She swallowed to find her voice. "Aphrodite caught Ares with another lover."

"He was a fool. Any man lucky enough to have you wouldn't want any other."

"You mean Aphrodite."

"You are Aphrodite."

"Actually, I'm Galatea," she reminded him.

"Ah, yes. The statute Pygmalion fell so in love with was so lifelike he often laid his hand upon it to assure himself whether his creation were alive or not." He reached out and curled his warm fingers around her bare upper arm, just above where her long satin ivory glove ended. "Unlike Galatea, you are very much real."

Her common sense coughed to life and demanded she move away from him, but her feet refused to obey. Instead she absorbed the stunning sensation of his touch. The shocking intimacy when he slipped one finger beneath the edge of her glove. Heat gushed through her, rendering her mute.

"He showered her with gifts, you know," he said, his glittering eyes studying her.

Carolyn managed a nod. "Yes. Brightly colored shells and fresh picked flowers."

"Also jewels. Rings and necklaces. Strings of pearls."

"I'd much prefer the shells and a flower."

"Than jewels?" There was no missing the surprise in his voice. His fingers slipped from her arm, and she had to clench her hand to keep from snatching his and setting it back on her skin. "Surely you jest. All women love jewels."

He sounded so positive, she couldn't help but laugh. "Jewels are lovely, yes, but to me they lack imagination and are impersonal. Anyone can visit the jeweler and select a bauble. To me, a gift's value is in how much thought went into selecting it as opposed to how much it cost."

"I see," he said, although he still sounded surprised. "So what would you have wanted Pygmalion to bring you?"

She considered, then said, "Something that reminded him of me."

He smiled. "Perhaps diamonds and pearls did so."

She shook her head. "Something more… personal. I'd prefer flowers he picked from his own garden. A book from his own collection that he'd enjoyed. A letter or poem he'd written expressly for me."

"I must admit I never thought I'd hear a woman say she'd prefer a letter over diamonds. Not only are you exquisite, you're-"

"A candidate for Bedlam?" she teased. "Extremely odd?"

His teeth flashed, straight and white, accompanied by a low, deep chuckle. "I was going to say extremely rare. A breath of fresh air."

His gaze lowered to her mouth. Her lips tingled under his regard and involuntarily parted. A muscle ticked in his jaw and the air around them seemed to suddenly crackle with tension.

His gaze returned to hers, and even the dim light couldn't disguise the heat glittering in his eyes. "Speaking of letters," he said, "have you heard of this latest rage of ladies receiving notes that state only a time and place?"

Carolyn's brows shot upward. Clearly Lord Surbrooke had heard of the practice. An image flashed through her mind, of him and a woman who, dear God, looked exactly like her, engaged in a tryst, their bare limbs entwined-

She briefly squeezed her eyes shut to banish the unsettling picture then said, "I've heard of these notes, yes."

"Have you ever received one?"

"No. Have you ever sent one?"

"No, although I find the idea intriguing. Tell me, if you were to receive such a missive, would you go?"

She opened her mouth to emphatically state of course not, but to her surprise and chagrin found the words would not come. Instead she found herself saying, "I… I'm not certain."

And with a dismaying, unsettling clarity, she realized that she truly wasn't certain. Yet how could that be? It was as if she'd donned her goddess costume and become a different person. A person who would consider a secret rendezvous with an unknown admirer. What on earth was happening to her? And why would it be happening with this man? This charming, practiced, nobleman who was like so many of his peers-interested only in his own pleasures.

Botheration, clearly the Memoirs were to blame for filling her mind with these ridiculous thoughts and disturbing images. As soon as she returned home she'd toss the book into the fireplace and be rid of it.

Raising her chin, she asked, "Would you go?"

Instead of immediately answering yes as she would have expected, he considered for several seconds before replying, "I suppose it would depend on who sent me the note."

"But the entire point is that you don't know."

He shook his head. "I think you'd have at least an inkling of the sender's identity. A clue as to who desired you that much." He reached out and lightly clasped her hands. The heat of his palms seeped through her gloves, and she found herself wishing that no barrier separated their skin. "A desire that strong surely could not go unnoticed."

A reply… she needed to think of something, anything, to say, but instead all she could focus on was the word he'd just spoken, which kept reverberating through her mind.

Desire.

Before she could recover her usual aplomb, he said softly, "To answer your question, if you sent me such a note, I would go."

Silence engulfed them. Seconds passed, pulses of time that felt to her thick with tension and an almost painful awareness of him. Of everything about him. His commanding height. The breadth of his shoulders. The compelling intensity of his gaze. His scent, which seemed to intoxicate her. His touch against her hands.

His gaze flicked to her throat then returned to hers. Heat and mischief gleamed in his eyes. "I see you are not wearing any expensive baubles. That presents a bit of dilemma for a highwayman such as myself."

She swallowed and managed to dredge up her voice, no easy task with his fingers still wrapped warmly around hers. "You would steal from me?"

"I must live up to my costume, I'm afraid."

"You said you weren't a thief."

"Normally I'm not. But in this case I fear it cannot be helped." He glanced down at his black attire and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Here I am, all dressed up in my mask and cape, yet without a diamond in sight."

Amused in spite of herself, Carolyn said, "I must confess, I'm not overly fond of diamonds."

"I must confess that's something I've never heard any woman say." He flashed a wicked grin. "You realize we've just exchanged midnight confessions. And you know what they say about those."

"I'm afraid I don't."

He leaned a bit closer and her pulse jumped. "They say that they're dangerous-but in the very best of ways."

Carolyn suddenly realized that this interlude was a perfect example of "dangerous in the very best of ways."

"The women in the ballroom are adorned with more baubles than you could possibly carry away," she pointed out.

"I've no interest in any woman other than you, my lady."

His words whispered over her, heating her, exciting her. In a way that both distressed and secret!) thrilled her.

"I have no jewels," she whispered.

"You are the jewel. Still, in the absence of any diamonds or pearls, I am forced to improvise and will therefore steal…" He took a step closer, then another, until only a mere ribbon of space separated them."… a kiss."

Before she could react, before she could so much as blink or draw a breath, he bent his head. And slowly brushed his lips over hers.

On the outside, her body went perfectly still. But on the inside… inside, it felt as if everything shifted and changed speed. Her stomach swooped downward, her heart stumbled then quickened its pace. Her blood seemed to thicken, yet somehow run faster through her veins. And her pulse… she felt it everywhere. In her temples. At the base of her throat. The folds between her thighs.

He lifted his head and their gazes met. No trace of amusement remained in his eyes. Instead they seemed to burn like twin braziers, igniting an ache, a yearning in her she hadn't felt in so long she barely recognized it.

He studied her for several seconds, then, with a low growling sound, he yanked her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers. Her lips parted, whether from desire or surprise or both, and everything instantly faded into insignificance-except him.

Heat seemed to pump from his body. He was so incredibly, lusciously warm. Wrapped in his strong arms was like being enveloped in a fire-warmed blanket. His clean, masculine scent filled her senses, weakening her knees with a delightful sensation of light-headedness, one that encouraged her to skim her hands up his broad chest, to wind her arms around his neck and hold on tight.

And thank goodness she did because the first bold stroke of his tongue against hers turned her bones to porridge. A groan rose in her throat, half shock, half heated desire, and she pressed herself closer, absorbing every nuance of his passionate onslaught.

The darkly delicious taste of his mouth. The strength of his one arm that kept her firmly anchored against him-most welcome, as she otherwise would have slithered to the flagstones. The heat of his other hand as it slowly ran up and down her back, as if trying to learn every inch of her. The solid wall of his chest flattening her breasts. The unmistakable jut of his arousal pressing against her abdomen.

Desire, so long forgotten, sizzled through her, a bolt of lightning that ignited her skin. She opened her mouth wider beneath his, mating her tongue with his, desperate to know more of his taste, his touch. Her fingers tunneled through the hair at his nape and she cursed the gloves that prevented her from feeling the thick, silky texture.

And then, as suddenly as it began, he lifted his head, ending their kiss. This time there was no stopping her moan of protest. With a great effort she dragged her eyes open.

He stared at her, his breaths as rapid and erratic as her own, his eyes as glazed as she knew hers must be.

Lifting one hand, he gently cupped her face. "I knew it would be like that," he said in an unsteady whisper.

His voice penetrated the sensual fog engulfing her, and the reality of where she was-who she was-smacked her like a cold, wet rag. With a gasp she stepped back, out of his grasp. Her shaking find gers flew to her mouth, whether to wipe away Lord Surbrooke's kiss or to seal it to her lips, she didn't know.

Dear God, what had come over her? What had she done?

I'll tell you what you've done. Her inner voice dripped with condemnation. You've tarnished Edward's memory.

A cry of distress rose in her throat and she clamped her lips together to contain it. She desperately tried to recall the tender wonder of Edward's kiss, but it remained elusive and out of reach. How could she, when the taste of another man remained on her lips? When she still felt the imprint of his hard body pressed against her? When her mind, her senses, were still too inundated with the tempestuous, passionate kiss she'd just shared with-

A man who wasn't her husband.

A plethora of emotions, led by confusion, guilt, and shame, bombarded her, followed by the overwhelming need to escape. "I… I must go," she said, sounding as stricken as she felt.

"Wait." He reached for her, but she shook her head and backed away.

"No. I… please, let me leave."

Without waiting for his response, she darted around him and swiftly made her way back into the party, where she was immediately swallowed by the crowd. She didn't pause to search for her sister or friends, but hurried to the foyer, where she requested her carriage. The five minute wait felt like an eternity, one she spent in a nearby shadowed alcove with her hands pressed to her churning midriff.

The instant she was ensconced in the dark interior of her carriage, she covered her face with her hands, and the sob she'd managed to swallow until then broke from her throat.

What had she done? How could have allowed that to happen?

Everything inside her cried out and reached for the memory of Edward she carried in her heart, of his gentle smile and tender touch, of the sweet love they'd shared. But the beloved memories proved elusive. Instead, all she could envision was a devilish highwayman with intense eyes and a captivating mouth who had weakened her knees. Despite her determination to move on with her life, she hadn't anticipated anything like this. Hadn't expected this overwhelming flood of unexpected passion.

Yet there was no denying it, and again she cursed her reading of the Memoirs, which had set on this ruinous sensual path. So the question remained: What did she intend to do about it?