I'd like to thank all of you who have devoted some of your time to read this story and to post so many kind reviews. Many special thanks to my wonderful beta, granthamfan for her invaluable support and help!

He couldn't say how long he remained seated there in the gardens, trying to organize his confused thoughts. But when he returned to the ballroom, Robert was sure that the evening was over for him. All he wanted was to go home and forget about everything; especially her. He searched the room for Rosamund, intending to warn her about his departure, but it wasn't her sight that caught his eye.

"George, you little rascal," he frowned as he watched his friend leading Miss Levinson to the center of the ballroom with a proud look on his face. Perhaps feeling Robert's eyes on them, George looked at him over Miss Levinson's head and raised a challenging eyebrow, prompting Robert to feel strangely uneasy.

Are you teasing me? he thought, and tried to ignore the sly grin on George's face as they started to move elegantly to the sound of the orchestra.

It was not surprise that George was dancing with her; after all, his friend would be the last one to ignore such a beauty. Of course, there was no surprise in the look of delight on her face. Robert was accustomed to seeing it in the faces of each lady who had already danced with George because…well, just because he was George Dashwood. What had caught him off–guard however was his own reaction. Why all this was disturbing him he didn't fully understand. He had never bothered before with the fact that all women in England fell so easily under George's spell. Actually, he was used to it. And as long as he kept his promise to never, ever court Rosamund Robert knew he wouldn't care if George suddenly decided to abandon his old resolution of not marrying before his thirtieth birthday and finally began to thing about courting someone properly. He had already decided to put these thoughts aside and walk to the refreshments table when George made them purposefully spin in front of him once more. The enigmatic grin plastered on his friend's face left Robert puzzled.

What are you up to, George? he wondered as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, once again feeling uneasy.

Friends since their early days at Eton, there was between them the same complicity and honesty expected among very close siblings. Likewise, there was also an atmosphere of constant good-natured teasing between two young men who had learned to respect and admire one another despite being so different. But if he admired the ease with which George dealt with his responsibilities and the almost irreverence with which he lived his life, there was something about his behavior that deeply bothered Robert.

The undeniable truth about George Dashwood, which curiously everyone seemed eager to ignore, was that he was a rake. Lately, mostly to Robert's dismay, he seemed to collect mistresses. At least George seems to follow a kind of moral code. Wisely, for his own sake, he restricted himself to widows, actresses and singers; mature women, mostly, who knew very well the consequences of becoming involved with someone like him. This somehow seemed to comfort Robert who had preferred to think that, since George would never undermine the reputation or would offend the honor of anyone, the moral issues of his illicit romances belonged to himself and the lady in question. And for all he knew, George had never behaved with anyone in a manner that wasn't befitting the gentleman he was-or should be, at least.

That made him think once more about Miss Levinson and his own ungentlemanly behavior towards her. He looked at her once more. What had this woman done to him to make him act like that?

But, in the end, it was Miss Levinson herself who hit him directly in his pride and compelled him to make a move. As soon as their eyes met, the young lady tilted her head and lifted her chin so high that, for a moment, Robert thought that she would hit George in the eye.

"Damn," Robert muttered between gritted teeth. "So, that is how it's going to be?" He adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and then, turning on his heels, he walked resolutely toward Lady Beatrice with his best smile plastered to his face. That was, after all, a game that he also knew how to play.

Cora had recognized his voice as soon as she heard it, and had to struggle to disguise her astonishment. The handsome young man with cunning dark eyes bowed his head slightly in subtle reverence as he was introduced to her parents. He repeated the same elegant gesture in front of her and she had the impression that he boldly held her gaze for a moment longer than was appropriate.

She knew who he was even before Lady Beatrice had told them his name. George Dashwood, Viscount Brentwood, the future Duke of Waltham, the young man about whom she had heard so much. He really seemed to live up to the title of the most eligible bachelor in England. But, none of that mattered. The only important thing was that the man who was now discreetly smiling at her was George. Her George. Her knight in shining armor who had so gallantly defended her against the execrable Robert Crawley. That discovery alone was enough to make her want to scream with excitement. Instead, she just lowered her gaze and showed a shy grin when she heard Lady Beatrice's amused comment on how he had been a badly behaved boy in childhood.

While he talked to her parents, she studied him discreetly. Everything about him seemed perfect; his smile, his stylish clothes, his discreet manners, the kindness in his voice and his pleasant conversation. Everything about him indicated that he was a most perfect gentleman, unlike that other abominable being whose name she'd rather forget.

Since she had come back into the ballroom, Cora had decided that she hated Robert Crawley. It shouldn't be so difficult to hate someone who was so wicked, after all. No matter how intense and disturbing his blue eyes were, or the velvety quality of his voice. Never mind that she still felt her knees tremble at the memory of the look in his eyes, or that her lungs seemed to forget how to breathe just thinking about that kiss… She swallowed and tried to get rid of these thoughts. Nothing mattered except that she hated him. Or, at least, she was determined to do so. Secretly wishing that her little indiscretion had gone unnoticed, she held George's gaze for a moment longer than was proper. Cora needed to look into his eyes because she needed to know. And, then…nothing.

She felt completely disappointed with herself. Despite being delighted with his conversation and his enjoyable manners, and though she admired the beauty of his face's features and his charming smile, all she saw when she looked at him was a pair of intelligent dark brown eyes who observed her with unveiled interest. There were no butterflies in her stomach, no trembling knees, no breath caught in her throat. Nothing.

This wasn't right. It couldn't be right. What was wrong with her, anyway? But, she had no more time to reflect upon this question as he stood there expecting an answer to his request for a dance. Cora made a slight curtsey and accepted the hand he had offered her, finally forcing herself to feel pleased. And, why shouldn't she? She knew that all eyes were now on her, not because she was the exotic American who dared to stain the perfection of the English ballrooms, but because she was gliding elegantly in the arms of the most handsome, gallant and coveted gentleman in England.

An almost imperceptible smile curled the corners of her lips and she allowed herself to secretly enjoy her little moment of triumph. At least while she was dancing with him, she would be the envy of all the women there. She also had the notion that that one dance could affect everyone's opinion of her. After all, she had captivated the attention of none other than the Viscount Brentwood.

But, her joy didn't last long and was brutally interrupted by the sight of Robert Crawley on the other side of the room. He seemed distant and even constricted. Ignoring his thoughtful countenance, Cora wished with all her might that he would be struck by a lightening bolt, even knowing how impossible it was.

Their eyes met, and even if it was for no more than a second, she felt that strange feeling in her chest. She averted her eyes from him as fast as she could, lifting her chin flippantly. She definitely hated him. She had to hate him; either that, or she was doomed.

She looked up slightly to observe George, and he showed her an almost imperceptible smile. With someone so perfect in front of her, why did she insist on worrying about that insufferable man? Then she saw something so utterly absurd that she lost her focus on the music and stepped on George's foot. Fortunately, he was kind enough to ignore her little lapse, although it did not prevent her from blushing furiously. She couldn't know whether the reason for her blushing was her clumsiness or the scene that unfolded before her astonished eyes.

To her dismay, Robert was now standing before her parents, having apparently been introduced to them by Lady Beatrice. Cora wanted to scream, but she only bit her bottom lip as she watched them exchanging courtesies and polite smiles. What is he intending to do? Torture me?

Perhaps sensing her indignant look upon him, he moved his eyes discreetly as if searching for something and as he noticed her watching him, he grinned. Cora suppressed an outraged gasp, and again stepped on George's foot. At this point, he probably thinks I really am a savage who doesn't even know how to dance properly, she thought.

She looked to at him and suppressed a sigh in frustrantion. Maybe he wants to humiliate me,she thought and to her consternation, the orchestra played the final chords of the song. That meant that George would have to take her back to her place beside her parents and straight to meet the devil himself.

Robert's gaze upon her as they walked toward them was not helping her at all. Cora had to gather all her strength to maintain her self-control and hide her mixed emotions behind a mask of indifference. Even so, she noticed the curious glance exchanged between the two young men as George returned her to her parents' company.

"Lord Downton," George made an almost imperceptible bow which Robert mimicked before he said, "Lord Brentwood."

"I see you are already acquainted with each other," her father said, keenly raising his thick, dark brows. It was George who answered with a smile.

"We met as infants, Mr. Levinson." Looking at Robert, he continued. "I daresay we have been close friends since then."

Robert nodded his agreement, and her father seemed rather pleased when he finally stated, "Friendships that have lasted as long as yours are quite rare these days."

"Indeed, Mr. Levinson," Robert added with a coy grin.

"Gentlemen, allow me to correct the course of things," her father said as he looked at her fondly before looking at the man Cora wanted so much to hate. "Lord Downton, allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Miss Cora Levinson."

"I'm delighted, Miss Levinson," he made a slight bow, not daring to face her.

Now he is pretending to be shy, she thought, wishing she could run away or at least vanish. Instead, she did what was expected of her and made a discreet curtsey. As their conversation continued Cora remained silent, focusing all of her energy on the effort of maintaining a passive expression and ignoring Robert Crawley altogether.

When, a few minutes later, George apologized and left them, Cora completely ignored her mother's disapproving look and smiled openly at him-mostly because that oddly seemed to upset Robert and not because she wanted to somehow encourage George.

Soon, what she had feared most happened. When the orchestra began preparing for the next song, taking advantage of a pause in the conversation with her father, Robert politely asked her for the next dance. Cora searched desperately for a good reason to decline, and although her reasons were most contradictory, all of her instincts told her to stay as far away from him as possible. The most absurd ideas quickly crossed her mind as she struggled to avoid the disturbing pair of blue eyes which patiently watched her, waiting for an answer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the intense gaze of her mother upon her, her brows raised in question causing Cora to suppress a sigh. The silence between them demanded a response, but his outrageous words were still ringing in her ears. So, she looked up again and avoided his eyes with all of her strength before she nodded.

If there is no way to escape this, I need to at least keep my dignity, she thought as Robert led her by the hand onto the dance floor. She needed to focus on how much she hated him, and not on the warmth of his touch; and never, not even for a second, let herself look straight into his eyes.

As the orchestra started to play, Cora and Robert began to dance. In a controlled tone no one but Robert could hear, she said, "What do you think you are doing?"

Robert blinked blankly.

"Er-dancing?" There was a smile fighting its way onto his lips, but he prevented it as he saw the sparks flying from her eyes. Even so, he dared to tilt his head before stating matter-of-factly, "I was always told that I'm a pretty good dancer."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Lord Cra-" She couldn't finish her sentence because he interrupted her.

"Downton," he looked at her with a raised eyebrow before repeating-even though he knew it would make her even angrier, "Lord Downton."

"And why can't I just call you Crawley?" She watched him for a moment before asking him, seeming to Robert more curious than angry.

"Crawley is my family name; Downton is my title," he explained to her as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and by the way she narrowed her eyes, Robert knew that their little truce was over.

"Don't change the subject! I just asked you a question."

"It was you who changed the subject, Miss Levinson," he said, unable to contain the persistent smile any longer. "What question?"

Her cheeks were flushed, and Robert could have sworn she grunted. When she spoke again, her irritation was clear in her tone.

"Are you always so unbearable?"

He chuckled. "I'm sure this is a question my sister would be immensely happy to answer for you."

"Why are you doing this?" she snapped, and Robert thought that at any moment she would abandon him in the middle of the ballroom which, by all means, would be completely inappropriate. He could already feel some curious stare upon them. But something about her made him act differently, and once again he pushed his limits in teasing her.

"Because this is what people are supposed to do at a ball," he smirked before spinning her once more. "Dance."

Being unable to control herself any longer, Cora used the only form of retaliation she could think of that would not cause any further commotion. She stepped hard on his foot, her eyes fixed on his face. Robert looked at her, a painful look on his face; however, though he stopped dancing, he still kept her in his arms.

"What are you trying to do?"

"I'm punishing you!"

They both felt prying eyes upon them and began to dance again.

"Why?" he whispered, trying not to limp. But, his lips twisted into a wry smile which gave him a comical air that almost pulled a smile from Cora - but not quite.

"For trying to humiliate me and for" - here she lowered her tone to a barely perceptible level - "for having done what you did in the gardens."

"Oh." Robert raised a subtle eyebrow. "For a moment, I thought you liked what happened in the gardens," he replied, also lowering his tone to mimic hers.

Cora tried again to step on his foot, but this time he was prepared and moved faster than her, still having dexterity enough to surprise her by spinning her once again. Their eyes met, and he saw her rising fury darkening the blue of hers. She opened her mouth to speak but he interrupted her, this time completely serious.

"Never," he said and although she didn't understand exactly what he was talking about, something in his voice made her want listen. "I would never, ever be able to humiliate you, Miss Levinson. Or do anything to hurt you."

The honesty in his voice surprised her, prompting her to examine his face, looking for the same signs in his eyes. What she found caught her off guard, and she knew immediately that she was about to falter. But then she remembered why she was angry with him.

"You don't even tolerate Americans, Lord Downton."

"That's not true," he said softly seeming to be genuinely guilty,

"I heard what you said about me before in the gardens."

He hesitated for a long moment, seeming as if he were struggling to find the words. "I lied," Robert finally said.

"Did you?" Cora countered without believing him.

He nodded slowly and twirled her again, pulling her to him a little more than he should. His close proximity made her heart beat faster. "I did," he repeated and by the way he had spoken, Cora knew that he had said it again to make her look at him. Yet, she couldn't prevent her eyes from searching his.

"I just wanted to divert George's attention," he added as soon as their eyes met and when she remained silent, boldly sustaining his gaze, he proceeded in a near-whisper, "because the truth, Miss Levinson, is that I think you are just…ravishing."

This time it was she who stopped the dance, so utterly surprised by his words that she was momentarily unable to move. He had again overstepped the limits of propriety, and her indignation with him should have increased with his actions. But, something in his tone, something deep in his eyes made her, at that moment, forget about everything.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Levinson." She watched as his cheeks blushed furiously. "For everything."

Silently they stared at each other, his eyes absorbing her so completely that for a moment she felt as if they were the only two in the room. Her mouth went dry and her heart was beating so loudly that she feared he could hear it. So she took one step back, the impropriety of her own thoughts scaring her more than anything when she realized that she longed for his kiss once more.

Fixing his eyes on hers, he felt weak in his knees. How easily he could get lost in her eyes, in her mouth, in the soft curve of her neck. He swallowed hard, silently recognizing that the only thing that prevented him from kissing her again was that they were in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

She remained silent for what seemed to him like an eternity, until her soft voice was heard over the melodious strains of the orchestra.

"Lord Downton, can you please take me back?"

Robert needed a second to react. That was not exactly what he wanted to hear from her. He honestly wanted to win her forgiveness. He needed it as if his own life depended on it.

"Is there anything I can do to apologize to you?" he asked softly, all of his guilt transpiring in his tone.

"Please just take me back to my parents."

He nodded and silently escorted her back, hundreds of confused thoughts crossing mind along the short path he walked. And before presenting his excuses to the Levinsons to leave and begin his way to the exit door, he was sure of two things: he was a complete fool, and he was definitely bewitched.