Page 65 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

“What is it about you that he loves?”

Zeph would have to ponder that. But to Liesel, she asked, “Do you think he does?”

Liesel put a hand to Zeph’s arm and they paused on the path together. “The other night at the Applebys’ ball, he saw no one else in the room but you.”

Zeph debated what to reveal about Rafe’s character. “He thinks I am…”

“Too young? Too hurt?”

Zeph frowned. “As if I cannot recover from the past!”

“Oh, well, then.” Liesel rolled a shoulder, confidence in her gaze. “The solution is simple.”

Zeph felt a swell of triumph in her soul. “It is.”

“You know what you will do?”

“I know I must display what I am. But I do not know the venue. Nor the day.”

“Wunderbar! The moment will present itself. Do not let it pass you by.”

*

Five evenings later, Zeph descended the stairs of Ashley House to join Gus and Kane. They were to attend a ball given by the Ramseys.

Ten days ago, Zeph had gone to a modiste in Half Moon Street whom Gus patronized. For this particular event, Zeph wanted a new gown, something ineluctably delicious. She had chosen an Italian silk from Lucca. The bolt of cloth that Mademoiselle Fabre had in stock was one that, the seamstress said, had languished on her shelves for three years.

“It is very expensive, Miss Butler.”

“I will have it, mademoiselle.”

A sinuous, shining silk of rich royal purple, the fabric seemed too ethereal to be real. Zeph had only to hold up the bolt, and it swirled at her slightest breath. With her red hair, the color would contrast as if she set the world afire in mad vibrance.

That night, she’d had her maid dress her hair in a loose coiffure that allowed for long strands over her ears and a heavy sweep of her red tresses at her nape. She felt like a courtesan, ready for an evening with her lover. If Rafe did not attend, she would wait for him at some future event. If he did appear tonight, but did not glance at her, nor ask her to dance, she would stand before him and demand he look at her, talk to her, and she would make a scene to compel him. She would.

“That,” said Gus as Zeph had reached the bottom step, “is the most sensual gown I have seen in years.”

Zeph had put her fingers to the daring décolleté. The gown dipped low, nearly to an indecent level over her breasts. It flowed like water over her hips and down her thighs. She felt elated, sinfully erotic, and very naughty. “Do you think I might have success with this?”

Kane had burst into a laugh. “Zephora Butler, you will have ten proposals before the evening is out.”

She could not contain her skepticism and caught Kane’s amused eyes, then Gus’s sweet green ones. “I want only one.”

Gus winked at her husband. “You can want a man, but until you show him you need him, he may not come up to the mark. A gentleman can have so many reasons not to admit he is in love. A little persuasion is a fine thing.”

And so here Zeph was, nights later, ready for this ball, donning her evening coat of padded vermilion satin. She planned to stop Sir Raphael Durham in his tracks, no matter when or where he might cast his eyes on her.

I am tired of wanting—and waiting.

Chapter Eighteen

No. 60 Brook Street

London

Zeph and Gus headed for the ladies’ retiring room up the stairs in the Ramseys’ townhouse in Brook Street.

Kane, Gus, and she had arrived an hour or more ago, and Zeph had searched the throng for Rafe like a starving bird pecking for seeds.