"Beg your pardon?"

"Stomp on the floor," she repeated with a grin and an impatient gesture of her hand. "I want to see if a louder rhythm from elsewhere has an effect."

He brought his heel down several times and she rolled her eyes. "Hard, Hunter. You're just tapping."

"I'm really not much for stomping."

"It is a bit unmasculine," she agreed. "Go kick something."

"I am not going to kick-"

"Too undignified?"

Laughing, he shook his head and went to retrieve one of the st.u.r.dy looking chairs lined against the walls. He picked it up by the back, brought it a few inches off the ground and then brought it back down again with a bang. "Will that do?"

"Yes, thank you."

He brought the chair down just hard and long enough for her to determine that the noise did not alter the watch's ability to keep tempo.

She took it out of her pocket and stared at it. "It's like...it's rather like a metronome, only better."

"A what?"

"A weighted pendulum used to keep rhythm," she replied with a dismissive shake of her head. "They're not at all practical. Much too long for slow tempos."

The watch, on the other hand, was perfect. As perfect as she could ask for, anyway. The songs themselves would still change, as would the instruments, but the tempo would remain constant for as long as she wished it.

"You can't walk about with your hand in a pocket all day," Hunter pointed out as she crossed the room to him. "But when no one else is about-"

"It's perfect. It's..." Unquestionably, the most thoughtful gift she had ever received. "It's brilliant. I don't know what to say."

She was so lost in the wonder of her present that she wasn't aware he'd stepped close to her until his warm hand cupped her chin and gently tipped it up.

"Say, thank you," he whispered, a heartbeat before his mouth covered hers.

It would have been easy for Kate to fall into the kiss. She wanted to. She could already feel herself slipping. It could have been only a matter of time before she was utterly seduced by Hunter's skilled mouth and clever hands. It would have been, had they been just a little less skilled, a little less clever.

He wasn't slipping with her. There was too much control in what he did, as if every slide of his lips, every warm trail of his fingers had been orchestrated in advance. Moves in a game, that's what it felt like. It was moves in a game she didn't fully understand and didn't want to play-not if she were playing alone.

Just like in the music room, she thought dimly. This was all just like the first kiss in the sitting room and the last kiss in the music room.

And it was quite enough. She didn't want a music room or sitting room kiss. She wanted a kiss just for the ballroom. She wanted him to slip and fall with her.

She wasn't entirely certain how to go about getting it, but she thought it might be a good start if she put her arms about him. She went on tiptoe, reaching around his neck with her uninjured arm, and resting the hand of the other against his chest. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s brushed against him as she stretched up, and the sensation created a deep pull of longing she found thrilling. As it also made Hunter go very, very still, she decided to give in to curiosity and brush against him again...and again.

He made a wonderfully masculine sort of noise in the back of his throat, something between a growl and a moan, and his arms tightened, dragging her hard against him.

That was better.

Recalling the kiss in the music room, she hesitantly tasted his lips with her tongue. Hunter responded by spearing his fingers into her hair and slanting his mouth hungrily over hers.

Much better.

He broke away to trail a line of heat across her jaw and down her neck.

Worlds better. better.

His teeth sc.r.a.ped lightly over a sensitive spot at the juncture of her uninjured shoulder, and suddenly she lost the ability to think, lost the ability to do anything but feel.

There was only the weight of his mouth as it covered hers once again, the glorious slide of his tongue along hers, the heat of his arms banding her close.

He loosened his hold only to mold his hands to her hips and then drag them up over her waist, her torso, the sides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Every inch he touched felt hot as his hands moved over her, and hungry for more when they'd pa.s.sed.

Excitement built in a dizzying rush, until it grew into something else...into need. She needed to be closer. She needed more. She tasted the skin at his jaw, his ear, his neck. Her fingers pulled at his cravat, pushed at his waistcoat.

Suddenly, he broke away, leaving her reeling.

"Enough," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "Kate, that's enough."

It was? Her blood was racing, her breath coming in pants, and every nerve in her body was screaming in protest at the rude interruption of the kiss. "Enough?"

"Yes, you need to go."

"Go?" She blinked at him slowly, willing her heart toward a normal rhythm. "Why?"

"Because it's not enough."

"I..." That incomprehensible bit of logic prompted her to concentrate a little harder on what he was saying and less on what she was feeling. Concentrating wasn't enough. It still didn't make sense. "I don't understand."

"I want more from you," he said gruffly. "I want everything. And nothing you should give on a ballroom floor."

"Oh." That perfectly comprehensible statement had her biting her lip. "I see."

"You should go now."

"I should, yes." She didn't want to. As imprudent as it was, she wanted to stay and offer what he wanted. Offer him everything, and take it for herself. Her eyes darted to his mouth. "I should go."

Oh, but she wanted to stay.

"Now, Kate." He fairly growled the command.

She pulled her eyes away from his mouth and took a look at all of him. And then she took a step back. Perhaps it would be best to attempt the everything when he was a little less...agitated. The man was practically vibrating. "Right..." She swallowed hard and began a cautious backward retreat. "Right. I'll just...I'll just see you at dinner then, shall I?"

He didn't answer. He just stared at her, his jaw locked tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides...his dark hair mussed where she'd run her fingers through the thick locks. She did so love when his hair was a little mussed. Maybe...

"Go."

"Right." She took two more steps backward, then turned around and walked through the door, certain she could feel his burning gaze on her back.

Instinctively, she headed toward her room, then turned back again and walked toward a side door to the house. The change in direction put her in the rather awkward position of having to pa.s.s by the open door to the ballroom, where a quick glance told her Hunter was still vibrating, but that couldn't be helped. She wanted a moment to herself before facing any other guests. She needed to right her appearance and settle her system. But most important, she needed time and s.p.a.ce to reconcile what she'd suspected in her mind with what she now knew in her heart.

Somehow, somewhere, between the laughter, and the kisses, and the acceptance of her dreams, Mr. Andrew Hunter had turned into a prince.

Where had he gone wrong?

Hunter stalked across the ballroom to throw open a window. He needed air, and a drink, and possibly a hard punch to the head. What the devil devil had he been thinking? had he been thinking?

He'd had it all planned. Everything, everything everything had been set to suit his purpose, and his purpose had been to remind himself, and Kate, of who was in control of this unconventional little courtship. had been set to suit his purpose, and his purpose had been to remind himself, and Kate, of who was in control of this unconventional little courtship.

A small excursion to the ballroom, the judicial-albeit belated-application of charm, and the presentation of a carefully selected gift had all been delivered with the intention of wrapping Kate around his finger, and his arms around Kate.

The kiss had been carefully thought through as well. Absolute control on his part and the illusion of control on hers, just like in the music room. Things had gone swimmingly in the music room.

What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l had happened here?

She'd asked him about counting doors, that's what had happened. She'd started the whole business off by charming him. him. And then she'd been so genuinely delighted by the watch that he couldn't help but feel delight with her, instead of with himself for having thought to buy the thing. And then she'd been so genuinely delighted by the watch that he couldn't help but feel delight with her, instead of with himself for having thought to buy the thing.

And then she'd told him to go kick something.

And then he'd been kissing her.

And then she'd been kissing him. him. And that was where things had well and truly gone to h.e.l.l. And that was where things had well and truly gone to h.e.l.l.

He'd been a mere heartbeat away from dragging her to the floor. No, no that wasn't the trouble. The trouble was that he'd been a mere heartbeat from letting Kate drag him him to the floor. If it had been to the floor. If it had been his his idea-if idea-if he'd he'd had the upper hand-he'd not have broken the kiss. had the upper hand-he'd not have broken the kiss.

But it hadn't been his idea-he hadn't planned to introduce his future wife to the pleasures of the marriage bed on a ballroom floor-and he hadn't had the upper hand, because he hadn't just just lost control-he'd handed it to her as neatly as he'd handed her the watch. lost control-he'd handed it to her as neatly as he'd handed her the watch.

Here you are. You'll find it useful, I think.

Giving Kate control had never been the plan.

He rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest in an effort to alleviate an uncomfortable tightness building there. A tightness he staunchly refused to acknowledge as worry.

Clearly, he needed a better plan. One that could handle the likes of Lady Kate Cole.

A competent strategist recognized when it was time to alter tactics. And any strategist who'd been a heartbeat away from letting a mere slip of a girl drag him to the floor would recognize that a little distance was in order. A day in town for himself, that's what he needed. A solid day alone to gain perspective and think through his next move. Whit could watch Kate. Mr. Laury as well, from a discreet distance.

By tomorrow night, the discomfort in his chest would be nothing but a bad memory.

CHAPTER Fifteen

Kate tapped her pen against the small writing desk in her room.

A full bar of rest and then...Could she change keys? Would that be too jarring? Perhaps she should bring the oboes in first. No, the cellos-rich and low and hollow. No. No, that was much too maudlin. She wanted pensive, not despairing. Didn't she? Why couldn't she hear it?

Maybe it should be the oboes...

"Kate, are you coming?"

Kate looked up to find Mirabelle standing in her door. "Coming? Er..."

"You promised to take tea with Lizzy and me this afternoon."

"Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry, Mirabelle, I lost track of time."

Mirabelle motioned at the mountains of paper on the desk. "It must be going well, then."

"It was. I thought it was." She sighed and set her pen down. "And now it isn't. It's the symphony. It's missing a section right in the middle of the third movement. I cannot seem to work it out."

"If you'd rather forgo tea and have something brought here, I understand."

Kate shook her head and stood to follow Mirabelle from the room. "No, I'd rather the tea than a headache. And a break might well do some good."

As long as that break did not include thinking of Hunter. The day before, she'd done nothing but but think about the man, and her strong attachment to him. The phrase "strong attachment" to describe what she felt for him was, to her dismay, all that those hours of thinking had netted her. She hadn't the foggiest notion what to do about the strong attachment, or even if she should do anything at all-Well, yes, she was certain she should do something, but the what, how, and when- think about the man, and her strong attachment to him. The phrase "strong attachment" to describe what she felt for him was, to her dismay, all that those hours of thinking had netted her. She hadn't the foggiest notion what to do about the strong attachment, or even if she should do anything at all-Well, yes, she was certain she should do something, but the what, how, and when- "Hurry up up, girl." Miss Willory's strident voice sounded from an open door at the end of the hall.

Mirabelle scowled. "Horrible woman. Abusing some poor maid, no doubt."

"I've not got all day to wait about for you," Miss Willory snapped.

"You're not waiting," a mumbled voice responded. "You're walking."

Kate and Mirabelle exchanged glances of alarm. Surely Surely that couldn't be Lizzy. that couldn't be Lizzy.

Miss Willory stepped into the hall and tossed an angry look over her shoulder. "What did you say, girl?"

Lizzy stepped out behind her, a large pile of books in her arms. "Nothing."

"Nothing, miss. miss." Miss Willory snapped, her voice holding none of the honeyed tones she reserved for individuals of her own rank. "Impertinent little monster. I can't fathom why Lady Kate keeps you about, stupid as you are."

What sympathy Kate had felt for Miss Willory in her current troubles was instantly, and thoroughly, obliterated. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing rebuke, only to have Mirabelle beat her to it.

"Stop right there, Lizzy." Mirabelle went storming past Kate to s.n.a.t.c.h the pile of books from Lizzy's hands and shove them at Miss Willory. The latter had no choice but to grab hold or risk having them land on her feet.

"Miss Browning, what-?"

"It is Lady Thurston."