Margaret smiled her practiced her smile and wished, for at least the hundredth time, that Felix Cambridge were not their guardian. At least, she amended, not her guardian. He was proving a tower of strength in all other respects and she could only be grateful, both for his continuing support and protection, as well as his experienced counsel over the affair of Sophia and Lord Daniel. But there was no doubt in her mind that her own confusion would immeasurably eased by dissolution of the guardianship clause which tied her so irrevocably to His Grace of Twyford.

While she circled the floor in the respectful arms of Mr. Chistlebury who, she knew, was daily moving closer to a declaration despite her attempts to dampen his confidence, she was conscious of a wish that it was her guardian's far less gentle clasp she was in. Mr. Chistlebury, she had discovered, was worthy. Which was almost as bad as righteous. She sighed and covered the lapse with a brilliant smile into his mild eyes, slightly below her own. It was not that she despised short men, just that they lacked the ability to make her feel delicate and vulnerable, womanly, as Felix Cambridge certainly could. In fact, the feeling of utter helplessness that seemed to overcome her every time she found herself in his powerful arms was an increasing concern.

As she and her partner turned with the music, she sighted Sophia, dancing with one of her numerous court, trying, not entirely successfully, to look as if she was enjoying it. Her heart went out to her sister. They had stayed at home the previous night and, in unusual privacy, thrashed out the happenings of the night before. While Sophia skated somewhat thinly over certain aspects, it had been clear that she, at least, knew her heart. But Felix had taken the opportunity of a few minutes' wait in the hall at Twyford House to let both herself and Sophia know, in the most subtle way, that Lord Daniel had left town for his estates. She swallowed another sigh and smiled absently at Mr. Chistlebury.

As the eldest, she had, in recent years, adopted the role of surrogate mother to her sisters. One unfortunate aspect of that situation was that she had no one to turn to herself. If the gentleman involved had been anyone other than her guardian, she would have sought advice from Lady Hillsborough. In the circumstances, that avenue, too, was closed to her. But, after that interlude in the Langdon's summer-house, she was abysmally aware that she needed advice. All he had to do was to take her into his arms and her well-ordered defenses fell flat. And his kiss! The effect of that seemed totally to disorder her mind, let alone her senses. She had not yet fathomed what, exactly, he was about, yet it seemed inconceivable that he would seduce his own ward. Which fact, she ruefully admitted, but only to herself when at her most candid, was at the seat of her desire to no longer be his ward.

It was not that she had any wish to join the demimonde. But face facts she must. She was nearly twenty-six and she knew what she wanted. She wanted Felix Cambridge. She knew he was a rake and, if she had not instantly divined him standing as soon as she had laid eyes on him. Lady Hillsborough's forthright remarks on the subject left no room for doubt. But every tiny particle of her screamed that he was the one. Which was why she was calmly dancing with each of her most ardent suitors, careful not to give any one of them the slightest encouragement, while waiting for her guardian to claim her for the dance before supper. On their arrival in the overheated ballroom, he had, in a sensual murmur that had wafted the curls over her ear and sent shivery tingles all the way down her spine, asked her to hold that waltz for him. She looked into Mr. Chistlebury's pale eyes. And sighed.