He waited until they were precessing up the long room. "These entertainments you wish to experience. I take it you have some specific event in mind."

"Events."

She said nothing further; he was forced to prompt, "And they are?"

His tone brought her gaze to his face, then, her decision to oblige him clear, she recited, 'To drive-or more correctly to be driven-around Richmond Park by moonlight. To go boating to see the stars reflected in the Thames. To attend Vauxhall in a private party organized by someone my parents don't know. To attend one of the masquerades at Covent Garden."

She fell silent; he tersely inquired, "Nothing else?"

Amanda ignored his tone. "For the present, that's the limit of my ambition."

His lips thinned. "If you're discovered doing any of those things-if it becomes known you have-you'll be-"

"Exclaimed over, dubbed foolish beyond permission, lectured until my ears ache, then closely watched for the duration of the Season." She let her gaze rest on his face, noting the hard, uncompromising lines. "That prospect is hardly likely to sway me. At my age, nothing short of a proven indiscretion is going to harm my standing."

He made a derisive sound. She smiled and let her gaze wander. "If you must know, my list is so short precisely because of society's demands." The waltz concluded; they swirled to a halt. "I have only so many weeks before the Season gets into full swing. Once it does, my calendar will fill with socially obligatory events, and I won't have time to seek excitement."

She stepped back, out of his arms; he let her draw her fingers from his, but slowly. As if, at any moment, he might change his mind and seize them, and her. Freed, she turned, feeling his hand fall from her. Missed its heat. She looked at the gentlemen about them. "I wonder who would be willing to squire me to Richmond."

Eyes narrowing, Martin reached for her hand to yank her back and tell her what he thought of that idea-and that he didn't appreciate being baited-when Agnes Korsinsky, Leopold's sister, materialized before them.

"Dexter, mon cher!"

Agnes launched herself into his arms; he had no choice but to catch her. She planted two noisy kisses, one on each cheek-then for good measure, went back and repeated the greeting.

He gripped her waist and set her away from him. "Agnes." He kept his gaze on her face. She was all but indecently dressed, her voluptuous charms very much on display. That she harbored designs on him, on his title, his wealth and his person, he was well aware; she had for years and was as dangerous as her brother. Amanda was watching, assessing; he said the first thing that came into his head. "You've had an excellent turnout-you must be delighted."

"Ah, them!" Agnes dismissed the crowd with a wave that included Amanda. "They are as nothing compared to you, mon cher. But how wicked to slip in without paying your respects-I didn't even know you were here."

Precisely. He reached for Amanda an instant before Agnes reached for his arm. "Permit me to introduce… Miss Wallace."

Agnes's black eyes flashed with the temper that was never far from her surface. She drew herself up, turned haughtily to Amanda. "Miss Wallace?"

Martin glanced at Amanda, and saw her smile. She held out her hand. "Miss Korsinsky. Your soiree has been quite delightful. I spent some moments talking to your brother…"

It took effort to smother his grin. He stood and watched Agnes get bowled over by an effortless tide of ballroom patter. She was no match for one who'd spent six years in the ton. In the end, Agnes recalled someone she had to see. With a mere nod for him, but polite words to Amanda, she left them.

Only then could he allow his lips to curve. "Thank you." Lifting Amanda's hand to his lips, he brushed her fingertips-just as their eyes met.

He felt the shiver that raced through her to his toes. Felt arousal surge through him in response, saw her eyes widen.

She drew breath, smiled, slid her fingers from his. "Was there some reason for my change of identity?" She turned away, scanning the crowd.

His gaze locked on the golden curls before his face, he murmured, "Agnes is not one to trust. She can be… vindictive."

Amanda glanced briefly his way. "Especially over things she wants but hasn't succeeded in getting?"

"Especially then."

She started to stroll; he fell in in her wake. The crowd had grown; it was difficult to walk abreast.

Her voice drifted back to him. "Now that I've saved you from Miss Korsinsky, perhaps I can prevail upon you to assist me."

This was where she would ask him to drive her around Richmond at midnight. "In what matter do you require assistance?"

She glanced back, smiling easily. "In the matter of selecting which gentlemen I should ask to squire me on my quests for excitement."

She faced forward again; again he was left staring at her golden curls. Left, once again, wondering what it was about her that evoked such a maelstrom of impulses in him-impulses stronger, wilder, infinitely more dangerous than anything she was imagining experiencing.

And she was the focus of those impulses.

Jaw locked, he prowled in her wake, grateful she couldn't see his face, his eyes. They tacked through the crowd; he kept close, unwilling to let her get more than six inches away while he wrestled his demons into some semblance of subjection. She wasn't intending to ask any other gentleman to squire her. She was baiting him, he was sure.

Amanda stopped here and there, exchanging greetings, very conscious of Dexter at her back, aware that, although he exchanged nods and names, he said nothing more. She could feel his heat, his strength like a hot storm threatening. Smiling confidently, she continued searching for the right provocation to make the storm break.

Then she spied Lord Cranbourne. His lordship was elegant of manner, assured, glibly pleasant. Perfect.

She stopped walking, steeled herself not to react when Dexter walked into her. As he stepped back, without looking at him, she put a hand on his arm. "Lord Cranbourne," she murmured. She sensed rather than saw Dexter follow her gaze. "I should think he'd be perfect to drive me to Richmond. His conversation is superior, and his greys are magnificent."

Plastering on her best smile, she released Dexter's arm and stepped out, her gaze fixed on Lord Cranbourne.

She'd managed all of two steps before hard fingers wrapped, manaclelike, about her wrist.

"No."

The low growl that had preceded the word nearly made her grin. She turned back to Dexter, eyes wide. "No?"

His jaw was clenched. His eyes bored into hers, searching…

Then he looked up, over her head, over the crowd. His fingers shifted; he changed his hold on her hand, locking it in his. "Come with me."

She hid her grin as he towed her to the side of the room. She expected him to stop there; instead, he pushed open a door left ajar and stepped through, drawing her into a long gallery that marched down one side of the ballroom. The gallery was narrow; the wall it shared with the ballroom was punctuated by three sets of doors. The other wall contained a succession of windows that looked out over the Consulate gardens.

Other couples strolled in the light shed by wall sconces set between the ballroom doors. The windows were uncurtained, letting moonlight stream in, adding its silvery tint to the scene. The gallery was considerably less stuffy than the ballroom; gratefully, she drew a deep breath.

Dexter set her hand on his sleeve and covered it with his. Face grim, he steered her down the room. "This entire start of yours is madness."

She didn't deign to reply. The last window, just out from the room's corner, drew near; it looked down on a small courtyard. "How pretty."

They halted before the window; drawing her hand from beneath his hard fingers, she leaned on the windowsill and looked down.

"You're not seriously considering doing any of those things on your so-called list."

She said nothing, merely smiled. Kept her gaze on the courtyard.

"You know very well how your cousins will react."

"They won't know, so they won't react."

"Your parents, then-you can't expect me to believe you can slip out night after night and they won't notice."

"You're right. I can't manage night after night. But…"-she shrugged-"occasionally is not so hard. I've already spent two nights this week outside the ton. There's really no impediment to my plans."

She wondered if the sound she heard was his teeth grinding. She glanced at him-and noticed the other couples returning to the ballroom. Music drifted out to them, muted by the doors. Dexter watched as the last stragglers departed, leaving them alone in the quiet gallery, then he looked back at her.

The silvery light threw the planes of his face into sharp relief, leaving the whole much harsher, more intimidating. He was the descendant of Norman warriors; in this light, he looked it, every angle stripped of its assumed softness, the elegance he wore like a cloak.

She lifted her chin. "I'm determined to experience at least a little excitement-I intend to ask Lord Cranbourne to squire me to Richmond on the next fine night."

Already hard, his face turned to stone. "I can't allow that."

Haughtily, she raised both brows. "Why?"

Not the response he'd expected; a frown gathered in his eyes. "Why?"

"Why do you imagine you have anything to say in the matter? My behavior, my actions, are no concern of yours." She paused before adding, deliberately provocative, "Earl or not."