As her gaze rested on the powerful figure, negligently at ease in his chair, she reflected that it really was unfair he had inherited only the best from both his parents. The combination of virility, good looks and power of both mind and body was overwhelming; throw the titles in for good measure and it was no wonder Felix Cambridge had been the target of so many matchmaking mamas throughout his adult life. But he had shown no sign whatever of succumbing to the demure attractions of any débutante. His preference was, always had been, for women of far more voluptuous charms. The litany of his past mistresses attested to his devotion to his ideal. They had all, every last one, been well-endowed. Hardly surprising, she mused. Felix was tall, powerful and vigorous. She could not readily imagine any of the delicate webs satisfying his appetites. Her wandering mind dwelt on the subject of his latest affaire, aside, of course, from his current chère amie, an opera singer, so she had been told. Clara, Lady Portland, was a widow of barely a year's standing but she had returned to town determined, it seemed, to make up for time

Lost through her marriage to an ageing peer. If the on-dits were true, she had fallen rather heavily in Felix's lap. Looking at the strikingly handsome face of her nephew, Amelia grinned. Undoubtedly, Lady Portland has set her cap at a Duchess's tiara. Deluded woman! Felix, for all his air if unconcern, was born to his position. There was no chance he would offer marriage to Clara or any of her ilk. He would certainly avail himself of their proffered charms. Then when tired of them, he would dismiss them, generously rewarding those who had the sense to play the game with suitable grace, callously ignoring those who did not.

The sounds of arrival gradually filtered into the drawing-room. Felix raised his head. A spurt of feminine chatter drifted clearly to their ears. Almost immediately, silence was restored. Then, the door opened and Millard, the new butler, entered to announce, "Miss Fleming."

Margaret walked through the door and advanced into the room, her sunny confidence cloaking her like bright sunshine. Felix, who had risen, blinked and then strolled forward to take her hand. He bowed over it, smiling with conscious charm into her large eyes.

Margaret returned the smile, thoroughly conversant with its promise. While he was their guardian, she could afford to play his games. His strong fingers retained their clasped on her hand as he drew her forward to meet his aunt.

Amelia Hillsborough's mouth had fallen open at first sight of her eldest charge. But by the time Margaret faced her, she had recovered her composure. No wonder Felix had said she would need no help. Great heavens! The girl was...well, no sense in beating about the bush—she was devilishly attractive. Sensually so. Responding automatically to the introduction, Amelia recognized the amused comprehension in the large and friendly grey eyes. Imperceptibly, she relaxed.

"Your sisters?" asked Felix.

"I left them in the hall. I thought perhaps..." Margaret's words died on her lips as Felix loved to the bell pull. Before she could gather her wits, Millard was in the room, receiving his instructions. Bowing to the inevitable, Margaret closed her lips on her unspoken excuses. As she turned to Lady Hillsborough, her ladyship' brows rose in mute question. Margaret smiled and, with a swish of her delicate skirts, sat beside Lady Hillsborough. "Just watch," she whispered, her eyes dancing.

Amelia Hillsborough regarded her thoughtfully, then turns her attention to the door. As she did so, it opened again. First Sophia, then Maribella, then Emma Fleming entered the room.

A curious hiatus ensued as both Felix Cambridge and his aunt, with more than fifty years of town bronze between them, started in patent disbelief at their charges. The three girls stood unselfconsciously, poised and confident, and then swept curtsies, first to Felix, then to her ladyship.

Margaret beckoned And they moved forward to be presented, to a speechless Felix, who had not moved from his position beside his chair, and then to a flabbergasted Lady Hillsborough.

As they moved past him to make their curtsy to his aunt, Felix recovered the use of his faculties. He closed his eyes. But when he opened them again, they were still there. He was not hallucinating. There they were: three of the loveliest lovelies he had ever set eyes on-four if you counted Miss Fleming. They were scene-stealers, every one-the sort of young women whose appearance suspended conversations, whose passage engendered rampant curiosity, aside from other, less nameable emotions, and whose departure left onlookers wondering what on earth they had been talking about before. All from the same stable, all under one roof. Nominally his. Incredible. And then the enormity, the mind-numbing, all-encompassing reality of his inheritance struck him. One glance into Miss Fleming's grey eyes, brimming with mirth, told him she understood more than enough. His voice, lacking its customary strength and in a very odd register, came to his ears. "Impossible!"

His aunt Amelia collapsed laughing.