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The audience applauded. She had only a few minutes before her parents saw her. “I have to go,” she whispered. “I wish I did not. I wish we could slip away somewhere and be alone for an hour...”

He pressed her hand, then let go. “It has been a pleasure listening with you. I shall take a turn in the garden, I believe. The fresh air will be good for my catarrh.” Every word he said had been in Lord Wroth’s scratchy, quavering voice. “Good evening to you, my lady.” He gave a brief bow and shuffled off. Mariah closed her eyes and laid her hand on her bosom.

The garden. She could find him in the garden.

“Where did you go, dearest?” asked her mother in concern when she made her way back through the guests. “Are you feeling well?”

“Ah—yes. Well enough. I felt a little overcome—the heat...” She fanned herself vigorously in illustration.

Mama looked a bit perplexed, but smiled. “Shall we step outside? It is warm tonight.”

“Oh, yes.” Mariah obediently followed, wondering how she would manage to get away. Harry had disappeared, although she’d expected that.

On the terrace outside they met her father. He was talking to Earl Dexter, one of Mariah’s early suitors. Mama drew her toward them, greeting Lord Dexter warmly; she had always thought him most eligible. Mariah curtsied, casting a longing glance at the sunken garden, which twinkled with lanterns. Could she profess a sudden interest in tulips?

“Are you enjoying the concert, Lady Doncaster?” Lord Dexter asked politely. He must have gone out with Papa and the other gentlemen to discuss politics while the ladies listened to the music inside. Many gentlemen were caught up in politics these days, especially the question of Queen Caroline. Mariah had no interest in that, not now.

“Very much, sir,” Mama replied, fanning herself. “If only it weren’t so warm.”

Papa smiled. “I cannot complain, if the heat has driven you out here to us.”

“Indeed no,” Lord Dexter agreed. The conversation ran on in that manner for a bit, although Mariah paid no attention. Was Harry waiting for her? Could he know she’d been delayed? How she wished he would come to her again; it was easier for him to sneak into her bedroom than it was for her to get away for even a quarter hour, apparently. Not for the first time, she bristled against the unfair advantages gentlemen had over ladies.

Then Lord Dexter turned to her, startling her out of her thoughts. “Lady Mariah, might I persuade you to take a turn about the garden with me?”

Mariah’s lips parted in dismay. She turned to her mother in appeal. Her mother mistook her hesitation and smiled graciously at Lord Dexter. “How kind, sir. You may go, Mariah, if you wish.”

She bobbed a curtsy to hide her frustration. “Thank you, sir.” With no choice, she put her hand on his arm and let him lead her across the grass and down the steps into Lady Fromby’s Dutch garden.

It was cooler and much darker in the garden. The lanterns cast flickering shadows across the path, but otherwise it was quiet and still. Not many guests had come out here.

“How fortunate I am, to have the most beautiful young lady on my arm tonight,” murmured Lord Dexter.

Mariah smiled uneasily at the way he pulled her closer to his side. “You flatter me, sir.”

“I should like to flatter you more.” He reached out to touch her face, but she turned away at the last moment.

“And I am sure you also wish to be proper and gentlemanly.” She tugged at her hand, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“I have been, my dearest Lady Mariah. Part of my desire to speak to your father hinged on it. I have asked his permission to call on you.”

“Indeed?” Mariah glanced over her shoulder. Had no one else come into the garden? “What answer did he make?”

“He indicated your choice was yours alone, and that I had his blessing to try to persuade you.”

The faintly patronizing amusement in his voice stung her temper. “I must warn you, I am not easily persuaded against my inclination,” she said coolly, hoping he would take the hint.

“That sounds like a challenge.” Only as he bent his head toward her did she smell the wine on his breath. He wasn’t drunk, but had probably had enough to make him bold. She twisted as he put one arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

“Stop,” she protested, shoving at his shoulder. “I believe I have made up my mind against you already!”

“Can’t have,” he muttered, trying to kiss her. “Come now, you’re an intrepid female, smiling at every man in town...”

Mariah pulled one arm free and swung, smacking him on the side of his head with her forearm. He ducked under her flailing and pressed his mouth to her cheek. She squeaked and protested again when his hand, trying to grasp her shoulder, slid down to her breast.

“You’re drunk!” she gasped. “Let me go!”

And he did. With a strange choking sound, he released her and bowed his head.