London, August 1814

Evangeline Benedict often wondered what would happen if she was ever formally introduced to the man who ruined her. It was certain to be an awkward encounter.

She was about to find out. As she stood on the edge of the ballroom in the London manse of the Duke of Bradbury, the duke's brother was headed her way, looking straight into her eyes as if he meant to pin her down with his intense, green-eyed gaze. Somehow, it worked. She couldn't budge. She could scarcely even breathe. Indeed, it seemed the only part of her moving was her thundering heart. No, three parts. Both of her knees started wobbling.

Would he offer to make an honest woman of her? He was handsome, well-built, of good family, and close to her age. She knew she could do a lot worse. She could never hope for better.

But how did he even know who she was? On their previous encounter, the room had been dimly lit by candles and she'd been wearing an old Venetian Carnival mask belonging to her mother. Somehow, he must have found out about her and now here he was, ready to do the gentlemanly thing.

Not that she expected him to do it in this ballroom, surrounded by all of these people. Surely he'd ask her to join him for a stroll in the duke's garden.

His brother was with him, no doubt to make the introduction, for Evie was already acquainted with the Duke of Bradbury, who'd paid a visit to her ancestral home in Derbyshire only a few weeks ago.

"Miss Benedict," the duke said to her, and she sank into a curtsey, hoping her wobbly knees wouldn't buckle. "My brother has only now returned to London after a sojourn in the country, and has expressed the desire to make your acquaintance. May I present Lord Gareth Armstrong. Gareth, Miss Evangeline Benedict, sister of the bridegroom, the new Earl of Tyndall." He slapped his brother on the back, then turned to plunge back into the crowd of wedding guests.

Drat! Evie's knees were buckling. She felt herself slowly sinking to the floor, unable to rise—until Lord Gareth grasped her gloved hand and said, "I beg your pardon, Miss Benedict, but are you feeling faint?"

Evie had never fainted in her life, and she was determined not to do so now. How could this terrify her more than their previous encounter? She'd often thought the Venetian mask must have helped—though in the end, all it did was help her get into trouble.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said. "I merely lost my balance for a moment." She forced herself back into a standing position and met his gaze. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

She studied his handsome face—mossy green eyes beneath thick, dark brows, an aquiline nose, and the barest hint of a dimple in his chin. The first time she saw him, she thought he was dark like her brother Ross, but that was because of the soft candlelight. Here, beneath the blazing brilliance of sparkling crystal chandeliers, his hair was decidedly chestnut in color, a rich deep brown with glints of red.

His lips, however, did not part in anything resembling a smile. Instead he looked quite solemn, as if he wasn't at all charmed to meet her. Maybe he was concerned because he thought she still might faint.

But one thing was certain: He did not look at all as if he recognized her as the young woman he ruined one scandalous night several months ago.

Evie didn't know whether to be relieved, or disappointed. Then again, maybe he wouldn't betray any recognition in the middle of a crowded ballroom. He had yet to suggest they meander out to the garden for some fresh air.

She forced a smile, thinking it might induce him to smile back. "So you've just arrived from the country? I'm afraid you missed the wedding."

"I didn't even know there was to be a wedding until I arrived only moments ago, hence my informal attire," he said ruefully, glancing down at his bottle green coat, buff breeches, and tall black boots. "At first I thought my brother might have married in my absence, but no—he's only hosting your brother's nuptials."

She nodded. "Our own Mayfair residence is quite snug by comparison. We don't even have a ballroom. But His Grace said you desired to make my acquaintance. May I ask what prompted you to make such a request, when you're barely in the door?"

He still didn't smile. "Truth be told, Miss Benedict, I did no such thing."

She thought her heart would drop at those words. Her smile certainly did, drooping into a frown to match his own.

He went on, "My brother merely believed we should become acquainted with one another, since he tells me we are soon to be related. That's when I found out this wasn't his wedding, after all."

Now her mouth dropped open. His remained sealed in a frown. "Related how, my lord?"

His brows arched in apparent surprise. "You don't know?"

Evie could only think of one way she and Lord Gareth Armstrong could soon be related to one another—as husband and wife. Yet bewilderment mingled with panic within her.

For while Lord Gareth might not recognize or remember Evie, somehow, his brother the duke knew everything about them, and intended to remedy matters by arranging a marriage.

He broke into her frantic musings. "Then you don't know yet? Oh, I hope I haven't spoiled the surprise—if one could call it that."

"I would hardly call it a surprise, my lord," she quavered in reply, "for I've known ever since our first meeting that this might happen."

He nodded, and almost smiled. Almost. His lips curved upward just slightly. "That's only natural, Miss Benedict."

Yes, only natural that after learning Evie was the one he inadvertently ruined, Lord Gareth would be compelled to offer marriage to her. Once upon a time, she would have preferred to marry for love, as her brother Ross had just done—but at the age of five and twenty, she thought she'd be content to marry anyone, just once—unlike her mother, who'd been married too many times to count already.

She only wished he wasn't so blasted cold and formal about it, though she could scarcely blame him. In all likelihood, he had no wish to marry under such circumstances, either.

Even as that wretched thought flitted through her head, Evie glimpsed her mother over Lord Gareth's shoulder, headed this way. Why, oh why couldn't her mother have worn a different, not to mention less distinctive necklace to her son's wedding? Evie feared if Lord Gareth saw her mother, he'd think she was the one he ruined at Madame Delphine's.

Then he'd offer marriage to her mother, and Evie would have a new stepfather—this time, young enough to be her own brother.

Oh, never mind that. Just the right age to be Evie's own husband.

Her heart sank, and now she did feel faint. "Forgive me, my lord, but I think I need some air. It's dreadfully warm and close in here."

"So it is. Perhaps you'd like to take a turn in the garden?"

Her sinking heart bobbed back into place. Once out in the garden, he was certain to make a formal offer of marriage.

He might even gift Evie with a smile.

She gently took his proffered arm and they wended their way through the crowded ballroom, losing her mother in the crush of guests as they reached the glass doors leading to the garden. A refreshing breeze rippled across Evie's face as they passed through the doors, and she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath of cool, clean air scented with various flowers.

"Of course, you probably don't wish to linger too long out here," Lord Gareth remarked.

Evie snapped her eyes open, sweeping her gaze over the pretty little floral paradise stretched out before her, islands of red and blue and yellow in a sea of velvety green. Many other wedding guests mingled among the flowerbeds, but it still wasn't as crowded as the ballroom. A flagstone path cut through the center of it all, from the steps to the tall hedge at the far end, where Evie glimpsed a pergola draped in late-blooming pink roses.

"Why would I not?" she asked, puzzled.

"I should think you wouldn't want to miss the bride and groom's departure."

"Of course not. He is my brother, after all, and I love them both dearly. I've always wished for a sister."

"Splendid. So have I. Then everything will work out nicely."

That was an odd thing for him to say, but perhaps he meant that once he and Evie were married, her brother's wife would naturally become Gareth's sister as well as Evie's.

He added, "What I really meant is that maybe you hope to catch the bride's bouquet when she tosses it. Wouldn't that mean you're the next to marry?"

"So they say. And I have yet to catch one."

They continued sauntering down the path toward the pergola. "I do believe you're in luck today, Miss Benedict. I only wonder what took my brother so long."

Evie furrowed her brow. "So long to do what, my lord?"

He halted halfway down the path. So did she. He turned to face her, his hands behind his back. "You've been betrothed to him since infancy, have you not?"

Something was horribly wrong here. In addition to her creased brow, now Evie's mouth dropped open.

Lord Gareth, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other. And he still hadn't smiled. "I do beg your pardon again, Miss Benedict. I suppose that was a clumsy thing to say."

"'Tis a baffling thing to say. My lord, if I've been betrothed to the Duke of Bradbury since infancy, then this is the first I've heard about it. And if it's true, then you may be sure I would also like to know what took His Grace so long to come up to scratch."

Maybe if the duke had married Evie when she came of age—or even one year ago—she never would have blundered into a compromising situation with the man who now stood before her in an apparent state of shock to match her own, right down to the dropped jaw.

But with this stunning revelation came the equally disconcerting knowledge that Lord Gareth Armstrong had not brought Evie out here to offer marriage—because he had no idea that he'd even ruined her!