“Contrary to my recent behavior,” he finally said, because one of them had to act in a mature fashion, and he rather suspected it ought to be he, “I am a gentleman. And as such, I cannot in good conscience abandon you to the wilderness.”

Her brows rose, and she glanced this way and that. “You call this the wilderness?”

He started to wonder just what it was about this girl that had made him so crazy. Because by God, she could be annoying when she set her mind to it.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, with enough urbane sophistication to make him feel a bit more like himself. “Clearly I misspoke.” He smiled at her, blandly.

“What if that couple is still…” Her words trailed off as she waved her hand at the side lawn.

Sebastian let out an aggravated breath. If he were alone-which was what he should have been-he’d have toddled back onto the lawn with a cheerful, “Coming through! Anyone who is not with a person to whom they have a legal obligation, kindly make yourself scarce!”

It would have been delicious. And precisely what society expected of him.

But impossible with an unmarried lady in tow.

“They are almost certainly gone,” he said, even as he approached the opening in the hedge and peered out. Turning back, he added, “And if not, they don’t want to be seen any more than you do. Put your head down and barrel through.”

“You seem to have a great deal of experience with such things,” she stated.

“A great deal.” Well, he did.

“I see.” Her jaw went stiff, and he suspected that if he were closer he could hear her teeth grinding together. “How fortunate I must be,” she said. “I’m being taught by a master.”

“Lucky you.”

“Are you always this horrid with women?”

“Almost never,” he said without thinking.

Her lips parted, and he felt like kicking himself. She hid it well-clearly, she was a young woman of quick emotional reflexes-but before her surprise turned to indignation, he saw a flash of unadulterated hurt.

“What I meant,” he began, not quite fighting the urge to groan, “is that when I…No. When you…”

She looked at him expectantly. He had no idea what to say. And he realized, as he stood there like an idiot, that there were at least ten reasons why this was a wholly unacceptable scenario.

One: He had no idea what to say. This might seem repetitive, except that Two: He always knew what to say, and Three: especially with women.

Which led rather conveniently to Four: A happy by-product of his glibness was Five: he’d never insulted a woman in his life, not unless she truly deserved it, which Six: this woman didn’t. Which meant that Seven: He needed to apologize and Eight: He had no idea how to do so.

A facility with apologies would depend upon a propensity to behave in a manner requiring them. Which he did not. It was one of the few things in his life of which he was inordinately proud.

But this brought him back to Nine: He had no idea what to say, and Ten: Something about this girl had turned him absolutely stupid.

Stupid.

How did the rest of humanity endure it, this awkward silence in the face of a woman? Sebastian found it intolerable.

“You asked me to kiss you,” he said. It wasn’t the first thing that came to mind, but it was the second.

From her gasp-which he suspected was large enough to change the tides-he had a feeling he should have waited for the seventh, at least.

“Are you accusing me of-” She cut herself off, her lips clamping together in an angry, frustrated line. “Well, whatever it is…that…you’re accusing me…” And then, just when he thought she’d given up, she finished with, “of.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said. “I’m merely pointing out that you wanted a kiss, and I obliged and…”

And what? What was he pointing out? And where had his mind gone? He couldn’t think a complete sentence, much less speak one.

“I could have taken advantage of you,” he said stiffly. Good God, he sounded like a stick.

“Are you saying you didn’t?”

Could she possibly be that innocent? He leaned down, his eyes boring into hers. “You have no idea how many ways I didn’t take advantage of you,” he told her. “How many ways I could have done. How many-”

“What?” she snapped. “What?”

He held his tongue, or perhaps more accurately, bit the damned thing off. There was no way he was going to tell her how many ways he’d wanted to take advantage of her.

Her. Miss No Name.

It was better that way, certainly.

“Oh for the love of God,” he heard himself say. “What the devil is your name?”

“I can see that you’re most eager to know it,” she snipped.

“Your name,” he bit off.

“Before you tell me yours?”

He exhaled, a long frustrated whoosh of air, then raked his hand over his scalp. “Was it my imagination, or did we have a perfectly civil conversation not ten minutes earlier?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t let her. “No, no,” he continued, perhaps a little too grandly, “it was quite more than civil. I might even dare to call it pleasant.”

Her eyes softened, not to the point where he might have considered her malleable-oh very well, not even close to that, but they softened nonetheless.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to kiss me,” she said.

But he noticed that she did not apologize for it. And he noticed that he was very glad that she did not.

“Surely you understand,” she continued quietly, “that it is much more important that I learn your identity than the other way around.”

He looked down at her hands. They weren’t balled, or fisted, or frozen into claws. Hands always gave people away. They tensed, or they shook, or they clutched at each other as if they might-through some sort of impossible witchcraft-save themselves from whatever dark fate awaited them.

This girl was holding the fabric of her skirt. Tightly. She was nervous. Still, she was holding herself with remarkable dignity. And Sebastian knew that she spoke the truth. There was nothing she could do that would ruin him, while he, through one loose or false word, could destroy her forever. It was not the first time he’d been inordinately glad not to have been born female, but it was the first time he’d been presented with such clear proof that men truly did have it easier.

“My name is Sebastian Grey,” he said, dipping his head toward her in a respectful bow. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss-”

But he couldn’t possibly have gone on, because she gasped, then blanched, then looked positively ill.

“I assure you,” he said, not certain whether the sharp note in his voice was amusement or irritation, “that my reputation is not as black as that.”

“I shouldn’t be here with you,” she said frantically.

“That, we already knew.”

“Sebastian Grey. Oh dear God, Sebastian Grey.”

He watched with some interest. Some annoyance, too, but that was to be expected. Really, he wasn’t as bad as all that. “I assure you,” he said, starting to feel a bit put out by the number of times he was needing to begin his sentences in such a fashion, “I have no intention of allowing your reputation to be destroyed through your association with me.”

“No, of course not,” she said, then ruined the whole thing with a panicked burst of laughter. “You wouldn’t want to do that. Sebastian Grey.” She looked up at the sky, and he half expected her to shake her fist at the gods. “Sebastian Grey,” she said. Again.

“Do I take this to mean you’ve been warned about me?”

“Oh yes,” came her too-fast reply. And then she snapped back to attention, looking him directly in the eye. “I have to go. Now.”

“As you might recall I’ve been telling you,” he murmured.

She looked toward the side garden, grimacing at the thought of passing through a lovers’ lawn. “Head down,” she said to herself. “Barrel through.”

“Some live their entire lives by that motto,” he said cheerfully.

She looked at him sharply, clearly wondering if he’d gone mad in the last two seconds. He shrugged, unwilling to apologize. He was finally beginning to feel like himself again. He had every right to feel cheerful.

“Do you?” she asked.

“Absolutely not. I prefer life to have a bit more style. It’s all about the subtleties, don’t you think?”

She stared at him. Blinked a few times. Then said, “I should go.”

And she went. She put her head down and barreled through.

Without telling him her name.

Chapter Six

The following afternoon

You’re terribly quiet today,” Louisa said.

Annabel smiled weakly at her cousin. They were walking Louisa’s dog in Hyde Park, accompanied-theoretically-by Louisa’s aunt. But Lady Cosgrove had come across one of her many acquaintances, and while she was still in sight, she was no longer in earshot.

“I’m only tired,” Annabel said. “I had difficulty sleeping after all the excitement of the party.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but neither was it a lie. She’d lain awake for hours the night before, making elaborate studies of the insides of her eyelids.

She refused to stare at the ceiling. On principle. She’d always felt that way. In the quest for sleep, open eyes were a clear admission of defeat.

Still, no matter where she looked, it was impossible to escape the magnitude of what she’d done.

Sebastian Grey.

Sebastian Grey.

The words rang like a miserable moan in her head. On the list of men she ought not to be kissing, he had to rank at the top, along with the King, Lord Liverpool, and the chimney sweep.