If he was a rock, she was the tide that was going to wear him down.

If he was a lion, she was the one fate had sent to tame him.

She yielded her mouth gladly, let him take her breath, give it back. Clung as he ravaged her senses, then gathered herself and pressed her own demands. Drove him on.

His hands had fallen to her bottom, closing, kneading, holding her hips hard against him so the rampant ridge of his erection rode against her stomach. His tongue was deep in her mouth, ravishing, probing, hot and insistent, when the first sound reached her ears.

He slowed the tenor of their kiss; she could sense the harsh saw of his breathing, could feel his chest rise and fall against her aching breasts, could sense the thunder of his heart, and her own, as he listened.

Nothing more reached them; he angled his head and dragged her once more into the whirlpool of their kiss. Into the path of onrushing desire.

"Which way is it? Over there?"

The high-pitched girlish voice pierced their absorption-hauled them to earth with a gut-wrenching jolt.

"What…?" Amanda looked over her shoulder.

Martin looked, too, and cursed.

"I don't believe it!" Amanda hissed. "It's Miss Ellis again! With a different man!"

Hand in hand, the pair were heading for the dell, crashing along by the lake. They hadn't yet seen the present occupants.

Martin cursed again. "I'll have to go."

Amanda looked back at him, swallowed her "No!" Muttered a curse of her own as his hands slid from her.

His gaze flicked between her and the approaching couple as he backed toward the trees. "Where will you be tonight?"

She put a hand to her whirling head. "The Kendricks'. Damn! It's not possible. There's no terrace or gardens, just one big ballroom. They're friends of the family-I can't not be there."

He paused in the shadows of the circling trees. "The house in Albemarle Street?"

She nodded.

"There's a balcony that overhangs the side garden."

"It's on the first floor."

"Be on it at twelve."

She blinked, then nodded. "I'll be there."

His gaze said she'd better be, then he stepped back; before her eyes, he melted into the shadows, fading away.

Totally disgruntled, her senses in disarray, her nerves tight, tense and flickering, and certain to remain so for hours, she turned to greet the reason. Plastering a smile on her lips, she went to meet Miss Ellis and her cavalier.

If her expectations of the afternoon were to remain unfulfilled, she'd be damned if she allowed Miss Ellis to fare better.

Chapter 12

At precisely midnight, Amanda slipped out onto the narrow balcony at the end of the Kendricks' ballroom. Reached through glass doors, the balcony extended around the corner of the building to overlook the side garden.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms about her. The weather had turned unaccommodating; a blustery wind scudded rain clouds across the moon. A downpour threatened. Hugging herself, she hurried to the corner.

The door behind her opened. "Amanda?"

She whirled, blinked at the fair-haired figure silhouetted against the ballroom's brightness.

"What are you doing out here?" Simon's tone, one that could only be managed by a younger brother, suggested he thought she was insane.

"Ah… I'm taking the air. It's stuffy in there." She hadn't even known he was watching her. Worse, his narrowing eyes, the very fact he'd followed her… her little brother was growing up. And he was a Cynster to his toes.

So was she. She waved dismissively. "I'll come in in a few minutes."

Simon frowned, and stepped onto the balcony. "What are you up to?"

Amanda drew herself up; she would have loved to look down her nose at him, but at nineteen, he towered over her.

"I'm not 'up to' anything." Yet. And if he didn't leave, she wouldn't be. She skewered him with a censorious look. "Just what are you imagining? I step out on a balcony so narrow it should be called a ledge, and you're concerned about what?" She spread her arms wide. "I'm out of reach of the ground, and there's no one here!"

The clouds chose that moment to empty; the wind gusted, flinging fat raindrops against the house. Amanda gasped and shrank against the wall.

Simon grabbed her arm. "It's freezing! You'll catch cold, and Mama will have a fit. Come on!"

He yanked her back toward the door. Amanda hesitated; the rain began to pelt down in earnest. If she didn't go inside, she'd be drenched. Grumbling under her breath, she allowed Simon to bundle her back into the ballroom.

She just hoped Martin knew she'd kept their appointment.

From his position below the balcony, Martin heard their footsteps, heard the door click shut, then he was left listening to the rain pour down all around him. A Romeo in the rain without his Juliet.

That's what happened when plans were made in the heat of desire.

The essential uselessness of this evening's meeting hadn't occurred to him until he'd reached home after leaving Osterley. It had taken that long for his focus to shift from all that hadn't happened in the dell. And all that had. Once he'd been able to think constructively, it had waxed plainfully clear that given the current state of their discussions, there was nothing to be gained from snatching a few illicit moments with Amanda, let alone on a ledge. For the arguments he wished to put to her, allowing for the way in which he wished to put them, he'd need an hour, preferably two. On a bed.

He'd come here tonight purely to arrange such a meeting. Instead…

As soon as the rain eased, he ducked out from under the balcony, slipped out of the garden gate and climbed into his carriage, black and anonymous, waiting in the mews. Stretching out his long legs, he wrapped his greatcoat about him. As the carriage rattled back to Park Lane, it was difficult to avoid the observation that the eruption of Amanda into his life had already wrought considerable change.

Two months previously, he would never have been heading home alone at this hour. He would have been out, hunting-for distraction, for dissipation. For entertainment to fill the lonely hours.

Now… despite the fact he'd be alone once he reached home, he wouldn't be lonely, wouldn't feel the emptiness of the house closing in on him; he wouldn't have time. His mind would be racing, assessing, planning how to beguile one stubborn lady into accepting him as her lot, even though that would assuredly mean making even more changes in his life.

Taking Amanda Cynster to wife was going to cause nothing short of an upheaval. The wonder was that, despite his inherent laziness, his dislike of being disturbed, that fact didn't deter him in the least.

Kidnapping her seemed the only viable option.

The next morning, seated at his breakfast table slowly sipping coffee, Martin considered the where and how. And discovered that the card sent to him by Lady Montacute for that evening announced a masquerade, albeit one of the tame, watered-down affairs that these days went by that title. Domino, half-mask and the invitation as entrance, so her ladyship had decreed.

All those, he had.

Deciding how to make Amanda, disguised in domino and mask, readily identifiable to him and only him took no more than a minute.

Fourteen hours later, draped in a regulation black domino, her face concealed by a halfmask, she appeared on the threshold of Lady Montacute's ballroom, accompanied by another lady and a gentleman. Judging by height and the golden curls beneath the unknown lady's hood, Martin assumed she was Amanda's sister; he'd take an oath the gentleman was Carmarthen. He waited only until, after exchanging a few words, the three parted before closing in on his prey.

He was the first to her side, but only by a few strides; other men had noticed her, alone, looking about, and thought to claim her hand. He didn't bother with her hand; he slid his arm about her waist and drew her to him.

"Oh!" She looked up, knowing him in the same way he knew it was indeed her and not some other golden-haired lady who just happened to be wearing three white orchids at her throat. She blinked. "Where are we going?"

He was already steering her through the crowd.

"Somewhere we won't be disturbed."

He said nothing more as he whisked her into a corridor, then through a deserted parlor and out onto a terrace that rejoined the front porch; his hand at her back, he urged her down the steps, around the curved drive and so to the street. His carriage was waiting, horses prancing.

He opened the door. She clutched his sleeve. "Where…?"

He looked down at her. "Does it matter?"

She glared, then turned to the carriage. He helped her in, then followed, shut the door; the carriage jerked, and they were off.

Amanda set back her hood. "That was-"

He moved-gripped her waist, lifted her onto his lap. One hard hand cradled her face and his lips came down on hers.

She lost her wits in that first assault, clutched his arms and let reality slide. Her senses drowned in the sudden rush of desire, of hot, unmistakable, irresistible passion. He took her mouth and she gave it, pushed her arms up to his neck and clung as the carriage rattled on and he continued to evocatively plunder. His arms locked about her, a warm steel cage cradling her, holding her to him, safe and secure.

It wasn't far to his house; she was dazed but unsurprised when the carriage halted and he set her back on the seat, then flung open the door and she saw, beyond him, the dark, unlighted mass of his home.