The coachman yelled a warning and she promptly darted to the opposite side of the street and the entrance to Hyde Park.

What did Lord Gareth want her to allow him to do? Certainly not escort her across the street—he waited a few moments too late for that. Maybe he wanted her to allow him to warn her about the carriage that nearly flattened her just now. She might allow him to offer marriage to her. If not, she'd even allow him to bring her a cup of hemlock. And she'd not only allow, but would strongly encourage him to push Lady Nellis in front of the next carriage that came speeding by.

But it was too much to hope he wanted her to allow him to walk with her in the park. Would he go to that much trouble to follow her—risk his own neck dodging carriages rumbling both ways on Park Lane?

"Miss Benedict?"

Apparently, the answer was yes.

She stopped and turned to face Lord Gareth Armstrong, who looked out of breath after dodging carriages in a mad dash across the wide lane.

"Do allow me to escort you," he said. "You mustn't walk in the park alone."

"So many things I mustn't do without a chaperone or even a respectable gentleman to accompany me. I suppose now that my brother is off on his wedding trip, and your brother is about to marry my mother, you're taking it upon yourself to play the role of my protector?"

He looked thoroughly startled by that. "I beg your pardon?"

"I do believe you heard me, my lord. You're here to be my protec—"

"Miss Benedict, I don't think you're aware of what that word means."

Evie pursed her lips to suppress a smile. She was, in fact, fully aware of what the word meant. Nonetheless, "Pray, what does it mean, my lord? Did you not come after me to protect me from footpads in the park?"

"Yes," he said, though she sensed an unspoken but immediately following it.

"But what? Does that not make you my protector, then? And if you're not my protector, then who is?"

She remembered the night they met with such crystal clarity, that even now she could almost hear the question he'd asked her, in a hot murmur that still set her insides shivering.

Who is your protector? he'd asked.

Of course she didn't have one, and she'd assumed that he was only checking to see that she hadn't already been spoken for by someone else.

You are, she'd replied.

Only if you don't have one already.

You don't see him here, do you? I only see the two of us.

Yet when she spoke a variation of the words now, he gave no indication that he recalled their earlier conversation. He only looked harried, undoubtedly by recent events.

"Very well, so I'm here to protect you from footpads and—and—"

"Exactly. You're my protector while here in the park."

"—and maybe prevent you from drowning yourself in the Serpentine," he added quickly, as if he were keen to change the subject from that of protectors.

"Then we won't walk that way," she replied. "Only what makes you think that would happen, my lord? I do consider myself quite capable of strolling along the Serpentine without falling in. Or are you suggesting I would deliberately throw myself into the water in a fit of despair that my mother stole the gentleman who should have been my betrothed?" It wouldn't be the first time—that is, the first time her mother stole a betrothed.

He sighed. "I apologize again for the misunderstanding, Miss Benedict. It seems my brother was never your betrothed."

"He should have made that clear when he introduced us. He should have said something along the lines of, 'Miss Benedict, may I present you to my brother, Lord Gareth Armstrong, who is soon to be your..." She paused to ponder the rest of that. "Not stepbrother, but—"

"Step-uncle," he supplied.

"Oh, that's just what I don't need. Another uncle. I've had three of them, and none of them ever showed me or my mother a scintilla of kindness or mercy."

"Are you worried I'll be the same way?"

"That depends. Will you try to arrange a marriage for me, as the previous Earl of Tyndall did—just not to the Duke of Bradbury? Or will you become a bishop like Uncle Horace, and condemn me to—well, I think you can imagine where. And all because of my mother." He'd already mistaken her for her mother because of her third uncle, Lord Forrestal, who'd walked in on them at Madame Delphine's.

"I have no plans to enter the clergy. I imagine you've also had your fill of stepfathers?"

It did not escape Evie's notice that he skipped over the part about arranging a marriage for her. "That's right—the duke would be my stepfather, wouldn't he? Yet he's not old enough to be my father. What is it with my stepfathers? They're either too young, or too old, or..."

"Or too what? How many have you had, Miss Benedict?" Lord Gareth seemed genuinely curious.

"Or too married," she finished. "I've had at least two, if you wish to count the one who was already married. Or even three, if you count the one she was married to before my father, and ergo before I was born."

He gaped at her in obvious astonishment. Evie was used to seeing that expression on people's faces when they learned how many husbands her mother had buried or otherwise discarded—while Evie herself had yet to land even one.

"You can't be happy about this betrothal," he said.

"I won't deny it. What about you?"

"I can't say as I'm pleased, either."

"No? But what objections could you possibly have? How does the marriage affect you? It will be your brother's first, will it not? You're not losing your mind over the injustice of him having married as many times as Henry VIII already, while you have yet to marry even once."

"My objections are not important, Miss Benedict. What is—"

"Oh, aren't they?" She knew exactly why he objected. "Is it because of her past that you find her unacceptable to your brother?"

"What do you mean by her past?"

"Just that. The fact that she's been married several times already. Do you think she did away with all of her previous husbands, and now you fear she'll do away with your brother? Why, that would make you the Duke of Bradbury. What objection have you to that?"

"Maybe I'm afraid she'll trap me into marriage, and do away with me," he said, sounding as if he couldn't come up with anything better than that—such as the truth.

"I don't think you'd be allowed to marry your brother's widow, my lord. No, you disapprove for some other reason."

"But wouldn't you agree that it would be far better for everyone concerned if my brother married someone who was a little more..." He arched a brow and cocked his head to one side as he gazed back at her, as if he expected her to finish the sentence for him.

"Someone a little more like me?" she suggested.

"Exactly. Younger, and with less..." He waved a hand in a circular motion, as if again he expected her to supply the rest of what he wanted to say.

"Maybe the word you want is 'fewer', my lord. Fewer husbands long since buried. Or better yet, a young lady who's never been married at all."

"Precisely."

"And because she would be a duchess, one without a breath of scandal in her past. A bride without blemish." Which would certainly eliminate Evie herself.

"One would certainly think so, but apparently my brother does not find it important."

"Then why should you? I take it if you're to inherit his title one day, then you expect these same requirements of your own prospective wife."

"I'd rather not marry a widow," he said.

"Ah, then you'd rather marry a debutante. One who's fresh out of the schoolroom, with nary a chance to court scandal or acquire a bit of blemish. One who knows nothing, save for whatever her mama might have drilled into her otherwise feather-filled head to snare eligible bachelors like Your Lordship." She almost smiled at the look of near horror on his face, as if he'd rather be transported to Australia than take such a bride.

"I take it your mama didn't drill anything into your head?" he inquired.

"No. Maybe if she had, I might be on my third husband by now. I'm five and twenty and have yet to find my first. That is, my only. I would be content to marry only once."

"Did you not have a season, Miss Benedict?"

"I'm afraid not. Instead of allowing me a season in London, my late uncle, the previous Earl of Tyndall, arranged for me to marry Lord Milner."

Lord Gareth furrowed his brow. "Lord Mil—but your mother is—"

"She married him instead, after I expressed reservations about marrying someone a hundred years my senior. At least when he died, only a few years later, he left her a widow's portion." Unlike Evie's own father, an inveterate gambler who'd left his wife and children nothing but debts, after he died at sea en route to India more than a dozen years ago. "And I don't have to be a widow so young. Only a spinster so old."

"Five and twenty isn't that old, Miss Benedict. I'm three years your senior, and don't consider myself old. In fact—well, getting back to the point—"

"What fact, my lord?" In fact, I might be just the right age for someone like you, who dreads the notion of having to marry some henwit fresh out of the schoolroom.

"In fact, we should probably return to the point. You don't want your mother to marry my brother, correct?"

"I'd rather she doesn't marry anyone until I've had the chance to walk down the aisle," she clarified. "After that, she can marry any man she fancies."

He gazed toward the Serpentine, shimmering silvery in the distance. "Then prevail upon her that you should be allowed to marry first before she marries yet again."

"I've already told her that. Many times. Long before His Grace the Duke breezed into our lives. And her response is invariably to remind me of Lord Milner, and the fact that I could have married him but didn't. As if I shouldn't be allowed the chance to find a more suitable husband. One closer to my age. One of my own choosing." It took all of Evie's strength to keep any bitterness from creeping into her voice, but she feared some of it slipped in, anyway. "If you ask me, the solution is not for me to persuade my mother to cry off—it's to find a husband of my own. Then, I daresay, I will care not whether my mother marries a hundred more times to a hundred dukes." She glanced away from him. "Perhaps I wouldn't mind so much if the whole situation didn't make me look so pathetic."

"I do not believe you are pathetic, Miss Benedict."

"Other people do. 'Oh, look—there goes Miss Evangeline Benedict. Five and twenty and never been married. Yet her mother's been married three times already—or is it four—and is about to marry a duke who might be better suited to Miss Benedict, but alas! Something must be wrong with her.'"

She resumed storming toward the Serpentine, but not because she planned to drown herself in despair. The path merely led in that direction.

Evie knew it wasn't just her mother's marriage. She couldn't deny she was also disappointed in Lord Gareth Armstrong, and why? Because he didn't recognize her as the would-be Cyprian in disguise he'd encountered several months ago, and to make matters worse, he now thought that was her mother, and all because of that blasted butterfly necklace she never wore—she'd even told Evie as much the night she loaned it to her—but just had to wear on today of all days.

He swiftly caught up to her. "Don't do it, Miss Benedict."

"I have no plans to do what you think I'm about to do. I haven't lost hope yet. There must be someone out there for me, but don't—" She swiftly twirled around to face him. "Please do not think for one moment that I'm trying to trick you into taking pity on me."

He stood before her, his expression so solemn as to be almost funereal. "I'm glad you cleared that up, Miss Benedict. I must say, it did occur to me briefly that maybe you were hoping I'd suddenly get down on bended knee for no other reason than to cheer you up."

Fresh ire welled within her. "Did it, indeed? I should remind you that my initial plan was to come to the park on my own. I did not risk my life dodging carriages barreling in both directions along Park Lane in the hope that you would pursue me for the sole purpose of 'cheering me up' by pretending to propose marriage."

"Oh, I believe that. And I pursued you because a lady should not stroll through Hyde Park or any park on her own. But who's to say that once in the park, you wouldn't start regarding me as a prospect? Don't all spinsters view eligible bachelors that way?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You're suggesting that every time I see a bachelor, I must see him as a possible marriage prospect?"

He arched his brows. "Yes. Are you going to hit me with your reticule now?"

She couldn't, in all good conscience, do so, because...oh, blast.

Because he was right.

"I won't have you or anyone else propose marriage to me just to make me feel better about my seemingly hopeless state," she told him. "That doesn't seem to me a very good reason for anyone to marry. Now why don't we return to the festivities, before others, such as Lady Nellis, take notice of where we are and think to match us up—and all because we happened to be seen walking together in the park."

"I daresay your state isn't at all hopeless, Miss Benedict, nor are you truly desperate to marry," he said.

"What makes you say that? Because I wouldn't marry Lord Milner? I'd rather not tell you how many years ago that was."

"I can guess how many years ago it was, but that's not what makes me say that. No, if you were truly desperate, you would be trying all manner of madcap schemes to lure some unsuspecting bachelor into the parson's mousetrap by letting him compromise you and allowing yourself to be caught by some matron, such as Lady Nellis. I'm heartened to know you'd never lower yourself to such dire measures. Or that you're not so desperate that you've already abandoned all hope, and let yourself be ruined because you're so high on the shelf it won't matter."

Somewhere between those last two sentences, Evie had stopped in her tracks, her heart still beating but suddenly cold.

For that was exactly what she'd been doing the night she first met Lord Gareth Armstrong.