Simon watched Portia smile and charm Ambrose. The muscles of his face set even harder, the better to suppress his scowl. Why he felt as he did-what the emotions roiling within him were-he was in no mood to consider. Never in his life had he felt this way-more than driven. Goaded.

The fact he didn’t know why, didn’t understand, only increased the pressure. Something had changed, but he couldn’t free his mind of its overriding obsession long enough to identify what.

This afternoon, he’d lain in wait for Portia to come down after seeing Lady O to her room. He’d wanted to talk to her, to inveigle her into revealing just what she was seeking to learn.

She hadn’t appeared-or rather, he hadn’t found her, which raised the question of where she’d gone, and with whom.

He could see her from the corner of his eye, a slender figure in soft pearl grey, her dark hair piled high, higher than he’d seen it before. The style left her nape exposed, drew his attention to the graceful curve of her neck, the fine bones of her shoulders. The pearl necklace she wore… one strand circled her throat, the other loop hung low, dangling beneath the gauzy edge of her bodice, disappearing into the shadowy valley between her breasts. Taking his imagination with it. His senses remained riveted even when he looked away; his palms tingled.

She still moved without consciousness or guile; the way she conversed hadn’t altered. Yet something within him recognized beyond doubt that her intent had changed.

Why that should affect him he didn’t know-he only knew it did.

A stir near the door had him glancing that way. Kitty had joined them. She was resplendent in white satin liberally bedecked with silver lace. Her pale hair was intricately dressed; diamonds winked on her breast and in her lobes. Seen by herself, she was an enchanting sight, not least because she was flown with delight-it showed in her face, in her eyes, made her skin glow.

She very correctly spoke to the older members of the company, then took Henry’s arm and started to stroll, stopping by each group to pay and receive compliments.

Simon looked back at Portia. When Kitty paused beside her, the result was as he’d guessed; against Portia’s subtler, more intriguing beauty, Kitty appeared tawdry. She did not linger but moved on, then she was beside him.

They only had time to exchange a few words before the butler entered and announced that dinner was served.

He led Lucy in, hoping against hope… but no, the seating was organized, and he suspected Kitty had done the organizing. Lord and Lady Glossup took the chairs at the table’s ends; Kitty had seated herself in the middle along one side with Henry directly opposite, entirely appropriately. Desmond was on her left, Ambrose on her right. Portia was toward one end, between Charlie and James; he, Simon, was at the far end on the opposite side of the table, flanked by Lucy and the all-but-silent Drusilla.

If matters had been different, he would have had no reason to complain-Lucy was bright and cheery, even if her gaze strayed rather too often James’s way, and Drusilla required no more than the occasional polite word to be content. As it was, throughout the meal, he was forced to endure the sight of Portia being artfully regaled by Charlie and James.

Normally, he wouldn’t even have thought to watch her, not in this sphere; prior to today, her attitude to gentlemen had been nothing short of contemptuously dismissive. Neither Charlie nor James would have had the least chance of making any headway with her; the thought of her responding to their practiced wiles wouldn’t have entered his head.

All through the courses, he covertly watched her; at one point, he noticed Lady Osbaldestone’s eye on him and became even more careful. But his eyes had a will of their own; he couldn’t hear anything of their conversation but the way Portia smiled, the quick, alert, interested glances she lavished on both James and Charlie locked his attention on her.

What the devil was she up to?

What did she want to learn?

Even more importantly, did she have any idea what was going through James’s and Charlie’s heads?

He did. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit, far more than he wanted to think about.

Lady O’s head swung his way. Lowering his lashes, he turned to Lucy. “Have you heard of any plans for tomorrow?”

He bided his time; luckily Lucy was as eager as he to head for the ballroom. The instant Lady Glossup rose and shooed them in that direction, he offered Lucy his arm, leaving Drusilla to follow with Mr. Archer.

Having been nearer the doors, Portia, on Charlie’s arm, was some way ahead of them. In the front hall, they had to skirt the local guests who had started to arrive; the houseguests went directly down the hall to the ballroom. It was clear from the throng already in the foyer that the ball would be well attended; Simon swept Lucy straight on, intent on catching up with Portia before the developing crowd engulfed her.

Stepping into the ballroom, they saw James, just ahead of them, surveying those already present, scanning the heads.

Simon knew without question that James was seeking Portia; with Lucy on his arm, he paused.

Kitty swept up to James; she was there before he realized. Placing one hand on his arm, she stepped close-too close. James stepped back but she followed; he was forced to allow her to lean familiarly against him. Her smile was pure seduction; she spoke softly.

She was a small woman; to hear her, James had to lower his head, creating a tableau that suggested a relationship somewhat closer than family ties.

Beside him, Simon felt Lucy stiffen.

James straightened, lifted his head; an expression close to panic flitted over his features. He saw Simon; his eyes widened.

No friend could ignore such a plea.

Simon patted Lucy’s hand. “Come-let’s speak with James.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy’s chin rise. Determinedly, she stepped out beside him.

Kitty saw them coming; she fell back a step, so her body was not quite touching James’s.

“My dear Kitty!” Lucy spoke before they’d halted; they were now all on first-name terms. “You must be quite thrilled with the turnout. Did you expect so many?”

Kitty took a moment to change mental tracks, then she smiled. “Indeed, it’s very gratifying.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t standing with your mama-in-law to greet them.”

Simon bit his lip, inwardly applauding Lucy’s gumption; her eyes remained wide, her expression innocent, yet she’d swiftly put Kitty in an uncomfortable spot.

Kitty’s smile turned brittle. “Lady Glossup doesn’t require me to assist her. Besides”-she turned her gaze on James-“this is the best moment in which to make one’s arrangements to be sure one enjoys the evening to the fullest.”

“I believe just that was in a certain gentleman’s mind.” Simon lied without compunction. “He was asking after you as we passed-dark-haired, someone up from town.”

“Oh?” Kitty was instantly diverted. “Did you recognize him?”

“Not to name.” Simon glanced at the area inside the doors, now filled with guests streaming in. “Can’t see him at present-perhaps you’d better circulate that way and see if you can come up with him.”

Kitty hesitated for only an instant, then smiled-intently-up at James. “You will save that waltz for me, won’t you?”

James’s face set like stone. “If we happen to be near at the time, and not otherwise engaged…” He shrugged. “There are many guests it’s our duty to entertain.”

Kitty’s eyes flashed; her lips pressed tight on an unwise rejoinder. With Lucy and Simon looking on, she was forced to incline her head. She looked at Simon. “Dark-haired, you said?”

He nodded. “Average height, good build. Good hands. Excellent tailor.”

That summed up the attributes one gentleman was likely to notice about another; Kitty swallowed the bait whole-with a brief nod, she left them.

James met Simon’s eyes; his relief was transparent.

Between them, Lucy brightly remarked, “I hadn’t realized you had so many neighbors in the district.” She glanced at James. “Perhaps we could stroll, and you would be good enough to introduce me?”

James hesitated for only an instant, then smiled and offered his arm. “If you wish, I would be honored.”

Simon was not surprised at the glance James, straightening, shot him over Lucy’s head. Another plea-this one not to leave him alone with Lucy. Swallowing his own urgency-Portia was unlikely to do anything rash, after all-he consented to stroll and chat, making them a threesome; he could sympathize with James’s desire not to encourage Lucy to imagine there was anything personal developing between them.

“Thank you.” James clapped him on the shoulder as the first dance commenced, and they stood watching Lucy whirl down the set with the young squire who had earnestly solicited her hand. “Now you can see why I was so keen to have you here.”

Simon humphed. “I wouldn’t worry overmuch about Lucy-she might be enthusiastic, but she knows where the lines are drawn. Kitty, however…” He glanced at James. “Do you intend remaining here after the houseguests have left?”

“Good God, no!” James shuddered. “I’m leaving in the same hour you are-I think I’ll go visit old Cromer. Northumberland ought to be far enough to outdistance even Kitty.”

Simon grinned and they parted. While socializing with James and Lucy, he’d surreptiously quartered the room and located Portia. She was presently standing along the opposite wall, near the French doors open to the terrace and the balmy evening outside. Charlie flanked her, along with an officer in dress uniform; both were fully engaged, attentive to the exclusion of all else about them, ignoring the glitter and swirl of the ball.

Understandable, for Portia was sparkling. Her dark eyes were alive, her hands gestured gracefully, her face was alight. Even from a distance, he felt the tug. Her attention was wholly given to whichever man was speaking with her; such devotion was guaranteed to fix-transfix-any healthy male.

In any other woman, he’d have labeled such behavior flirting, and been right, but Portia was, he was still prepared to swear, constitutionally incapable of that art. He circled the room, gauging his approach; his gaze on the three, he studied their faces, and doubted even Charlie and her latest conquest, whoever he was, mistook her behavior for the customary invitation.

It was something else. Just what, the mystery of what she was about, only lent her greater charm, made her attraction even more potent.

He was mere yards from her when a hand descended on his arm and gripped with surprising strength.

“There you are!” Lady Osbaldestone grinned evilly up at him. “You haven’t any sisters or cousins present, so you can’t be employed. Just come with me-there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“But-” He resisted her tug; she wanted to lead him away from Portia. The damn ball had been going an hour, and this was the closest he’d got.

Lady O glanced at his face, then around him-at Portia. “Portia? Pshaw!” She flicked her fingers. “No need for you to concern yourself there-and anyway, you don’t even like her.”

He opened his mouth to refute at least the former.

Lady O shook her head. “Not your problem if your friend Charlie supplies her with one too many glasses of champagne.”

“What?” He tried to turn and look.

Lady O held on to him with a viselike grip. “So what if she gets a mite tipsy? She’s old enough to know what’s what, and strong enough to hold her own. Do her good to have her eyes opened a trifle-silly chit’s twenty-four, after all.” Lady O snorted, and yanked. “Now come along. This way.”

She waved ahead with her cane; suppressing his welling panic, he conceded. The fastest way to freedom was to fall in with Lady O’s plans. At the first opportunity, he’d escape-and after that, nothing would get in his way.

Portia saw Lady O lead Simon off, and inwardly sighed, whether with relief or disappointment she wasn’t sure. She didn’t want him hovering in his usual, arrogantly disapproving manner, yet that might not have been his intention. If the look in his eyes earlier was any guide, his attitude to her had changed, but to what she didn’t know, and hadn’t yet had a chance to divine. Regardless, she wanted to try out her new weapon on him. He was one of the three she’d elected to “consider,” and while she was doing quite well with Charlie and James, she’d yet to take a tilt at Simon.

Still, Charlie and Lieutenant Campion were interesting enough, and sufficiently susceptible to her wiles to count as practice.

She fixed her gaze on Lieutenant Campion’s face. “So you spend most of the year here in Dorset. Are the winters very cold?”