Her mother went upstairs to check on poor Lady Cranston, who was still recovering from a gunshot wound in the shoulder courtesy of Evie's cousin by marriage, Lady Flora Benedict. Flora had hired a pair of ruffians to waylay Lady Cranston's carriage in hopes of stealing some jewels belonging to a dead princess. The entire debacle took place practically outside the gates of Tyndall Abbey, Evie's ancestral home in Derbyshire. Her brother's new wife was also riding in the carriage, and that was how they met, only to fall in love and marry just yesterday.

Lady Cranston had been traveling to London to return the jewels to the late princess's grandparents. Now that the grandparents had departed for their homeland on the European continent, she was eager to return to her estate in Yorkshire. She'd already offered to take Evie on as a companion, since her previous companion was now married to Evie's brother.

Evie worried that if she didn't find a husband to suit her before leaving London, she just might accept the offer.

She entered the drawing room where the Earl of Kingsley, hands behind his back, stood at the other end facing the fireplace, apparently studying the clock on the mantel as if keeping track of how many minutes she kept him waiting. She glimpsed a small wrapped parcel—the size and shape of a book, or even a box of sweets—in both of his hands.

Instead of calling out to him, she stepped in the exact spot on the rug where she knew the floorboard beneath would protest with a loud creak. It never failed to work, and didn't fail now.

Lord Kingsley turned to survey her. He was of medium height and build, with foppish blond curls, gray eyes, and a round chin. His lips pressed firmly together, the lower one jutting out as if in a pout. Clearly he was indignant about the wait.

An uncomfortable sense of déjà-vu struck Evie, for he did look vaguely familiar. She told her mother she had no memory of ever meeting this man before, but now that she saw him, she realized he was right—they had met before, but she simply didn't recall.

Had she felt this uncomfortable upon being formally introduced to Lord Gareth yesterday? She'd been nervous, yes, at the prospect of meeting him again, of wondering whether he'd somehow recognize her as the woman he ended up mistaking for her own mother. The nervousness had dissipated upon the realization that Lord Gareth didn't have a clue as to who she really was, as if the worst was over.

But she knew it wasn't. The worst—his realization of who Evie really was—was still lurking out there, waiting for the right, or more likely wrong moment, to drop on her head as well as his.

She berated herself. Lord Kingsley would surely jog her memory. She offered him a tepid smile. "My lord, how do you do? This is a pleasant surprise, though I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. We were still at breakfast."

He smiled back, much to her relief. "It is I who should apologize for calling so early, Miss Benedict, but I didn't want to wait a moment longer."

Oh, dear. Did this mean he was one of those ardent types who'd fallen in love with her the first time he saw her—and just when and where was that, exactly? Then again, Evie had never received the attentions of an ardent type, unless she wished to count Lord Gareth, but his ardor had been of a different sort directed toward a woman he did not know was Evangeline Benedict.

Yet even as she had these thoughts, Kingsley said, "Please don't misapprehend my impatience. I only meant that others might not think it prudent to call while I'm still in mourning. And I understand you may have many more callers today."

Oh, dear. The news of her dowry...

His left hand swung around from behind his back, but instead of the small parcel she glimpsed a moment ago, she saw a sealed letter. "Lady Flora Benedict is your cousin, and I believe you're very close to her."

Cousin, yes. Close, no.

He added, "This is a letter to her from her sister, who recently died at my ancestral pile in Wiltshire. I was wondering if you might see that she receives it."

Evie took the letter, scrutinized the writing on the envelope, and chuckled. "Eris? Must be a family nickname, and quite fitting, I daresay. The Greek goddess of chaos."

He shrugged. "She didn't say, and I didn't ask. I wonder if she must have had a premonition of her own demise, and that's why she asked me to see that her sister received it in case something happened to her. She was planning to travel to the Continent, and maybe she feared she wouldn't return, but I know not where to find Lady Flora now."

"I do, and I'll see that she gets this letter," Evie replied. "Thank you, my lord."

Next he extended his right hand, finally offering that small parcel. "And now a little present for you, Miss Benedict. I understand you enjoy reading."

"I do." Evie had to admire a man who took the time to learn her likes and dislikes. Even if he was eager to be first in line to pay his addresses, this small gesture was enough to put him ahead of the pack—if, indeed, there was a pack waiting to descend upon her. She accepted the small parcel, and unwrapped it to reveal a beautifully bound copy of Pride and Prejudice.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed in delight.

"I hope you haven't read it yet, since I'm told it's very popular."

As a matter of fact, Evie had read the book already, but she was more than pleased to have an extra copy. And since she didn't want to disappoint Lord Kingsley—could it be she was falling for him already?—she smiled and said, "I assure you I haven't read this yet." Not this particular copy, anyway, since she had no desire to cut shams with him. "But I'm longing to. Thank you very much, my lord. How did you know I enjoy reading?"

"My dear Eveline—if I may call you that—I would never importune you without first taking the time to learn things about you that might be useful."

She tucked the letter to "Eris" between the pages of the book as if to mark her place halfway through it, set it down on a nearby piecrust table, and favored him with a warm smile. "Rest assured this is a very useful thing to learn about me." Though still not as useful as learning her name was really Evangeline, but surely there would be time for—

"That is why I'm quite confident that you will agree to be my wife."

Her smile froze in dismay. While Evie halfway expected a proposal at some point, based on what her mother told her, she certainly hadn't expected one only moments after entering this drawing room.

"I know this sounds dreadfully obvious," she heard herself say, "but this is sudden."

He tilted his head back as if to impress her with the size of his nostrils. "I see no need to jump through all the usual hoops of dances and musicales and drives in the park."

"Or even asking my brother's consent?"

"Or even asking your brother's consent," he said, without the question mark.

"Don't you think—"

"No, I don't. I brought you something you like, and that should be enough. Must I point out that you are well over one and twenty, and therefore you need no consent from your family to marry? Why, at your age, I should think you'd be more than willing to marry the first man who deigned to propose."

Evie's frozen smile thawed into a frown. "My lord, I should be insulted by your words. Indeed, I am."

"Even though they're true?"

"Even though they're true." Without the question mark. "Not to mention you haven't exactly proposed. You've merely expressed confidence that I'll agree to marry you."

"And you will. I don't have to propose." His smile was strangely cold and menacing.

"I don't even know you. What makes you think—"

"Yet I know you well enough to know you enjoy reading." He stepped closer to her, and though she hated herself for doing it, she knew she had no choice. She stepped back. "Indeed, I know enough about you that I'm certain you'll marry me just to keep everyone from learning of your clandestine little visit to Madame Delphine's Cyprian ball a few months ago."

Evie's heart dropped so fast and hard, she wondered why she didn't hear it thud. Her stomach knotted, threatening to squeeze out her breakfast as she gaped back at Lord Kingsley, her dismay now curdling into horror.

Now she remembered—

"That's where we met before," he said crisply. "Your mask slipped, showing your pretty face with the same expression it's wearing now."

At last she recalled that fateful moment. But her mask hadn't slipped of its own accord. Flora, standing behind her, had warned her that the ribbons holding it in place were loose—not that Evie had noticed—and she'd tugged on them. Only instead of tightening them, Flora loosened them enough that Evie did notice, by dint of the mask slipping down to reveal her face to the gentleman who now stood before her.

Panicked, Evie hadn't bothered to take a good look at him that night. She'd pressed the mask against her face and fled into the nearest chamber to hide and tie it back into place—just in time before Lord Gareth Armstrong came in a moment later and made her forget what happened, making the whole night's misadventure worth it.

But she didn't dare think of that now.

"Maybe you thought I didn't take notice of your face and who you were," said Kingsley. "At first I didn't. At the time you were no one. But that was before I found out not only who you really are, but that you now have a dowry ample enough to lift me out of low waters."

She found her voice. "Why would you want to marry me, knowing I was—"

"Because no one else will, once they find out you were there," he bit out.

Evie knew he was right about that. She staggered over to the window, wishing she could escape. Wishing someone would come to her rescue. But it was too much to hope she'd see anyone just standing out in front of her house, waiting for—and there he was.

Lord Gareth Armstrong. Standing right in front of her house. Gazing straight back at her, waiting for her to give some sort of signal that she needed help.

Kingsley provided the signal instead, wrapping his arms around her like a python ready to squeeze all the life out of her. "Kiss me, Eveline."

Her first kiss! Lord Gareth hadn't kissed her at Madame Delphine's, mainly because the mask she wore made it awkward. She wanted her first kiss from Lord Gareth, not this oaf.

Her eyes bulged as Kingsley brought his lips to hers. Oh, God, what if he pushed his forked tongue into her mouth? She shifted her eyes out the window, but Lord Gareth was gone.

Obviously, he assumed she'd just received an offer of marriage and figured he might as well leave, since the second son of a duke had no chance against a young earl.

She couldn't even scream, as the forked tongue jabbed into her mouth and pinned her own tongue in place.