As if pleased he'd remembered their last meeting, she smiled. "I did toy with the notion of attending Lady Sutcliffe's ball, yet"-she swept her smile over her three now earnest would-be cavaliers-"formal engagements do pall when one has spent so many years in the ballrooms." She glanced again at Dexter. "It seems a waste not to avail oneself of the more varied divertissements offered by such as her ladyship. So much more entertaining. I daresay you find it so yourself?"

Martin held her gaze and debated whether to call her bluff. "My tastes, admittedly, lie somewhat beyond the diversions provided by the ton's hostesses. However, I wouldn't have imagined such esoteric distractions would hold much allure for a young lady such as you." Her chin lifted, her eyes sparkled, with challenge, with humor. "On the contrary, my lord. I've a definite taste for wilder pastimes." Her smile confiding, she briefly touched his sleeve. "I daresay you haven't heard, living retired as you do."

"Wilder pastimes, heh?" Cranbourne grabbed the opening. "Heard a tale of wild doings at Mrs. Croxton's last night."

"Indeed?" Amanda turned to Cranbourne.

Martin watched as she encouraged all three gentlemen to dazzle her with their wildest suggestions. He might live "retired" but he knew what he was seeing. Carmarthen was growing increasingly nervous. Yet if he, Dexter, bowed and walked away, would she continue on this path? If he declined to be her protector, would she go on without one? What sort of net was she weaving-how much was true, how much for his confusion?

Not that it mattered; he was more than capable of dealing with her whatever tack she took. And she clearly needed someone to watch over her, someone with more muscle than dear Reggie.

Cranbourne, Fitzgibbon and Walter were intent; given how long she'd spent allowing them to entertain her, they'd expect her shortly to choose from among them. And contrary to what she was expecting, accustomed as she was to the rules pertaining in ballroom and drawing room, a charming dismissal would not be well received.

Reaching out, he took her hand; surprised, she glanced his way, throwing Walter, concluding some tale, off his stride. "My dear, I promised Helen-Lady Hennessey-that, given this is your first visit, I would make sure you became acquainted with all she has to offer." He looked into Amanda's blue eyes as he placed her hand on his sleeve. "It's time we strolled on, or you'll never see all before dawn." He glanced at Walter, Cranbourne and Fitzgibbon. "I'm sure these gentlemen will excuse you."

They had little choice; none was game to challenge one of Helen's edicts, a fact Martin had counted on. The three made their adieus, then withdrew. Martin considered Reggie. "I believe Miss Cynster would like another glass of champagne."

Reggie looked at Amanda.

Who nodded, ringlets dancing. "Yes, I would."

Frowning, Reggie flicked a glance at Martin. "Just as long as you don't do a bunk while I'm gone."

Martin suppressed a grin; perhaps Reggie was not as spineless as he'd thought. "She'll be in this room, but we'll be strolling." He paused, eyes on Reggie's. "It's not wise to remain stationary for too long."

He saw horrified comprehension dawn, then Reggie nodded. "Right. I'll find you." With a disapproving glance at Amanda, he headed for the secondary salon.

Martin scanned the room, then lowered his arm and waved Amanda on before him. Keeping her hand on his arm-keeping her that close-would be unwise. He wanted it seen that she was under his protection in the social sense; the last thing he wanted was for her ladyship's guests to imagine that protection extended to a more personal state.

As she walked ahead of him, tacking slowly through the crowd, she glanced back at him. "Are you really friends with Lady Hennessy?"

"Yes." Helen was another who had the entree to the ton but had chosen to turn her back on it.

Amanda slowed. "What did I do wrong?"

He caught her eye, realized she meant the question to be as simple as it sounded. "If you spend much more than fifteen minutes conversing with one man, it will be inferred that you're interested in pursuing some of those wilder pastimes you mentioned with him."

Her beautiful face blanked. "Oh." Facing forward, she continued their slow amble. "That's not what I intended."

She paused to acknowledge a greeting; he performed three introductions before they moved on. Closing the distance between them, he bent his head and murmured, "What did you intend?"

She stopped; he nearly walked into her. Halted with a bare inch between her shoulders and his chest, her silk-clad bottom and his thighs. She looked back and up at him, met his eyes.

He fought an urge to slide his arms about her and draw her back against him.

"I want to live a little before I grow old." She searched his eyes. "Is that a crime?"

"If it is, half the world's guilty."

She looked forward and started strolling again. He took a firmer grip on his impulses, then followed. She glanced back. "I understand you've had a great deal of experience in 'living.'"

"Not all of it pleasant."

She waved airily. "I'm only interested in the pleasurable aspects."

Her tone was straightforward, not facetious. She intended to seek out the pleasures of life while avoiding the pitfalls.

If only life was that simple.

They continued their peregrination, stopping to spend a few minutes in this circle or that before moving on again, she a foot before him, he prowling, relaxed but watchful, in her wake. He doubted she'd encountered many pitfalls to date; her faith in life, in its ultimate joy, remained undimmed. The light in her eyes, the exuberance of her smiles, all spoke of innocence intact.

It was not his place to shatter it.

Reaching an empty space by the side of the room, Amanda turned. "Actually, speaking of life's pleasures…"

He halted before her, broad shoulders blocking her view of the room. He met her gaze, and raised a too-knowing, distinctly suspicious, odiously superior brow.

She smiled up at him. "I was thinking I might ride the mare tomorrow morning. Early. In the park. Do you think your groom could oblige me?"

He blinked, once; she smiled more brightly.

And prayed it wasn't too soon to play that card. Elusive as he was, if she didn't set up another meeting, he might, after tonight, simply fade back into the shadows-and she would have tonight's work to do again.

His face was unreadable. Eventually, he said, "Connor mentioned Upper Brook Street."

"My parents' house is Number 12."

He nodded. "I'll have my groom wait for you with the horses at the corner of Park Lane. After your ride, he'll return the mare to my stables."

"Thank you." She smiled gratefully, too wise to suggest that she would much prefer his company to that of his groom's.

"What time?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Six o'clock."

"Six?" Martin stared. It was nearly twelve now, and at six in the morning, the park would be deserted.

"I'll need to return home before the regulars get about." She glanced up at him. "I don't want my cousins to see the horse and ask where I got her."

"Your cousins?"

"My male Cynster cousins. They're older than me. They're all married and have turned dreadfully stuffy."

Martin inwardly kicked himself for not making the connection sooner. Admittedly, there were a lot of Cynsters, and he'd never heard of any girls. All the family members he'd previously encountered had been male.

The Bar Cynster-that's what they'd been called. When he'd first come on the town they'd been little short of gods, lording it over the ton's ladies. But now they'd all married… he hadn't met a single one in the past year while he'd been creating his own fiefdom in the world in which they'd previously reigned supreme.

He frowned. "You're first cousin to St. Ives?"

She nodded, her gaze open, direct.

If any of her cousins had been about, he would have handed her into their care forthwith, cutting short her adventures. Infinitely safer all around. However, she was here now and they weren't.

They both turned as Reggie neared, a champagne flute in one hand.

Lips compressed, Martin nodded. "Very well. Six o'clock at the corner of Park Lane."

At six o'clock the next morning, it was dull, gray and cold. Amanda's heart soared as, perched on the exceedingly frisky mare, she trotted toward Mount Gate-and the figure perched atop a huge horse waiting impatiently under a tree just inside the gates.

Clad in her riding habit, she'd slipped out of her parents' side door and hurried up the street. Reaching the corner, she'd found the groom waiting as arranged. Hopes dashed, she'd lectured herself against expecting too much too soon. Dexter knew she was out riding-one day he'd be tempted to join her.

She'd apparently tempted him enough. Mounted on a magnificent roan gelding, Dexter held the fractious horse effortlessly, long, muscular thighs clamped to the beast's sides. He was wearing a conventional riding coat over buckskin breeches and boots; cantering up, she thought he looked wilder, definitely more dangerous than he had in evening clothes.

His hair was rakishly disheveled, his gaze disconcertingly acute. He wasn't frowning, but looked distinctly grim. Joining him, she got the definite impression he wasn't pleased to be there.

"Good morning, my lord. I didn't expect to have the pleasure of your company." She smiled sunnily, delighted to be able to make the comment truthfully. "Are you game for a gallop?"