Chapter 3: Page 2

"More than one if you wish," replied Selphie. "So you

have no trouble finding me, I shall be costumed as Helen

of Troy."

"How very apt." The caressing tone of Dintch's voice

made Irvine yearn to vault over the hedge and throttle

him. "Not that you need to have told me. I would have

picked you out of the throng no matter what costume or

mask you wore."

"I dare not make such a boast, sir," said Selphie. "So

you had better tell me what you will be wearing.

Otherwise, I might accept an invitation from the wrong

gentleman."

"You must accept no one but Robin Hood, fair Helen. But

be warned, he is a scoundrel who may try to steal a

kiss."

"Be warned, Lord Dintch." Selphie's voice had a

teasing, almost seductive note that Kinneas would have

given anything to hear addressed to him. "He may not

need to steal it."

Once again, they wandered away. Farther this time, for

Irvine could no longer hear them at all. His rebellious

legs finally decided to operate again. He managed to

stagger into the house and up to his room, where he

hurled himself facedown on the bed.

How he wished he were a child again so he could summon

the tears that might have eased his parched heart.

Selphie was too keyed-up to sleep. After returning from

her starlight stroll in the garden with Viscount

Dintch, she had gone straight to bed. After what

seemed like hours of tossing and turning, she had

concluded it was useless to keep lying there.

This strange unease that kept her awake — could it be

love? She asked herself that question as she rose, lit a

candle then donned her dressing gown. If it was, she

wondered what all the fuss in books and ballads was

about.

Perhaps she hadn't given it a proper chance to flourish,

though. All the while she'd been walking with the

Viscount, part of her mind had been wondering if Kinneas

was with the other gentlemen in the library or whether

he might be strolling elsewhere on the grounds with a

young lady on his arm. She would have heartily approved,

provided it was not Lady Trepe…or Jane Dintch…or that

toplofty Miss Whiteside…or…

Might there be a scullery maid still awake in the

kitchen who could warm her a cup of milk? Selphie hated

to think of disturbing anyone. Perhaps she could creep

down to the earl's library and borrow a book to read.

Something nice and tiresome that would put her to sleep

after a few pages.

Easing the guest room door open, she padded down the

corridor, her bare feet making scarcely a sound on the

thick carpet. As she rounded the corner that led to the

west wing of the house, she collided with someone

hurrying in the opposite direction.