"As it is now."

"Exactly." His voice breathed past her ear, sank into her senses. The hand cupping her bottom remained where it was; his other hand lightly brushed her bare shoulder. "You wait here, for me, knowing I'll come to you. That I'll come in the dark of the night to have you."

"Will you come?"

"I'm here now."

It was impossible to draw breath. "And then?"

"And then… I'll raise your skirts, only at the back. If there's anyone watching from the garden, they'll see nothing amiss." The fingers on her bottom shifted as if inching up the silk; he didn't actually raise it, just led her senses to imagine he had. "Then I'll touch you, caress you, raise the back of your chemise to your waist." He paused, then whispered, "You don't wear pantaloons."

"Within the ton, pantaloons are still considered unquestionably fast."

"Ah." Humor warmed his voice, then he continued in the same mesmerizing tone, "So I'll then have you naked, exposed, and I'll caress you, arouse you." His hand at her back mimicked the motions; his hand at her nape closed gently, as if holding her steady. Even though her skirts still covered her completely, her body reacted to the suggestive touch. "And then…"

She wasn't sure her legs would hold her. "Then?"

His hand at her nape eased; slowly, he ran his index finger down her spine, all the way down to her bottom. "Then I'll bend you forward, have you hold onto the sill-"

He broke off. She sensed his head rise, felt the immediate change in the large body behind hers. A heartbeat later, his hands left her-and he was gone; the sudden loss of his heat at her back was startling.

Giddy, she turned, heard footsteps approaching, caught the shift in the shadows as Martin slid behind the nearby column. She completed her turn.

Edward Ashford was ambling along, looking down at the ballroom, a scowl marring his handsome face. He looked up and saw her, nodded and strolled into the alcove. "You haven't seen Luc, have you?"

"Luc?" Dragging in a breath, she grabbed hold of her wits. Tried to steady them. "No. Are you looking for him?"

Edward's expression turned sour. "Futile, of course. I'll wager he's entertaining some opera dancer. More to his liking than doing his duty by Mama and the girls."

Amanda ignored the clear invitation to join him in blackening Luc's character. She'd remembered the relationship between the Fulbridges and the Ashfords; Edward would recognize Martin. And Martin was trapped behind the column. "Why are you looking for Luc? Does Emily or Anne need him?" Linking her arm in Edward's, she turned him toward the stairs.

"Not at present, but you would think…"

Letting Edward ramble, she steered him down to the ballroom.

"You're looking a trifle peaked, Amanda."

Looking up from her plate, Amanda blinked down the breakfast table at her mother. "Ah… I didn't sleep well."

The unvarnished truth. Louise seemed to see as much; she nodded. "Very well. But all your gadding before the Season commenced has drained your reserves-you'll need to pace yourself better."

Amanda sighed and looked down at her plate. "You're right-as usual." She flashed a smile at Louise. "I'll rest this afternoon. We've the Cottlesloes' ball tonight, haven't we?"

"Yes, and dinner at the Wrexhams' before it." Laying aside her napkin, Louise rose, shrewd eyes assessing her eldest daughters. Amelia was quiet, as she often was, but a frown inhabited her eyes and her mind was clearly elsewhere as she sipped her tea. Amanda… quite aside from her tiredness, she seemed unnaturally abstracted. Rising, Louise passed them both, trailing one hand on one youthful shoulder, then the other. "Don't forget to rest."

At the scratch on her bedchamber door, Amanda turned, unsurprised to see Amelia slip in. Her twin took in her stance by the curtained window, then quietly shut the door.

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I will in a minute. I think I've finally worked out what he's up to."

"Dexter?"

"Hmm. I think he's trying to make me want. Make me physically yearn so I'll agree to marry him."

Amelia flopped on the bed. "Is he succeeding?"

Frowning, Amanda joined her. "Yes, damn him-that's why I couldn't sleep." Why she'd tossed and turned, restless and unsatisfied. "He's a fiend, but I'm not going to give in."

After a moment, Amelia asked, "How does he do it-make you yearn?"

"Don't ask. But I'm not going to marry him just because he knows how to make me feel very nice."

"So how are you going to stop him"-Amelia gestured-"working his magic and making you yearn?"

"I'm not." Amanda stared at the canopy, reliving the illicit interludes she and her nemesis had shared. "That's what I was just thinking about. This latest tack of his might well work in my favor. In fact, it might work better than anything / could instigate."

"How so?"

"Consider this: for every ounce of desire he evokes in me, then… I'm not certain of this, but from all that's passed between us it seems to be so-for every ounce of desire he makes me feel, then he feels the same, if not more."

After a moment, Amelia ventured, "Are you saying that your battle, as it were, might come down to who can resist desire best?"

Amanda nodded. "And I think he's miscalculated. He's used to ladies being"-she gestured wildly-"swept away by desire. He's used to doing the sweeping. I don't think it's occurred to him that I might hold firm."

"Hmm. But he's very experienced, I imagine."

"Very, but in this case, experience might be a disadvantage. He's accustomed to having his desires gratified, more or less instantly. He's not used to having to wait, or negotiate. He wants, he takes. But this time, he's using desire like a carrot. He wants something else first, before he agrees to satisfy my desire or his."

"So he might well end hoist with his own petard?"

"Yes. And given I'm not accustomed to desire and likewise not accustomed to having it fulfilled, then…"

"Then it's possible this tack of his might play into your hands."

"Precisely." Amanda considered the prospect, viewed it from every angle she could conjure. "It's definitely a way forward, and as he thinks it's his plan, he's less likely to be defensive." She glanced at Amelia, aware her twin's thoughts had wandered. "How's your plan going?"

Amelia met her eyes, then grimaced. "I've a remarkably long list of possibilities which, every day and every night, I'm steadily reducing." Settling her head on the pillow, she closed her eyes. "It is, however, going to be a slow business." Amanda held back the urge to suggest a shortcut-a flurry of crossing off that would leave only one name. Although it wasn't her way, she understood Amelia's need to be certain in her own mind before she committed herself to pursuing that one name. Snaring that particular gentleman was going to be a Herculean task.

The thought brought her mind back to her own task, her own gentleman. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift to the delightful prospect of having her lion trapped securely in his coils.

She felt sure he'd appear at the Cottesloes' ball. Their ballroom was on the ground floor; the windows at one end opened onto a terrace giving access to a parterre, which happened to abut a formal shrubbery. The evening was mild, perfect for strolling in the moonlight.

The dinner at the Wrexhams dragged on, but once they reached the ball, her greatest obstacle in meeting with Martin proved to be her increasingly attentive would-be suitors. Now that the Season was in full swing, they'd materialized in hordes.

"Like locusts," she muttered, dodging through the crowd. Having to glance every way at once was distracting. Keeping her social smile firmly in place, she doggedly progressed toward the most shadowy corner of the room.

"At last!" Slipping past the last guests, she was disappointed to find no large and handsome male waiting. Beyond the windows lay the terrace; the doors giving onto it lay to her right.

Frowning, wondering if she'd misjudged, either him or his intentions, she turned and rescanned the room, wondering if she'd overlooked some other useful place where he might be lying in wait for her-

Long, cool fingers slid around her wrist, closed over her leaping pulse. She glanced around, wide-eyed, and met his mossy green eyes.

"Where…?" She looked beyond him, but there was no door or even window he might have come through. He stood half behind her; she could feel the heat of his body down her back, where it hadn't been an instant before. She lifted her gaze to his face. "You move so silently."

He raised her hand, kissed her fingers, then turned her wrist and pressed his lips to where her pulse beat wildly. Lowering her hand, he turned his head so his whisper fluttered the curls by her ear. "I'm a predator-you know that."

She did. Luckily, he expected no answer. Setting her hand on his sleeve, he waved to the terrace door. "Shall we adjourn to quieter surrounds?"

A smile curving her lips, she inclined her head. "If you wish."

They passed through the fringes of the crowd; no one recognized him-none paid them any heed. Stepping onto the terrace, Martin scanned the parterre. Noted six other couples already availing themselves of the amenity. He inwardly smiled and gestured to the steps. "Shall we go down?"

She acquiesced with a confidence he found disarming; the aura of a lady in charge hung about her. Doubtless an intrinsic, inherited quality; the fact that it was he on whose arm she was leaning made him smile.

Seeing it, she raised her brows. He shook his head. "Come-let's stroll."

They did, but not innocently. By unspoken agreement, they walked close, his thigh brushing her hip, his arm again and again brushing the side of her breast. He only had to glance at her face, lit by the moonlight, to know she was neither oblivious nor reluctant. She was enjoying the subtle contact as much as he.

"Enjoying," however, was not the right word.

They reached a spot where a mulberry tree spread its branches over the parterre; he drew her into their shade. Slid one finger beneath her chin, tipped up her face and set his lips to hers.

He kept the kiss light-teasing, tantalizing. Tempting. Lifting his head, he watched her face as he slowly trailed his finger down her throat, barely touching as he traced over the ivory expanse exposed by her neckline. Looking down, he watched as he slid that questing fingertip over her silk bodice to briefly circle a nipple already pebble-tight.

She dragged in a shaky breath as his hand fell, but smiled serenely and turned when he urged her on, out of the shadows. They continued their stroll. As they rounded the far corner of the parterre, he murmured, "I want you."

She threw him a glance, one too shadowed for him to read. Her lips curved as she looked away. "I know."

Not a quiver shook her, yet he knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. A feminine challenge, one he was perfectly ready to answer.

The entrance to the shrubbery, an archway cut through a hedge, lay to their right. Amanda was not surprised when Martin whisked her through into the dark avenue beyond. They continued to stroll, slowing as the tall hedges, black in the night, closed around them.

She was even less surprised when he halted, and drew her into his arms. When his head lowered and he set his lips to hers-kissed her commandingly, letting her feel his desire. She now knew him well enough to know he kept it leashed, that the fire he let her sense remained firmly under his control. But his was a game at which two could play.

Stretching up, she wound her arms about his neck and kissed him back with flagrant abandon. While his control held, she could do as she pleased in perfect safety. Could tease and taunt and drive him… just this side of wild.

Her response derailed his attention; for one long minute, he simply savored her, plundered, tasted. Then he took charge again, wrested all control from her-ripped her wits away, set them tumbling as he backed her against the hedge.

His hands rose to close about her breasts, possessive, too knowing, too experienced. She arched against him, sought to appease the ache his touch evoked, then she realized, recalled, that that was precisely what he wanted.

It was an effort, but she managed, even while returning every kiss avidly, to ease back mentally, to pull her mind free of the drugging urgency. And discovered she could enjoy and savor and incite without getting caught, without drowning in desire. As long as he remained mentally aloof, she could, too. If he dropped his guard, desire-his combined with hers, rising in response-would sweep them both away. As it had before.