ULIANNA WAS QUITE convinced that total ruination would cause Sir Francis to withdraw his offer, though she had no idea how she would survive if her parents disowned her for ruining herself. Sniffling again, she bent her head, closed her eyes tightly, and decided to resort to prayer. She asked her grandmother to help her find a way to ruin herself. Deciding that it might be wise to appeal to an even higher authority, Julianna took her problem directly to God. It occurred to her, however, that God might not approve of such a request, let alone consider granting it, unless He was fully apprised of her dire plight. She sniffled again, closed her eyes even tighter, and began explaining to God the reasons she wished to be ruined. She was just to the part about having to marry Sir Francis Bellhaven, and crying in heartbroken little gulps, when A Voice spoke to her out of the darkness—a deep, rich, male voice filled with quiet authority and tinged with sympathy: "May I be of assistance?"

Shock sent Julianna surging to her feet, her heart thundering, then leaping into her throat as her widened eyes riveted on a shadowy cloaked figure that materialized from the inky darkness and began moving forward.

The apparition stopped just beyond reach of a pale moonbeam, his face in shadow, his features indistinguishable. He raised his arm slowly, and something white seemed to float and flutter from his fingertips even thought there was no breeze.

Her senses reeling from shock and brandy, Julianna realized he was holding the white billowing thing out toward her. She stepped forward hesitantly and reached for his extended arm. The object that came away in her hand turned out to be an earthly, though still very soft and fine, handkerchief. "Thank you," she whispered reverently, giving him a teary smile as she dabbed at her eyes and nose.

Not certain what she was now expected to do with it, she held it out to him.

"You may keep it."

Julianna snatched it back, clutching it safely to her heart. "Thank you."

"Is there anything I can do before I leave you?"

"Don't have! Please! Yes, there is something I need, but I should like to explain." Julianna opened her mouth to finish explaining to God why she was praying to be ruined when two things struck her as a little odd. First, this celestial being who had evidently appeared in answer to her prayers seemed to have a slight accent— a French one. Second, now that her eyes had adjusted to the pool of darkness that concealed him, she noticed a small detail that struck her as more sinister than heavenly. Since she had been praying to be ruined, it seemed not only prudent but imperative to make certain the wrong sort of mystical being hadn't decided to pay her a visit in answer to that prayer.

Fighting against the dulling effects of the brandy, Julianna fixed him with a cautious stare. "Please do not think I am questioning your… your authenticity… or your taste in fashions," she began, carefully injecting as much respect into her voice as she possibly could, "but shouldn't you be wearing white rather than black?"

His eyes, visible through the slits of his half mask, narrowed at such an impertinent suggestion, and Julianna braced herself to be struck down by a bolt of lightning, but his tone was mild. "Black is customary for a man. Were I to appear here in white, I would draw too much attention to myself. People would begin trying to guess my identity. They would note my height first, then my other features, and begin trying to guess my identity. If they did, I would forfeit my anonymity and then my freedom to do the sort of things one expects to do on nights like tonight."

"Yes, I see," Julianna said politely, but she wasn't completely convinced. "I suppose that's not as extraordinary as I thought."

Nicki thought their entire meeting thus far had been a little "extraordinary." When he first saw her, she had been weeping. In a matter of moments, that expressive face of hers had already exhibited shock, embarrassment, awe, fear, suspicions, and now uncertainty… even apprehension. As he waited for her to screw up the courage to explain whatever it was she wanted of him, Nicki realized there was nothing ordinary about her. Her pale blond hair seemed to glisten with silver in the moonlight when she moved her head, and her large eyes actually appeared to be a lavender blue. They dominated a delicately molded face with smooth milky skin, winged brows, and a lovely mouth. Hers was a subtle beauty, easily overlooked at first glance. It came from a purity of features and a candor in those large eyes, rather than from vibrant coloring or exotic looks. He couldn't assess her age, but she looked quite young, and there were certain things about her that did not quite fit.

She drew in a deep breath, pulling his thoughts back to the matter at hand, and he quirked a brow at her in silent inquiry.

"Would you mind," she said, very, very politely, "taking off your mask and letting me see your face?"

"Was that the favor you wanted to ask of me?" he asked, wondering if she were addled.

"No, but I cannot ask it until I see your face." When he showed no inclination to move, Julianna implored in a shaky, desperate voice, "It's terribly important!"

Nicki hesitated, and then sheer curiosity made him decide to comply. He pulled off the mask and even walked out of the shadows to give her a good look at his face, then he waited for a reaction.

He got one.

She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes as round as saucers. Nicki stepped forward, thinking she was going to swoon, but her sudden shriek of laughter checked him in midstride. That was followed by great gales of mirth as she sank onto the stone bench and covered her face with her hands, her entire body shaking with hilarity. Twice she peeked out at him from between her fingers, as if to ascertain that she had seen correctly, and both times the sight of his face made her laugh even harder.

With a supreme effort, Julianna finally managed to compose herself. She lifted her face to his, her eyes still sparkling with mirth as she stared in disbelief at the one face in all England that had made her heart pound. And now, as her shock subsided, that face was beginning to have the same effect on her that it had had on her last spring. Only this time there was a difference. This time there was a slight smile touching that chiseled mouth, and his eyes weren't cold and hard, they were merely… speculative. All in all, his expression was noncommittal but definitely interested.

That was flattering and encouraging enough to raise her spirits, bolster her confidence, and make her certain that she had made the right decision a few minutes before. She had prayed to be totally ruined, and it was going to happen at the hands of the most sought-after bachelor in Europe, Nicholas DuVille himself! That made it so much better—it gave it a certain flair, a style. In return for sacrificing herself to total ruin to avoid Sir Francis, she was going to have sweet memories to treasure. "I'm not demented, though it must look it," she began, "and I do have a favor to ask of you."

Nicki knew he ought to walk away, but he was as strangely captivated by her infectious laughter, her entrancing face, and her astonishing reactions as he was completely bored with the prospect of returning to the ball. "Exactly what is this favor you're hoping I'll grant you?"

"It's a little difficult to discuss," she said. He watched her reach for whatever it was she'd been drinking. She took a sip of it as if she needed it for courage, and then she raised those large candid eyes to his. "Actually it'squite difficult," she amended, wrinkling her pert nose.

"As you can see," Nicki responded, suppressing a smile and giving her a gallant little bow, "I am completely at your service."

"I hope you still feel that way, after you hear what I would ask of you," she murmured uneasily. "What may I do?"

"I would like you to ruin me."