Mrs. Flora Toft pursed her lips and lay aside the scandal sheet she and Lady Newton had been reading. In particular they'd been reading the list of eligible bachelors, and one Viscount Simon Berrenger, who'd recently become earl of Collingworth upon his father William's death.

An intense and somewhat eccentric elder woman, Flora Toft had found herself the guardian to her sister's daughter some ten years earlier, and seeing that she was a bit on the distracted side, she had at times forgotten that Abigail's father had been a titled gent, and that put Abby on a higher social scale than the locals they lived amid.

The chit had been left to her because she was the only surviving family, and the Baron had no one on his side, either. Though the Toft's pedigree included Knights only, they had cast Flora off when her odd ways began to manifest itself in young adulthood. Therefore, she surmised, that when it came to Abigail Forsythe, there was none else to keep the child from an orphanage.

However, that child was now twenty-three and somehow the years had gotten by Flora ... Until Lady Newton drew it to her attention.

The Newtons were the loftiest gentry around, and she and Rose had a close friendship, evolving from their mutual interest in transcendental meditation and their participation in the investigations into local lore, namely the tales of dragons of East Horndon churchyard, here in Essex. They were a part of the group excavating around the site for the beast's remains.

Lore and spirits weren't on Lady Newton's mind as she'd reminded her dear friend that Abigail was not only climbing higher on the shelf, she was swiftly passing the age where any titled gent would have her for a wife.

More extreme than those dire statistics was the fact that Abby Forsythe had not only never been exposed to the ton, she had spend her prime years gaining herself an unusual education as well as developing a personality that would be the extreme opposite of the typical London deb.

"Perhaps Abby does not wish to wed," Flora shrugged. "I did not, and have been more content than my sister ever was."

"One can hardly presume such a thing, Flora, when the gel hasn't had the opportunity to mix with any males besides a brawny farmer or old professor or the village tavern keeper."

"Having a well rounded view of the male species and their varied characteristics has likely served her better than that superficial ritual the ton calls a season."

"But she has not had that, Flora. Excluding the type of gentleman her father would have likely insisted she wed makes any decision she's made of her future biased. For certain, Abby is too unlike the normal deb to pluck from the top, but denying her this experience before it is too late is entirely unacceptable ... and unlike your typically open minded experimentations."

Flora's thin nose twitched. Her wiry frame slid back in the chair, her body draped in the royal blue she had taken to wearing since finding her spirit guide, a blue sphere she sensed of late. Tugging on the matching cape with the embroidered dragon club emblem, she expressed, "I did not veto the suggestion, nor does the reality escape me, it is simply that I refuse to return to some maternal domination over Abby. She has reached an age to know her own mind and make her decisions ... besides, I do not wish to go to London."

Lady Newton smiled slightly, knowing her friend well and having that Ah, at last, we get to the root of it, thought. "My nephew Damien and his sister will sponsor her, I've already inquired."

Flora blinked. "Damien?"

"Yes. He is the earl of Blackstone, Damien Sauvage. He and my niece Alexia have been on the scene many years, and though Damien is a rake and rogue..." Lady Newton laughed. "He has the sort of inside knowledge of the London set and their ways that would only do Abby good. Besides, he is not likely to be the least bit put off by her unique character. He has no affection for the endless crop of witless debs that seem to appear year after year. And he has friends in lofty places."

Flora seemed to ponder that and looked own into her teacup as if reading the answer there. After awhile she murmured. "Very well, I shall put it to Abigail and let her decide."

They parted and ended their tea. Lady Newton watched Flora walk briskly to her horse and mount up as if she had jumped from the ground on springs.

She sighed. Their mutual interest and friendship aside--she sometimes wondered if Abigail Forsythe may not have done better in a structured orphanage than the imaginative, impulsive, and wildly eccentric influence of Flora Toft.

"I'd heard you were back in town, Simon." Damien Sauvage grinned slightly, eyeing his friend's disheveled appearance and Simon's deceptively lazy pose, leaning against the tobacco shop's outer wall. "Also heard you have reformed, or rather conformed from our standpoint. Becoming a regular farmer on your estates and that of the past earl. Sorry about that, by the way, always did have a liking for old Willy."

Simon regarded Blackstone. "My thanks, Damien; m'father had fond memories of you too. He passed on a contented man."

Simon's tawny eyes, a green with golden flecks, were half veiled for a moment by his lids while he supplied in bored tones, "Since you were well aware that a lost wager to m'cousin, Lady Joan, that stipulated I stay sober an entire season, and I left London for that very reason three years ago, you can cut the thinly veiled witticisms."

Damien flashed him a white smile. "Couldn't resist, ole man. I know you stayed on when your father became ill, and though we do pride ourselves on our jaded and misanthropic wit, I'm sure it made the earl happy to have you at Collingworth Manor so long, and so abstinent."

Simon's brow rose. "Reduced to listening to country gossip, are you, Blackstone?"

The earl laughed. "No, our mutual friend and your cousin by marriage, Lord Wythe had bets at White's. A kin to one of his servants is working at the estate to report your doings."

"The hell he did!" Simon suddenly straightened. When Damien nodded, laughing more, Simon muttered, "I just breakfasted with the bastard this morning, actually let him talk me into playing jacks on the nursery floor with his little beasties." Damien was chuckling more at such a picture when Simon clipped, "I thought m'cousin Joan would be good for Roger. Now I suspect her twisted humor has had the opposite effect."

"Simon, you know the only reason Rog would do such a thing is because he knew it would get back to you. He may be wed and out of circulation, but he still knows how to get his jibs in, and not just at the gym."

Damien slapped his shoulder. "What are your plans today, aside from holding up walls? I've yet to toast your elevation into earldom. Welcome to the race of hunted men."

"Meaning..."

"The usual." Damien led him to his carriage and they climbed in. "Look around the streets here, Simon. All these crested coaches and deb-filled carriages, every matchmaking mama and title-lusting father will be decking their females out to catch your eye. Say adieu to the old days, Viscount Berrenger." The earl smiled cynically, "As the Earl of Collingworth, rakehell or not, you've just become one of the most desirable catches in London."

"Why am I here again?" Kendyl Reid glanced at her friend and present riding companion.

"Because if I must suffer these stupid society rules, I would rather do so with a friend I trust," Abigail Forsythe supplied. She grimaced and sighed. "For all that I like Lord Sauvage well enough, his sister Lady Alexia is a different story."

"Oh, now, she is quite nice to us, considering she must be appalled by our country manners and lack of polish. You're only holding her in aversion because she's making you read all that tripe on manners and lady-like decorum, and because she insists you take those boring dancing lessons and--"

"Just so."

Kendyl laughed. "All right, so she is a bit extreme, but she's a London sophisticate, a woman who knows these titled and rich families and their ways. I for one am glad she approved me as your companion. She actually did not have to accept my presence in the household."

"She positively will," Abby insisted strongly. "I'm not some nit-wit deb who will blindly follow anyone's dictates. I am a grown woman, and I have only accepted this invitation because I am ... curious. And I don't like the fact you're reduced to the role of servant when we've practically grown up together."

They reined in under some shade trees, aware of the earl and his sister some paces back talking to a group of riders. Kendyl said, "I'm a horse breeder's daughter, Abby. There are Scottish earldoms in our family true, but we don't move in society outside of selling them horse flesh."

She eyed Abigail as the woman undid another button under the jabot of her buff riding habit and laughably whispered, "Tell me that you put that corset and camisole on that Lady Alexia purchased?"

Abby smiled back. "Of course I did not. Who the devil wears flannel this time of year anyway?" She reached up then to tuck a strand of strawberry hair that was blowing in her face. "The whole idea of city fashion and proper wear is absurd, these stiff habits and starched drawers and laced up torture devices, no wonder every woman we've met has tight lips and bulging eyes. It's a marvel they're not all laying about the park half dead."

Kendyl chuckled.

Abby laughed with her, saying then dryly, "Blast it, Ken, we need our humor back. I swear these past two weeks have been bloody hell. I do like Lady Alexia, even if she cannot comprehend I'm well read, probably more versed on sexuality than she is, and find those so-called proper books for young ladies not only deficient in detail.

However, offensive in their insistence that females do not need to ... Well, you know ... And aside from being handsome, Damien is delightfully not the stuffy old bore I'd feared him to be."

"Quite the opposite." The woman's hazel eyes met hers. "Good God, Abby ... He's dark and dangerous looking, he fair makes my knees weak when he turns those silver eyes on me. That wavy black hair, those winged brows, and wicked, wicked smile. I dare say, I've succumbed to every silly affliction we laughed at in those books when he's around."

"You've a fancy for him, then?"

"Now you are being obtuse." Kendyl snorted. "One does not get a mere fancy for a man like Damien Sauvage, one struggles to ... Oh, there he is."

"Who, Lord Sauvage? We--"

"No silly, not him. His friend, the rakehell the servants were speaking of. Do attend my gossip, Abby." She sighed and chuckled. "You asked me to keep an ear to the ground, remember, to..."

"Never mind. I see him." Abigail Forsythe stared from the peaceful shade at the man now riding between Lord Damien and his sister. Both Blackstone and the female were jet haired and somewhat warm skinned from some mixed ancestry. The earl of Blackstone had collar length waves that fit his startlingly handsome looks and tall, well-built frame. And Alexia, with all the sultry, stately beauty, having all the poise one would expect from a highly placed family. Her hair was piled atop her head with several long spirals bouncing against her straight back and an impressive full bosom.

Yet--Abby's gaze stayed on the newly titled Earl of Collingworth, having no trouble recalling Kendyl's gossip now ... a jaded man who before leaving the scene for a space had not only the rep of rakehell but delivered both stinging wit and bored indifference with equal measure.

He was reputed to have tumbled every female of ripe age in London from the time he was twenty-five, and not limited himself to titles but kept a string of revolving mistresses that seem to run the gambit in looks and mature age.

Lord Simon, even as a viscount, had wealth and appearance and an endless thirst for drink, which some said attributed to his lack of respect or toad eating amongst his peers. Described as a man who always appeared disheveled and bored. One who openly expressed that, other than sex, females were useless, he was just the sort of man that Abigail Forsythe would find challenging.

She eyed him as a soft breeze ruffled that over long mane of sable and sun streaked hair. It blew it back from a face that was both bronzed and sensually stamped with every attribute found in a woman's forbidden dreams.

Even on horseback, he had a languid grace and indolent style, like a tiger on the prowl. Or rather a well-fed and spoiled one, who was perfectly aware every female in the jungle wanted to mate with him. The man dressed himself in burgundy when every other gent in the park wore black and buff. He did not have on a neck cloth but a shirt that looked suspiciously undone at the sinew of his throat.

Pah, Abby mused mentally, he had run wild too long, grown too used to his usual pack of females. Someone should have shaken his smug egotism a long time ago and showed him a thing or two about supposedly compliant, gullible women.

Oh, yes, there was a man who needed a taste of his own medicine. And she was just the woman to deliver it.

"I recognize that set to your jaw."

Abby glanced at her friend, seeing a dry expression on her face. "Do you recall when Aunt Flora and Mr. Weeks were debating whether or not a positive spirit could tempt a person to explore something affirmative as well as an evil spirit could entice one to do the forbidden?"

"For God sakes, Abby," Kendyl laughed on a snort. "You know we never paid the least heed to some of the old dear's wild theories."

"I know that in general her character is ... peculiar. But there are times when I think my aunt's eccentric nature borders on brilliance."

Since she said this with an enigmatic smirk, her friend finally caught on. "I see. And how, or rather should I say, on whom, do you intend to lead into temptation?"

"Not just temptation, Kendyl." Abby turned back, realizing the group was awaiting them now. "I believe we are going to find this season a challenge after all. I have a rather interesting theory of my own to prove out."

"God save Lord Simon, then, "Kendyl muttered, amused, as they headed for the path. "And count me in."

Simon had reined in to await the ladies with Blackstone and his sister. In spite of his normal boredom and aversion to London and its long sampled offerings, the complete lack of any interest in the usual season and its crop of debs.

When Damien told him over drinks that he and Alexia were sponsoring some chit for the season, not a deb but a fully grown stranger, he'd first choked on his brandy, then laughed his arse off, though Damien further said the young woman's aunt was some eccentric character who communicated with ghosts, dug in the woods for dragon's bones and belonged to a mostly all male group of intellectuals who were considered the extremists of the scientific world.

Aside from the fact that the Damien Sauvage he knew slummed and gambled and raked with him, Rog, and a few others, and could care less for attending ton functions, or the seasons usual amusements. His friend's description of the aunt had also made him curious as hell.

At first introduction, Simon figured the dark redhead with freckles and a rather fey looking face was the one. Kendyl Reid, a slip of a woman with tilted almond eyes, no more than five foot tall, dimples and a slight burr to voice, wearing a plaid habit that stuck out like a sore thumb amid the gray and black.

"How do you do, M'lord." She nodded.

"Fine, thank you," he murmured, aware that Lady Alexia was hailed away by some dowager, and that Damien was introducing the other. But then he heard...

"The Honorable Abigail Forsythe..."

She did not nod as her companion had but rather met his eyes with ones of an unusual lime green; Simon felt something prickle at his nape at their almost translucent hue with a thin darker rim. He had that absent sort of recognition that her strawberry hair was straight with uneven strands blowing across her brow and cheek, one catching on her pale pink mouth, which he was looking at next.

"Lord Collingworth." She leaned in the saddle to shake his hand.

Simon's brow raised and he ignored Damien's chuckle when he did shake that hand, rather surprised that she had a firm grip, and then completely thrown when she held on a bit more and murmured, "We're going to see each other quite a bit this season, I imagine."

When she had let go, in the pretense of joining his sister, Damien turned his mount and leaned to say to Simon, "I'll leave them in your able company for a bit, my lord, so that you may apprise them of the dangerous predators and vile seducers to steer clear of here in town..."

"Go to hell," Simon whispered through a grit toothed smile that only the females could see and in a tone that only Damien heard.

But then he was nudged by Miss Reid's rather impressive roan gelding and found himself plodding the row alongside Abigail Forsythe while her companion indiscreetly fell back.

Having carried on his celebration, or rather Damien's welcome back to town on his own after leaving Blackstone at the club, Simon was suffering a few effects of sleep deprivation and too much drink after long months of limiting himself to a brandy after dinner. He hadn't planned to do more than get a look at the female so he could torture his friend for taking on such an unlike Damien task.

Therefore he yawned and lazily eyed her again, noting that her frame was tall, around five feet six, and that she had her habit jacket undone. He could almost swear no corset or camisole contained the softly rounded breasts that pushed against her lace blouse. There was that unfettered sway with each step the horse took.

That habit, a dark green and black, was embroidered in a Celtic design. The cut was plain, almost severe next to the delicate lace of her blouse. He eyed her hair again--where her friend wore a bonnet, very Scottish and bearing some distinct crest, Abigail Forsythe was one of the handful of women in the park without a hat. Her silken mix of red and white hair was slipping its pins and managing to look wholly unladylike.

Simon lifted his gaze upward and felt a stir of attraction in spite of his initial disinterest. Her lips were flush pink and, while not full, there was a hint of promised sensuality in that shape. Of course, her nose, and the arch of that brow, the set of her jaw warned of a proud streak, something he could do without in lovers, since they normally made for bitchy and demanding types.

Though brunettes made up his last string of mistresses, beauties all of them, he would not consider Abigail Forsythe so much attractive as ... somewhat tempting ... for the very fact she was opposite them. In addition, perhaps not exactly being a deb played into that, making her less a strings attached sort of female.

But then again, Simon reminded himself, his circumstances had altered and every unwed female in London considered him open for the claiming.

He snorted. Not bloody likely.

Yet Simon's gaze stayed on the woman until she turned her head and caught him looking, with an expression of her own that made him think she had been aware of his gaze the whole time. Unlike the savoir-faire rake he was, he came damn near close to flushing.

However, she said evenly enough, "You have been on the London scene for many years, have you not, milord?"

"Yes. Unfortunately."

"Thus you would be an expert on those vile seducers and predators that Lord Blackstone spoke of."

Simon drawled, "You're here to find a husband, madam. I surmise you will care little what sort of male creature you encounter, as long as he has wealth and title."

"Mmm. That seems to be the normal goal, according to Lady Alexia. I, however, have decided that such an undertaking is not only uninteresting, but would make my one and only season a dead bore." She smiled, showing straight, white teeth and a glint in her eye.

His brow rose. "Then you are not husband hunting as your sponsors assume?"

"Lady Alexia assumes any female not wed is here for that reason. Your friend Lord Blackstone I think has invited me for the simple fact that he enjoys thumbing his nose at the ton, or else he would have created a more desirable, fictional background for me, one which would impress potential husbands and high sticklers. But we consulted and I assured him that I had no intention of disowning my aunt by affecting a lie."

"Another mark against you in the marriage mart."

She shrugged. "As I was saying. I am not averse all together to finding a husband, and I came here because I was curious about a society and class I have read about for many years. My father was a baron, though I hardly saw him or my mother. I suppose you could say I am here for the normal reasons, but intend to go about them in my own way."

Simon's brow lowered, but he had no idea what she was talking about. "You've lost me," he admitted matter-of-factly.

She let those lime eyes hold his for several long moments. No smile this time but an intense expression. "I think ... I do not have to look further ... I have found what I should be looking for."

Simon halted his mount.

She did likewise.

He murmured, "Miss Forsythe, while I may not turn down an hour in your bed, the gossips can and are misleading. I have not returned to find myself a countess." He drawled, "There is naught a wife can provide that I cannot get elsewhere, with less trouble and no shackles."

After looking him over from boot to head while Simon shifted in the saddle, Abigail Forsythe murmured, "Call me Abby, Simon. I do so dislike formality."

Simon could not decide if she was a coy witch or a cold bitch out for his title and wealth. Again he felt that tingle up his spine and it settled on the back of his neck. "On second thought, I withdraw the offer. I never had much of a taste for country bred old maids." He turned his horse. "I'll escort you back to Lord Blackstone."

"First you suggest that I would let you in my bed, and then you get your back up because I too have an interest in you." She laughed and rode close to him. "I vow, Lord Simon, you are a conceited beast and totally off the mark. I did not mean to imply at all that I would have you as you are."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" He jerked his gaze to her face.

Her tone softened to an almost purr, "You'd have to suit me first ... and you do not. You must reform your ways, and you have not, and you must know me first, and you will not, and you must believe in love, and you cannot."

Simon was sitting there still staring at her when Abigail Forsythe made to ride off and added in parting, "You're going to want me, Simon, as much as I want you ... and before you can have me ... you're going to have to deserve me."