CHAPTER FOUR: JUST A CRUSH

 "If you insist, I will."

 He grinned and strolled closer, realizing he really hadn't seen anything of Middledale until now. She was utterly fetching in a low cut gown that constrained ample breasts. Her skin was as fresh as Devonshire cream, brushed lightly with the color of raspberries. When he caught her gaze and held it by sheer force of will, she reluctantly offered her hand, and he reached out for it with tingling anticipation. He was known in London for his clever ability to charm ability to charm an introduction from a lady without ever warranting a direct cut. He bowed low, barely holding her fingertips, barely brushing his lips to her hand, and yet the contact sizzled.

 "All is forgiven, I assure you, ma'am." He could not discern a ring beneath her kid glove. He righted himself, not letting her fingertips go until she started to drown in reproach. " Or is it Miss?"

 She cocked one delicately arched brow, but still did not look away, slowly, her ravishing eyes focused on his nose, and he realized she wasn't going to let him force an introduction from her after all. She seemed to be fighting a smile as she gazed at his nose. Jack looked down at the tip and saw, to his chagrin, a dollop of mud. He sucked in his cheeks and gave her a simmering glare.

 "Upon my word, Miss Whoever You Are, you should have told me."

 Her laugh was as gay and bright as a Cascade of silver bells. "Miss Whoever You Are huh! You mean you don't remember me?"

He frowned and wiped the mud from his nose, trying to recall the facile replies he always held in store for such occasions.

 " Your beauty, my dear, would be impossible to for..."

''You really don't!" she crowed triumphantly. "Then I have the advantage. Oh, this is famous !"

 He smiled openly at her refreshing lack of false modesty and raised the quizzing glass dangling from his waistcoat, stealing only a quick glance at her full breasts before aiming it at her face. " Clearly, you have the advantage in every way that counts."

 Her eyes narrowed on him consideringly. "What brings you here so far from London?"

 He shrugged, stalling. Where the devil had they met? And percisely how much did she know about him? "I am making Middledale my home."

 Her smile fell momentarily, and she frowned. Then recovering her composure, she titled her head coyly. "More is the pity for the ladies of London. Well, you must have much to contend with, I Will steal no more of your precious time. I am glad, sir, that you suffered no injuries save for your pride."

 Her eyes teased him, and he wanted to teach her a lesson with a long, slow kiss. By his estimation she needed one badly.

 "Good day, sir."

 "Good day." He said still did not know whether she was a miss or a ma'am. As bold as she was, doubtless a ma'am. For only women would flirt so audaciously without fearing the repercussions.

 With that, she withdrew, leaving him uncharacteristically speechless, The Coachman cracked his whip and the carriage lurched forward. Jack watched with a frown on his forehead and a grin on his lips.

As the carriage rounded a bend in the road and disappeared, he turned to his secretary. "By Jove, Harding, I've been bested."

 "Indeed, sir. In every way that counts."

Liza resisted the urge to look back to see his reaction. Instead, she pressed against the plush velvet seat and breathed hard until the pain searing beneath her breast subsided. It had taken every ounce of her inner strength to be so blithe when her heart was tearing in two. And yet, her body had taken on life of it's own and she'd felt the tempest a man like him could produce merely by his presence.

 She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image of Jack Fairchild from her mind. She could not feel. Heavens, no! Not now, Not when it was too late. Feelings were the last thing she needed now. God's teeth, why would a man like him come to tempt her just when she had resolved herself to an unfeeling marriage? Of course, he hadn't come for her at all. He didn't even remember her.

This was God's way of punishing her for being too much like Desiree. For wanting what a true lady should never have. Lord, it was too ironic. She laughed incredulously. Her fair- haired younger sister sat beside her in wide eyed wonder.

"Liza!" Celia hissed. "Are you well? You were flirting with him!"

 Liza but her lower lip and slanted her a jaded look. "What is it?"

 "It was marvelous! Though you're not supposed to, you know. Mother would not approve. You're nearly engaged."

 "Oh, fiddle. What does it matter? I'm going to marry the viscount. He doesn't care as long as he gets my money."

 Celia pressed her hand. I wish you wouldnt. You don't love him. Even I can talk that much."

 Liza turned away.

"Who was that man? Did you really know him? You were splendid, sister dear. You had him all tied up in your ribbon."

 Liza smiled as tears inexplicably filled her eyes. "He is the only man in London I ever wanted. And I scarcely even knew him."

 "Really ? you met him in your season?"

 "Seasons," Liza amended dryly. She reached out and tucked a wayward curl back into her sisters pale green bonnet. Celia's eyes were a sweet, soft, cornflower blue. Her blond hair was a gleaming and tumble of loose and Charming curls. she was delicate and fresh, much sweeter then Liza could ever be, Liza thought with great affection. Then again, perhaps she, too, had been that innocent eight years ago. Liza had spent three seasons in London, and two exiled in the country, before she'd succumbed to her merchant father's benevolent plots to marry her off to a nobleman.

 "What's his name?" Celia persisted.

 " Jack Fairchild. He was a rake of the first stare. Though he's older now, age seems to have lent him even more sophisticated grace. it's not fair. We had but one dance together, but it changed my life." Her raven coloured brows furrowed neatly. "Whatever could he be about, moving to the country?"

 "A rake?" Celia said, her blue eyes widened further. "Perhaps he's been reformed. Did he steal your heart?

 Liza shrugged."We only danced only once." But once was enough to know she'd find heaven in his arms if given half a chance. It was then that she'd had a profound realization. She didn't want to marry. Her mother would never allow her to marry a rake. And if she couldn't have the sort of man she really wanted then she wouldn't have have any at all. With a singular determination that astonished even herself, she'd steadfastly refused to succumb to society's expectations that she marry for something less than bliss companionship, land, or a title. The fact that one dance with Jack Fairchild had been powerful Enough to inspire this conclusion did not bode well for her now. He'd unexpectedly thrust himself back into her life at the most inconvenient time. A time when she had, finally, agreed to marry. But not for any of the afore mentioned reasons.

 "He was out of the question for me and so I did not pursue him," She said nonchallantly.

"What a pity," Celia moaned.

" I doubt he would have been interested in any event. He only seemed captivated by married women,"

 "Oh, how scandalous!"

Liza turned her head, grinning at her sister's gasping exclamation. "Do you think so? I found it terribly romantic."

 "Oh, Liza, think how much excitement he'll bring to Middledale!"

 "That's what am afraid of,"