occasion to confess to her that she was an imposter. She was certain that Lady Briarcliff would have understood, maybe helped her to get back to her own century. What kept her from it was the fear that she would have been held accountable for the disappearance of the real Abigail, if not by Lady Briarcliff, then certainly by her starchy husband.

John Albert Dennison, the Earl of Briarcliff, was opinionated, overbearing and rigid. He hadn’t smiled once in all the time Abby had spent in the house. There might have been the faintest hint of a smile when Martin Henry, the Earl of Drake’s, name had been mentioned, but beyond that all her father seemed concerned with was the breeding of his beloved horses. He spent more time in the stables than he did inside, which was just as well to her way of thinking. If he’d been around too much, she would have been very tempted to say exactly what was on her mind, and ruined forever the image he clung to of his proper daughter.

“Lady Abigail, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”

Abby stopped daydreaming and looked up. The man bowing before her had to be at least forty. He was slightly portly, but apparently refused to acknowledge it. His clothes were at least a size too small and outrageously bold in color. He looked like a smug, overstuffed peacock.

Martin, no doubt, she decided at once, then reminded herself to refer to him as the Earl of Drake or be considered quite impudent. She truly would have spent a lot of time in disgrace had she lived in this Regency era for real. As for recalling all of this nonsense about dukes and earls and ladies and when to use which, it was becoming quite taxing.

“To be sure, my lord,” she said and unwillingly placed her hand in his. His damp touch gave her the most unpleasant goose bumps. She wanted to shrug him away, but knew at once that such rudeness would cause a scandal. She saw her mother standing nearby, looking on approvingly. She could do nothing to upset that sweet woman.

“I have spoken with your father, you know,” Martin whispered, his hot breath fanning across her cheek.

“Yes, my lord.”

“I believe a fall wedding would be just the thing.”

Abby’s heart sank. “Don’t you think that’s a bit hasty? People might suspect...” Her voice trailed off as she realized that proper young ladies no doubt didn’t even know about unplanned pregnancies.

His bark of laughter had an indecent sound to it. “Let ‘em think what they will. With the money I have, they won’t risk offending us by talking of such things aloud.”

“May I ask you a question, my lord?”

He beamed at her demure manner. “That’s the ticket,” he declared approvingly. “I knew the minute I laid eyes on you that you would do quite well. I can see you intend to be a most biddable wife.”

Abby hated to disabuse him of that notion, so she kept her lips clamped tightly shut. Biddable was not a word she intended to let anyone apply to her ever again. If she ever got back to her own life, she was going to take charge of it once and for all. There would be no marriage to a man she didn’t love.

“Of course you may ask a question,” the earl said grandly, his arm tightening around her waist.

“What is it you see in me? Surely the room is filled with girls younger and more beautiful than I,” she said, glancing around to prove the point. “Why I am practically on the shelf. I’m sure my mama despaired of ever seeing me wed.”

“Then you shall be more grateful for my attention, isn’t that so?” he said with a leer.

That expectation of her undying gratitude for being saved from the life of a spinster infuriated her. Didn’t he know women could live quite satisfactory, if untraditional, lives on their own? Abby deliberately planted her foot smack in the middle of his, then smiled up at him prettily. “I’m so terribly sorry, my lord. I’m afraid I’m very clumsy tonight.”

Fortunately, the waltz ended just then and Abby sped away from the Earl of Drake as quickly as she could. She had learned by some careful eavesdropping that the name of her companion from the garden was Elizabeth Henley, known as Lizzy to her intimate acquaintances. Scanning the crowded room, Abby finally spotted her and made her way to her side. She latched on to her arm and tugged her into a secluded alcove.

“It has to be tonight,” she whispered. “I simply cannot bear another minute with that awful man thinking he’s going to lay claim to me like a piece of meat chosen from the market.”

Lizzy regarded her worriedly. “But what will you do?”

“I’ve told you that,” she declared impatiently. “I will create such a scandal that the Earl of Drake will throw me over at once or lose face in society. Now, who is the most daring, most outrageous rake in the room tonight? I need someone who won’t blink an eye no matter what I say or do.”

Lizzy pursed her lips thoughtfully. Finally her expression brightened. “There is one my brothers say will do absolutely anything for a wager. His heroics in the war are practically legendary. He is heir to a shipping fortune, which they say he is gambling away.”

She tugged Abby closer to confide. “And when they think I’m not about, I’ve heard them say he has a perfectly scandalous mistress, whom he flaunts in polite London society. My mama says no decent woman would dare to be seen with him, but it looks to me as if quite a few here tonight are taken with his charms.” She pursed her lips, looking faintly confused. “Perhaps mama has it wrong about that. Surely Lady Honoria wouldn’t have invited him here, if he was

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