The Smuggler and the Society Bride by Julia Justiss

called forth from her a potent physical response that intensified each time she met him. Just an hour ago at the inn, even not knowing who or what he was, she’d been so tempted to touch his hand, to see if the mere pressure of her fingers against his would elicit another spark like the one that had blazed through her when he took her arm in the churchyard on Sunday. She’d had to wrap her fingers around her mug to resist the urge.
    With her emotions still at such a low ebb and her ability to resist his charm so demonstrably weak, she must avoid casting Gabriel Hawksworth in the role of friend. She didn’t think she could bear the crushing disappointment such a naïve hope was almost certain to make her suffer.
    Resolutely turning away from the sea, she thrust her hand into the small secret pocket in the lining of her cloak—and felt the stone, still there where someone had put it the night of her disgrace. A bit of clear, polished glass, facetted on one side almost like diamond, smooth but unfinished on the other.
    She hadn’t discovered it until several days after that night, but immediately recognized the significance. She, who had been a Diamond of the Ton, now was worthless as glass.
    It had to have been placed there by the same someone who had gone to such pains to set up her disgrace in the garden, someone calculating and thorough enough to make sure her ruin was complete, someone who knew her family well enough to gage their reaction.
    But who? For the first time since that night, she forced herself to consider events so painful and distressing that until this moment, she’d not been able to bear examining them.
    She and Anthony had had a sharp quarrel earlier that day,he pressing her to accept as an engagement gift a heavy, ornate diamond parure that had been in his family for generations. Although supposing in the end she couldn’t refuse, Honoria hadn’t wanted it—especially not after having found a much finer, more delicate and intricately wrought set in the jeweller’s shop. The disagreement led to harsh words: she accusing him of not caring what she preferred, he accusing her of thinking always of her own pleasure, heedless of tradition and the feelings of family.
    Still angry that night, she’d looked forward to flirting outrageously at the ball they were both to attend, to punish him for speaking so unkindly. Then Anthony ruined her plans by not being present to become annoyed and jealous. So she’d been relieved—and touched—when a footman brought her a verbal message begging her to meet him in the garden, where he would show her a surprise he knew would make her happy.
    Triumphant—just knowing he’d acceded to her wishes and purchased the new diamond set—without further thought, she’d left the ballroom and hurried to the rendezvous point the footman described, a small arbour at the far end of the dark trail leading from the ballroom. And found waiting for her not Anthony bearing gifts, but Lord Vickers Barwick, one of the most notorious and unprincipled rakes of the Ton.
    She’d been too shocked in the first moment to speak as Lord Vickers, his eyes glazed with drink, slurred out how excited he was to discover she was interested in a little dalliance. And then he’d reached for her…
    Gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes closed, Honoria shut down the memories while a chill shook her body and nausea clawed up her throat. Enough. Clenching her hands together, she willed the sick feeling away and swiped at the tears that had begun to drip unnoticed down her cheeks.
    Who had arranged the message that led her to Lord Barwick, knowing she would never have left the ballroom if she’d known who waited for her at the end of that dark, deserted path?
    Another young lady, jealous of her place as reigning Belle of the Ton? Though Honoria believed another woman capable of such spite, she couldn’t credit any of the