Marguerite had held her tongue, aware that she knew nothing of the man but rumor and innuendo.

"Stay away from him, ma petite. A breath of scandal will ruin you."

Knowing it was true, Marguerite acquiesced and firmly intended to keep her word. 'I am certain he has forgotten me already."

"Naturellement." The baroness offered a sympathetic smile. Marguerite was her favorite, and the daughter most like her in both looks and temperament. "The point of this discussion is to ensure that you follow suit."

But Saint-Martin proved to be more determined than they had anticipated. Over the next few weeks, Marguerite found him everywhere, a circumstance effective in preventing her from forgetting him. Speculation abounded as to why he was suddenly less interested in his more jaded pursuits, which seduced her with the possibility that he was seeking her out deliberately. Unable to bear the suspense and distracted from her pursuit of a suitable husband, she resolved to confront him directly.

Ducking behind a large potted plant, Marguerite waited for him to pass her location in his pursuit of her. She attempted to regulate her breathing to facilitate a calm exterior, but the effort made her dizzy. As had happened from the first, the nearer his proximity, the more disconcerted she felt. She could not see him, yet she sensed his every footstep. Closer… closer…

When Saint-Martin came into sight, she blurred out, "What do you want?"

The marquis drew to a halt and his wigged head turned to find her. "You."

Her breath caught.

He pivoted to face her directly and approached with animalistic grace, his narrowed gaze assessing her from head to toe. As his dark eyes roamed, they heated, and when they paused boldly on her chest, Marguerite felt her breasts swell in response.

"Stop." She snapped her fan open as a barrier between them. Within the confines of her corset, her nipples hardened such as they did when she was cold, "You will cause a scene."