Her mind went completely blank of all thoughts but those of the man standing before her. Slowly he raised her hand to his lips. Gillian gulped at the shock of the touch and tried to think of some way to apologize for the disastrous outing, but couldn’t form words under the penetrating scrutiny of those silver-gray eyes.

“Tomorrow, madam.” He bowed and turned to leave. Gillian floated up the steps and through the opened door with only a brief greeting to the footman.

Tomorrow? What could he mean?

“What does he mean?” Gillian asked three hours later, as she lay prone on her stomach on Charlotte’s bed, kicking her feet in the air and watching her cousin’s maid create long blond ringlets out of the girl’s mass of hair.

“For heaven’s sake, Gillian, you are a goose! I can’t believe you’re seven years older than me. He’s paying court to you, of course. Just as the dangerous Raoul did to Beatrice in The Castle of Almeria.”

Gillian looked thoughtful as she picked at the soft shawl in front of her. “Was that the novel that opens with the heroine covered with blood after she believes she murdered her father who tried to rape her and is later befriended by the kindly vegetarian?”

“No, that was Louisa, or The Cottage on the Moor.”

Gillian tapped a long finger on her lower lip. “Is it the one that had the heroine beset with wolves and marauding strangers after she’s kidnapped by her sinister father’s men, only to be nearly ravished in a French château?”

Charlotte frowned briefly, then shook her head. “No, that was Romance of the Forest.”

“Then it must be the one where the heroine strangles the nefarious lord who attempts to sully her virtue, and the evil villainess gets an unspeakable disease due to her lust for anything in trousers.”

“Yes, that’s Almeria, although I don’t understand why Madam de la Rouge was made out to be such an evil woman. I quite understood her fascination with the count. And the blond footman. And, of course, that rogue of an under-gardener. However, as I was saying, Lord Weston is clearly made of the same romantic material as Raoul. Just as Raoul fought the kidnappers, pirates, and the evil brandy-swilling monks of Clermont in order to be with his true love, so, I feel sure, would Lord Weston fight for you.”

Gillian rolled her eyes and made an unladylike snort. “Oh, yes, why didn’t I see that? Of course, it makes perfect sense. Here is a man—wealthy, enormously attractive even if he is thought to be a murderer, and in possession of a title—and he falls madly in love with untitled, poor, freckled, opinionated, clumsy me. How could I have missed such an obvious fact?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, cousin, it will give you spots. You have many charms, even if you don’t have a dowry or a title. Perhaps Lord Weston is enamored with you. After what you’ve told me about your drive this afternoon, such a romantic gesture would certainly fit with his actions today.”