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Devon's friends thought it a grand joke that he had been about to dance with Carrollton's sister without realizing it. They claimed he had to be the only person in the world to not know the gossip swirling around the chit's London debut.

The Carrolltons were bad ton if there ever was any. That they had the audacity to not only present their daughter at Court but also expect her to marry well had Society reefing. Yes, she was uncommonly beautiful, but a line had to be drawn somewhere. Numerous hostesses had vowed to snub her.

And although the little scene on the dance floor resurrected all the rumors concerning the circumstances of Devon's parents' deaths over twenty years ago, Miss Carrollton ironically became somewhat of an overnight sensation-as did Lady Trudgill, the ball's hostess.

Suddenly, Miss Carrollton and Devon were on everyone's guest list. Ambitious hostesses smelled scandal. They knew that just the mere speculation of the couple meeting again was enough to ensure the success of their party and a mention in the following day's papers.

Of course, Devon never honored those invitations. He didn't care what Miss Carrollton did, and to prove it he carefully avoided her company.

His circle of friends-all scapegrace rogues and out-and-out bounders to a man, no matter how loyal-couldn't help but sing the praises of such a beautiful young woman who quickly became the Toast, and the talk, of the Town. They ribbed Devon mercilessly, comparing his family to Montagues and hers to Capulets. He pretended it didn't matter.

But it did. It irritated him beyond rationalization.

Especially when he received a terse note from hisgrandfather:

Brewster says you made a cake of yourself atTrudgill ball over Carrollton chit. I am displeased, but not surprised. A Marshall has never been nor will be the subject of gossip.

Kirkeby

It had been almost two months since he'd last heard from his grandfather. Another time when he'd been displeased. Devon wadded up the note before tossing it in the rubbish bin.

Unfortunately, a week later, in the Parson's Knot, a club known for high-stakes games, Devon crossed Julian Carrollton's path. He ignored Carrollton until -he overheard Carrollton receiving the same sort of harsh teasing that Devon had received. Carrollton was deep in his cups, but in spite of that fact, his snarled, colorful answer damning all Marshalls to hell, "especially that bastardHuxhold," infuriated Devon.

He'd been called names before, but not by the son of Richard Carrollton.

Something inside Devon snapped.

His parents would still be alive if Richard Car. rollton had not cheated in that long-ago carriage race. Some claimed the broken lynchpin had been an accident, nothing more. Richard had always maintained his innocence-but Devon's grandfather had known differently.

He said his son always took care of his rigs. Someone had broken the pin on purpose. And to his mind the only person who had stood to gain by winning the race had been Richard.

Anguished beyond reason by the death of his only son, Devon's grandfather had protested to the authorities, but there had been no proof, and Carrollton had walked away a free man. Carrollton had refused to accept the winnings from the race, but that had not consoled Lord Kirkeby.

Now, his son dared to call Devon a bastard.

It made Devon furious. Especially when Julian declared in a voice that carried above the sound of the rattling dice cups that his sister would rather "lie with dogs than dance with a Marshall."

Everyone in the room heard him. McDermott Leichester, Ruskin, all gathered around Devon, silently siding with him and waiting for him to take action against his enemy.

Devon sat quiet. He did not have a hot head. He'd ignored Julian's drunken whining in the past. He could do it again.

Or, he could call Julian out, put a bullet in him, and rid the world of his pretentious bragging. Devon's reputation for pistol and sword was famous. His skill was one of the few things his grandfather admired about him. Better yet, his grandfather would be pleased to have justice finally served.

Instead of what he could have done, what people expected him to do, Devon accepted Julian's 'words as a challenge.

So he thought his sister would rather lie with a dog than dance with a Marshall? Devon knew that wasn't true. Leah Carrollton was not immune to him. He'd sensed her attraction to him immediately.

He would prove it by seducing her.

Devon rose and left the club, content to let Carrollton believe he'd scored a small victory while in truth the game was just beginning ...

Only much, much later would Devon admit to himself that he'd chosen that course of action not for revenge but because in spite of himself, all common sense, and all reason, he had secretly wanted to see her again.

Contrary to popular opinion, Devon had never considered himself a rake. A rake was a reprobate, a man beyond redemption, a man with no moral fiber.

Devon was none of those things, at least not in his own mind.

In his opinion, his only vice was that he adored women. That wasn't so much of a sin, was it?

He liked women in all their guises-the old, the young, the middle-aged, the rosy plump, the slender, the laughing, the soberly sedate. His cronies thought only of a woman's face or her breasts or what she had between her legs ... and those things were important to Devon, too. But he also admired their intelligence, their spirit, their sense of humor.

He loved the mysteries of their sex: their intuitive powers, their supple strength, their fanciful whims, their serene wisdom. Oh, yes, and their -generosity. God bless their generosity. Their bodies and their minds were his altar of worship.

Consequently, they, in turn, adored him.