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mixture of the two. "Well, I would like to say
yes."
    "Then you should say yes," he said, letting
go of her hand, but still standing close. His broad chest blocked
her view of the house. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby
maple and sent the brisk, clean scent of Fredrick's citrus cologne
swirling around her muddled senses.
    "Who-who else will be in attendance?"
    "Who Who." He chuckled. "Is that why you
hesitate, my little owl? Are you afraid I am like the wolf?" He
lifted a dark brow, his eyes taunting her with mischief.
    Squaring her shoulders she returned his
handkerchief. "Actually, yes that is why I hesitate. No, I mean…I’m
not afraid of you, but there is protocol."
    He took the hankie and shoved it into his
pocket. "I am well aware of protocol. It has already kept me from
kissing more than just your hand."
    Heat sped into her cheeks and her heart
again raced. No one, not even her drunken suitor had been so bold.
A small, shocked laugh popped from her lips. "Baron, you are a
wolf."
    "Yes, but a wolf who is well aware of duty
and manners. Take heart. Jude and his fiancée will also be there
and of course Lady Pembridge will be chaperoning."
    Fiancée? He had brought the woman. She was
here. In England. With him. Her stomach churned at the idea. How
was she going to cope? How was she going to speak kindly to the
woman when all she wanted to do was stand at Jude's side
herself?
    Had she really just pictured herself as his
bride? Standing at the altar with him, his ring upon her finger?
She swallowed the notion. It was ridiculous. The entire idea had to
be nothing more than her mind searching for an escape. She cursed
herself. It wasn't fair of her. Not when she condemned him for the
same thing three long years ago. God, but now she wished she hadn't
rebuffed him. It would've been so much more pleasant to be his
wife. The arrangement seemed so perfectly natural and comfortable
now. But hindsight was clear, it was the present that was
blurry.
    "Did you hear me?" Fredrick asked, his voice
pushing away the cloud confusion. "I said Lady Pembridge will be
chaperoning."
    "Dear old Mummy." Chloe sighed and held back
her dismay. But still the fact that Jude was engaged and soon she'd
meet his future bride clung to her like thick morning dew. Why did
her heart suddenly stop racing and dip low as if she were in the
deepest of trouble? "I dare say I almost prefer my chances with a
wolf."
    Again he laughed, the sound pleasing to her
ears. "There will be plenty of time for that, I assure you."
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Chloe slowly entered the dining hall. Dinner
at Pembridge House was never just a meal. It was a time to
belittle. A time for Dorothea to pick and pester until she garnered
much needed information. A time for her stepmother to glower at her
over split pea soup. It was never pleasant and never conducive to
the digestion. Yet manners and yes, protocol had her sitting across
from her nemesis every evening. Oh the days when Dorothea could go
to London to the townhouse…the townhouse that had recently been
sold.
    "Chloe, so good of you to join us," Father
said, standing, a small, brown stain marring his pale cravat.
Aghast, she stared at him. He had once seemed like an Adonis to
her, so gloriously handsome when he smiled. Now, he was a fat
fellow, with a bald head and sagging jowls who meal after meal
destroyed at least one article of clothing. God, it was no wonder
they hurt financially! He soiled three cravats a day.
    "So nice of you to wait until I arrived,"
she retorted, scanning the room for Jude, both saddened and
relieved that he wasn't there.
    "Sit down before your food gets any colder,"
Dorothea cooed. Her features were soft and her eyes softer. What
was going on? The woman looked like a snake that had recently
devoured a fat field mouse.
    "Yes Ma’am," she replied. She reached for
the chair only to have her father bumble toward her, pulling it
out.
    "There daughter."
    With a wariness that threatened panic,