Excerpt from TO MARRY AN HEIRESS...

     Devon had feared gaining his introduction to Miss Pierce would arouse the curiosity of the other gentlemen in attendance, and they might seek her out as well. He'd worried that he'd forfeit his advantage if she were smitten by someone who possessed the ability to offer her more than he could. But if anyone had noticed, he was apparently not intrigued.

     Devon had yet to see Miss Pierce dance. She neither conversed nor flirted, but seemed to prefer the company of potted palms.

     He spotted her hidden behind the graceful fronds, peering out as though she wasn't quite certain what activities one engaged in while in attendance at such an affair. Twice his gaze had clashed with hers when she'd discovered him watching her. She did not play coy as most women did. She appeared to be a solitary soul, and that notion appealed to him immensely.

     She was unfashionably tall and slender. Her skin was dark almost weathered, as though she'd spent a good deal of time in the sun without benefit of a parasol. Her auburn hair was beginning to droop as though a lover had repeatedly tunneled his fingers through it. But he hadn't seen her saunter away for a secret assignation.

     Her clothing was garish beyond measure. He did not as a rule take notice of women's fashions, but he was fairly certain hers was not in vogue. However, a reputable seamstress could render that issue moot.

     Convincing her that he found her beautiful and had fallen in love with her would be no easy task. It would take precious time he did not have the luxury of wasting.

     He doubted he would ever consider her beautiful, and he knew beyond any doubt that he would never fall in love with her. Yet he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she did indeed intrigue him.

     He caught sight of her slipping through the glass doors leading into the garden. He supposed if he was going to make his intent to court her known, she'd provided him with the perfect opportunity. As unobtrusively as possible, he followed her outside.

     He located her at the edge of the cobblestone porch, gripping the wrought iron railing as though her life depended on her ability to hold it. He wondered if she was as disappointed in the evening as Margaret would have been had she garnered so little attention. He'd never known a woman who lured no man into at least one dance.

     Men had fluttered around Margaret as though they were bees hoping for a sip of nectar -- even after he and she were married. Their constant attention had led him to the discovery of a jealous streak that caused him to see red. He doubted it would ever surface with Miss Pierce as his wife, and that notion caused him a great deal of relief.

     He did not consider her hideous. Only unattractive. Yet as he neared her, he realized she wasn't plain. She simply possessed no feature that stood out and grabbed one's attention. Limned by moonlight with the forgiving night shadows cast around her, she appeared almost . . . lovely. In a lonely sort of way.

     Like any woman, she deserved a man who appreciated what she had to offer, not a man whose claim of interest was sparked by the coins jingling in her father's pockets.

     For the length of a heartbeat, he debated the cruelty she might one day accuse him of if she ever learned the truth. He would simply have to bury it deeply and cover the lies with false glitter.

     "The beauty of the moon pales when compared with your loveliness."  He cringed. Devil be damned. That was the most awful thing he'd ever murmured to a woman.

     It had been years since he'd played the courtship game, and he'd grown unaccountably sloppy. All he'd needed was one little lie, one tiny flirtatious comment and he'd have had her nestled within his palm. The problem was that he didn't truly want her in his palm. He only wanted his fist around her father's money.

     He was fairly certain she'd never had a compliment thrown her way. Otherwise, why would her father be willing to purchase what she had yet to obtain? Why had he insisted that he convince her that she was beautiful? Why pretend to love her unless she had no experience at being loved?

     He had expected her to turn to him with adoring eyes. Instead she continued to look at the lawn, shadowed by the moon.

     "Consider me plain, my lord. Consider me dull. But never, never consider me stupid."