After all these months of secret hopes and anticipation, she had at last encountered the great love of her life and she had been wearing her spectacles. It was simply too much to be borne.

Nor was that the end of the disaster. Blade had also seen her riding astride instead of sidesaddle. And he had caught her wearing an unfashionable bonnet and her oldest riding habit. And of course she had not bothered to dust powder over her freckles before leaving St. Clair Hall this afternoon. She never bothered with powder here in the country. Everyone around Little Dippington already knew what she looked like.

Dear lord, what a fiasco.

On the other hand, Simon Augustus Traherne, Earl of Blade, was quite perfect, just as she had known he would be. It was true that she had been somewhat taken aback by the coldness of his strange, golden gaze, but a certain cool glitter was only to be expected from a dragon's eyes, she told herself.

Nor could she hold the unexpected harshness of his features against him. It certainly was not Blade's fault that there was no hint of gentleness or softness in that bold nose, high cheekbones, and grimly carved jawline. It was a face of great character, Emily thought. A face that reflected enormous strength of will. An exceedingly masculine face. The visage of a paragon among men.

How unfortunate he had turned out to be an earl. The gulf between them was now much wider than it had been when he had been simply S. A. Traherne.

The cup and saucer in her hand clinked precariously as Emily leaned forward.

"Let me take that cup for you, Miss Faringdon." Simon's strong, warm fingers brushed hers as he deftly removed the saucer from her grasp.

"Thank you." Emily bit her lip and sat back. Her mortification knew no bounds now. Obviously she must have been about to set her cup and saucer on someone's lap, possibly on his lap. Bloody hell She sent up a desperate prayer for escape from this waking nightmare.

"I suggest you put on your spectacles, Miss Faringdon," Simon murmured in an undertone as the ladies began to argue halfheartedly about the fairness of the Edinburgh reviews. "No sense going about half blind. We are old friends, you and I. You don't need to worry about fashion around me."

Emily sighed. "I suppose you have the right of it, my lord. In any event, you have already seen me in them, haven't you?" She fumbled in her reticule for her spectacles and put them on. Simon's grimly hewn face and oddly chilling eyes came into sharp focus. She realized he was studying her very intently and she thought she could read his thoughts. "Not quite what you expected, am I, my lord?"

His mouth quirked in brief amusement. "You are even more interesting in person than you are in your letters, Miss Faringdon. I assure you, I am not in the least disappointed. I only hope you can say the same."

Emily's mouth fell open in astonishment. She closed it quickly. "Disappointed?" she stammered. "Oh, no, not in the least, Mr. Traherne, I mean, my lord." She blushed, reminding herself she was twenty-four years old and not a silly schoolgirl. Furthermore, she had been corresponding with this man for months.

"Good. We progress." Simon sounded satisfied. He took another swallow of tea and something about the twist of his mouth made it subtly clear he did not approve of the blend.

Determined to behave like the adult she was, Emily forced herself to participate in the labored conversation that was going on around her. The others had finally managed to develop a somewhat uninspired discussion of the influence of the Lake poets and Emily did her best to assist the effort. The earl sipped tea in silence for a while.

Emily was feeling much more her normal self when, out of the clear blue sky, Simon put down his teacup and dropped a bombshell into the small parlor.

"Speaking of Byron and his ilk," the earl said calmly, "has anyone here had a chance to read Lord Ashbrook's latest piece, The Hero of Marliana? I thought it rather a poor imitation of Byron, myself. Which is certainly not saying much. Fellow simply is not as interesting as Byron, is he? Lacks a solid sense of irony. But there is no question that Ashbrook is quite popular in some circles at the moment. I am curious to hear your opinion."

The impact of the seemingly innocuous comment was immediate. The Misses Inglebright gasped in unison. Miss Bracegirdle's mouth trembled in shock. Miss Hornsby and Miss Ostly met each other's eyes across the room. Emily looked down at her hands, which were folded very tightly in her lap.

Even Simon, for all his cool sophistication, looked slightly startled by the leaden silence that descended on the parlor. This silence was quite different from the others that had preceded it. Those had been awkward; this was downright hostile and accusatory.

Simon glanced around with an expression of mild concern. "I take it you have not had a chance to read the Ashbrook epic, then?"

"No, my lord. We have not." Emily averted her eyes, aware of the fierce heat in her cheeks. She reached for her cup and saucer again in a desperate effort to occupy her trembling fingers.

"No great loss, I assure you," Simon said languidly. His golden eyes were dangerously curious, those of a dragon who had spotted possible prey.

The ladies of the Thursday Afternoon Literary Society suddenly came to life. As if the mention of Ashbrook's name had galvanized them into action, they took complete charge of the conversation. Their voices rose loudly, filling the parlor with a long, prosy discussion of a recent work entitled Patronage by Maria Edgeworth. Even the Edinburgh, which normally fawned on Miss Edgeworth, had had difficulty finding good things to say about it. The ladies of the Thursday afternoon salon tore it to shreds.

With a cold, unreadable smile, Simon leaned back in his chair and let the discussion rage around him. "Forgive me," he murmured to Emily. "I seem to have said something unfortunate."

Emily choked on her tea. "Not at all, my lord," she got out between quick gasps for air. Her eyes watered. "It is just that we are not very familiar with Lord Ashbrook's works here."

"I see." Simon reached over and quite casually slapped Emily between the shoulders.

Emily rocked beneath the force of the blow and then caught her balance and her breath. "Thank you, my lord," she managed.

"Anytime." With a sardonic tilt to his mouth, the earl rose to his feet. Instantly another hush fell over the parlor, this time a distinctly hopeful one. He raised a brow. "If you will forgive me, ladies, I must be on my way. I told Lady Gillingham I would be back early. I trust I shall have the great pleasure of meeting you all again. I assure you, this has been a most informative afternoon."

There ensued a few minutes of polite chaos as Simon was hastily shown to the door of the cottage. He bowed politely and walked down the little path to the gate where his stallion was tied. He mounted, tipped his hat, and cantered off down the lane.

Relief immediately swamped Rose Cottage. As one, the other five women turned toward Emily.

"Thought he'd never leave," Priscilla Inglebright muttered as she flopped down into her chair. "Lavinia, pour us all another cup of tea, will you?"

"Certainly." Her sister lifted the pot as the others resumed their seats. "Such a shock when Lord Gillingham sent word that Blade wished to visit today. One could hardly refuse. Gillingham told me the earl is an extremely powerful man in London."

"Blade is well enough in his way, I suppose," her sister said, "but he hardly fits into our little group."

"Hardly." Miss Hornsby sighed. "It was rather like having to entertain a large beast that had somehow wandered into the parlor."

"A dragon," Emily suggested softly.

"A dragon is a very apt description," Miss Ostly agreed at once. "Blade is a rather dangerous-looking man, is he not? There is something about those odd eyes of his that makes one extremely cautious. Very chilling, those eyes."