The Princess & the Pea by Victoria Alexander

toss her aside after they'd shared their thoughts, their hopes, their desires in life? And beyond that, how could she have been so completely wrong to believe, even for an instant, that he shared her feelings?
    Jared. His very name burned somewhere deep in the core of her being with a fiery ache.
    If this was the price one paid for love, she wanted no part of it. She squared her shoulders in an unconscious gesture and determination flowed into her. She would pursue her own desires of the independent life of a journalist. But first they would return to London, where she would do everything in her power to entice and conquer Marybeth's earl in a duel of hearts.
    For a moment she almost pitied the man. He had no idea that an obstinate American was about to storm the castles of his life. No idea of the fury triggered by his arrogance to one woman and the arrogance of a fellow countryman to another. No idea he was the object of a complete stranger's unrelenting ire.
    It was no longer a question of British snobbery toward Americans, nor even of her disdain for men who married for money. No, now it was a crusade for any woman who had ever been duped in the name of love, for every tear wept and every heart broken. She would make an example of the earl he would not soon forget.
    Her fists tightened by her side in an instinctive acknowledgment of her resolve. Only then did she realize that Jared's crushed words were still clasped in her hand.
    And in her heart.
----
Chapter Four

     
    "There she is. She's the one I told you about." Millicent nodded at the tall, walnut-haired beauty on the opposite side of the dance floor, surrounded by an impressive throng of obvious admirers. "She's quite lovely, isn't she?"
    "Indeed," Olivia said, casting a speculative glance at the young American. "And you say she's an heiress?"
    "Oh my, yes," Millicent's voice rose with enthusiasm. "Her father has a substantial fortune. Built a virtual empire on beef. They call him the meatpacking king."
    "She does carry herself well." Olivia murmured approvingly.
    "Doesn't she, though?" Millicent sighed. "I had so hoped she and Quentin would make a match of it, but he seems far more interested in the younger sister—the girl standing beside her."
    Olivia's gaze swept the smaller figure. "She's quite young for a gathering like this, isn't she?" Olivia said, a touch of disapproval in her tone.
    "Not at all," Millicent said defensively. "She is nearly eighteen and quite mature for her age." She narrowed her eyes pointedly. "If I recall, there are somewhat legendary stories about another younger woman who, at approximately the same age, cut a rather wide swath through society, including balls like this one."
    Olrvia laughed and held up a gloved hand. "Please, don't remind me. It took a great deal of determination and hard work to erase the provocative reputation of my youth."
    "You've accomplished it quite well," Millicent said mildly.
    Olrvia cast her a sharp glance. "One does what one must." She smiled ruefully at her friend. "It was all long ago, and talk of the past only serves notice of how very much time has gone by. For both of us."
    Millicent sighed wistfully at the memory of lost youth: then, with a mental shake of her head, she returned firmly to the here and now. "At any rate, her mother, Phoebe, has decided she can make her official debut next month here in London, so the girl was permitted to attend tonight. I am planning the event: a grand ball, I should think. Something wonderfully spectacular."
    She leaned toward Olrvia in a confidential manner. "I haven't hosted a party like this in years. It should be great fun. Phoebe is, by the way, one of my oldest friends."
    Olivia's attention returned to the elder girl. "Well, her daughters definitely do her credit. The tall one: what is her name?"
    "Cecily. Cecily Gwendolyn White."
    Olivia nodded in appreciation. "Very nice." She studied Cece for a long moment. "She certainly appears quite composed. Not at all