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concern, Miss Hastings, is to keep my sister content and happy within the bounds of propriety.”
    The gentling of his voice when he spoke of Cicely persuaded Elizabeth. “All right, then.”
    “Excellent. Gather up whatever you’ll need for the night and we’ll join my sister in the carriage.”
    She stared. “I can’t leave now. Why, it will take days to sort this mess —”
    “Be sensible, Miss Hastings. You can’t stay here.” He swept a hand around the chaotic room.
    “His lordship is right,” her father said in a weighted voice, as if the admission cost him dearly.
    Dismayed, Elizabeth accepted the truth. Shadows gathered in the corners, veiling her ruined treasures. Tears stung her eyes. Desolation clutched at her stomach, a sense of violation at knowing a stranger had rifled through her possessions. The item most precious of all was missing. Lord Nicholas took a step toward her, then stopped, almost as if he’d meant to comfort her and thought better of it. “I’ll send my footmen round first thing tomorrow to collect the rest of your belongings.”
    “The sketchbook with my mother’s portraits —”
    “I shall instruct my men to take special care to look for it.”
    “Thank you.”
    “My pleasure.”
    His smile took Elizabeth by surprise. Somehow his
face looked kinder, less imposing and more approachable. The vestiges of doubt vanished in the delight of
studying the masculine dimples on either side of his
mouth. She felt a sudden shivery longing to press her
lips there.
    Her father cleared his throat. “Well, Libby, perhaps we’d best pack a few things while there’s still light to see by.”
    Flustered, she pocketed the clay model of Lord Nicholas’s hand; its weight against her thigh made her imagine his skilled fingers caressing her, shaping her like a living sculpture. She wondered wistfully if warmth dwelled within the earl, if the right woman might chip away his stern marble facade and find a tender man beneath.
    Confused by her wayward thoughts, she turned her attention to stuffing some personal items into her artist’s satchel. As her hands sifted through the chaos, her mind sifted through the changes taking place in her life. She couldn’t deny a simmering excitement. Did she desire only to study Lord Nicholas’s perfection?
    Or had her woman’s heart taken precedence over her artist’s eye?
     

Chapter 5
    When they emerged into the teeming street, the sky had gone a deep slate gray. Everyone was out enjoying the balmy evening. Laughing children darted through the crowd, housewives clustered to gossip, day laborers hurried home. The ever-present odors of rubbish and smoke and cooking perfumed the air.
    One of Elizabeth’s neighbors, a large-boned actress from a nearby Covent Garden theatre, gaped at the fine figure of the earl. “‘Ey, ‘andsome,” she called, wriggling her generous hips. “Need a place to lay yer ‘ead for the night?”
    With haughty disdain Lord Nicholas ignored the woman, though color washed his elegant cheekbones. Elizabeth swallowed a bubble of startled amusement. The arrogant Earl of Hawkesford… embarrassed? Somehow he didn’t seem capable of such a human emotion.
    They headed through the throng of people toward an opened landau at the curb. The twin coach lamps were lit against the thickening darkness.
    “What the devil,” Lord Nicholas muttered.
    Elizabeth spied the reason for his exclamation. Surrounded by curious spectators, Cicely sat in the carriage like a queen holding court.
    The earl quickened his pace. As Elizabeth hurried to keep up, she saw Kipp standing alongside the elegant vehicle. From the elevated front seat, the stout coachman brandished his whip.
    “Get on with you, lad,” he said, his voice booming above the din. “Don’t be botherin’ ‘er ladyship, or the earl’ll turn yer filthy ‘ide to mincemeat.”
    Kipp planted his fists on his hips. “I ain’t afraid o’ no fancy pants earl.”
    “Oh, leave off,