'Fallon, I demand to know what is going on?' Lady Carissa sat down next to her friend in the Sunflower Room. The room was bathed in the glowing warm morning sun, enhancing it to a bright yellow, hence it's flowery name.

'Whatever do you mean?' Fallon avoided meeting Carissa's eyes.

'Last night, you hardly danced. You looked pensive, and I have to say, you looked as if something was troubling you,' Carissa took Fallon's hand.

'I had a good time last night,' Fallon lied.

' You hardly danced! You spent more of the evening, with your mother.'

'I danced with Lord Dunbar.'

'That hardly counts.'

'Why?' Fallon laughed.

'Drew, is more your friend than I am,' Carissa accused.

Fallon smiled fondly. 'When are you two going to wed?'

'I do believe you are changing the subject.'

Fallon breathed heavily, though she did observe the hint of pleasure in her friend’s eyes at the mention of her and Drew marrying. ' Look, I danced once with Viscount Thumpston.'

'He belongs to your sister.'

'He does?'

'Not officially,' Carissa laughed softly. 'But it is obvious even to a bat that those two are in love.'

Fallon hid her surprise. She had been so caught up in her own emotional battle, she had not realized her own sister was in love. And why hadn't Emma said anything? Fallon made a mental note to question her sister at a later stage when they were alone.

'Fallon?'

'Um... Yes?'

'Please tell me you have not set your cap on Arthur Burward.'

'What! No! Of course not.'

'Good.' Carissa let out a sigh of relief.

'Why ever would you think, it was Burward, I had an interest in?'

'So there is somebody?'

'No!’ Fallon lied and quickly stood up. 'I was just shocked that of all the gentlemen, you would think of Burward.'

Carissa laughed. 'Well, I know it is not my Drew,' she whispered, ' so it only leaves Braeden Kerrich the twelfth earl of Hampton; Chilton Wenthworth, the Duke of Baxedale or young Sir Neels Orway,’ she listed dramatically. ‘You could not be interested in any of those three, could you?'

Fallon hoped her face did not betray her true feelings. ‘I refuse to engage in a process of elimination with you,’ her face coloured lightly.

Carissa laughed affectionately. ‘You are far too secretive Fallon dear.’

In the days that followed, Fallon’s mood did not lift. She stubbornly refused to respond to all the invitations that arrived, resulting in Emma and her mother attending without her.

She spent each morning in the garden, reading and enjoying the sun and the rest of the day cooped up in her chamber. She could not stop thinking about Braeden or their intimate and passionate encounter in the barn. Did every lady feel that way after the first time with a man? Why was it so emotionally draining? Why did it affect a lady that way, as if a part of your life was taken away? Did men feel the same? Certainly not Braeden, he seemed totally unaffected. So much so, that he had scorned at her eagerness at them meeting again. How presumptuous and foolish she had been?

Each evening Fallon had to suffer listening to Emma’s overly zealous recounting of the day’s social events and the enthusiastic reports, of who all was and was not in attendance. And most noteworthy as far as Emma was concerned, was that though the Earl of Hampton had also been invited, many in the ton were disappointed at his unusual absence at two or three of the prominent socials they had attended.

It was as if Braeden had suspected Fallon would be there and added further insult to injury, by deliberately keeping away ensuring he avoided any opportunity to clash with her. Perhaps it was time to put an end to this self-banishment and rejoin the social circles. How much longer was she going to hide in her chamber?

‘Mama, I do not want to attend the Countess’s Spring Ball.’

Though Fallon had mentally made the decision to socialize again, she had not contemplated the very first function she would be forced to attend, would be at Braeden’s home. How could she make her parent understand that that; was like a slap to her face?

‘Fallon Brightmore, we are not having this discussion.’

‘I have a headache,’ Fallon lied.

The Baroness Fulham stared at her younger daughter with controlled annoyance. She knew this day her daughter did not have a headache, but it was more a show of her all too frequent rebellion.

‘Pray tell me Fallon, why you wish to snub the Dowager Countess of Hampton?’ The baroness could hardly breathe easily. ‘She is a very important member of the ton and your absence will surely be construed as an insult to her and the Earl himself.’

‘You know I hate these balls,’ Fallon scowled. ‘I hate the dressing up and I hate being on display like a pound of horseflesh just for the gentlemen’s benefit. I am not in the mood to play nice, nice or to dance today.’ She turned her back on her mother.

‘Well,’ her mother asserted with finality. ‘It is a good thing the decision is up to your papa and not you and he has already confirmed our attendance. The earl and the dowager countess are expecting the four of us and you are attending and that is final.’

‘As long as you and papa attend, they will not really miss me,’ Fallon tried a last ditch attempt at avoiding a face to face encounter with Braeden.

To see him again would be torture, but in his own home that was cruel. Why could he not have left them out of this function? Surely he did not want her there just as she did not want to go.’

‘You papa has informed me of this foolhardy notion of yours not to wed. I will not tolerate it Fallon Brightmore. Now make haste and get dressed. Wear your new burgundy gown,’ her mother instructed and have Louis pin up your hair,’ the baroness marched out of Fallon’s chamber.

Fallon stared with piercing eyes at the closed door. She was furious. She did not want to go to the Hampton’s Spring Ball and she did not want to look into Braeden’s cold, unwelcoming eyes. She would want to scream if she saw him in the arms of another lady or his eyes dancing merriment as he smiled at another. She knew he would not touch her or want to dance with her. How could she stomach all of that? I am not going! I will just settle for my punishment.

Braeden had made a point of ignoring her at Almack’s the previous week. He had deliberately not danced with her, had not sought her company. Why were her parents doing this to her? Didn’t they know how humiliating it would be to enter his home, when he did not want her there? And what if the dowager countess was having this ball to announce her grandson’s imminent betrothal to somebody? Fallon would just die of ignominy and disappointment.

Oh Braeden, why? Why had I been so foolish? How could I have thought I could lay with you and that it would not hurt me afterwards? What is happening to me? How did I change? I never cared previously about the thoughts of others. Why am I letting this arrogant inconsiderate brute ruin my future? Why don’t I just put him behind me, forget about him, wipe away the memory of our coupling.

She shivered in the cold evening. Though the hot bricks had been stacked around the carriage for warmth, she was still cold, too cold inside where her heart was. She was certain it was not the evening chill, more the anxiety of coming face to face with Braeden that left her cold to the bone.

Overhearing the conversations between her mother and Emma next to her, Fallon deliberately did not participate. They were wondering who would be at the Hampton’s Spring Ball. They were also discussing the gowns they would wear to the opera on Saturday night. Fallon cringed silently. Could they not be silent? Their lives were like a monotonous spinning wheel, attending the same social events and meeting the same stiff necked members of the ton.

When their carriage stopped outside the Hampton Estate, Fallon delayed for as long as possible in the carriage. Lanterns were alight on either side of the stairway that led to the entrance of the luxurious Hampton home. Through the window of the carriage, Fallon saw the Hampton’s doorman awaiting them. She suspected Braeden would be just inside waiting to receive them.

The baron and baroness stepped out and Emma followed. The door opened. Another footman was at the door, but it was the tall, broad shouldered gentleman next to the footman that caught Fallon’s attention. As she alighted the carriage, Fallon tried to keep her eyes away from him, but she could not. As usual he was smartly dressed. He looked handsome in his expertly tailored long tailed coat. His fashionable trousers in expensive cloth clung to the well-defined shape of his upper legs. He stood tall and erect like a brave soldier.

Braeden greeted the baron and baroness warmly. Fallon waited for Emma to precede her up the short flight of stairs. Again, Braeden smiled charmingly at Emma. He held Emma’s hands with the required decorum, enquired if the ride to his home had been pleasant. Fallon held her breath, dreading the moment when it would be her turn to go through the torturous pleasantries.

She was pleasantly surprised to see Drew Frewer standing next to Braeden. She could not help the spontaneous sigh of relief and smiled at her friend. Drew winked naughtily at Fallon. She wondered if Carissa was also here. Standing next to Drew was Arthur Burward and Fallon watched with interest the reaction between her sister and Burward. It was true. Good heavens, it was true. They were in love. They could hardly keep their eyes of each other. Fallon watched them secretly stealing glances and sending awkward smiles to each other. Emma’s cheeks were tinged pink. She kept lowering her head like a shy bride on her wedding day.

‘Good evening Lady Fallon.’

Braeden thought the Lady Fallon had outdone herself tonight. She looked ravishingly stunning. Her gown was the colour of his favourite red wine. The gown was elegant with primrose-coloured crape petticoat over white satin, ornamented at the feet with a deep border of tulle trimmed with blond lace and more primrose-coloured ribband, festooned and decorated with roses with a French scarf. She looked beautiful and breath-taking. Braeden thought all the lady folk were well dressed tonight, but the Lady Fallon looked spectacular by far.

Fallon’s head jerked up. She observed the amused smiled in Braeden’s eyes.

‘It seems my sister has set her cap on Viscount Thumpston.’

Fallon was surprised at Braeden’s soft laughter.

‘Have you only just noticed?’ Braeden casually reached for her hand and courteously placed it on his arm.

Fallon’s reaction was swift. Heat rushed through her body. Her fingers tingled at the touch of his muscular flesh. She held her breath and waited for the sensation to subside. It was taking its own sweet time. Braeden nodded to the footman who promptly closed the front door.

‘Whatever has had you distracted my lady? Braeden grinned.

‘I was not distracted,’ Fallon mumbled. ‘I did know,’ she lied. Technically she only came to know when Carissa brought it to her attention.

‘Would you like to greet my grandmother?’ Braeden suggested. ‘I think Lady Carissa needs rescuing.’

‘Lady Carissa is here?’ Fallon smiled happily.

‘Yes,’ Braeden led Fallon in the direction of the open ballroom, when the dowager countess was sitting very regally in a magnificently cushioned sofa with Carissa pretending to be engrossed in conversation with the battle axe.

‘I do believe,’ Braden lowered his voice to Fallon’s ear, ‘that Lady Carissa will be of the marriage mart soon, due to the increasing attention of a certain marquis.’

Seriously, was this Braeden Kerrich? This gentleman at her side could not be that cold loathsome; libertine…rogue…reprobate.

Fallon stopped walking. She just stared in surprise at Braeden. She had thought coming to him would be untenable, but so far the evening was pleasant she cautiously observed.

‘Lady Fallon, perhaps I should be a gentleman and offer you a drink first?’

‘You have no more guests to receive?’ She enquired, as her hand was still comfortably tucked in the crook of his arm and Braden showed no sign of being in a hurry to leave her side.

‘You were the last guests to arrive,’ Braeden smiled as he signaled to one of the drinks attendants. ‘So my welcoming duties are completed,’ he handed her a flute of chilled champagne. ‘I am entitled to be at the disposal of the fairest lady here tonight,’ he murmured.

As they were standing in the Hampton ballroom with easily about twenty people in attendance, Fallon did not need a chaperone to be talking with this gentleman, especially since her own parents were a mere five feet from where she stood.

Fallon warmed to Braeden’s flattering compliment. ‘You are far too polite my lord. Whatever has happened to the real Braeden Kerrich?’

Braeden laughed easily. ‘You do look lovely tonight my lady,’ he clinked his glass to hers.

‘So will you be next my lord?’ Fallon’s eyes challenged him.

‘I am afraid I do not follow my lady,’ he swallowed thirstily from his glass.

Fallon watched the bubbles spurt about in her glass, before her eyes met his. ‘You mention Viscount Burward and the Marquis Frewer were about to make offers. Will you be next then?’

Braeden’s eyes locked with hers. Whatever had possessed her to make that bold enquiry? She tried to tear her eyes away, but her eyes were fixed on his like a magnet. Fallon held her breath. She waited for Braeden to speak, either to tell her to mind her own business or to throw her out of his house, but he did neither. His eyes were trained on her, not angry or dismissive but certainly unreadable.

Fallon could hear the soft voices around her. Her parents were now in conversation with the dowager countess. Emma was talking softly to Burward. Her soft laughter reached Fallon’s ears. Why had she not earlier noticed that Chilton Wentworth, the Duke of Baxendale was also here in Braeden’s home?

‘Should I offer for you, my lady?’

‘What!’ Fallon exclaimed with shock.

Braeden maneuvered their positions, so that he was hidden between two leafy potted plants, but Fallon’s back was still clearly visible to everybody else in the ballroom. He lifted her hand, calculatingly removed her glove. His lips touched every one of her fingers. She shivered. Her soft gasp of pleasure did not escape him. She snatched her hand away. Braeden laughed. ‘Propriety?’ He mocked. ‘Is it not too late?’ His dark eyes burned over her flesh.

This rogue could not hide his true colours long enough.

Her cheeks burned somewhat crimson. ‘You should be gentleman enough not to talk about that,’ she hissed.

He laughed softly. ‘It is a conversation only with you,’ he murmured. ‘And you have not answered me,’ he reminded her.

‘What are you talking about?’ She was all flustered from his sensuous touch and she had forgotten the question he had asked.

‘Should I make an offer for you?’ He repeated.

Fallon stared dumbfounded. ‘Why?’ She challenged.

Braeden drank unhurriedly from his glass. ‘Because I deflowered you,’ he whispered.

Fallon gasped. He had spoken softly, but she had heard him explicitly. ‘Is that the reason you wish to make the offer?’

Braeden twirled the glass in his hand and studied it as the champagne spun around. Fallon felt her own head spinning giddily just like the champagne.

‘Should there be any other reason?’ He questioned mockingly.

‘No,’ she spat out. ‘And no, do not offer and also take note that I shall not agree to an offer from you. I think you and I have run out of pleasantries, don’t you?’

It was too good to be true. This varl… obnoxious rake was hopeless. He was a disgrace to the ton. He had no business being a gentleman.

‘I would like to greet your grandmother,’ Fallon instructed.

‘As you wish my lady,’ he bowed elaborately. With his hand at her lower back, he led her to his grandmother.

-end chapter nine-