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  As they approached her, Mrs. Baycliffe’s expression of welcome faded. She cast her gaze down, then away, as she scurried to the other side of the room, pretending interest in Honoria and her dance partner.

  Humiliation slid through Kira, thick and choking. A quick glance about confirmed her worst fear, Not only had their hostess cut her, but the entire room had seen. Every pair of eyes seemed to bore into her, burning with condemnation. Heat singed her face as mortification crashed through her.

  Agreeing to elope with Lord Vance had been a mistake. Couldn’t anyone believe that she had learned from it? Couldn’t they forget her one error?

  “Mrs. Baycliffe likely did not see us.”

  James used the reassuring tones she’d heard him use with troubled parishioners back in her Suffolk home. Rather than soothing her as it had a few weeks ago, his voice now chafed. She was not just another bird in his flock, but his fiancée. And at the moment, she wanted something more than his practiced tone and a lie. She wanted comfort. She wanted to leave.

  “Kira, are you feeling well?” Her brother studied her with concerned eyes after removing himself from the corner he’d occupied since their arrival.

  “I truly think I should go. Mrs. Baycliffe—”

  “Please,” James cajoled. “Just a bit longer. You’ve barely arrived, and Mrs. Baycliffe is one person. Do not allow her to ruin your evening.”

  Always the optimist, James was. Kira usually joined him in buoyant thoughts. Tonight, however, she could not muster his idealism. Still, for James’s sake, she would try.

  “I’ll stay.”

  “Are you certain?” Darius’s frown was all concern.

  She sent her brother a shaky nod.

  James smiled. “Splendid. I’ve a feeling everything will work out. In fact, I’m going to speak with my mother. She can help us smooth things over.”

  As James turned away, Kira grabbed his arm. “No.”

  “Yes,” he argued, fair hair falling boyishly across his forehead. “She will not want to see you so ill-treated now that everyone knows I mean to make you part of this family.”

  Mrs. Howland would not appreciate or honor such a request, she knew. Nor would Cropthorne.

  Kira clutched his arm more tightly. “Please, do not involve your family. Just let the matter be.”

  James hesitated, blue eyes roaming her face, searching. With a sigh, he relented. “As you wish. I’ll introduce you to some of our other neighbors instead.”

  Satisfied, Darius again retreated to his corner where several of the local girls eyed him with unabashed curiosity. He barely glanced in their direction. He certainly did not encourage the blushing females with a smile. Kira ached for him. Experience had taught them both that those with mixed blood weren’t wanted by either culture. And Kira knew her scandal would do nothing to make Darius more comfortable about his future. She wished she could change all of it—for him.

  As she and James made their way through the room, Kira felt every eye upon her, particularly those of men, young and old, questioning her morals with a heated, contemplative stare. She was glad to escape their gazes when she and James reached the adjoining room filled with guests playing cards and laughing. Kira hovered in the doorway behind him and peered over his shoulder at the fifteen or so people scattered about in small groups at varying tables. Would she find any friends here?

  “Did you see her?” asked a nearby redheaded matron whose hat boasted a peacock plume. “Can she possibly believe that engagement to any man, even one of Mr. Howland’s fine stature, would induce us to believe she’s anything but a wanton?”

  The question sent a coil of shock through Kira.

  Another thirtyish woman, a tall, thin-faced brunette dressed in drab brown, played her cards on the table. “I’d sooner believe that George the Fourth is still alive.”

  The other two women at the small table joined the first two in a gale of laughter. Kira stood rooted, stunned. Did they think she had no feelings, no ears? Did they simply not care?

  “Their opinions are of no concern, Miss Melbourne,” James whispered in her ear. “They are not important—”

  “I’ve no doubt when I look at her,” whispered the redhead, “that she is every bit capable of spending two days abed with Lord Vance, or any other lord who might be so inclined. Lord Vance described to my husband the indelicate acts Miss Melbourne performed! And she looks like the very type of woman who would enjoy such things.”

  Shock turned to horror and infused Kira. Lord Vance’s lies, in all their offensive detail, had reached even this small corner of England; she could not pretend that only gossips back home cared or that Mrs. Baycliffe was simply being contrary. In the eyes of England, she was a fallen woman.

  Would anyone at Tunbridge Wells accept her? What would she do if they did not?

  Embarrassment followed anxiety. She gripped James’s shoulder for support.

  The women did not see her, but it was clear they did not care if others heard them—or that they bandied her name about so cruelly without really knowing her.

  “Indeed, sister.” A small brunette wearing an orange gown gave a decisive nod. “I should not be surprised in the least to learn that she cavorted with Lord Vance like a common strumpet. That’s to be expected, I suppose. Her mother probably grew up in a harem and taught her a great deal.”

  That was untrue! Her mother’s people were more nomadic than salacious. Ravan knew nothing of harems.

  But ridicule, the kind these four women spouted…that she knew very well, indeed.

  A moment later, Kira felt a heavy stare upon her. She glanced up and found Cropthorne watching her. He sat at a table near the four women, a handful of cards in his fist and a drink at his elbow. He wore a grim expression on the angles of his strong, square face. A furrow rested between the slashes of his dark brows.

  And he had heard every slur, had seen her utterly humiliated! Oh, how he must be gloating. Kira hated him for that as she fought the sudden urge to cry.

  James turned to face her and tried to urge her away. Kira refused to move.

  “Come with me, Miss Melbourne.” James pulled on her arm. “We’ll find some others with whom to share our society.”

  “No,” she whispered, a jumble of anger and hurt and shame.

  “And that mouth.” The thin-faced woman at the table groaned as if disgusted. “It’s as if she’s plying her trade every time she smiles.”

  “Or even breathes, for goodness sake!” cried another.

  “Their opinions mean nothing. They do not know you. Turn the other cheek.” James’s urgent tone matched his expression.

  As the women laughed, Kira looked up to find Cropthorne’s stare still upon her. She found nothing in his expression—no pity, no surprise—nothing but acceptance.

  Kira could not swallow such a slur. She simply refused to allow such small-minded women to insult her without comment.

  Doing her best to muster a blank expression, she broke away from James and approached the vicious foursome’s table.

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  The gossips all looked up wearing identically stunned expressions. Only one had the good grace to look contrite. Around them, the room seemed to stop. She had everyone’s attention. Heart pounding, Kira took a deep breath.

  “You seem misinformed about me, so I hope you will indulge me for a moment. After all, it’s a pity intelligent, well-bred women like you would believe every lie a philandering rake would tell his unsuspecting peers.”

  The redhead sputtered, “See here—”

  “And come now, a harem?” Kira laughed. “It’s rather farfetched. I assure you there is no palace that might hold such a harem in the Zagros Mountains. My mother’s people spent far more time looking for water and surviving the elements in order to live another day. At no time was I taught to be wanton. In fact, Islamic law discourages women from even displaying their hair in public, much less any amount of bosom.” She looked pointedly at the brunette’s d
angerously low décolletage.

  James was at her side then, his hand at her elbow, urging her away. Nearby, Cropthorne had abandoned his cards and stood, looking ready to spring to action. His dark eyes held a sharp warning, but she was beyond caution. Since he shared their opinion, he could go hang himself.

  “And as for my mouth, do you imagine a feature given me at birth would really determine my proclivity for lewdness? Such learned ladies like yourselves should know better.”

  The redhead stood and drew herself up to her full height, a good six inches shorter than Kira’s own five feet, eight inches. The woman’s pinch-mouthed expression spewed hate.

  “Lord Vance is a wealthy, respectable peer. It’s shameful that a woman of such questionable birth would use her dubious virtue to attempt to snare a husband so far above her. To everyone who matters, you are ill-bred and ill-mannered. No one, least of all Mrs. Baycliffe, wants you here.”

  Kira had known that when she walked in the door. Still, it hurt to hear the truth put so bluntly—and publicly. She swallowed as a new wave of humiliation lanced through her.

  Still, she lifted her chin proudly. “Then we find ourselves at a happy compromise, for I have no desire to be among the society of small-minded simpletons.”

  With the redhead’s gasp ringing in her ears, Kira whirled away and left the room. Behind her, she heard stunned silence, followed by an agitated buzz of chatter. She felt dozens of stares.

  Stumbling through the small ballroom, Kira found a white-draped glass door and exited into the brisk night.

  Insects chirped, but the sound did not soothe her. A garden beckoned below, looking blessedly empty of partygoers. She heeded its call, wandering down its winding path into a profusion of spring flowers, pungent but unidentifiable in the near dark. Upon finding a bench, Kira plopped down onto it and covered her face with her hands.

  Oh, she’d handled that very badly. James was likely right; she should have turned the other cheek. But she’d been unable to hear so many false aspersions cast upon her character day after day, from her neighbors back in Suffolk, from Mrs. Baycliffe and Mrs. Howland. And worst of all, from the duke himself. She’d had far more than she could stomach, and tonight she had refused to pretend she did not hear or that their slurs did not bother her.

  Tears came, and she let them cascade in hot tracks down her cheeks. Tonight she would hurt; tomorrow she would rise again and find a way to overcome the injustice of Lord Vance’s lies and her Persian blood…somehow.

  * * * *

  Gavin watched Kira stumble away from the party toward the Baycliffe’s garden. He made his way to the door. James followed close behind.

  He tried not to be angry that Lady Becker voiced the thought of nearly every guest at the party. But he was. Damned angry. Now that everyone knew Kira to be James’s fiancée, such confrontations reflected badly on the family. Kira’s outburst had not helped matters either.

  Still, what had infuriated him most was the hurt on her expressive face.

  Reaching for the door, Gavin decided he was an idiot. Likely Miss Melbourne was every bit as wanton as Lady Becker exclaimed to everyone in the card room—he knew that. Still, he remembered from boyhood how he’d felt when he had been ridiculed for his father’s behavior.

  It would not do, however, to develop sympathy for the enemy. His aunt had received a chilly reception from her neighbors tonight, all because of Kira Melbourne. He must concentrate on that fact, as well as the actions necessary to rid her from Norfield Park and their lives.

  “Gavin, why are you hesitating?” James demanded. “If you’ve no intent to go outside and comfort Miss Melbourne, then step aside and allow me to do so.”

  Comforting the beauty would only encourage her to stay. That he could not allow.

  “James, I should go out alone. Consider that if you, her fiancé, venture to the garden alone to speak with her, there will only be more talk. I can fetch her back to the coach if you’ll have it brought `round and collect your mother, and we can be gone in under a quarter hour. Agreed?”

  His cousin hesitated with good reason: his argument had no sound logic. Gavin felt certain tongues would likely wag even more if he spent time alone with Kira Melbourne in the garden.

  But he had a purpose other than to comfort her. He must seize every advantage to see her gone.

  “If—if you think so.” James shrugged, looking undecided.

  “Indeed, I do. Find Aunt Caroline.”

  Before James could say anything else, Gavin stepped outside and followed the meandering path framed by a profusion of greenery and blossoms, into the heart of the garden that was Mrs. Baycliffe’s pride and joy.

  He tread quietly, listening for sounds of Kira’s whereabouts. It didn’t take long before he heard a sob, followed by a sniffle.

  Another few steps brought him to the wrought iron bench beside a half-naked statue of Cupid. There, Kira sat alone.

  The clouds above parted and moonlight suddenly rained down on her in silvery light. She seemed to glow with radiance. As usual, his blood rushed fiercely south. But when he saw her shoulders shaking, again heard her cry, something in his stomach tightened. Gavin swore he could hear the loneliness in her tears.

  He swallowed, appalled by his hesitation. He was here to take advantage of Kira in a vulnerable moment, persuade her that, since she’d been hurt by the gossips, life would not be any easier for her as James’s wife.

  And yet he held back. Blast it all, why?

  Kira sobbed once more, hugging herself as if no one else in the world would, and red-nosed, she raised her head to dry her tears with her fingers. Then she saw him.

  Instantly, her face changed from soft and aching to accusing. Gavin did not like the manner in which she closed herself off from him so quickly, so easily. It was illogical, certainly. After doing his utmost to oust her from the family, he should not expect otherwise. But logic did not change the fact he resented her exclusion.

  “Did you come to gloat?” she challenged.

  “No.”

  Now. Say it now! Tell her she does not belong here.

  And yet he remained silent.

  She dried a stray tear from her cheek and glared at him. “What do you want?”

  Kira had given him another opportunity, even more perfect than the last, in which to persuade her to cry off her engagement and leave. Say something!

  Yet when he looked at her blue eyes rimmed in red, he simply couldn’t hurt her anymore tonight. Lady Becker and her sister had already hurt her enough tonight. Despite the perfect opportunity to press his case, it seemed unfair, even appalling, to inflict more pain on her now.

  He was a bloody fool.

  “James was concerned about you,” Gavin said finally, easing his clenched teeth long enough to speak. “He’s having the coach brought round the front so we might leave.”

  Suspicion and surprise both crossed her beautiful face. “Thank you.”

  She looked like a dark goddess sent to earth to tempt him, and in that moment Gavin yearned to touch her, the soft skin of her neck, the opulence of her mouth, the tempting swell of her bosom. He clenched his fists to keep his hands to himself.

  Forget being a bloody fool; he was every kind of fool.

  One thing was certain: he had to get away. Being alone in a garden with Kira would only give him improper thoughts the longer he stayed.

  Gavin said nothing to her. He merely sent her a short nod, then turned away, cursing himself with every step.

  * * * *

  During the tense ride back to Norfield Park, Darius watched his sister try her best to look unaffected by the evening’s events. But the way she pressed her lips together and folded her hands too tightly in her lap told him that she fought tears.

  No one in the carriage spoke to her. Mrs. Howland’s rounded chin looked pointed in anger. Her son seemed surprised by Kira’s unexpected outburst. Darius knew such events to be rare, but his sister had spirit, especially when pushed.

&nbs
p; The duke continued to watch Kira in contemplative silence. In fact, Cropthorne’s eyes were always on her, and Darius did not like it. His high-and-mightyship might not approve of Kira as his cousin’s bride, but the man wanted her for himself. Darius read the lust in Cropthorne’s dark eyes. He also knew the duke believed the worst about Kira. And though Darius hoped his sister’s debacle with Lord Vance had taught her to be less trusting, he feared Kira was not immune to Cropthorne. Something about the way she looked at the duke told him so.

  That could easily spell trouble.

  The coach rolled to a stop in front of Norfield Park, mercifully ending a tense journey. Darius stepped out after Mrs. Howland and turned to help Kira alight. Before James—or worse, the duke—could escort her inside, Darius did so. It was time they talked.

  The evening formalities were dispensed with quickly, requiring very little conversation. James looked as though he wished to speak with Kira, but Darius hoarded her, not feeling guilty in the least about protecting his soft-hearted sister.

  Finally, they were alone in her room, decorated in elegant yet feminine tones of rose, cream, and gold. Kira belonged in such comfort. He hoped that marriage to James would give her that without the hardship of scandal someday.

  Kira sat on a plush pink dressing stool and shot him a downtrodden glance. “Well, that was certainly a cheerful evening.”

  Darius shrugged. “You knew before you went it wasn’t likely to be fun.”

  “True.” She frowned. “I said too much. I should have walked away—”

  “It’s done. In a manner of speaking, I’m glad you said something to defend yourself.” He smiled wryly. “Though I might have been tempted to put things a bit more delicately.”

  She smiled in return. “Yes, but you are far more reasonable than me.” Her smile fell. She looked at him with imploring eyes. “I felt wretched; their words were so terrible and untrue. It was horribly unfair, and I simply could not tolerate their prattle anymore.”

  “I know.”

  With a sigh, Kira bent and removed her slippers. “James thought I should have turned the other cheek.”