“Good night. It’s been a delightful encounter. The villainous Lord Halston’s loss is my gain.”

  Imogen stared at him, imprinting every shadowy detail on her mind. She already knew she’d dream of him tonight.

  Then she turned and darted along the path back to the ballroom.

  Chapter 2

  Caleb watched the lovely girl in the pale blue dress disappear into the darkness and cursed hidebound English mores. In America, no social barriers would separate him from this lady. As a second son of successful entrepreneurs, he was considered a great catch in New York. In his democratic homeland, he was welcome in any ballroom. He could ask the lady to dance and take his time noting the details of a beauty that the gazebo’s uncertain light only hinted at.

  But here in London, because he had no noble ancestry and even worse, he worked for his living, he wasn’t considered fit to associate with wellborn young ladies.

  During his few days with the Tierneys, that hadn’t been a source of regret. In fact, convinced that equality was the way of the future, Caleb had even found the strict social divisions amusing.

  He wasn’t amused now. Tonight something astonishing had happened, something unprecedented.

  At twenty-five, he’d had his share of flirtations. He liked girls. He liked holding all that perfumed softness in his arms. But he also liked talking to girls and looking at girls. But his response to this surprising meeting extended a thousand miles past mere entertainment.

  After a few minutes with Miss Imogen Ridley, it seemed wrong that she left him alone in the gazebo to return to the house. Where, no doubt, blue-blooded young men lined up to dance with her and pay her compliments and plan marriage proposals.

  Caleb wanted to be the only man with the right to claim the lady.

  He’d never felt like this before. He hadn’t realized that he could feel like this.

  Until now, his life had been easy and comfortable. His family was happy and loving. He was good at his work, and he was one of those fortunate beings whose occupation was also his vocation. If he wanted something, most of the time he got it. On the rare occasion that he didn’t get it, he shrugged his shoulders and fixed his attention on something else.

  As Miss Ridley disappeared from sight, he’d never felt less like shrugging his shoulders in his life.

  He shivered. Despite every instinct urging him to follow Miss Ridley, he edged closer to the brazier. He’d been cold in his shirtsleeves and was grateful for the return of his coat. Although she’d looked much better in it than he did.

  Was that faint drift of floral scent only in his imagination? He drew a deep breath to take in more of that elusive fragrance.

  What an exquisite girl. Curvy and graceful, with a weight of dark hair and huge eyes that he guessed were blue. He wondered if they’d ever meet in daylight so he discovered the exact color of her eyes and skin and hair. The precise pink of her lips. The shadows hadn’t hidden the pillowy softness of those, oh, so kissable lips.

  By God, when he’d placed his coat around her shoulders, he’d been tempted to whirl her around and kiss her. For a charged moment, he’d considered actually doing it.

  But he’d held back. Miss Ridley hadn’t been frightened of him, although perhaps she should have been. After all, she didn’t know him from Adam.

  Would caution counsel her against slipping out to meet him in the Delacortes’ garden tomorrow? Something told him that she’d found him almost as interesting as he found her. She’d been in no rush to go, and when she left at last, he’d read reluctance in her face and voice.

  He extended his hands over the coals, as his mind dwelled on the encounter. He’d been in England a fortnight, long enough to get a feeling for the place. Imogen wasn’t like any of the other young misses he’d met here. She was more forthright, more like an American girl. But still with that lovely English air, with her cut-glass vowels and rather old-fashioned sweetness.

  He’d enjoyed his travels, and he was looking forward to seeing more of the Old World before he returned to America. But tonight, enjoyment had transformed into enchantment, thanks to a pretty girl’s smile. He felt like he’d swallowed a sky full of fireworks.

  Tomorrow night seemed an eon away.

  ***

  Imogen didn’t have to wait until the Delacorte ball to see Mr. Black. Which was a relief. Since that short conversation in the gazebo, she’d been in a fever to meet him again.

  It mightn’t have been a complete accident that the next morning, she called on the Tierneys. She’d only met Elizabeth Tierney two weeks ago, but she and the pretty blonde had become great friends. They’d attended a lot of the same parties and had enjoyed several outings to London’s attractions.

  When Imogen asked her cousin if she could visit the Tierney town house, Stella showed no sign of suspecting an ulterior motive. Because it was an informal gathering and just across Lorimer Square from the house that Lord Deerforth had rented for the season, Imogen was allowed to go with only her maid to accompany her.

  After last night’s antics, Stella remained out of charity with Imogen. In the carriage on the way home from the Lumsden ball, she’d scolded her charge about the dangers of her plot to engineer a return to Hamble Park.

  It turned out that Stella had seen Imogen’s strategically placed letter and had indeed set off into the cold to save her cousin from possible ruin at wicked Lord Halston’s hands. But neither Stella nor Imogen had counted on there being two gazebos in the Lumsdens’ garden. While Imogen had met the intriguing Mr. Black in one, her cousin had discovered Lord Halston waiting at the other. His lordship had accepted Imogen’s brazen invitation, after all.

  Imogen couldn’t help but be grateful that she’d gone to the wrong gazebo. It would have been so easy never to have met Mr. Black, and that would be a crying shame. Especially if a scandal had eventuated, and her father packed her off to Gloucestershire.

  Stella would have put the infamous earl in his place. Her cousin, who was nearly ten years older than she was, could be quite formidable when she wished. No rake, however naughty, would gain the advantage over that redoubtable lady.

  Luck remained on Imogen’s side at the Tierneys’. As she took tea with Elizabeth, she didn’t even have to broach the subject of interesting guests staying in the house. Elizabeth did it for her.

  “You must meet our American,” Elizabeth said with her usual enthusiasm. Unlike Imogen, she’d adored every moment of her London season.

  “Your American?” Harriet Comerford asked from where she sat beside Imogen on a pretty pink chaise longue.

  Harriet was Imogen’s best friend. The families were neighbors in the country, and she and Lord and Lady Lumsden’s daughter had grown up together. Until now, she and Harriet had shared everything. Odd to realize that she felt no urge to confide in Harriet about her encounter with Mr. Black.

  “Goodness me, is it safe?” In her chair near the blazing fire, Lily Bilson curled a slender white hand against her generous bosom and regarded her friends in dismay. “Mamma says that the former colonies are overrun by wild savages and desperate criminals.”

  Lily was another popular debutante. Her father was a rich landowner from Derbyshire, and she was counted quite a catch, not just because of her plump prettiness, but because she was worth twenty thousand pounds a year.

  Elizabeth’s laugh held a scoffing edge. “Mamma confiscated his tomahawk when he came to the door, and I think moccasins look charming with evening dress.”

  “Elizabeth, don’t tease her,” Harriet said. “It’s not kind.”

  “But is he dangerous?” Lily asked.

  “Goodness me, no. He’s perfectly respectable. Papa has invited him to my ball.”

  Imogen’s overexercised heart took another giddy leap. Mr. Black would be at the Tierney ball in a couple of weeks? More reason than ever to stay in London. Perhaps he might ask her to dance. The idea stirred more of those strange, tremulous flickers of excitement in her stomach.

  Lily didn’t look convinced. “I’m sure it would be dangerous to dance with him. He might scalp me.”

  Harriet and Imogen shared a surreptitious roll of the eyes at Lily’s foolishness. Harriet might have a generous heart, but she was awake to life’s absurdities. She and Imogen had spent many a tea party mocking their neighbors’ pretensions, and London society had only given them a wider canvas.

  “All the more dances for me, then,” Elizabeth said. “He’s very charming and rather handsome. It’s a pity that he’s in trade and not at all eligible.”

  Imogen wanted to agree with her friend, at least about the handsome and charming part. Although her father would have a fit if he knew that she thought so favorably of a man who worked for his living. Not to mention a foreigner with no pedigree.

  But she kept silent. If anyone discovered that she’d escaped last night’s ball to flirt with a man in the darkness, she’d cause a scandal. Yesterday, scandal had seemed the solution to all her problems. Today, the thought of leaving Town made her heart howl in protest.

  “We’ll keep you safe, Lily,” Harriet said with theatrical fervor. “Your scalp shall remain in place, or my name isn’t Harriet Comerford.”

  Lily regarded Harriet uncertainly. She was just eighteen, and she’d led a more sheltered existence than the older girls. On occasions like this, the difference in age and experience became obvious. “I don’t think Mamma would like me to meet such a man.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “Then stay here. I’ve got the new Belle Assemblée and Ackermann’s Repository over there on the side table. They should keep you amused.”

  Lily clearly didn’t want to be left behind. “But—”

  “I’ve never met an American,” Harriet said. “Imogen?”

  Imogen hoped her friends wouldn’t notice the faint heat in her cheeks. Or if they did, they’d blame the stuffy room with its roaring fire.

  “I’m always up for an adventure,” she said, guiltily aware that the statement held more truth than her friends realized. If they learned of last night’s escapade, they’d be utterly horrified.

  Elizabeth clapped her hands in satisfaction. “That’s grand. Mr. Black is here to help Papa redesign the grounds at Sander Hall. They’re hopelessly old-fashioned.”

  Harriet sent Imogen a meaningful glance. “He’s a gardener?”

  “A most urbane one,” Elizabeth said. “Quite socially acceptable.”

  Imogen, who considered most of the gardeners she knew a cut above the flibbertigibbets and idlers she’d encountered in society, smiled. “I look forward to meeting him, then.”

  More than her friends could imagine.

  “He might have some ideas you can use at Hamble Park,” Harriet said.

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to roll her eyes. “If I introduce you girls to a good-looking man, I hope we’ll have better things to talk about than water features and terracing. When he and Papa are at dinner, I vow it’s like being on a construction site.”

  “I’d like that,” Imogen said.

  “You’re a strange creature, Imogen,” Elizabeth said. “But don’t you dare monopolize the conversation.”

  “I won’t.” Right now, her tremulous anticipation threatened to silence her altogether. She’d never felt this nervous about seeing a gentleman again. Or at all. She’d been perfectly calm meeting the men who graced the beau monde, because she didn’t give a fig for any of them.

  Even after one short meeting, she had the inescapable feeling that she gave more than a fig for Mr. Black and his good opinion.

  Stop it, Imogen. When you see him, you’ll probably realize that he’s not nearly as exceptional as you remember. You met him in the dark when you were in a state about whether your scheme would succeed. In the light of day, away from the glamour of a forbidden meeting and deceptive lamplight, he’ll turn into just another man.

  But when she and her three friends trouped into the morning room where Mr. Black had set up an office – Lily had in the end decided that company would repel any attack – it turned out that Mr. Black was even more appealing in daylight.

  He stood at a high drawing table in front of the French windows that poured gray light over the sheet of paper he was working on. Last night’s cold weather had resulted in a bleak morning with a hint of snow in the air.

  The sight of Mr. Black’s long, lean frame silhouetted against the stark light jammed the breath in Imogen’s lungs. Those fluttery feelings that turned her knees to jelly were back. With a vengeance. As her friends traipsed in ahead of her, she flattened a shaking hand on the doorframe.

  “Mr. Black, we all want to see what you’re doing. I told my friends about your plans for Sander Hall. They’re agog to hear more.”

  Mr. Black turned as Elizabeth spoke and put down his pencil, before he performed a creditable bow. He was dressed as he had been when he’d lurked in the Lumsdens’ garden. Imogen had thought him dashing then. She thought him dashing now. Little wonder Elizabeth was in such a dither, no matter what sort of marriage prospect he was.

  Mr. Black’s gaze drifted across the intruders before dwelling for a sizzling moment on Imogen. The blush that she’d tried to hide in the drawing room must now make her look like a tomato. In general, she wasn’t a vain girl, but something deeply feminine inside her didn’t want her flustered and red-faced when Mr. Black saw her. She wanted to look like a rose, not a tomato.

  “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.” His voice was just as deep as she remembered, with that attractive drawl.

  Elizabeth stepped aside and gestured to Mr. Black. “Harriet, Lily, and Imogen, may I present Mr. Caleb Black of Black & Sons Landscaping in New York State? Mr. Black, I thought you might like to meet some of my friends before you come to my ball in a few weeks. This is Lady Harriet Comerford. Her parents are Lord and Lady Lumsden, whose ball I attended last night. This is Miss Lily Bilson of Gadsden in Derbyshire.” Elizabeth glanced up, looking for Imogen who hovered in the doorway. “And Lady Imogen Ridley of Hamble Park in Gloucestershire.”

  Mr. Black bowed again with more of that breathtaking elegance that set Imogen’s heart somersaulting. “Lady Harriet, Miss Bilson.” He paused so infinitesimally that Imogen was sure that only she noticed. “Lady Imogen.”

  Last night, she hadn’t mentioned her title. Only now did it occur to her that Mr. Black might think she’d presented herself under false pretenses.

  Their eyes met, and the world stopped. She caught her breath with an audible gasp. There was that immediate charge in the air that she’d felt in the gazebo. Stronger.

  Now that she could see him properly, he was even more engaging. His thick hair was a rich mahogany brown, and one lock showed a beguiling tendency to tumble down over his high forehead. His eyes were deep chestnut, and she hadn’t imagined their warmth. Nor the warmth in his smile, which set appealing creases around his eyes and on his cheeks.

  He wasn’t classically handsome like her brother or Lord Halston, to whom she’d finally been introduced last night. But it was an interesting face – and to Imogen that was much more pleasing than mere good looks.

  She shifted in discomfort as three pairs of curious eyes settled on her. It wasn’t like her to be retiring, nor to lose herself in bashfulness. She realized that Lily and Harriet must have already responded to Mr. Black’s greeting. While she stood like a moonstruck ninny, gaping at Mr. Black as if she’d never seen a man before.

  She gulped for air as she stepped into the room and performed a hurried curtsy. “Mr. Black, I hope you’re enjoying your visit to London.”

  In her ears, her voice sounded thready and artificial. She hoped to goodness that nobody else noticed. Harriet cast her a sharp look. But then, Harriet and she had been toddlers together. She’d guess something outside the ordinary was going on.

  Did Mr. Black’s smile warm a few degrees when his gaze fell on Imogen? “How could I fail to enjoy my visit? Lord and Lady Tierney have been wonderful hosts, and there’s so much to do in the capital.”

  “What have you seen so far, Mr. Black?” Harriet asked, to Imogen’s relief diverting his attention.

  Imogen was more than happy for Mr. Black to stare at her, but right now she was too afraid of betraying an unseemly interest in the attractive American to her audience. It had been easier to enjoy his company in the gazebo. At least the shadows had hidden her blushes.

  While Mr. Black delivered an amusing account of his activities in London, Imogen had time to conduct a surreptitious inspection. He was appealing when his face was still. When he was involved in conversation, the animation in his expression made him irresistible.

  Last night, she’d gained an impression of humor and cleverness and kindness. Now she observed all these qualities and more. Perhaps most unexpected was a social assurance remarkable in a man of such inferior rank. Here he was, talking to four highborn young ladies, without the slightest trace of obsequiousness.

  She realized that one of the things that had made her trust him last night was that he was a man with nothing to prove. He knew who he was and counted himself equal to anyone he met. That confidence was infernally attractive. She had the oddest sensation that if she put her faith in Mr. Black, he’d never let her down.

  Which seemed both premature and irrelevant, when all that could exist between them was a brief, secret flirtation. Heaven help her, there shouldn’t even be as much as that.

  Her father had spent a fortune to bring her to London in search of a suitable match. In fact, in her father’s mind, he’d already chosen a perfect husband in Lord Chippenham. He might forsake his plans for Chippenham if she attracted an even more eligible suitor. He’d be appalled to think that she’d set her heart on a commoner like Caleb Black.

  Shock had her blocking that thought, the instant it entered her mind. Set her heart? How could their brief conversation spark such an idea?

  But years of working with the outside staff at Hamble Park had taught Imogen to sum people up swiftly and accurately. Aside from her storm of feminine reaction to Mr. Black, her practical streak had immediately recognized that he was honest and trustworthy and nice. If she hadn’t thought that, she’d never have lingered in the gazebo.

 

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