue, her hair golden like the wheat covering his land. She was a portrait of perfection

The women he usually entertained were too content to have his escort. They would never challenge, or rebuff him, unlike this vixen who would prefer a migraine to dancing with him. His hands slid over the contours of her back, his finger tips touching her hips, drawing them closer. It irked him, the tight set of her jaw, as if she would rather not be in his arms.

'Is that Friday Face, because your duke had departed?' Braeden murmured, as he twirled her about.

'I do not have a Friday face?' her cheeks burned. On the contrary, she was not sad about Baxendale. It was being in Braeden's arms that had her tongue-eyed. She was afraid Braeden would be able to read, the pleasure her body felt, being in his arms.