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her host and hostess had not yet tossed her out. That in itself was a miracle to be marveled at. Determined to do the right thing, Isabella placed a staying hand upon the duchess’s arm. The older woman slowed, stopped and turned to look at her expectantly. “I hope you will forgive my intruding on your festivities this evening. Should you wish for me to leave, I will do so immediately.”
    The duchess watched her silently for a moment before saying, “After all the trouble you went to? I don’t know who you are or how you managed to get in without detection, but I should hate to be the one to ruin your evening if being here is so important to you.” She waved her hand to indicate Isabella’s attire. “Besides, you’re not lowborn or you wouldn’t have been able to afford such a gown. At the very least, you are gentry, perhaps you are even nobility, though I have to admit that if that is the case, then I am even more curious about your desire for anonymity.” She leaned closer to Isabella and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You wouldn’t happen to be one of Lord Jouve’s illegitimate children, would you? It is my understanding that he has several. Perhaps—”
    With no desire to lie again, Isabella shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s nothing like that. If you’ll forgive me, I simply have my own personal reasons for not wanting to disclose my identity.” Giving her a sympathetic smile, the duchess nodded. “Your secret is safe with me, Miss Smith .” She chuckled and shook her head bemusedly. “Come, I’ll introduce you to my daughter. We can watch the duke’s toast together.”
    A few minutes later, Isabella found herself standing across from a lovely brunette, her hazel-colored eyes visible from behind her green mask.
    “Louise, I’d like to present to you Miss Smith,” the duchess said. She turned toward Isabella with a smile. “Miss Smith, this is my daughter, Lady Huntley, and her husband, Lord Huntley.”
    “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances,” Isabella said, executing a graceful curtsy.
    “Oh, the pleasure is all ours,” Lady Huntley said, her lips curving upward and dimpling at the corners. “Isn’t that so, Peter?”
    “Most assuredly,” Lord Huntley murmured as he reached for Isabella’s hand, leaned over it and placed a soft kiss upon her knuckles.
    “You see, my brother—”
    The ringing sound of metal striking glass stopped Lady Huntley from finishing her sentence. Isabella realized then that the music had ceased and that all the guests had turned toward the steps leading out of the ballroom, where the duke stood staring down at the crowd.
    He looked devilishly handsome with his cravat slightly loosened and a few locks of stray hair brushing against his forehead. But he also looked terribly serious with that frown he was wearing upon his brow—not at all like the easygoing man she’d strolled with in the garden. He took a deep breath. Exhaled it and . . . took another. Good heavens. Was he nervous? Surely not.
    “He’s always disliked being the center of attention,” Lady Huntley whispered. Addressing the duchess she said, “Mama, was this your idea?”
    “This is his first public appearance as duke,” the duchess whispered back. “I thought it prudent for him to assert himself by saying something. Besides, he can do with the practice. As it is he avoided taking his seat in Parliament last year, claiming exemption due to his state of mourning. He won’t be able to use that excuse this year.”
    Lady Huntley let out a small groan. “I only hope he doesn’t embarrass himself by fainting. Look, he’s tugging at his cravat again and rocking from side to side like he always does when he’s nervous.”
    Isabella cringed. The duke might command an air of confidence when he was on equal footing with everyone else, but speaking aloud with all eyes pinned on him was clearly not his forte. Sending up a silent prayer that he would somehow garner the