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  "It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Malloy," Michael said in his sonorous voice that made her think of polished oak.

  "It's wonderful to see you," she agreed, unable to help but give him a broad smile. He looked adorably handsome in his dark suit. She thought he'd stepped even closer, but realized she had swayed toward him.

  His eyes widened at her enthusiasm. She sighed, happily staring at him until Jonathon coughed.

  Elise glanced at him. "This is Mr. Bradley of the Massachusetts National Bank." She turned back to Michael, momentarily forgetting to introduce Jonathon.

  In any case, Michael didn't seem to care who the man was. Sparing him not more than a cursory glance, he held out his hand to her. "Will you dance with me, Miss Malloy?"

  Nodding, she took his outstretched hand, remembering at the last second to hand Jonathon her glass. Michael pulled her along behind him to where partners were lining up for the first dance.

  She'd been to her fair share of dances, dinner parties, and soirees, and had even seen Michael at one or two, but she'd never been this close to him before, nor ever had him for a partner. She curtsied, and he bowed as the music began.

  As she expected, he was an excellent dancer, and Elise was extremely grateful that her mother had schooled all four of her children in the art of dancing. She could glide effortlessly and still carry on a conversation, knowing her feet were doing what they were supposed to—though the punch had slightly slowed her steps.

  "You went to the address I gave you," Michael said.

  How did he know? "Yes, I did."

  "Did you find a satisfactory resolution?" he asked.

  She thought about the engagement into which she'd just absurdly entered. "Um, so it would seem."

  He nodded just as each man took his partner into his arms for a clockwise spin around the polished wooden floor. He did the same.

  Elise caught her breath, held close by him, his strong arms around her, and the world shrunk to just the two of them. He smelled fresh and masculine, vetiver and citrus, and she longed to press her nose against his chest and breathe deeply.

  Good God! She, herself, probably smelled like rum!

  She looked up into his eyes and just like at the bank, she felt caught as if a rabbit in a snare, unable to move, unable to look away. And it didn't bother her in the least, except for the pounding of her heart which she was positive he could hear and feel.

  "What happened to your beau?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, but with a hint of teasing.

  Beau? What beau? Oh! She felt her cheeks flush again. She wanted to tell Michael then and there how very rash she'd been to create an imaginary suitor and how delighted she'd be to go to dinner with him. She opened her mouth to do that exact thing when he stiffened.

  Suddenly, he was holding her slightly away from him, and she nearly protested out loud, wanting to crush herself against his warmth and feel his arms encircle her once more. However, before she could embarrass herself, she watched another hand tap his shoulder.

  Michael glanced to its owner, and Elise's gaze followed.

  Jonathon Amory stood beside them, and before she could say anything to stop him, he tilted his head and asked, "May I have this next dance with my fiancée?"

  Chapter 3

  Elise saw Michael's nostrils flare, his jaw clench, and his eyes widen slightly as his gaze left Jonathon's face and locked onto hers. She swallowed and offered a smile that probably looked as sickly as she felt. Then his lovely hazel eyes narrowed, and he nodded ever so slightly, releasing her as if she was a hot branding iron, all friendliness vanished.

  "Certainly," Michael said, his tone clipped. "I offer my congratulations. I was unaware, but I take it this is quite a recent development."

  "Why, why yes. Very recent," she heard herself stammer.

  Luckily, a waiter went by, and even though they were in the middle of the dancers, she caught the man and took another glass of punch off his tray. She was parched.

  In two long sips, it was gone. Puzzled, she looked at the empty glass. It must not have been full to begin with.

  She looked from one man to the other—Michael simmering with some unnerving emotion, his tawny gaze drilling into hers, and Jonathon appearing nonplussed, even bored. She thought they both were swaying in time to the music. How odd.

  "You, gentlemen, are supposed to shake hands," she said, feeling the floor move slightly now as well. She hiccupped and raised her hand to cover her mouth. How uncouth! She didn't want to dance anymore; more than anything, she wanted to sit down. No, she wanted to stretch out flat on the pretty walnut and maple striped surface.

  Michael broke his stare away from her and looked to Jonathon, with an ironic upturn of his eyebrow, he said, "I wish you good luck with her, sir."

  However, just as he would have turned away, she took a step toward him and reached out her hand, thinking to grasp onto his sturdy looking lapel and perhaps anchor herself, or maybe simply slide down his front, which was what she was doing. She knew she was going to collapse at his feet, and she couldn't do a blasted thing to stop herself. Her legs had turned to quince jelly.

  As she started her descent, his arms came around her and held her up, then swept under her knees to lift her completely off the floor. She snaked her arms around his neck and held on.

  A murmur went through the crowd at the spectacle she was making. She didn't give a damn.

  Heavenly, that's what it was to be in Michael's arms. She sent a lopsided smile up at him, but he merely scowled down at her in return.

  Just then, she heard her mother exclaim, and all at once, both her sisters and Evelyn Malloy were around her. In the next instant, she reluctantly released her grip as Michael transfer her to another's hold, and Elise looked up into Jonathon's bewildered face. He seemed none too pleased to be holding a swooning woman in the middle of the party.

  Michael turned on his heel, and Elise craned her head to watch him walk away.

  "Thank you," she heard her mother call after him. He lifted a hand in a silent gesture but didn't turn around.

  Immediately, her sisters began asking questions and feeling her forehead.

  "I'm fine, just a liddl warm." Was she slurring her words?

  "You look positively green," her mother said.

  "I think I needa chair," Elise managed, desperate to no longer be the center of attention. "I wanna go home," she added.

  Rose clapped her hands once, her face delighted. "You're soused."

  "Sh," Sophie quieted her.

  "Oh, dear," her mother said, making a clucking sound with her tongue. "That's what comes of not eating before a party."

  She looked to the long-suffering man who had not yet been introduced to them. "My daughter said she wasn't feeling well before we arrived," Evelyn Malloy explained.

  "Indeed," was all Jonathon said. "Can you stand now, Miss Malloy?"

  "I believe so," she said, though her stomach did a nasty twist as he set her on her feet.

  "Let's get her home," Sophie said, putting an arm around her. Rose took up the other side, and they left with her mother clearing the path in front of them like the prow of a ship.

  Elise found herself whisked away from the Crowninshield's home, grateful she hadn't had to explain to her family who Jonathon was. Having him announce himself to Michael had been more than enough of a shock for one evening.

  * * *

  Michael strode out of the party and his uncle's house, sucking in the night air in great heaving breaths. Damn, but he wanted nothing more than to turn around, retrieve Elise Malloy from her so-called fiancé—what a load of bunkum that was—and carry her off.

  Carry her off where? Anywhere they could be alone, anywhere he could hold her in his arms again. He climbed into his phaeton, flicked the reins, and sped off.

  Ever since the first time he'd laid eyes on her, he had wanted her for his own. And finally, he had danced with her, feeling her warmth, experiencing her spirit, and losing himself in her incredible d
ark blue eyes.

  A moment later, she was collapsing against him like an unsteady newborn colt. Every instinct in him had screamed to protect her, hold onto her, and yet he'd been compelled to hand her over to Jonathon Amory.

  Why would she pretend Amory was the suitor she had spoken of? She would have known who lived at the Roxbury address that he'd given her if it were true. And why would Amory suddenly pretend to be her fiancé? It was maddeningly absurd.

  He drove home too fast, charged up his front steps, slammed into his townhouse on Beacon Street, heading directly for his box of expensive cigars. Cut and lit, the cigar provided a measure of comfort as he sat in front of his unlit fireplace and brooded.

  Plain as day, Elise had lied to him in his office about having a beau, which he soundly deserved for the foolish way in which he had asked her to dinner. When she had shown up at the bank rather than her brother, he'd been surprised and delighted to see her again after nearly two years. He half thought she'd be amused at his little jest. He'd been wrong.

  He had also hoped she would have forgiven him by the time of his uncle's dance and, perhaps, have changed her mind about having dinner with him. Again, he had been wrong.

  Instead, she had taken up with Amory of all people. The very man who was threatening her family's home by reneging on payments. Apparently, her little lie to avoid accepting his invitation had turned into a larger obfuscation. It seemed Elise would do anything rather than have dinner with him. Or perhaps she would do anything rather than pay off the bank loan, even marry a stranger.

  Michael took a long pull from his cigar. For the sake of her lovely eyes, he would take her case to the bank's board and because of her bewitching smile, he would make sure they gave the Malloys an extension based on the hardship of Mr. Malloy's death.

  Or he would pay the damn loan back himself.

  Most of all, he wanted her to look him in the eye and confess that Amory meant absolutely nothing to her.

  * * *

  Elise awoke in the wee hours of the morning, one end of a downy feather from her pillow poking her in her cheek. The memories rushed back, and she groaned.

  She was indeed engaged but to Mr. Amory, not Mr. Nickerson, and not for the inane purpose of showing Michael that she wasn't to be trifled with. Instead, Jonathon Amory had offered to pay the loan in return for her hand in marriage. If Michael hadn't been approaching so swiftly and if she hadn't taken such a liking to that blasted rum punch, she was certain she would not be engaged this very morning.

  She lay awake a long time trying to sort out her thoughts despite her throbbing head; she had grabbed at the offer from Jonathon with the idea of saving face in front of Michael, but now she had a viable solution to her problem of the unwieldy bank loan. She could marry the man in order to protect her family from financial loss, and at the same time, she could avoid potential scandal for her beloved brother.

  Elise turned on her side to avoid the bright moonlight, which managed to slip through a slit in her drapes and throw a beaming glare across her face. Her reasons for marriage to Amory were admirable, to be sure, but she couldn't really consider marrying him for either of them. This wasn't the Middle Ages, for goodness' sake!

  Then there was Michael. He had given her a particularly disapproving look, though he couldn't possibly know her motives or that Amory wasn't really her long-time suitor. Still, his dismissing, judgmental glance had stung all the same.

  She had a notion that there was little likelihood of his asking her out again, even after she broke off her spontaneous engagement. She had behaved terribly, drinking too much due to nerves and practically falling at Michael's feet. The thought of it made her stomach churn still.

  Still, she couldn't deny that dancing with him and being held by him, however briefly, had nearly made the whole fiasco worth it.

  When she finally fell back to sleep, the moonlight had been replaced by the first pinkish rays of the dawn. Elise slumbered on until Rose came bounding unbidden into her room at mid-morning, chattering like a magpie.

  "Ha, sis, you were exceedingly funny last night," she said, sitting down on the side of the bed.

  Elise yawned widely and stretched.

  "Was I?" Good Lord! What would she tell her mother? And did she have to mention the false engagement?. Of course not! She had to get to Jonathon Amory first and make sure he said nothing to anyone.

  "It seemed you had two gentlemen interested in you last night," Rose continued. "And I didn't recognize either one of them."

  Two gentlemen last night. And one had asked her to marry him. What were her prospects after all? As the eldest daughter, her unmarried state was probably holding Sophie back from getting engaged, though Rose was still too young to be thinking about it.

  Certainly, over the past few years, Elise had had her share of men professing some level of admiration. However, until she'd seen Michael Bradley that day at the bank with her father, she'd never felt that strange and wondrous sensation of wanting to know another person and to know him deeply. She'd never felt it since either, not with any of her suitors.

  After seeing Michael again, the desire was even stronger—to know his likes and dislikes, what brought him joy, how his warm skin would feel under her fingers...

  "Elise, are you listening?"

  "No, Rose, I'm not. Go make sure there is fresh coffee, and I'll be downstairs in a few minutes. Hurry up, be a good girl, and leave me in peace to dress."

  Rose grinned, probably figuring her sister still had a pounding head, but she skedaddled out of the room with her never-ending energy.

  Elise sighed. She was not a young girl anymore. It was high time she considered seriously this whole idea of marriage. But Jonathon Amory? Was he really the best option? Maybe he was her only option. Would her next home be his mansion on Warren Street? That thought brought her no happiness at all, except for offering her the opportunity to help out her family.

  The day passed without any further drama, and Elise kept her head down and her thoughts to herself. She knew she should contact her "fiancé," but she wanted to do nothing more than... well, nothing at all. Ever since she'd opened that damned bank letter, she'd been bouncing from one unfamiliar situation to another.

  When Reed arrived home for supper, Elise looked at her earnest, sincere brother, and her heart melted. She knew she would do nearly anything to spare him a moment of pain, perhaps even marry a man for whom she had no love.

  "You've been working very hard," she said to him as they sat beside each other at the dining room table. She couldn't help noticing that he'd brought a stack of papers with him to dinner and had his briefcase under his chair. Their mother would not be pleased.

  Only a year and a half apart, they were closer than any of the other siblings, and Elise had always felt him also to be her very good friend. It was doubly difficult not to consult with him on the strange state of affairs in which she currently found herself.

  He clasped her hand where it rested on the table, but instead of a weary expression, his face lit up. "I'm at a turning point in the case. It's incredible what comes out in court when people are under pressure. Just today—"

  Before he could continue, their mother interrupted, "I told your father years ago, and I will remind you, Reed Perry Malloy, no legal talk while we eat. It's unsettling and bad for the digestion."

  Reed only laughed. "Yes, Mother, though I do recall our father breaking that rule every so often."

  Middle sister Sophie laughed, too. "At nearly every meal time."

  Their mother smiled. "True, but just tell us if you're winning or losing, and then let it go. You should not be thinking about law cases every hour of your day. Balance is key."

  "Agreed," Reed said, "and I'm winning."

  They gave him a small round of applause and watched him dig into his food with gusto.

  "Excellent," said their mother. "So in the name of balance, when will you marry and give me a grandchild?"

  Elise watched her brother freeze
with the fork on its way to his mouth. Then he resumed and stuffed it in, waving his hand at Evelyn to indicate he couldn't speak due to his full mouth.

  Now would be an agreeable time to take the burden off her brother whom Elise knew was unhappy with his status of highly eligible bachelor. At every turn, he was pounced upon by some marriageable daughter and in many circumstances by some mother intent on pleading her daughter's virtues.

  Elise could simply announce her engagement and Evelyn would focus her attention solely on her eldest daughter. However, she could not get the words out.

  The next day, she intended to visit Jonathon.

  * * *

  This time, she was greeted more warmly by the maid and by Jonathon, too, though his father still did not put in an appearance.

  "Does your father not wish to speak with me about this?" Elise asked, curious at his absence while they drank milky tea. She could not imagine her own father or her mother not being all over the prospective spouse.

  "He will be at the wedding, I assure you, and he gives us his blessing," Jonathon said, seemingly unperturbed.

  The wedding! The very words filled her with dread. Obviously not the correct emotion for a prospective bride.

  "My brother will want to speak with him and with you prior to the ceremony, of course," she said.

  "Hm, I'm not sure about that," Jonathon returned. "Do you think your brother will be violent?"

  Elise tried not to show her shock.

  "Most assuredly not. However, if this marriage were to happen, I don't want a word about the loan said to him. Any discussion will be strictly about our mutual fondness, the fact that you don't want any dowry, and how you intend to make me happy. Otherwise, he will put a stop to it, I am certain."

  "I see."

  What exactly did he see? Elise couldn't fathom from his veiled gaze. Then he shrugged and smiled slightly.

  "So we are in agreement," he stated, looking away to refill his cup before she could respond.

  All at once, she knew she couldn't really go through with it. There had to be another way. Did she own something of value that she could sell for the lump sum so no one would have to know about the cursed loan? She could not possibly go into any sort of employment and make the money in time for the bank to stay the foreclosure, nor could she do so without her family finding out. Yet there must be some solution she was overlooking.