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seasoned
males are human enough to not be presumptuous of your interest in
welcoming something other than a proper and polite notice.”
    She swallowed and he saw a pulse just at her
throat speed just a hint, and then he felt a current, a spark of
mutual attraction that he cautioned himself to nurture and test,
rather than pounce on.
    “The rules that govern a woman’s conduct in
society places rather stringent limits on what a female may show or
not show, my lord. Particularly ones of certain age who looks
rather foolish affecting the coy tricks that debs do. Assuredly, if
the female never learned them to begin with. And more so, should
any male who wishes to presume, is reputed to be by rumor and is by
appearance, rather intimidating.”
    Lucas shook his head looking down at the
half-filled cup and then back up and slightly through his lashes.
He was being enlightened as to the ton’s view of him, and damned if
it did not replace his preoccupation of the age discrepancy, with a
hope that he retained or even had that something which the female
standing before him may find attractive.
    “I am a mere mortal, Miss Shyer. I promise
you there is more here than a reputation and title.”

Chapter Two
    Verena Shyer’s fingers tightened on her glass
as she held her outward composure by a thread. She also held that
violet gaze of Lucas Bennington, Earl of Moncrief with faux nerve
that had nearly fled a dozen times since she had noticed him across
the room.
    Rena, as her brother oft called her, had
noticed too many years ago to count that the peer was not only
darkly handsome, with a mixture of the aristocratic high cheekbones
and a tall, lean muscled frame, that stood out amid the florid and
fair. But those eyes, ever since that day on Bond street when they
had pierced hers, between thick black lashes, held things that she
had to tell herself many times were only her wishful thinking.
    As images floated through her head of him,
many filed away in her secret thoughts, she also knew that every
time she had sensed him looking at her, at some assembly or ball,
even the theater, she’d spend hours rehearsing what she’d say
should he approach her, and he never had.
    It had been rather daring, somewhat desperate
of her, to call her brother’s attention to him and force an
introduction. His voice, which she had heard and could now pick out
of a crowd, as she had listened to it before, was warm and deep,
putting little chills on her spine and nape. Whilst she had heard
from the first, that he was a man somewhat aloof and cool, not
known for his intimacy with his peers, she had in some part of her
mind, separated the fantasy of speaking with him, with the reality
over time—that he was indeed daunting and distant, though God knew,
she saw something else, something sensual and sexual in his dusky
peach mouth and violet eyes.
    Rena had told herself that this too was her
imagination, her own personal and private fantasy. Nevertheless,
from the moment she had come to London and had her debut, she could
have cared less about the males her age whom she was supposed to
vie for and attract, according to the duchess. She did not share
the woman’s constant bemoaning of her ascent into old maidship, and
place on the shelf.
    There were many beautiful and sought after
females older than herself, who had swarms of admirers and swan’s
writing odes to them and fighting over a spot on their dance cards.
Rena did not feel any attraction or allure to those young men. She
had always been utterly fascinated and completely preoccupied with
her feelings whenever Moncrief was around.
    She had heard her brother say offhand once,
when she had mentioned him in conversation, “By the time a man of
his rank and wealth reach that age unwed, he has decided to remain
a bachelor. If he were on the market for bride and heirs, he would
have done won his pick, for Mama’s of the ton would give their eye
teeth to have him as a son-in-law.”
    While she saw that it