"Her writing sparkles with wit and humor." --CATHY MAXWELL USA Today bestselling author "A delightful debut!" --JULIA QUINN New York Times bestselling author "...clever, frothy and funny— an enthralling read! --ELOISA JAMES New York Times bestselling author "Rules of Engagement is a light hearted, witty and frothy romance. Kathryn Caskie has penned a delightful uplifting and fulfilling summer read. Proving once again that laughter, love and schemes gone awry are indeed the best anecdote for a long lazy summer afternoon. Don't miss this enjoyable romp through London Society." --Pamela James The Writer's Room Magazine (posted 8.02.04) "What I like about this story is how Ms Caskie actually gives Eliza a sensible reason for her stand against marriage. Eliza's parents were happy together, but Eliza believes that marriage never allowed her mother to pursue her dreams... The premise and cast of characters will be familiar to readers of the Regency subgenre, but Ms Caskie manages to make them sparkle with buoyant charm... I find Rules of Engagement an entertaining romp... The author seems to be having a great time writing this book, her characters come off as also having a ball in the story, and I find it very easy to be struck by the infectious sense of fun that permeates the pages of this book." -MRS. GIGGLES awarding Rules Of Engagement a whopping 88 out of 100 ~ read the whole review (posted 6.14.04) 4 1/2 STARS! "Fresh, exciting, charming and utterly captivating, Rules of Engagement is a dynamite debut by a talent you won't want to miss. Caskie perfectly balances humor, history and sensuality in a smart and sparkling romance that quite simply captivates. Make room on the keeper shelves!" --KATHE ROBIN Romantic Times BOOKclub Magazine A PERFECT TEN! "To say this is a delightful book is an enormous understatement. Rules of Engagement is without a doubt next to perfect... With each turn of the page, readers can easily envision the elaborately adorned ballrooms, hear the delightful strains of the music and see each nuance of the characters' personalities and their humorous antics unfold. Eliza is enormously entertaining... Magnus is honorable, determined, passionate and ever so sexy. But it is his deep and abiding love for Eliza that makes him the kind of man a woman can only dream about. The secondary characters are enormously entertaining... "With this as her debut novel, there is no doubt in this reviewer’s mind that Ms. Caskie will enjoy a long and brilliant career as a romance writer. Rules of Engagement is brilliant, humorous, and a perfect addition to any library. I eagerly await the next book and the story of the younger Merriweather sister, Meredith." --EDITH MORRISON for Romance Reviews Today ~ read the whole review FIVE STARS "[Rules of Engagement is a] delightful, uplifting and fulfilling summer read." --The Writers Room Online Magazine ~ read the whole review (posted 8.02.04) The Romance Reader gives Rules of Engagement its top rating, 5 hearts, saying the debut "is full of life, love and various antics." --The Romance Reader ~ read the whole review (posted 8.02.04) ~ "Rules of Engagement is a delightful book rife with wit and humor... Eliza and Magnus make the perfect couple even though they both knew their alliance was doomed from the beginning. You could feel the attraction pulling them to each other. Kathryn Caskie has taken a serious storyline of the day and added a wealth of comedy that makes this book a real page turner." --Blue Ribbon reviews ~ for romancejunkies.com (posted 6.14.04)

BOOK NEWS! ~ Rules of Engagement in French? Oui, oui! Rules of Engagement, Kathryn's award winning debut novel, has been translated into five foreign languages, including the latest to hit the shelves Eliza L'impétueuse, the retitled French language edition (with a sizzlingly sexy French cover shown at right). (posted 8.01.07) ~ SPANISH EDITION! The Spanish translation for Kathryn's debut novel Rules of Engagement hits the shelves. Except they tweaked the title a little bit...now it's Las Reglas de la Seduccion. (posted 4.03.06) ~ POLISH NEWS! World Spanish rights have been purchased by a publisher in Spain. Rules of Engagement was released in Poland in November 2005! (Polish Edition shown left). ~ And Warsaw has it, and they're calling it: ~ DOUBLE FINALIST! Romance Writers of America 2005 RITA Award, BOTH Short Historical and Best First Book Categories. The RITA is Romance Writers of America's most sought after award in romance publishing. The winners of the 13 RITA awards were revealed on July 30, 2005 at the RWA National Conference in Reno, Nevada. While Rules of Engagement remained a bridesmaid (there will be other years hopefully), good times were had by all, including Kathryn and her dear friend Sophia Nash who celebrated Sophia's winning statuette with a midnight bowling game. »» Kathryn's debut novel, Rules of Engagement, won the Romantic Times BOOKclub Reviewer’s Choice Award  for Best First Historical Romance! Check out photographs of Kathryn accepting her award, and other fun pics from the RT BookLovers Convention in St. Louis, Missouri. (posted 5.05.05) ~ FINALIST! 2005 Booksellers' Best Award for Best Short Historical. ~ WINNER! Romantic Times BOOKclub Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best First Historical Romance. Photo at right. See more photos from the event. (posted 5.05.05) ~ WINNER! Romance Writers of America 2002 Golden Heart Contest, Long Historical Category. Get more info. (photo below) Kathryn wins the Golden Heart in July 2002 (above). Pictured with friend and fellow author Kathleen Kirkwood, 1989 Golden Heart winner, just after the awards ceremony (below). ~WINNER! Smokey Mountain Romance Writers 2002 Laurie Contest Long Historical Category.

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Eliza Merriweather watched her sister pace the floor of their great aunts' Hanover Square town house with such unforgiving force that she was compelled to examine the Turkish carpet for damage.

"If your aim is to wear a hole through to the wood, Grace, you've not succeeded. Best pick up your gait." Eliza grinned through the tendrils of steam rising from her teacup and relaxed back against the blissfully plump settee.

With an exasperated sigh, Grace halted. "I shall wait as long as it takes, Eliza. I will have your promise."

Eliza set the blue and cream teacup on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. "I told you I would behave. What more would you ask of me?"

"To refrain from making a spectacle of yourself at every turn, else I shall never find a husband and this entire season will be for naught!"

Eliza laughed. "Oh, how you go on. Do relax, Grace, else before you know it, strawberries will be erupting all over your pretty face."

With a little gasp of horror, Grace's gaze sought out the ancient looking glass on the wall and she frantically patted her cheeks, as if probing for any indication of blemish.

"Darling, you know I desire your happiness beyond my own, but I do not know how much pomp I can endure."

As Grace turned her head back to Eliza, a frustrated groan slipped out through her clenched teeth. "If you will not step into formation for my sake, then consider our aunts. Can you not do as they ask, at least for the season? You owe them that much--and more."

"No one is more grateful than I for their generosity. Heavens, they took us in. I have not forgotten."

"They did much more than that, Eliza." Grace sat down beside her. "They saw our sister into Mrs. Bellbury's School for Young Ladies. Even if our parents still lived, we never could have afforded Meredith's fees and tuition."

"I realize that, but--"

"And our aunts have agreed to sponsor a season for us both. The least you could do is smile through a few balls."

Eliza blew a dark wisp of hair from her face. "Yes, I could manage to survive a few. But why? I have no intention of marrying. None."

"But Eliza--"

"No, my mind is set. Once this infernal season is through, I am off to Italy. I will not be dissuaded from studying painting. I won't. So I ask you, why should Aunt Letitia and Aunt Viola waste their money on gowns and adornments for me?"

Grace exhaled through her nostrils, drawing Eliza's attention back to her. "I do not understand what you hold against marriage. I, myself, cannot think of a more honorable state for a woman."

"I hold nothing against wedded bliss." If such a thing exists. In all her life, Eliza had never seen evidence of it. And most certainly not at home.

Rising, Eliza moved toward the window where a half-finished painting perched on a wooden easel, awaiting her return. With great care, she lifted it in her hands.

Breathing in the welcoming scent of the oils, she tilted the canvas slightly toward the window, allowing the afternoon light to illuminate the sun-dappled landscape she'd rendered.

"I am an artist, Grace." Still clutching the canvas, Eliza turned. "But unlike Mother, I will not allow the gift God has given me to wither and die simply because a husband demands my full attention. My art means too much to me."

Grace shook her hands in the air. "La, Eliza. Not all men are like Father. Many husbands encourage leisure pursuits."  

"Encourage, yes. But with marriage comes children." She raised a sardonic brow. "There go your leisure hours. Then there will always be parties and balls to attend. And of course the staff and household must also be managed--"

"Stop." Grace clapped her hands over her ears momentarily. "Yes, a married woman has many responsibilities. But that is no reason to detest marriage so."

 "I do not detest marriage," Eliza said, setting the painting against the easel back once more. "I just do not choose it for myself. After all, I see nothing wrong with following my heart instead of society's dictates."

Eliza crossed the room and plopped down next to Grace. "Besides, not everyone excels at domestic and social pursuits so well as you, my dear." She hugged her sister close, smiling as Grace's soft golden curls tickled her cheek.

Grace nudged her away, trying very hard not to grin.

Coming to her feet, Eliza moved before the waning fire. "My, but there is a chill in the air. What do you say we ask Mrs. Penny to brew a bit more tea?"

"I will not give in so easily," Grace replied. "I will have your promise. You know what this season means to me. I cannot have you spoiling it. Swear it."

"All right." Eliza placed her hand over her heart. "I swear I will do as our aunts say. But once the season has concluded, I have other plans." Eliza widened her eyes. "Sufficient?"

"It will have to do, I suppose."

Eliza laughed as she extended a hand and drew Grace to her feet. Arms linked, they passed the bell pull and instead headed into the passageway for the cozy warmth of the kitchen.

In the late General's well-stocked library, Viola Featherton returned a marble-papered book to its low shelf and straightened her aching back, feeling every one of her 74 years.

"The gels' season must begin on proper footing," she said, turning to face her plump twin. "What will we do if we cannot find the book, Sister?"

"Stop fretting. We'll find it. Just keep looking," Letitia chided. "I tell you, it's here somewhere."

Viola was doubtful. Already scores of books had been removed from the shelves and stacked on the desk and in piles on the floor.

Resting her slight weight against her ebony cane, Viola fought back a grimace as she watched Letitia scour the eye-level library shelves. The division of labor hardly seemed fair, for if she was not mistaken, Letitia had not bent for a book even once, while she, herself, had spent the last hour upon her knees. Still, Viola knew she shouldn't begrudge Letitia. After all, her sister was the eldest, by three minutes anyway, and therefore less able to stoop than Viola. At least, so Letitia had claimed.  

Mr. Edgar, their frosty-haired manservant, was perched near the top rung of a wheeled library ladder. He glanced down nervously, then squeezed his eyes closed.

Letitia set her hands on her ample hips and looked up at him. "Do open your eyes, Edgar. We shall never locate the book if you insist on such nonsense."

Edgar opened one eye, then the other, and hurriedly scanned the books on the top shelf. "I am sorry, my lady. I do not see the volume up here. May I come down now?"

"Might I suggest trying the shelves behind the glass doors next?" Viola asked, smiling sweetly at Edgar as she gestured with her cane to a bookcase several feet away.

The manservant bit his lip and eased his foot down a rung.

Before he could fully descend, Letitia impatiently grasped the ladder and tried to push it toward the next set of shelves.

Edgar grappled for the shelf to steady himself, but instead, three oversized volumes came away in his hands.

Eyes wide, he fell to the carpet with a thud. Two wavering towers of books teetered and then toppled over him.

"Edgar!" Viola caned her way across the carpet to him. "Are you injured?"

The manservant winced, but shook his head.

"You should be more careful, Letitia," Viola scolded, as she pulled a thick crimson tome off Edgar's chest and handed it to her sister. "You might have injured him."

But it seemed Letitia paid Viola no mind. Something about the book seemed to snare her interest. She slid her thick spectacles onto her nose, then turned the volume over in her hands. Her rheumy eyes brightened. "Viola, I believe Edgar has done it."

Pushing a pile of books from the library table, Letitia placed the volume on its polished surface. Her pudgy finger raced across the first two pages. She looked up at Viola. "Yes! He's located Papa's book of Rules."

As Edgar climbed out from beneath the hillock of books and began the arduous task of replacing the volumes on the shelves, Viola steadied herself against her cane and joined her sister.

Her hand trembled with anticipation as she drew her lorgnette from the drawer, then held the glasses to her eyes. Squinting, she tilted her head until her poor eyes could make out the title page's bold heading.

"Why, you're right, Sister. This is it!" She gazed up at Letitia, feeling a pleased smile warm her lips. "We should begin tonight, don't you think?"

"Absolutely. Right away, in fact." Letitia whirled around. "Edgar, have our grandnieces meet us in the parlor--immediately."

Eliza and Grace were seated in the parlor when the click of walking sticks in the passageway heralded their aunts' arrival.

With great solemnity, Aunt Letitia and Aunt Viola took their places before the Pembroke table and stood as though an announcement of great import was to be made.

Aunt Viola cleared her long throat and began. "Years ago, Letitia and I were about to enter our first season when our mother died. Even for some years after the mourning period, in deference to our father's deep despair, we did not partake in the Season's festivities. We were not courted. We received no offers despite the General's esteemed standing in society." A forlorn sigh escaped her. Then, quite suddenly, Aunt Viola eyelids fluttered and she gasped a quick warning. "Spell..."

Viola's chin hit her chest and she wavered to and fro as her eyelids fell shut.

With nary a trace of worry on her round face, Aunt Letitia guided Viola back into a seat a second before her sister's knees buckled beneath her.

Then, seeming confident Viola was not about to tumble from her chair, Aunt Letitia turned once more to face Eliza and Grace.

"Now, where did she leave off?" she asked.

"Y-you received no offers," Eliza offered helpfully as she glanced at Viola, who showed no sign yet of waking from her spell. Her aunt's sudden sleeping spells were a regular occurrence in the household, and though the suddenness of them always startled Eliza, she knew she needn't be concerned. Aunt Viola would awaken soon enough, fit as a filly on a spring day.

 "Right you are," Aunt Letitia replied. "When the Papa died some years later, we reentered Society. But we were past the marrying age and were put on a shelf as spinsters." She reached for her sleeping sister's hand and squeezed it. "You cannot imagine the half-life of a spinster. Never quite belonging. Never truly loved or appreciated–"

"But Auntie," Eliza cut in, "you are free to make your own choices. You are independent. No one tells you what you can and cannot do with your life--"

"And no one shares my bed at night. No children come to visit me. I have no grandchildren to spoil. Do you not understand, Eliza? A spinster's course is a lonely one." Tears glittered like starlight in Aunt Letitia's lashes.

The heartbreak in her aunt's voice prickled the backs of Eliza's eyes. It would be different for her, she told herself. She had her art, after all.

Aunt Viola's hand jerked, bringing a smile to Aunt Letitia's lips. "Good, good. Sister is returning to us now," she said, settling Viola's hand back atop her own knobby knee.

She looked at Eliza, then at Grace. "The point of all this is that we do not intend to allow the same fate to befall either of you." With a precise nod, she signaled to Edgar, who crossed the room and placed a thick, red book before the elderly aunts.

Eliza stared at the dusty tome and puzzled over its significance. Rising, she moved to the Pembroke table and ran her finger across the book's faded, gilt title. "Rules of Engagement," Eliza read aloud. She looked up at her aunts for further explanation, but they only smiled back with delighted expectation.

Opening the heavy book to its middle, Eliza quickly scanned its pages and saw it was filled with military ruses and stratagem. This was even more perplexing.

What were her aunts planning to do with a book on strategies for war? Eliza snapped her head upright. "I do not understand."

Aunt Viola raised her head slowly, then snorted and grinned. She took Letitia's proffered arm, and, finding her balance, moved to the table and closed the book. She tapped a nail on the fading cover. "Read the title, dear. Rules of Engagement. It's a primer, you see, on how to get engaged."

Aunt Letitia clapped her hands. "With this book, we have all the strategies necessary to see both you and Grace engaged by season's end. 'Twill be like the season we never had."

Eliza wavered, trying to make sense of what she'd heard. But there was no sense in this. None whatsoever.

Her aunts had mistaken a military strategy text, Rules of Engagement, for an instruction manual for getting engaged!

No, no, no. She had to stop the confusion. Had to stop it now. "Auntie, this book is--"

Grace clasped Eliza's hand and pulled her back to the settee. "Remember your promise, Eliza."

"But Grace, you do not understand, this book--"

"I do not need to understand. Can you not see what this means to them?" her sister whispered.

Eliza looked at Aunt Viola, who was now cradling the precious rule book in her hands. She turned to Aunt Letitia, whose eyes were alight with hope.

Eliza squeezed her lids closed. Oh, for mercy's sake. She couldn't do it. Couldn't tell them the truth. Not without breaking their hearts.

Opening her eyes, Eliza forced a smile. "This book is exactly what we need. How lucky for us that you remembered it."

Grace released her pent breath.

Skirting the table, Aunt Letitia pressed a kiss to Eliza's cheek. "We knew you both would be pleased. We shall begin at once. Edgar, bring the sherry. This is a celebration!"

Eliza and Grace joined their aunts around the table as Edgar served the libation.

A giggle of excitement worked its way from Aunt Viola's middle as she set the book down again and opened it. She positioned her lorgnette and focused on the large, dark heading at the top of the page--no doubt all her aging eyes could make out. "Rule One," Aunt Viola read. "Those whose ranks are united in purpose will be victorious."

"We have achieved our first objective," Aunt Letitia announced. "From this moment onward, we are one in our purpose--to see you both engaged by the end of the season."

"Hear! Hear!!!!  " Grace cheered, looking toward Eliza.

"Hear, hear," Eliza murmured, staring with shock at the crimson book between them.

What sort of madness had she just agreed to?

Rule Two

Take action before he can discern your strategy.

With a muffled cry, Eliza burst from the Presence Chamber at the Court of St. James's and and yanked from her hair the wretched white plumes that had caused her disgrace. Even now, standing in the gilded drawing room amid the shocked stares of London's ton, she could not believe what she had done.  

"Really, Eliza. This tops it all." Grace pushed through the crowd at the door and trailed not two steps behind. "You sneezed on her. You spewed saliva in Queen Charlotte's face. Three times, no less!"

"Grace, please. Is not my own humiliation enough?"

Pressing her way through the undulating surge of courtiers, Eliza spied the grand staircase and made for it at once. In just a few moments, she'd be safely inside her aunts' carriage, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the damnable palace.

As Eliza's slipper touched the first step, Grace snatched her wrist and jerked her aside.

"You disgraced us all," her sister rebuked. "We will never live this down. Never."

"I hardly think all the blame can be placed on my shoulders," Eliza replied. Looking past Grace, she noticed a circlet of London's first set watching them intently.

Eliza lifted her chin. She didn't care in the least what the ton thought of her. Though the season had only just begun, they'd already written her off as...what was it now? Oh, yes. A hopeless hoyden. After today's sneezing incident, no doubt this snide assessment would make its way through the whole of fashionable London before nightfall. Yes, the entire incident was mortifying, but Eliza had to own that even this nightmare suited her purposes perfectly well.

When Grace, too, realized the onlookers' scrutiny, she drew closer to Eliza. A look of warning flashed plainly in her eyes.

 Eliza sighed. "Surely you do not think I sneezed on purpose."

Grace merely stared back at her, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"It is not as though I asked to wear these vile plumes." Pinching the frothy feathers between her thumb and index finger, she held them at arm's length, as if they were crawling with vermin. "You know how feathers affect me. My eyes are watering so badly I can scarcely see."

Ignoring Eliza's statement entirely, Grace snapped open her pierce-work fan and flapped it before her delicate face. "What must the queen think of us, or the ton for that matter? Word will travel, you know. We will be blocked from every respectable drawing room in London, I am quite sure of it."

"Oh, calm yourself, Grace. I'm certain the queen has all but forgotten the episode by now." Eliza raised the offending plumes eye-level, turning them thoughtfully through her fingers. "Besides, since all debutantes wear these absurd white feathers during presentation, I truly doubt I am the first to spew, as you so daintily put it, on the queen."

"I fear, Lizzy, you are mistaken," a plaintive voice said.

Eliza turned to see her elderly great-aunts, the Featherton sisters. Her sponsor, the plump Lady Letitia, and willowy Lady Viola, were bearing down on them, in identical gowns of lavender satin and blond lace.

Aunt Letitia fretfully wrung her handkerchief as she wedged her turnip-shaped form between the two young women. "I have it on good authority that you are the very first."

"Really? The very first?" Eliza looked from one aunt to the other. As humiliating as her presentation had been, she was not about to take a simple sneeze, or three, so gravely. And neither, she decided, should they. "Then I must make it my solemn mission to ensure this tragedy never befalls another debutante. I shall petition the queen, at once, to ban all ostrich feathers from court."

"Oh, dear," Aunt Viola gasped, frantically looking to Aunt Letitia for help. "We cannot allow her to do it, Sister."

"Now, now, Eliza will do nothing of the sort," Aunt Letitia answered. "Will you, gel? You've caused quite enough stir for one day, don't you agree?" She punctuated her statement by jabbing the point of her index finger into Eliza's back and starting her down the staircase. "The queen has finally retired, so to the carriage, my loves. Quickly now."

As they waited in the noisy, bustling entry hall for their conveyance to draw up through the crowded line, Aunt Viola grasped Eliza's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Do not fret, Eliza. It's all over now," she said softly. "You have been presented. And, as you know, dear, presentation is the first step in making a good match."

Eliza cringed. "If that sort of thing matters to you," she muttered.

Aunt Letitia clucked her disapproval. "Did I hear you right? If that sort of thing matters?"

Eliza withdrew her hand from Aunt Viola's gentle grasp and faced Letitia's formidable countenance. "Please do not misunderstand me, Auntie. I do appreciate your efforts, for Grace, that is. But I am not inclined to find a husband. You know that."

Aunt Letitia swatted down Eliza's comment as though it were a winged insect headed for her nose. "Nonsense, Child. Now that the season is under way, you will have the time of your life."

 "Assuming she survives this disgrace," Grace added.

Eliza ignored her sister's comment. Instead, she gave her aunt a noncommittal nod. "I am sure you are right. But since I possess few of the traits desirable in a wife, I seriously doubt any offers shall be made for my hand."

"Pish posh," Aunt Letitia said. "You are fair and clever. The gentlemen will be queuing up to call upon you. You will see, Lizzy." She gave a sidelong glance toward Viola. "For we have a plan, do we not?"

Aunt Viola's ancient eyes sparkled with excitement. "We do indeed, Sister."

A plan? Oh, no, they mean to use the rule book, don't they? Eliza shuddered at the thought. To her dismay, that slight movement made her nose itch. She was about to... Oh God, not again. Not here. "A-achew--"

At the wet blast, Aunt Letitia looked Eliza full in the face, her eyes suddenly narrowed. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Give me the feathers." Snatching the white plumes away, Aunt Letitia shoved them at Viola, then pressed her own handkerchief into Eliza's empty hand. "Do see to your nose, Lizzy. It's as wet as a pup's."

A moment later, their footman, liveried in pale Featherton lavender, stepped into the hall to signal the arrival of their carriage.

With great exuberance, Aunt Letitia waved her arms to shoo the young women through the burgeoning crowd as though they were a pair of particularly dim-witted sheep.

Eager to leave the scene of her blunder, Eliza started for the door, when she noticed Aunt Letitia's handkerchief was missing. Whirling around, she spotted the crumpled bit of lace on the floor and dashed back, stooping to retrieve it.

"Eliza, do hurry," Grace called out from the doorway.

 "Coming." Eliza straightened, then turned on her heel for the door, only to slam into a blue wall of some sort. Pain shot through her face.

Oh, what now? Opening her watering eyes, Eliza found her nose flattened against what appeared to be a brass button. She tried to see whom she'd run into, but was too close. Teetering on her heels, she pitched backward.

Firm hands seized her shoulders, steadying her on her feet.

Eliza inched her head upward. The button was attached to a silk, gold-shot waistcoat, and the waistcoat to a very large man. Her gaze climbed higher still, until at last, she found herself looking straight into the gentleman's face. She gulped.

Pale eyes, glinting like quicksilver, stared down at Eliza. As she marveled at their sterling color, she saw in them the faint reflection of her own heart-shaped face and wide sherry-hued eyes. Criminy. It was like looking into two small mirrors.

Thick waves of ebony hair, drawn back in an unfashionable queue, set off the man's strong chiseled features.

Her gaze slid down along his jawbone, over the blue beginnings of beard just beneath the surface of his faintly bronzed skin.

How curious, she thought. Though here he stood at court, testament of his impeccable lineage, the sun had etched small creases at the outer edges of his eyes. He'd obviously spent a goodly amount of time out-of-doors. His body, too, was well defined, suggesting years of physical activity.  

And he was tall, standing fully a head above any other gentleman in the hall. Eliza wondered how she'd missed seeing him earlier.

She took a half-step backward. Like her, this man did not belong at the palace. Oh, he was polished enough. His tailor had done well by him, supplying formal garb of the first quality. But somehow, his well-muscled form seemed ill-at-ease within its perfect seams.

Nay, this was no refined gentleman who stood before her. There was a ruggedness about this man, a maleness she could very nearly taste.

"I beg yer pardon, miss. Are ye all right?"

The low burr of his voice, hinting of highland heather and distant moonlit moors, hummed through the whole of Eliza's being, thrilling her so fully that she was rendered mute.

He eased his palms from her shoulders, trailing them down the length of her arms to her gloved hands, where his fingers entwined her own for a scant moment before releasing them.

A pleasurable tingling swept up her fingertips, heightening her senses to the very roots of her hair.

"Eliza?" A light hand touched her elbow, causing her to start.

She turned her head and found Grace at her side. The thick scent of lavender assailed her senses, and Eliza realized her aunts had also returned and now stood at her right.

"We lost you in the crowd at the door. Are you well, gel?" Aunt Letitia asked.

Aunt Viola's bony elbow nudged her sister's plump side, drawing Letitia's attention to the handsome gentleman.

"Oh, my," chuckled Aunt Letitia. "I'd say so."

Heat rushed into Eliza's cheeks, but somehow, through her embarrassment, she found her voice. "I am fine."

The gentleman smiled. "Glad to hear it."

Eliza's heart throbbed in her ears. "I..." Dash it all. Compose yourself, Eliza. Suddenly, her hand seemed to lift of its own accord and, with her aunt's handkerchief, she polished the gentleman's waistcoat button. Say something. "I do apologize. I hope I haven't tarnished your button."

Oh, that was witty.

He reached out and stilled her hand, sending a wild jolt racing up her arm.

 "'Tis just a wee scrap of metal, miss."

An uncharacteristic flutter of nervousness took hold of Eliza. She lowered the handkerchief and looked up at him through her lashes, offering a shy smile.

"Please excuse my niece, kind sir." Aunt Letitia leaned close to the gentleman, dropping her voice to a confidential tone. "You see, she has only just been presented and I fear she is still somewhat shaken by the experience."

The gentleman arched a brow. "Aye, I seem to recall her rather memorable entrée. Miss Elizabeth Merriweather, I believe."

Eliza's cheeks flamed hotter still. Without knowing what else to do, she dipped into a deep curtsey. Egads, she was acting like...well, like one of those plumed, jingle-brains milling around the palace! What was wrong with her?

"Please forgive my impertinence," the gentleman said. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Magnus MacKinnon." Then he winced and struggled to correct himself in the next breath. "Or rather...Lord Somerton." He bowed low before them.

"Of course you are. The fifth Earl of Somerton, to be exact," Aunt Viola chimed in.

Aunt Letitia sidled closer. "What Sister meant to say, Lord Somerton, is that we were briefly introduced at Harper musicale last week."

The earl smiled. "I am honored ye remembered me."

Aunt Letitia snapped open her fan and swished it through the air. "How could we ever fail to remember you, my lord." She glanced around him with a hawkish eye and, likely seeing no female relation nearby, promptly introduced Eliza and Grace.

Eliza winced inwardly. A titled nobleman. He might as well have dangled  a sparkling betrothal ring before her matchmaking aunts. Her only hope now was that he was already attached to another, else there would be no restraining Letitia and Viola.

The thought had just broached Eliza's mind when Grace shoved a flaxen curl behind her ear and charged forward. "My lord, is your wife also at court this day?"

The earl lifted his brows at Grace's none too subtle inquiry. "I am not married."

 "Then you are here with your betrothed?" Eliza blurted before she could stop herself.

One corner of Lord Somerton's mouth lifted in amusement. "I am quite unattached, if that is what ye are seeking to ascertain, Miss Merriweather."

Humiliated at her gaff, Eliza averted her gaze.

Wasting not a moment, Grace lifted her hem from the floor and inserted herself between them. "Unfortunately, your marital status matters not a bit to my sister. For you see, Eliza has no interest in marriage," her sister confided. "I, on the other hand..."

At her sister's brazen remark, Eliza choked. Her gaze sought out the palace doors, and if Aunt Letitia had not snared her arm at the very instant, she would have bolted for the carriage.

Eliza unobtrusively wrenched her arm from Aunt Letitia's grip, but she was hardly free. Her aunts' fervent whispers told her they were already hard at work plotting to ring her finger.

"A debutante uninterested in marriage?" Lord Somerton's light eyes fixed on Eliza's.

"My sister has grander plans for life, you see," Grace said, not bothering to veil her sarcasm. "She plans to become a great artist."

"Pay no attention, Lord Somerton. Eliza's painting is merely a silly diversion," Aunt Letitia said hastily.

"Much more than a diversion." Aunt Viola's thin brows shirred at her sister's statement. "Our Eliza is quite a skilled portraiturist."

 "An artist not interested in marriage." The earl shook his head slowly. "I am greatly saddened by this news, Miss Merriweather."

"Saddened?" Eliza asked.

"Most certainly. For ye see, 'tis my firm hope to find a wife this season." An all-too-apparent twinkle appeared in his eyes.

"Indeed?" Having a bit of fun are we?

 "And, I must confess, from the moment I first saw ye, my heart was sworn to yer service." His grin broadened as he lifted Eliza's hand and pressed it to his broad chest.

One corner of Eliza's lips pulled upward. "Is that so?"

"Och, aye." The earl turned to her aunts as if to await their reaction to his game.

As Aunt Viola and Aunt Letitia's gazes locked, their eyebrows waggled mischievously and their over-rouged cheeks rounded with perceptive smiles. Prime quarry.

Oh, dear, Eliza thought. He's gone too far with his folly. And now the matchmakers were at the ready. She had to say something, do something, find some way to shift the conversation.

 "Lord Somerton." Like a sugar sweet, Eliza savored his name on her tongue. "We have not met before, I am sure of it, though your title is not altogether unfamiliar to me."

At her words, the earl dropped her hand. For a scant second, his eyes darkened. It was unlikely anyone else had noticed, but she'd seen the subtle change.

 "My brother bore the title before me," he said. All warmth had retreated from his voice, despite his attempt to even his tone. "He oft visited London. Perhaps ye made his acquaintance."

Unnerved by his curt reply, Eliza fabricated a soothing smile hoping to mollify him. "I am sorry, my lord. I...cannot say. But then, I have met so many people during my short time in London."

"I see," Lord Somerton replied, his voice softening in the span of a breath.

A sudden commotion outside, followed by howls of complaint about the position of the Featherton town carriage, cut the uneasy conversation short.

"Lord Somerton," Aunt Letitia twittered. "We are ever so pleased to have met once more." She extended her hand to the earl, and he politely took it.

"The pleasure has been all mine," he said, bending low. Aunt Letitia colored profusely, and a petite giggle

fluttered from between her vibrant, painted-on red lips.

Urged forward by her sister, Aunt Viola slipped her fragile hand before the earl as well. "Mayhap we shall see you again," she giggled.

"I would say 'tis almost a certainty," Lord Somerton replied. He nodded to Grace, then, turning away from the others, took Eliza's hand in his.

The earl bowed low over her glove, then, as he rose up, shot her a wink. A wink! And at court, no less.

Eliza arched a chastising brow, but he only grinned, then turned back to her elderly aunts.

 "Good day, ladies," he said, ever so politely, as if nothing had happened. But, of course, as far as her sister or aunts knew, nothing had.

"Good day, Lord Somerton," her aunts chirped merrily, a sentiment echoed by Grace as they departed for their carriage.

After boarding their conveyance, Eliza leaned toward the cab window and idly watched as Lord Somerton climbed into his own town carriage and disappeared from sight.

But as she settled back in her seat, Eliza realized her mistake. Her aunts had been watching her, and now sat, pleased as can be, with amused, knowing grins curving their lips.

"I am not interested in Lord Somerton," she told them.

"Whatever you say, Eliza," Aunt Letitia replied. Then both her aunts cupped gloved hands over their mouths and giggled.

Eliza rolled her eyes. Oh, dash it all. It was all too clear. Her aunts' matchmaking campaign had begun, and Lord Somerton, heaven help him, had been marked their primary target.