Momentarily speechless with shock, she took a quick breath.

Marry Lord Beacom?

Lizzie was strangely flattered by the baron's attention, but after witnessing her brother's marriage how could she settle for anything less for herself?  Besides would she be willing to settle for a lifetime with the biggest gambler in all of London?

"I see I have stunned you."  He settled himself next to her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"You--you want to marry me?"

"Yes."

"But--why?"

"You are a diamond of the first water, Elizabeth.  It was be an advantageous match for both of us.  You would make me a very happy man if only you would say yes."

She rose to her feet and crossed to the mantel.  "I don't know what to say."

He followed behind her.  "Say yes," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

She turned slightly and became fully aware of how close he was.  Immediately, she went still.  His arms came around to settle on the mantel around her, effectively blocking her passage.

The overpowering scent of his fragrant cologne sent Lizzie's stomach swirling.  He leaned in.  His mouth grazed her earlobe when she ducked beneath his elbow and nimbly slipped from his grasp.

"I--I won't hurt you Elizabeth."  He followed closely on her heels.  "I want to give you my tender affection,ma ch'ere amie.  Pitching himself over the back of the settee, Lord Beacom lunged for his prize.  His arms flailing at his sides and his mouth moving to hungrily cover her.

Once again, she deftly slipped away and he fell to the floor in a heap.

Very close to her now, he leapt his feet.  Breathing hard from his exertions, he said, "I want--to give you--my tender--affection--ma ch'ere amie."  The baron's hand came up and clutched for her.  It grazed her.

"Stop," she said, slapping at his hand.

"Say you'll marry me, Elizabeth."

With his breathing ragged and a hungry look in his eyes, Lord Beacom pulled on the muslim of her gown.  A rip rent the silence, then Lizzie felt the soft, cotton slipping off her shoulder.

With all of her might, she shoved against his chest, sending the baron toppling over backwards against a spindle-legged side table.

"Stop this instant--"

A hand shot out of nowhere, grabbing the baron by the scruff of the neck and yanking him to his feet.  "Is this puff-up popinjay bothering you, Miss?" interrupted a deep baritone.  The silky voice, although deceptively calm, held an underlying challenge.

Lizzie stared at her rescuer.  Her mouth dropped open and a soft gasp escaped her.  With her gaze glued to his face, she was too surprised to do more than nod.

"Well, Beacom it appears our paths were destined to cross again."

"Hazelwood, it's not what you think.  Sinclair knows I'm here."

"Doubtful he knows what you were up to," Jack said, still holding the baron by the back of the coat.

"I--I--"

"He was just leaving," replied Lizzie.  With all the dignity she could muster, she straightened her torn dress, tucking the ripped edge under her chemise.

"I think your brother--"

She lifted her chin, and boldly met his gaze.  "Please just send him away," Lizzie snapped, then moved to the settee.

"Make no mistake, Sinclair will be told of your behavior here today, Beacom."  With a supercilious look on his face, he released the man, shoving him away.

The baron took a faltering step backwards and then retreated hastily toward the door not looking back.

Lizzie's body stiffened in shock.  She sat there, blank, amazed and very shaken.  What had just happened?  And of all people, how had Jack Hazelwood come to be in her drawing room?

Jack moved to stand before Lizzie.  "Lie back.  I'll find your brother."

She jumped at the sound of his voice.  But she did as he instructed and sank back into the cushions.  As their eyes met, another shock ran through her.  Staring wordlessly at him, her heart pounded in her chest.

He peered down at her intently and she was stunned by his cool appraisal, but a new and unexpected warmth surged through her.

"Why are you here?"

"To see Sin."

"He'll never see you."

"Never?"  He tilted his brow and looked at her uncertainly.  "Never is a long time, Lizard."

"I'm no longer called by that childish name," she retorted.

His dark eyes never left hers for an instant and to her annoyance she found herself beginning to blush.

"See things do change."

"Lizzie dear, the ladies are here."  Aunt Agnes voice resonated through the room as she whisked inside.  Stopping short, she peered hard at Jack.  The Society for the Friends of Lady Grey collided into her.  "Lizzie?"  Her voice rose and octave while she quickly scanned the room.

Jack glanced up smiling benignly.

Startled, Lizzie thumped to the floor, landing at Jack's feet.  Her torn dress popping free of it's temporary fastener.  Scrambling to adjust her clothing before her aunt and the Society circled around the front of the settee, once again Lizzie tried to fasten the torn dress into her chemise.

Too late.  Those old women were quick-footed.

"Elizabeth Una Sinclair, what the blue devil is going on in here?" demanded her aunt.

There was a collective gasp from the group gathered behind Agnes.  Then silence rang through the drawing room.