Gareth's heart sank as Lady Milner swept into the drawing room and stopped short upon seeing him.

She knit her brow. "You're not Lord Kingsley?"

"No, Mama," said Miss Benedict. "'Tis Bradbury's brother, Lord Gareth Armstrong. Remember? You met him only yesterday at the wedding, when Bradbury told both Lord Gareth and me that the two of you were..." She paused to cough.

"Oh, yes! How silly of me to forget." She beamed at Gareth, who was fighting desperately to forget he'd come perilously close to tupping this woman a few months ago. He'd been there on business that night, searching for a traitor, with no interest—well, not that much interest, anyway—in sampling any of Madame Delphine's Cyprians, no matter delectable they were. And Lady Milner, despite her advanced years, had been very delectable indeed.

If only she had been her daughter that night. But there was no possible way Miss Benedict could have been there. Aside from genuine Cyprians, many of the women at Madame Delphine's were more experienced ladies of the ton, usually wronged wives out for vengeance against philandering husbands—some of whom were there at the same time—or lonely widows looking for a bit of bed sport in disguise. Unmarried ladies were unheard of, unless they were somehow duped into such a place, and Miss Benedict, already skeptical of his stated reasons for coming here this morning, couldn't be that gullible.

"My lord?"

He was suddenly aware of a hand waving before his face, and he blinked to focus his gaze on her.

She lowered her hand. "Still wondering where you might have met my mother before yesterday?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he said.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, as if rightfully vexed that even Gareth would think more of Lady Milner than of her daughter. Now that he thought about it, poor Miss Benedict had spent all of her adult life trapped in the shadow of her scandalous mother.

Lady Milner stood next to her daughter. Gareth had assumed that from a distance, or in poor light, the two of them would be difficult to tell apart. Yet in the middle of a drawing room flooded with daylight from windows facing due south, it still required some attention to detail to discern the differences.

Whereas Lady Milner was a youthful matron, Miss Benedict had all but lost her youthful bloom. Lady Milner wore the lace cap favored by matrons and widows, and a high-necked frock, while Miss Benedict's raven hair was uncovered and her sunny yellow frock boasted a scooped neckline with a hint of cleavage.

"I assure you, my lord, we never met before yesterday," Lady Milner said. "We were still at breakfast when our butler announced we had a caller. I didn't realize it was you. But what was all the commotion I heard from upstairs?"

"Oh, that was just Lord Kingsley," said Miss Benedict. "He was an oaf. Lord Gareth tossed him out on his ear."

"Oh?" Lady Milner settled her gaze on Gareth, and in so doing, unsettled him. What if he were to find her alone and—no! After what happened the last time they were alone together, he was quite certain he never wanted to be— "I say, Lord Gareth, but do I make you ill at ease? Is he always like this, Evie?"

"Only in your presence, Mama. It's almost as if you have some sort of enchanted hold over him. I daresay you have encountered him before. You simply don't recall the circumstances and neither does he. Maybe it was at one of Lady Whitbourne's masquerade balls, and you were both masked?"

Gareth felt the blood draining from his face. He fought the urge to bend over.

"But I didn't attend Lady Whitbourne's last ball, Evie, remember? You went without me because I had that dreadful cold."

"Mama, she has them twice a year. Maybe it was the one before that."

"Yes, that must be it," he said quickly, just to get it over with. That he hadn't been to Lady Whitbourne's past two masquerade balls was beside the point.

"Very well, Lord Gareth, but it doesn't explain why you always look as if you're having a terrible fright in my presence," Lady Milner said.

"Perhaps he's confused you with someone else," Miss Benedict suggested. "Like me?"

"Yes, that must be it," Lady Milner agreed, echoing his own words. "But it couldn't have been you, Evie, since you didn't attend Lady Whitbourne's masquerade last fall. You were still working as Lady Pelham's companion, and she disapproved of masquerades. Well, she disapproved of everyone and everything."

"Including me. Then again, how could he have recognized you if you wore a mask?" Miss Benedict turned back to Gareth. "My lord, are you clutching your chest because of an unruly heart, or do you think you've lost a button on your waistcoat?"

"I'm sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid I must be going." He glanced around for his hat, but didn't see it anywhere. He didn't recall doffing it as he crashed into the house to help Miss Benedict. Maybe it fell off and was somewhere on the floor in the front hall, or even on the steps outside.

"Oh, I do hope you're not leaving because of me?" Lady Milner asked. "You only just arrived. I'm sure if I leave you with Evie, you'll feel much better. And you don't need a chaperone, Evie, since he's soon to be your—oh, not stepbrother, but—"

"Step-uncle," Miss Benedict supplied. "He and I already discussed that."

"Indeed?" Lady Milner looked delighted. "I'm cheered to know you two are getting on. Splendid!" She sashayed out of the drawing room, blithely closing the door behind her, quite heedless of propriety.

It took all of Gareth's strength not to heave a mighty sigh of relief. Miss Benedict would surely take that as another sign of his discomfiture with her mother.

She stood before him. "All the buttons on your waistcoat are in order. And you're looking much better already. I must apologize for my mother. She has the strangest effect on gentlemen—she either bewitches them into marrying her, or she scares them half to death, perhaps with the prospect of luring them into ruin. According to my late grandfather, that's what she did to my father. He thought I would be just like her. Instead, I only look like her, and people sometimes confuse us. Which is why I wonder, if you think you've met her before, then maybe it was really me."

He shook his head. "Now you have me confused with Lord Kingsley. I do believe I should go, since I've already accomplished what I came here to do."

She smiled. "Thank you again, my lord. I only hope you don't think I'm as scandalous as my mother."

He smiled back. "I doubt you could ever scandalize me, Miss Benedict."

"Not even if I let you kiss me?" A sparkle of mischief danced in her dark eyes, making him think that while she could never be as wicked as Lady Milner, she could easily cast the same sort of spell over men that her mother did.

He arched a brow. "Were you scandalized when Kingsley tried to kiss you?"

"He did kiss me, and yes, I was scandalized, not only because he kissed me on the lips—"

On the lips, Gareth reassured himself. Not in the—

"—but he tried to kiss me in the mouth," she added, looking very much as if she longed to spit out the lingering taste of Kingsley.

Gareth suppressed a grimace at the knowledge that Kingsley's slimy tongue had been slithering around inside her exquisite mouth. "I daresay that's because he kissed you against your will. Had he first asked your permission—and had you willingly granted it—I daresay you wouldn't have been at all scandalized. You might even have found it enjoyable, but that would still depend on how you feel about him."

"Indeed? Hmm." She gazed up at him, looking thoughtful as she pursed her lips—whereupon she looked as if she might wish to be kissed. "Then would you like to kiss me?"

Did it rain in England? Was Kingsley an oaf? "Are you giving me permission to do so?"

"You may, if you like." She closed her eyes with an irresistible little smile.

With his fingers he gingerly lifted her chin and feathered her lips with his own, gently teasing her mouth open. Miss Benedict tentatively grasped his arms as he slowly slid his tongue over her teeth. Her own tongue retreated as if fearing another Kingsley-like invasion, but Gareth summoned all his patience to probe no further, keeping his open mouth sealed over hers as he let his tongue wait for hers to meet it, tasting her sweetness. He carefully let go of her chin and lightly placed both hands on her back, not quite embracing her.

Yet when he did that, her tongue shot forward to meet his own, and her hands glided up his arms to his shoulders as she ventured a step closer to him, till her soft warmth was flush against him and he could feel her racing heartbeat against his chest.

Any moment she was certain to break the kiss. Gareth wasn't about to. Who knew how long they might have stood there kissing, if the knocker hadn't banged at the front door?

That was enough to jerk them apart, though he had no idea who made the first move. "More suitors, I suppose," she said.

Gareth stepped over to the window to glimpse the caller. "It's my brother."

What would his brother think if he found Gareth and Miss Benedict in this room together, with the door closed? And without a chaperone?

There was only one solution, the obvious one. With three long, swift strides, he stalked to the door and threw it open. "Go upstairs at once, Miss Benedict, before someone answers the door."

Why did she just stand there with her mouth hanging open, as if she wanted them to be caught?

Maybe she had no desire to marry his brother, after all. Could it be she desired Gareth, instead?

He couldn't deny he liked the idea of that. Something about her tempted his heart and stirred his soul, as if she was meant for him and was just waiting for him to find her. Well, he'd found her.

Alas, because of her mother, he'd already lost her.