The night enveloped him. He felt completely at home walking the London streets in the small hours, completely at peace. Why that should be so was a mystery, but he'd long ago learned the futility of questioning fate. Peculiar indeed that here, surrounded by the society into which he'd been born, the society he now eschewed, was one of the few places on earth he felt at one with all about him, even though all those who would rush to recognize him were snoring in their beds, oblivious as he walked past their doors.

Turning into Piccadilly, he lengthened his stride, his mind sliding back to the fascinating question of what game had been played out that night.

His initial interpretation had been that Connor, the lecherous old toad, had set his sights on Amanda Cynster, but as the challenge had played out, he'd grown increasingly unsure. Connor's wording of the wager had left her, win or lose, in no danger, but playing a rubber with Connor had prevented her from interacting with Mellors' other patrons. What Connor hadn't foreseen was that Carmarthen wouldn't-presumably couldn't-partner her, landing her in an invidious position that Connor hadn't, he felt sure, intended at all.

He'd watched her, those huge blue eyes scanning the room, looking for a savior…

Inwardly he shook his head, wondering at his unexpected susceptibility. When had he become so ridiculously chivalrous, prey to a pair of admittedly fine eyes? There were many in London and far beyond who would laugh at the very idea, yet when faced with the sight of Amanda Cynster struggling to hang on to her pride, to his immense surprise he'd found himself on his feet, offering to be her champion.

Even more surprising, he'd enjoyed it. The game had been more challenging, more riveting than any he'd enjoyed since returning to England, doubly amazing given his partner had been female. Not only had she demonstrated uncommon wit and intelligence, she'd also had the sense not to gush, not to be excessive in her thanks. He thought again of her reactions, and smiled. To some extent, she'd taken his support as her natural due, even though she hadn't, then, known who he was. She was in some degree a princess-it was only right she have a knight as her champion.

Connor's contribution intrigued him. His suspicions of the other man's benevolent intentions had been all conjecture, until that revoke. Not in a month of Sundays would he believe Connor had made the mistake. Sometime during the course of the game, Connor had decided that losing and leaving Amanda Cynster in debt to him was an acceptable risk.

Martin was not at all sure what he should make of that. Perhaps nothing beyond the fact that Connor was inordinately shrewd. For he was perfectly correct-Amanda Cynster stood in no danger from the raffish Earl of Dexter. He harbored no designs on her at all. He knew precisely who he was, who she was, and she wasn't for him. He'd enjoyed the past hours in her company, but he wasn't about to let a pair of jewel eyes and rosebud lips-not even a skin like satin and hair like silk-change his careful ways.

Ladies such as Amanda Cynster had no place in his life. Not now, not ever again. Ignoring the regret that whispered, a faint, suppressed echo through his mind, he turned into Park Lane and strode for his house.

"I've found him!" Eyes alight, Amanda dragged Amelia into her bedchamber and shut the door. "He's perfect. Simply magnificent-I couldn't wish for more."

Amelia squeezed her hands. 'Tell me."

Amanda did. When she finished, Amelia looked as stunned as Amanda had. "Dexter?"

"The mysterious, elusive, rumor-cloaked Earl of Dexter."

"And he's handsome?"

"Devastatingly. He's…" Amanda struggled for words, then waved. "Simply better than any other I've seen."

"What else do you know of him?"

"He's intelligent, astute-he actually thought enough to get Mellors to change my wine for water and to do it so no one knew." Amanda flopped back on her pillows; they'd taken refuge on her bed. "In short, on a physical and intellectual level, Dexter's perfect. Add to that he's as rich as Croesus-far too rich, anyway, to be after my dowry-and that, if half the rumors are true, he's led the most amazingly exciting life, far, far wilder than anything I would even think of doing, and his perfection takes on an even brighter gloss."

"Hmm, but there is that old scandal, don't forget."

Amanda waved the caveat aside. "If none of the matrons nor any of the grandes dames consider it worth remembering, who am I to argue?" She frowned. "Did you ever hear what it was about?"

"Only that it involved some girl whom he supposedly seduced who then took her own life, but it was all years ago when he first came on the town. Whatever the truth, he was banished by his own father-"

"And only returned to England last year, a year after he'd succeeded to the title-that much I know."

"How old is he?"

Amanda raised her brows. "Thirty? About that. I think he appears older than he is. He's… serious."

Amelia stared. "Serious?"

"Not that sort of serious. I mean… deep. Reserved-no!-controlled. That always makes men seem older."

Amelia nodded. "Very well-I'll allow he seems just perfect for you, but how are you going to tackle the big problem? Every hostess in the ton has been trying to lure him back into society, but he refuses every invitation."

"Let's be perfectly frank-he ignores every invitation."

"Precisely. So how are you going to meet him often enough to convince him…" Amelia's words trailed away. She studied her twin's face. "You're not going to try to draw him into our world-you're going to go into his world instead."

Amanda grinned. "That's my plan, at least until he's well enough snared so he'll follow me anywhere."

Amelia giggled. "You make him sound like a dog."

"Hardly a dog-a lion, perhaps. A huge tawny beast who delights in lazing in his lair and who hunts at night." Amanda nodded, her expression determined. "That's exactly what I need to do-snare and tame my lion."

She wasn't fool enough to think it would be easy. Amanda spent the day evaluating various approaches. The horse was one, but she didn't want to appear too eager, and besides, if she played that card too early, he might do exactly as he'd said and send a groom with the mount, preserving a cool, sensible distance. Cool, sensible distance was not what she needed.

But she couldn't go back to Mellors, not when he'd warned her away. Aside from being supremely foolish, that would show her hand far too clearly. And he wouldn't approve…

That thought triggered another, and another in quick succession; suddenly she knew exactly how to bring her lion to heel.

"Last night, Mellors-tonight, Lady Hennessy's. Have you taken leave of your senses?" Through the gloom in the carriage, Reggie glared at her. "If m'mother finds out I've accompanied you to such a place, she'll disinherit me!"

"Don't be silly." Amanda patted his knee. "Both she and my mother think we're joining the Montagues at Chelsea. Why would they imagine we're anywhere else?"

As the years had rolled by, she and Reggie, often accompanied by Amelia, had taken to making their own selection among the ton's proffered entertainments. As their choices did not always match those of their parents, they consequently and increasingly went their own way. Not a gossip-monger in the ton would make anything of it; it was common knowledge Reggie Carmarthen had known the Cynster twins from childhood.

The arrangement provided benefits to all concerned. The twins gained an acceptable escort who they could twist around their little fingers, Reggie gained a reprieve from the mamas who would otherwise pressure his mother to have him escort their simpering daughters, and both sets of parents rested comfortable in the knowledge their offspring were safe.

Reasonably safe.

"And you needn't carry on as if visiting Lady Hennessy's will ruin me."

"You're not married yet!" Reggie's tone suggested that event could not occur too soon for his liking. "Every other lady there will be."

"That's by the by. I'm twenty-three. I've been out for six years. No one could imagine I'm an innocent miss."

Reggie uttered a strangled sound, slammed his arms across his chest and slumped back against the seat. He said nothing more as the carriage joined the line leading to the discreetly lit door of Number 19, Gloucester Street.

The carriage stopped; tight-lipped, Reggie descended and helped her down. Amanda shook out her skirts and looked up at the door. A liveried footman stood beside it. Reggie gave her his arm. "Say the word and we'll leave."

"Onward, Horatio!"

Reggie grumbled but complied, leading her up the steps. He gave the footman their names; instantly, the door swung open and the footman bowed them through. In the marble-floored hall, Reggie looked about as Amanda surrendered her cloak to a very correct-looking butler.

"Always wanted to know what this place looked like inside," Reggie confided as Amanda rejoined him.

"See." Taking his arm, she turned him toward the drawing room. "You were just waiting for me to give you a valid excuse to come."

"Humph!"

They entered the drawing room, stopped and looked about.

Lady Hennessy's was a world apart from Mellors-here a lady's touch reigned supreme. The walls were hung with cream silk bearing a delicately worked turquoise pattern. The cream, gold and turquoise theme was reflected in the satin-striped upholstery of chaises and chairs, in the heavy curtains screening long windows. Expensive Chinese rugs covered the floor, muting the click of fashionable heels.