‘Lady Fallon!’ The dowager smiled with pleasurable surprise. If she thought the visit at such an early hour inappropriate, her face or manner did not reflect it. ‘Why ___ how lovely ___.’

‘Lady Fallon has come to visit, grandmère,’ Braeden intervened, his eyes locking meaningfully on Fallon’s, not to reveal the true nature of her visit.

He was attempting damage control before Fallon could discover that his very fit and able grandmère was not sick at all. Fallon seemed to have grasped the silent meaning in his eyes. She presumed the dowager was going to play down whatever ailment was troubling her.

‘I can see Lady Fallon has come to visit Hampton. I might be on with age but I am not blind!’

‘No you’re not grandmère,’ he conceded, lowering his eyes awkwardly when he caught Fallon smirking behind her gloves.

‘Well, do not keep Lady Fallon standing. Show her to a seat and ring for refreshments. I am sure she is thirsty.’

‘Yes, I am ___ thirsty,’ Fallon thought to add salt to the wound.

‘Yes ma’am,’ Braeden acknowledged his grandmère and tugged on the bell pull.

A maid soon appeared with a tray of drinks and sweetmeats for the dowager and her guest.

‘Is this why you’ve cancelled your trip?’ The dowager questioned her grandson.

‘Whatever do you mean grandmère?’ Braeden continued stirring his tea not looking at either of the ladies, so he could not see Fallon’s eyes narrowing at him accusingly.

‘Last night you informed me you were taking a trip to Devon very early this morning; yet here you still are, even though half the morning is over.’

Braeden continued stirring his tea, with his head lowered. ‘Two of my grooms are sick as cushions,’ he murmured, so I have postponed the trip.’

‘There seems to be a serious case of illness on the Hampton estate,’ Fallon taunted curiously.

Braeden was forced to meet her cold suspicious eyes.

‘Best you take measures to ensure it does not ensnare you as well my lord,’ Fallon smile acidly.

‘Who else is ill?’ The dowager questioned.

Braeden quickly rose to his feet, abandoning his tea without taking a sip. ‘Lady Fallon would you care to walk in the garden?’ He offered her his arm invitingly.

‘I am here to see your grandmother, not you,’ Fallon arched her eyebrows at him questioningly.

They were gazing into each other’s eyes, neither giving way when the dowager’s soft laughter rung in the air, bringing them back to reality. Fallon looked away uncomfortably.

‘Grandmère’ would you mind terribly if I steal Lady Fallon into the gardens?’ Braeden tucked Fallon’s arm in his and smiled charmingly at his grandparent, knowing she would not deny him.

‘I don’t have a problem, unless Lady Fallon expressly does not wish for your company Hampton,’ she stated ‘and I forbid your escort against her will.’

Braeden’s arm fell. He remembered all too clearly how that savage duke, Baxendale had tried to force his way with Fallon…His Fallon. Braeden would never do anything so despicable as to hold a lady against her will. That was unthinkable. He could be accused of much, but he had never needed to force himself on a lady, not ever previously and neither would he start now.

Fallon looked up and saw the ashen look on Braeden’s face. She knew that he was thinking of the night at the opera when he’d mercifully rescued her from that vile specimen Chilton Wentworth, not that Fallon was not guilty of any wrongdoing. She had known not to step out with Chilton and against her sister’s wise counsel, had she chosen to foolishly venture out into the dark with Chilton.

As Fallon stared into Braeden’s eyes now, she wished she could erase that pallid look on his face. She longed to reach out and cup his face, but she could not, not whilst the dowager observed them all too keenly like an eagle.

Louis her maid was in the Hampton kitchen having her refreshments. Fallon determined to have a moment alone with Braeden. She smiled at him, tucked her arm in his again and looked at the dowager. ‘I would like a breath of air under the sun, but only for a short while,’ she added, for Braeden’s reference.

He recovered quickly enough offering Fallon a rewarding smile as he led her out in his magnificent gardens.

‘You lied to me,’ she accused when they were alone in the garden.

‘How so?’ He teased with a seductive smile, knowing exactly the accusation she leveled at him.

‘You told me your grandmother was unwell and that she needed company.’

‘Did I really?’ He questioned with a solemn look on his face.

Fallon looked away. It was troublesome staring into his mesmerizing eyes for too long. She tried to rack her brain to remember the conversation he had been busy having with her father, when she had interrupted. She now clearly recalled that it was her father that had said that the dowager was unwell. It had not been Braeden.

Braeden smiled. He saw the expression change in her eyes and knew she remembered it was not him that had spun the yard, but rather her own father.

‘Still you lied by omission,’ she murmured somewhat unconvincingly. ‘You could have corrected papa.’

Braeden laughed, taking her hand to his lips. ‘At least I get to see you my lady,’ he murmured, pressing his lips to her soft skin.

‘You could have asked me in the correct manner,’ she snatched her hand away, when his lips were taking too many liberties.

‘And you would have said no, no doubt,’ he replied.

Fallon’s cheeks grew warm. He was right. She would have denied him, what with the angry manner she had adopted towards him.

‘I should go back inside, I am without my chaperone,’ Fallon mumbled.

Braeden laughed softly.

‘What humours you so?’ She berated.

‘Grandmère’ will hardly tell the patronesses, you were in the garden inappropriately in my company without a chaperone,’ he smiled.

‘It is not the patronesses I care about,’ Fallon hissed. ‘It’s your grandmother.’

‘Very well,’ he sighed, ‘but you have nothing to worry about. Grandmère’ has a high regard for you,’ he took both her hands in his.

‘Really?’ Fallon struggled unsuccessfully to release her hands. She knew the dowager did not dislike her, but she hardly believed she was held in high regard. It was laughable. Respectable Emma would be held in high regard, never Fallon.

‘Do unhand me,’ Fallon demanded.

‘In a minute,’ he murmured, pulling her into his arms.

‘What are you doing?’

Fallon pressed her palms forcefully against his chest, but he did not answer, instead, his lips sought hers in a passionate kiss. Fallon’s hands abandoned their fight to restrain him, her fingers curled on his chest, her lips parted, her head angled as their tongues met in a fiery, passionate kiss. Braeden clutched her tightly, deepening the passionate kiss. She sighed, pressing into him, and was disappointed when Braeden gently stepped back.

‘You wish to rejoin grandmère,’ he spoke breathlessly, offering her his arm.

Emotions in tatters, she screamed silently but nodded, her dark eyes meeting his, still blazing with lustful desire. She ran her tongue over her swollen lip.

‘Wait!’ Fallon called out softly, as Braeden began walking.

Braeden looked at Fallon and saw she was taking a few seconds to right her breathing. He chuckled softly.

‘Don’t do that ever again,’ she instructed, shifting her eyes away from his.

‘You kissed me back,’ he smugly whispered as they re-entered the room. Fallon dug her elbow into his side painfully.

Fallon enjoyed a lovely lunch with the dowager and Braeden. What she enjoyed more was the way Braeden silently suffered a barrage of bantering from his grandmother. The dowager was most entertained because Fallon joined her at every opportunity in attacking Braeden. The dowager’s admiration of Fallon grew in bounds, unlike all the other ladies Braeden entertained who sat silently or boringly agreed with every word or suggestion her grandson uttered. Now this young lady would make an excellent countess…if only her adorable grandson would pluck up the courage and make an offer to the charming Lady Fallon.

It was late afternoon when the baron returned to collect his daughter. Fallon was somewhat tired. It had been a long day, but she had had a most enjoyable time and was disappointed that she would have to part company with Braeden.

‘Good afternoon Dowager Countess,’ the baron greeted.

‘Good afternoon Baron Fulham,’ the dowager responded. ‘We have had a most exciting day.’

Fallon watched curiously as the baron’s eyes shifted to Braeden who shook his head almost imperceptibly, but Fallon saw the mysterious exchange and found it odd.

‘I hope you will both be joining us at our elder daughter’s betrothal function this Saturday week,’ the baron enquired.

‘I shan’t miss it for anything,’ the dowager agreed wholeheartedly.

Fallon’s eyes met Braeden’s. She hoped he would be there. She wanted him there.

‘I have already sent a footman, confirming our attendance,’ Braeden nodded at the baron.

‘Good,’ the baron nodded. ‘We are looking forward to the evening. Shall we?’ He smiled at his daughter.

Fallon nodded, though she was silently ecstatic. ‘Goodbye Dowager Countess,’ Fallon kissed her cheek briefly. I have had a pleasant day with you,’ she smiled mischievously.

‘And I with you,’ the dowager grinned. ‘We must do it again.’

‘Yes of course,’ Fallon smiled, then stopped smiling when she saw her father and Braeden murmuring quietly.

Braeden stepped away. ‘Good bye Lady Fallon. Thank you for ___ visiting grandmère ,’ he avoided her eyes.

‘Papa, I am most curious about the secret conversation you were engaged with with Lord Hampton.’

Her father laughed loudly. ‘I dare say your mama would take you to hand for your impertinence my dear.’

Fallon’s cheeks grew hot. ‘You are not as conventional as mama,’ Fallon answered argued.

‘Nevertheless, sometimes gentlemen’s conversations cannot be repeated,’ he murmured.

‘Papa! Were you discussing other ladies of the haut ton? ‘

‘That is why a lady like yourself, Fallon, should know her place,’ he looked out the carriage window as the horses sped back to their home.

She looked away uncomfortably.

‘We were not discussing other ladies,’ he grinned, ‘but a certain ___matter the earl has a marked interest in,’ he offered cryptically.

‘And I suppose you shall tell me not another word,’ Fallon ventured.

‘You suppose right dear,’ he turned and smiled at his daughter. ‘Now how was your day with the dowager?’ He changed the topic of conversation.

Fallon smiled. All she could remember were the stolen moments with Braeden in the garden. .. being in his arms ...their stolen, intimate, passionate kiss.

‘She is most companionable,’ Fallon provided.

The baron laughed again. ‘Not stuffy and boring, like other’s accuse her of?’ He smiled.

‘Not at all. She is no idle gabster,’ Fallon laughed softly. ‘She is intelligent, corky, humorous and most hospitable.’

‘Indeed,’ the baron looked at his daughter and smiled teasingly.

Fallon pretended interest in the patroness’ speech, as she rapped on her glass in a most unladylike fashion. Quickly realizing it was not appropriate, she decidedly sipped the now warm punch. How much longer must I suffer this tedious conversation? The baron and baroness together with Emma were still receiving guests at the door. Fallon had wanted to spend time with Drew and Carissa, but her mother had expressly tasked Fallon to ensure the patroness was felt most welcome. By ‘most welcome’ Fallon knew it meant hang on to every word the boring turd uttered and attend to her every whim, or else the entire ton would hear of how shabbily the Baroness Fulham had treated her and no doubt Fallon and Emma would no more receive any vouchers to Almack’s. Fallon also secretly desired Braeden’s company. He had arrived already, surprisingly early. Braeden was very enthusiastically greeting and making merry with every other female invited to Emma’s party.

‘I should not take up all of your time,’ the patroness feigned apologetically, interrupting Fallon’s thoughts.

‘Not at all,’ Fallon equally lied. ‘I am enjoying your companionship.’

‘Thank you,’ the patroness proudly raised her chin. ‘Most girls today only want to be in the company of the most eligible gentlemen,’ she harangued.

Gentlemen are certainly more agreeable company than you, you old horse. Fallon dipped her head, staring at her warm fruit punch. She was sure any minute now, it was going to start sizzling.

The last guests arrived. Everybody was proceeding to the drawing room that had been turned into a ballroom. Soft music was playing. Guests were beginning to dance. Fallon silently wondered if her mama was going to rescue her any time before the midnight hour.

As Fallon listened with concealed boredom, occasionally she would cast a cursory glance to the dance floor, longing to be there…with Braeden. The ladies looked spectacular in their splendid array of evening ball gowns. A group dance was being enacted to the background music playing softly. Fallon smiled to herself, as she saw Emma reluctantly release Burward to another dance partner. All the guests looked happy and cheerful, with smiling faces as they exchanged dance partners in tune with the song.

‘Lady Fallon, I need your help. I am afraid I have spoilt my shirt with wine.’

Fallon stared dumbfounded at the spreading blood red stain on Braeden’s shirt. Only at the tiresome patroness gasp did Fallon’s reflexes spring into action.

‘Um… this way to the washstand, my lord,’ Fallon pointed for Braeden to follow her. She directed an apologetic look to the patroness who agreeably waved Fallon to attend to earl’s shirt.

‘In there,’ Fallon pointed to the wash room for the use of guests.

Braeden looked at her pointedly. Had he been in his own home, his valet would have attended to him.

‘I can’t very well wash out the stain on my own,’ he sighed.

‘Why ever not?’ She looked at him uncomfortably. Perhaps she should call Louis her chambermaid.

‘What on earth were you doing?’ She questioned.

Braeden smiled. He did not really want to report that one of the servants had accidently spilled his drink on his perfectly white satin shirt.

‘No doubt you were paying too much attention to the lady guests you were enthralled in conversation with,’ Fallon accused.

Braeden laughed as he began removing his cravat and coat.

‘What are you doing?’ She looked over her shoulder uncomfortably.

‘I need to remove the shirt. You cannot very well wash out the stain whilst I still have it on.’

‘Me! “wash it out?”’

What did she know about washing out stains.

‘Perhaps I should call Louis,’ Fallon suggested.

‘Why?’

He thought she could easily attend to his shirt.

‘I should not be here alone with you and most certainly not if you are going to remove your shirt.’

Braeden rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Fallon I have been completely unclothed in your presence,’ he reminded her.

‘Do be quiet,’ her cheeks turned crimson. She looked over her shoulder again.

Braeden laughed. ‘All you have to do is dab warm water and soap on it Fallon.’

‘My lord,’ she pleaded. ‘Perhaps I could bring one of papa’s shirts to you and call one of the maids to attend to your shirt.’

‘Here,’ Braeden handed her his crisp handkerchief. ‘Use some soap and water and dab the shirt,’ he instructed.

Fallon stalled. She did not want to be in trouble with either of her parents, nor did she want any of the guests walking in on them. This could be easily remedied if she could get one of the maids to clean out Braeden’s shirt.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Braeden questioned. ‘Surely this is a simple enough task for you.’

Fallon glared at him irritably. ‘Fine,’ she hissed, grabbing the handkerchief out of his hand.

She poured water out of the jug onto the cloth, applied soap onto it and pressed it to the stain. A damp stain spread around the wine stain. Fallon washed out the handkerchief, applied more soap and repeated the process.

‘Could you stop grinning like an ape,’ she instructed.

Braeden chortled softly. ‘You’re being so prudish,’ he accused.

‘I am not!’ she denied. ‘This is most inappropriate and you know it well,’ she argued.

‘Was laying with me appropriate?’ he taunted softly, his thumb caressed her attractively pointed chin.

Her entire face turned crimson. ‘Do not touch me, my lord.’ She slapped his hand away. ‘Do keep your hands to yourself,’ she dabbed again awkwardly on the stain.

‘I find that instruction difficult to heed,’ he teased. ‘Especially when I find you so attractive my lady,’ he boldly circled one arm around her waist.

‘Perhaps you should clean your shirt yourself,’ Fallon threatened.

‘Okay, I will,’ he lied, ‘but before I let you leave…’ he pulled her into his arms. His mouth descended on hers fiercely.

‘What are you doing?’ Fallon struggled in his arms.

‘Kissing you,’ he whispered. His lips trailed to her earlobe. He drew her closer, increasing the pressure. Fallon hardly had the power to resist. Not when she wanted to respond to his kisses. She groaned softly. Her hands relaxed then snaked around his neck, the wine stain forgotten, as it transferred from his shirt, smearing the bodice of her expensive gown.

‘Braeden ___,’ she deepened the kiss, tightening her hold around his shoulders.

‘Fallon, I need to have you again,’ he whispered passionately.

‘We can’t ___ not here,’ she whispered back, clinging to him as his lips ravished her.

‘Lord Hampton! What the blazes do you think you are doing?’

Fallon and Braeden embarrassedly step apart. Fallon wanted to die. It was her father who had uttered those words, and worse, he was accompanied by the insufferable patroness who cried out in shock. Her hand flew up and covered her mouth. Fallon wished the earth could open up and swallow her up.

‘Hampton,’ the baron’s voice rose a few octaves. ‘I am calling you out, unless you make a respectable offer for my daughter.’

‘Papa no!’ She was sure her father was no match for Braeden, an expert marksman.

The baron ignored his daughter. ‘You have dishonoured my daughter in full view of a very respectable member of the ton.’ He turned to acknowledge the patroness next to him. She duly nodded. ‘Choose your weapon Hampton. Gun or sword,’ the baron offered.

‘Papa please ___.’

‘Go to your chamber Fallon,’ the baron instructed his daughter. ‘We settle this at the crack of dawn tomorrow, Hampton,’ the baron informed Braeden who stood resolutely there, his face a mask.

‘I will wed with the earl, papa,’ Fallon blurted. What in heaven’s name am I doing!

‘He has yet to offer for you Fallon,’ the baron uttered, with controlled rage. ‘Do not speak until you’re spoken to.’ He cast an accusatory glare at his daughter.