Passionate by Anthea Lawson Page A

avoid her until her mother had married her off to the highest bidder.
    This attraction to her was more of a mistake than he had thought—and it had to end. Now. He’d had the misfortune of falling in love with a woman of Lily’s status once before, and had no intention of repeating the blunder.
    He had just turned twenty when he met Amanda Granville, the daughter of a peer, a man very like Lily’s father. James had been introduced to her in the swirl of her first season and they had fallen instantly and madly in love. The two of them had exchanged fervent kisses whenever they could slip away, and she had promised to be his.
    Unfortunately her father had very different ideas. How had he put it? I will burn in hell before I allow a landless, title-less orphan of a second son to marry my daughter. There had been quite a scene when James had come to press his suit. What a miserable young fool he had been.
    You are nothing! You are so far below her it’s laughable.
    “Amanda, tell him,” James had pleaded with her, but she had only sobbed into a handkerchief, not even daring to look at him. Her father had summoned his menservants and ordered them to seize the young man who had the audacity to ask for his daughter’s hand. James could still recall the shame of being forcibly escorted down the stairs and tossed out on the street.
    If you come near my daughter, or my property, I will have you arrested and flogged. Lord Granville had been in such a rage that he had shouted it from the open window of his study, heedless of anyone who might overhear. “Drive him away!” he had called to his men, and to his everlasting humiliation, James had run down one of the most fashionable streets in London chased by servants in Granville livery.
    The next day he had used the money left by his father to purchase an officer’s commission with a posting in India. Better that than be the laughingstock of all London. Amanda had promised she would follow him anywhere. If his suit failed, they had planned to begin a new life together far from England.
    But love was not enough. Love was never enough.
    Soon after his arrival in Bombay he had read of her marriage in the Times —a brilliant match to the Duke of Trentley.
    James ran a hand through his hair. Thank the gods he had found out about Lily in time.
    Sir Edward had abandoned them for a serving of lobster salad, but Mr. Crawford seemed to take the loss of half his audience in stride. “A spring this early puts me in mind of ’27—that was the year of the great sheep blight.”
    “Indeed.” James gave him a hollow smile. He scanned the room behind Mr. Crawford. It was not difficult to spot Lily among the lesser lights. She was beautiful, and spirited, and completely unobtainable.
    What to do? There really was only one course. He would dance their final dance, bid her good night, and pray the bitter prayer that he might never set eyes on her again.
    “If you will excuse me, Mr. Crawford. I have promised this waltz to a particular lady.”
    “Ah, go on then, me boy, go on.”
    James made his way across the ballroom to her as the musicians signaled the waltz.
    “Miss Strathmore, I believe this is our last dance.”
     
    Lily’s heartbeat sped as she gazed up at James. Didn’t the man realize how confusing everything became when he stood so close to her?
    Fixing a smile on her lips, she allowed him to lead her into the center of the room. The musicians played the opening bars, the violins first sliding then soaring into the notes.
    When he gathered her into his arms, she stiffened.
    “Relax,” he murmured. “It will look very odd if I have to haul you around the floor like a sack of flour.”
    He was right, drat him. Lily focused her gaze on his lapel and gradually let herself fall into the rhythm of the dance. He was looking at her, she knew, but she could not meet his eyes. She had regained some of her composure since they had returned from the terrace, but now that she was back in