He kept his gaze on the girls, ruthlessly stifling the urge to turn to Alathea. "But what are you doing here?"

"It was Allie's idea."

Blithely, they turned to her; gritting his teeth, he had to do the same.

Coolly, she shrugged. "I'd heard of it as a quiet place to stroll-one where ladies would be unlikely to encounter any of the more rakish elements."

Like him.

She'd chosen to live her life buried in the country-why she thought that gave her the right to disapprove of his lifestyle he did not know; he only knew she did. "Indeed?"

He debated pressing her-both for her real reason for being in the Fields and also over her impertinence in disapproving of him. Even with the girls all ears and bright eyes before them, he could easily lift the conversation to a level where they wouldn't understand. This, however, was Alathea. She was intractably stubborn-he would learn nothing she didn't wish him to know. She was also possessed of a wit quite the equal of his; the last time they'd crossed verbal swords-in January, over the stupid Alexandrine cap she'd worn to his mother's party-they'd both bled. If, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed with temper, she hadn't stuck her nose in the air and walked-stalked-away from him, he would quite possibly have strangled her.

Lips compressed, he shot her a glance-she met it fearlessly. She was watching, waiting, as aware of the direction of his thoughts as he. She was ready and willing to engage in one of their customary duels.

No true gentleman ever disappointed a lady.

"I take it you'll be accompanying Mary and Alice about town?"

She went to nod, stopped, and haughtily lifted her head. "Of course."

"In that case"-he smiled disarmingly at Mary and Alice-"I'll have to see what amusements I can steer your way."

"There's no need to put yourself out-unlike some I could mention, I don't require to be constantly amused."

"I think you'll discover that unless one is constantly amused, life in the ton can be hellishly boring. What, other than boredom, could possibly have brought you here?"

"A wish to avoid impertinent gentlemen."

"How fortunate, then, that I chanced upon you. If avoiding impertinent gentlemen is your aim, a lady within the ton can never be too careful. There's no telling precisely where or when she'll encounter the most shocking impertinence."

Mary and Alice smiled trustingly up at him; all they heard was his fashionable drawl. Alathea, he knew, detected the steel beneath it; he could sense her increasing tension.

"You forget-I'm perfectly capable of dealing with outrageous impertinence, however unamusing I might find such encounters."

"Strange to say, most ladies don't find such encounters unamusing at all."

"I am not 'most ladies.' I do not find the particular distractions to which you are devoted at all amusing."

"That's because you've yet to experience them. Besides," he glibly added, "you're used to riding every day. You'll need some activity to… keep you exercised."

He raised eyes filled with limpid innocence to hers, expecting to meet a narrow-eyed glance brimming with aggravation. Instead, her eyes were wide, not shocked but… it took him a moment to place their expression.

Defensive. He'd made her defensive.

Guilt rose within him.

Hell! Even when he won a round with her, he still lost.

Stifling a sigh-over what he did not know-he looked away, trying to dampen what he thought of as his bristling fur-that odd aggression she always evoked-and act normally. Reasonably.

He shrugged lightly. "I must be on my way."

"I dare say."

To his relief, she contented herself with that small barb. She watched as he bowed to the girls, setting them laughing again. Then he straightened and deliberately caught her gaze.

It was like looking into a mirror-they both had hazel eyes. When he looked into hers, he usually saw his own thoughts and feelings, reflected over and again, into infinity.

Not today. Today all he saw was a definite defensive-ness-a shield shutting her off from him. Protecting her from him.

He blinked, breaking the contact. With a curt nod, which she returned, he swung on his heel and strode off.

Slowing as he neared the edge of the lawn, he wondered what he would have done if she'd offered her hand. That unanswerable question led to the thought of when last he'd touched her in any way. He couldn't remember, but it was certainly not in the last decade.

He crossed the street, wriggling his shoulders as his peculiar tension drained; he called it relief at being out of her presence, but it wasn't that. It was the reaction-the one he'd never understood but which she evoked so strongly-subsiding again.

Until next they met.

Alathea watched him go; only when his boots struck the cobbles did she breathe freely again. Her nerves easing, she looked around. Beside her, Mary and Alice blithely chatted, serenely unaware. It always amazed her that their nearest and dearest never saw anything odd in their fraught encounters-other than themselves, only Lucifer saw, presumably because he'd grown up side by side with them and knew them both so well.

As her pulse slowed, elation bloomed within her.

He hadn't recognized her.

Indeed, after the total absence of his typical reaction to her when he'd met the countess last night, combined with the strong resurgence of it in the last hour, she doubted he'd ever make the connection.

This morning, she'd woken to the certain knowledge that it wasn't her physical self that he found so provoking. If he didn't know she was Alathea Morwellan, nothing happened. No suppressed irritation, no sparks, no clashes. Blissful nothing. Cloaked and veiled, she was just another woman.

She didn't want to dwell on why that made her feel so happy, as if a weight had suddenly lifted from her heart. It was clearly her identity that caused his problem-and it was, she now knew, his problem, something that arose first in him, to which she then reacted.

Knowing didn't make the outcome any easier to endure, but…

She focused on the wrought iron gates through which he had emerged. They were open to admit coaches to the courtyard of the Inn. She could see the Inn's archways and the glint of bronze plaques-it wasn't hard to guess the purpose of the plaques.

He'd seemed satisfied and confident when he'd strolled away from the gates.

Drawing in a determined, fully recovered breath, Alathea smiled at Mary and Alice. "Come, girls. Let's stroll about the Inn."

Evening came, and with it a strange restlessness.

Gabriel prowled the parlor of his house in Brook Street. He'd dined and was dressed to go out, to grace the ballroom of whichever tonnish hostess he chose to favor with his presence. There were four invitations from which to choose; none, however, enticed.

He wondered where the countess would spend her evening. He wondered where Alathea would spend hers.

The door opened; he paused in his pacing. His gentleman's gentleman, Chance, pale hair gleaming, immaculately turned out in regulation black, entered with the replenished brandy decanter and fresh glasses on a tray.

"Pour me one, will you?" Gabriel swung away as Chance, short and slight, headed for the sideboard. He felt peculiarly distracted; he hoped a stiff brandy would clear his mind.

He'd left Lincoln's Inn buoyed by his small success, focused on the countess and the sensual game unfolding between them. Then he'd met Alathea. Ten minutes in her company had left him feeling like the earth had shifted beneath his feet.

She'd been part of his life for as long as he could remember; never before had she shut him out of her thoughts. Never before had she been anything but utterly free with her opinions, even when he'd wished otherwise. When they'd met in January, she'd been her usual open, sharp-tongued self. This afternoon, she'd shut him out, kept him at a distance.

Something had changed. He couldn't believe his comments had made her defensive; it had to be something else. Had something happened to her that he hadn't heard about?

The prospect unsettled him. He wanted to focus on the countess, but his thoughts kept drifting to Alathea.

Reaching the room's end, he swung around-and nearly mowed Chance down.

Chance staggered back-Gabriel caught his arm, simultaneously rescuing the brimming tumbler from the wildly tipping salver.

"Hoo!" Chance waved the salver before his unprepossessing visage. "That was a close one."

Gabriel caught his eye, paused, then said, "That will be all."

"Aye, aye, sir!" With cheery insouciance, Chance headed for the door.

Gabriel sighed. "Not 'Aye, aye'-a simple 'Yes, sir' will do."

"Oh." Chance paused at the door. "Right-oh, then. 'Yes-sir,' it is!"

He opened the door, and saw Lucifer about to enter-Chance stepped back, bowing and waving. "Come you right in, sir. I was just a-leaving."

"Thank you, Chance." Grinning, Lucifer strolled in. With unimpaired serenity, Chance bounced out-then remembered and returned to shut the door.

Closing his eyes, Gabriel took a large swallow of brandy.

Lucifer chuckled. "I told you it wouldn't simply be a matter of a suit of clothes."

"I don't care." Opening his eyes, Gabriel regarded the exceedingly large quantity of brandy in the tumbler, then sighed, turned, and sank into a well-stuffed armchair to one side of the hearth. "He'll become something employable if it kills him."

"Judging by his progress to date, it might kill you first."