His lips curved; she noticed.

"Now why are you smiling?"

Harry couldn't stop his slow smile from breaking. His eyes caught hers--he felt he could lose himself in the blue.

"I was just thinking what a good job I've made of teaching you to waltz."

Lucinda raised her brows.

"Indeed? Can I not claim some small achievement for myself?."

Harry's smile went crooked. He drew her a fraction closer, his eyes a brilliant green.

"You've achieved a great deal, my dear. On the floor--and off." Her brows rose higher.

She held his gaze, her expression serene, her smile soft, her lips eminently kissable. Then she lowered her lids and looked away, leaning her head fleetingly against his shoulder. When they weren't playing waltzes, the musicians had been instructed to entertain Em's guests with gentle airs and sonatas, all pleasing to the ear. As they wandered the crowds, engaging in the usual banter and occasional repartee, without question or, indeed, thought, remaining by each other's side, Harry realised that his siren was indeed calmer, more her usual self than she had been at Almack's the night before.

His relief was telling; he had, he realised, been harbouring a deep concern.

Presumably, last night, it had merely been the unexpected gush of semi- congratulations that had shaken her; tonight, she seemed at ease, a.s.sured, typically confident. If he could only discover the cause of the strange hint of sorrow that lay, deep but present, beneath her serene veneer--and eradicate it--he'd be happier than any man, he felt, had any right to be.

She was perfect, she was his--as he had always sensed she could be.

All he wanted of life was here, with her, within his grasp; time was all that now stood in his path. But tomorrow would come--it wasn't what he'd / originally planned but he wasn't going to wait any longer. He had completed all the important acts--she would simply have to believe him.

The supper waltz came and went, as did supper itself, an array of delicacies Em's old cook had, Lucinda a.s.sured him, been up the past three nights producing. Filled with laughter and repartee, the hours fled past until, at the last, the musicians laid bow to string once more and the strains of the last waltz rose above the sea of glittering heads.

The third waltz.

Close by the edg~e 'of the floor, Harry and Ruthyen were deep in discussions of a distinctly equine nature while beside them Mr Amberly and Lucinda pursued a shared interest in landscapes. As the music swelled, Harry turned to Lucinda--just as she turned to him. Their gazes locked; after a moment, Harry's lips twisted wryly.

His eyes on hers, he offered her, not his arm but his hand.

Lucinda glanced at it, then looked into his green eyes. Her heart accelerated, pulsing in her throat.

Harry's brows slowly rose.

"Well, my dear?" Her gaze steady on his, Lucinda drew in a breath. Her smile soft and oddly fragile, she placed her hand in his. Harry's fingers closed tight over hers. He bowed elegantly; Lucinda's smile grew--she sank into a curtsy. Harry raised her, a light in his eyes she had not before seen. He drew her into his arms, then, with consummate skill, whirled them onto the floor.

Lucinda let herself flow with his stride. His strength surrounded her; he was protection and support, lover and master, helpmate and friend. She searched the hard planes of his face, chiselled, austere; with him, she could be what she wished--what she wanted to be. Her gaze softened, as did her lips. He noticed; his gaze fell to her lips, then rose again to capture hers, a subtle shift in the green raising a slow heat beneath her skin, a warmth that owed nothing to the crowds and everything to what lay between them.

With inherent grace, they swirled down the long room, seeing no one, aware of nothing beyond their shared existence, trapped by the waltz and the promise in each other's eyes.

Lord Ruthyen and Mr Amberly looked on, smugly satisfied smiles on their faces.

"Well--I think we can congratulate ourselves, Amberly." Lord Ruthyen turned and held out his hand.

"Indeed." Mr Amberly beamed and shook it.

"A job well done!" His eyes lifted to the couple circling the floor. His smile grew broader.

"No doubt about it." Lord Ruthyen followed his gaze--and grinned.

"Not a one."

As she leaned back against Harry's arm and let the magic of the moment take her, Lucinda knew that was true. Even while a small part of her sorrowed, she felt elation sweep her. He would ask her very soon--and she knew how she would answer. She loved him too much to deny him again, even should he deny her. Deep inside, her conviction that he loved her had never waned--it never would, she was sure. She could draw on that for strength as she had hoped to draw on his acknowledgement of his love.

If it was not to be, it wasn't; she was too prosaic a creature to rail against a much-desired fate.

With the last ringing chord of the waltz, the evening was declared over.

As family, Harry hung back, allowing the other guests to depart.

Gerald finally headed downstairs, leaving Harry with Lucinda at their head.

His hand found hers in the folds of her gown; twining his fingers through hers, he drew her to face him. Ignoring Em leaning against the bal.u.s.trade on Lucinda's other side, Harry raised Lucinda's hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles, then shifting his hold, his gaze steady on hers, he tipped her fingers back to place a kiss on her inner wrist.

Lucinda, trapped in his gaze, suppressed a delicious shiver.

Harry smiled--and traced her cheek with one long finger.

"We'll talk tomorrow."

The words were soft, low--they went straight to Lucinda's heart. She smiled softly; Harry bowed, first to her, then to Era. Then, without a backward glance, he descended the stairs--to the very last, the very picture of the elegant rake.

Outside Hallows House, lurking in the shadows on the opposite side of the street, unremarkable amid the small gathering of urchins and inveterate watchers who congregated outside any ball or party, Scrugthorpe kept his eyes fixed on the lighted doorway and muttered beneath his breath.

"Just wait till I get my hands on you, b.i.t.c.h. Once I'm done with you, no high-stickler of a gentleman will want to sully himself with you. Damaged goods, you'll be-- well and truly damaged." He cackled softly, gleefully and rubbed his hands. In the shadows, his eyes gleamed. A link-boy, waiting to pick up any likely trade, strolled past, casting Scrugthorpe an incurious glance. A few paces on, the boy pa.s.sed a street sweeper leaning on his broom, his face obscured by an ancient floppy hat. The link-boy grinned at the sweeper, then ambled on to prop against a nearby lam post

Scrugthorpe missed the exchange, intent on the last stragglers emerging from Hallows House.

"You'll be mine very soon," he leered.

"Then I'll teach you not to give a man lip. Too hoity by half." His grin turned feral.

"I'll bring you back to earth right quick." A thin, tuneful whistle floated across Scrugthorpe's senses, distracting him from his plotting. The tune continued--a popular air; Scrugthorpe stiffened. Alert, he scanned the shadows for the whistler. His gaze settled on the link-boy. The tune continued; Scrugthrope knew it well, even down to the curious lilting catch the whistler put at the end of each verse.

Scrugthorpe cast a last glance at the empty doorway across the road, then, with every evidence of unconcern, headed off down the street.

The sweeper and link-boy watched him go. Then the link-boy nodded to the sweeper and slipped into the shadows in Scrugthorpe's wake.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE next morning, Harry was flat on his stomach deep in dreams, his arms wrapped about his pillow, when a large hand descended on his bare shoulder.

His response' was instantaneous--half-rising, eyes wide, muscles tensed; ~flats clenching. "Now, now!" Dawli~h had wisely backed out of reach.

"I wish as you'd get out of that habit--there ain't no angry husbands 'round here."