She daintily accepted the square of linen. "Thank you."

"The least I could do, after startling you."

She rather thought it was. "It was my error. I was woolgathering."

"We can debate the matter over our dance. You will dance?"

She'd rather not. "Yes, of course."

"A waltz."

A waltz? After he'd been so forward that morning? And when he'd never before asked her for so much as a reel? Suddenly the man expected nothing less than a waltz? Oh, she desperately desperately wanted to make another comment on his arrogance. wanted to make another comment on his arrogance.

"A waltz would be lovely." She sincerely hoped the words didn't sound quite as ground out as they felt. "How very kind of you to ask."

"Not at all."

The best she could manage in response was a tight smile. She a.s.sumed he would leave after that-she was more than a little surprised he'd braved her company at the refreshment table at all-and return for her when it was time for their waltz.

He didn't. He just stood there, watching her in silence, his lips curved up in a half smile as if he knew full well what she was about.

Let him look, she thought, he'll see no ruffled feathers. She turned away to watch the dancers, sip at the lemonade remaining in her gla.s.s, and even tap her foot in time to the music. She glanced at him, once...twice...

She couldn't stand it. She had to talk. She had to make him stop looming over her.

"Will you return to London on the morrow, Mr. Hunter?"

His lips curved up just a hair more. "Briefly. And your plans?"

"We've a house party to attend in Suss.e.x next week. Lord Brentworth's affair. Mother forgot to inform me of it until today. This afternoon, actually." She licked lips gone dry. Did the man never blink? "I realize it's not the most fashionable of parties, but..." She gave up and leaned forward to hiss at him. "Would you kindly refrain from staring at me that way?"

Rather than appear abashed, he merely raised a brow. "Nearly every man in the room is staring at you."

"I rather doubt it, but if so, they have the courtesy to pretend otherwise," she chastised. "Or, at the very least, blink now and again."

He had the unmitigated gall to actually wink at her. "Will that do?"

"No." The absurdity of it, however, did create a tickle of laughter in her throat. The absurdity of it, however, did create a tickle of laughter in her throat.

"Are you certain it wasn't effective?" Mr. Hunter inquired with a grin. "Because you look as if you might like to laugh."

Either she wasn't nearly as accomplished at hiding her feelings as she thought, or the man was too perceptive by half. Better if it was the latter, she decided. She didn't care for the idea that everyone could read her so easily.

"Are you not familiar with the phrase 'looks can be deceiving'?" she asked pertly.

His smile grew and there was a pause before he answered. "I've a pa.s.sing familiarity with the saying."

Kate thought it sounded as if he might have more than a pa.s.sing familiarity, but the sound of the musicians beginning the first bars of the waltz kept her from responding.

Mr. Hunter offered her his arm. "I believe this is our dance, Lady Kate."

She laid her hand lightly on his forearm and was surprised by the swell of muscle beneath her fingers. She looked down at where the ivory of her glove rested against the black of his coat sleeve. How strong did a man have to be, she wondered, to have noticeable muscle in his forearms?

She'd not felt it with any of the other gentlemen she'd danced with in the past, and that accounted for a respectable number of gentlemen. Did it have something to do with his mysterious past? She recalled Whit mentioning that Hunter's father had been a merchant of some sort, but a father's profession needn't always dictate the son's. Had he been a blacksmith? Were pirates known for their strength? She rather thought it was just agility, but perhaps- "Is there something the matter with your glove?"

She jerked her gaze up, a little bewildered to find they'd already reached the dance floor. "Beg your pardon?"

"You've been staring at your glove for the last thirty seconds. Is there something the matter with it?"

She hadn't been staring at her glove, she'd been staring at him, but she had no intention of correcting his mistake. "No, I...No, nothing the matter."

"Shall we dance, then?"

"Certainly." She cleared her throat and carefully placed one of her hands in his and the other on his shoulder. A shoulder, she couldn't help but note, that was also considerably muscled.

Mr. Hunter slid his free hand around her waist to rest at her back. She had only a moment to wonder why such a light touch should feel so significant before he swept her onto the dance floor.

Kate immediately applied herself to not thinking about her waltzing partner's physique, an effort that might have met with more success had she been doing most anything besides besides waltzing. Waltzing required touching, an obvious impediment to her goal. Furthermore, dancing was one of the very few activities where she was able to exhibit a respectable amount of grace with very little effort. As long as the music maintained a consistent tempo, it was simple, almost instinctual, for her body to move in time. In short, the task provided no distraction whatsoever from thoughts of Mr. Hunter's unusually muscled form. waltzing. Waltzing required touching, an obvious impediment to her goal. Furthermore, dancing was one of the very few activities where she was able to exhibit a respectable amount of grace with very little effort. As long as the music maintained a consistent tempo, it was simple, almost instinctual, for her body to move in time. In short, the task provided no distraction whatsoever from thoughts of Mr. Hunter's unusually muscled form.

Thoughts she was going to stop having, immediately.

"A penny for your thoughts, Lady Kate."

Had dancing not not come so naturally to her, she very likely would have tripped upon hearing that question. Not for all the pennies in the world would she tell him where her mind had been. come so naturally to her, she very likely would have tripped upon hearing that question. Not for all the pennies in the world would she tell him where her mind had been.

"I, er, I was thinking you're a very fine dancer." It was entirely possible that thought had flitted through her head at some point. It was even true-for a large man, he displayed a surprising amount of grace.

She waited, expecting him to deliver a compliment of his own. Gentlemen usually commented on her dancing skills. She suspected they did so in part to be polite, but mostly because they were stunned to find she wasn't trodding on their toes.

In retrospect, she should have known Mr. Hunter would not do what she expected. Instead of returning the compliment, or thanking her for the one he'd received-as she rather felt he ought-he subtly bent his head, lowering it just enough for her to see the taunt in his dark eyes, and the humor.

"Liar," he whispered.

The tickle of laughter returned. "If you don't keep the proper distance, there will be more lies circulating about this ballroom than you find amusing. People are watching, you know."

"You're the sister of a wealthy earl and the daughter of an influential countess. People are always watching you," he returned, lifting his head and neatly sweeping her into another turn. "Tell me, do you find it disconcerting to have so many following your every move?"

It wasn't so very many, in her opinion. And she was quite certain her "every move" was a considerable exaggeration-he was the only person she felt looked at her too often and with too great an intensity-but since she was determined not to display any ruffled feathers, she let both matters go.

"I do sometimes wonder what people are thinking while they watch others dance," she told him.

He tipped his chin toward two austere-looking matrons whispering behind their hands at the edge of the dance floor. "Just now, I imagine the majority of them are wondering why you're dancing with an upstart and known rake."

"Are you a rake?" she asked before she could think better of it. She might have asked even if she you a rake?" she asked before she could think better of it. She might have asked even if she had had thought better of it. She'd heard rumors that Mr. Hunter had seduced legions of widows and opera singers, but what was fact and what was...well, rumor, it was impossible to say. It was equally impossible to say why she cared, except perhaps that she was a bit more curious about the man than she realized. thought better of it. She'd heard rumors that Mr. Hunter had seduced legions of widows and opera singers, but what was fact and what was...well, rumor, it was impossible to say. It was equally impossible to say why she cared, except perhaps that she was a bit more curious about the man than she realized.

He carefully led her around an elderly couple exiting the dance early. "Would my being a rake make me more appealing in your eyes?"

"No, it would simply make you a rake." She studied him for a moment as he laughed. "Do you know, I don't believe you are."

"Oh?"

She shrugged. "I've never once heard a rumor of you seducing an innocent young lady."

"That merely suggests I'm not a debaucher of innocents."

She frowned thoughtfully. "Is there a distinction made between being a rake and being a debaucher?"

"There is by men of sense," he informed her. "Only the latter is liable to end with dueling pistols at dawn."

"Oh." She considered that. "The distinction is purely selfserving, then? Morality isn't factored in at all?"

"We are are discussing rakes and debauchers." discussing rakes and debauchers."

That was true. And how very strange that they should be. And how exhilarating. No other man of her acquaintance would ever think to have such an unconventional conversation with her. A gentleman simply did not discuss rakes and debauchers with young ladies. And young ladies were not to discuss them at all.

She looked about at the other dancers. If anyone was listening- "You're safe, Lady Kate," Mr. Hunter a.s.sured her. "No one can hear."

He was right, of course, they were speaking too softly to be heard over the music. Still..."It really isn't a discussion we ought to be having."

"Should we change the subject?"

They should. They really should. And she would, in another minute. After one more quick scan about her, she lowered her voice and asked, "What of men who seduce other men's wives? Are they they rakes?" rakes?"

"Cuckolders."

"I see." She bit her bottom lip a moment and nodded. "But equally likely to find themselves on the field of honor, I imagine."

"Depends on how the husband feels toward the wife, and his honor."

"So a rake pursues only certain kinds of women, such as actresses and opera singers?" She thought about that. "Doesn't that make every man a rake?"

"Not every man. England doesn't have that many theaters."

She laughed as he swept her into another turn. "Tell me this, if a man pursuing a married woman is a cuckolder, what is a woman who pursues a married man?"

"Welcomed, generally."

"Certainly not by the gentleman's wife."

"Oh, you'd be surprised." He nodded toward a middle-aged man standing near the doors to the veranda. "Lord Renort's wife encourages him to visit his mistress as often as possible."

"Really?" Kate glanced at Lord Renort and thought about what she knew of his union to Lady Renort. It was a second marriage for both and had been heralded among members of high society as a most sensible match. The gentleman had obtained a fortune, which would certainly be of use to a man with two sons and three daughters, while the lady had acquired a t.i.tle-the accompanying benefits of which would no doubt be of value to herself and her two children. In truth, the vast majority of marriages within the ton ton were arranged purely for financial and social gain, but that fact didn't make Lady Renort's plight any less regretful in Kate's eyes. were arranged purely for financial and social gain, but that fact didn't make Lady Renort's plight any less regretful in Kate's eyes.

"It's very sad," she remarked with a sigh.

Hunter's dark brows winged up in mild surprise. "Do you think?"

Kate's brows lowered in confusion. "Do you not?"

"I might," he admitted after a moment's thought, "if Lady Renort had desired, or expected fidelity from her husband. But in this instance, the union was strictly a business transaction, and by all accounts, the terms of that transaction were readily agreed upon in advance by both parties."

"I..." In advance? She couldn't decide if that sort of heartless union was more, or less sad. "It's still very sad."

He glanced over to where Lady Renort was smiling and giggling with a small group of friends. "She appears a happy woman to me."

"I suppose she does," Kate conceded, though in her opinion, it was still still very sad. The woman had traded the chance to love for a t.i.tle. "Would you care for that sort of match?" very sad. The woman had traded the chance to love for a t.i.tle. "Would you care for that sort of match?"

"Would I be comfortable in Lady Renort's slippers, do you mean?"

The picture was enough to make her laugh. "Or Lord Renort's boots."

"Absolutely not," he replied. "I'd not abide infidelity in my marriage."

"And what of the terribly businesslike quality?"

Hunter shrugged. "I'd no more want an impractical union than I would a faithless one."

"Why a.s.sume a marriage based on..." She trailed off as a more pressing question occurred to her. "How could you possibly know the details of Lord and Lady Renort's marriage?"

His lips curved up once again. "Any rake worth his salt keeps apprised of which women of his acquaintance might be open to a spot of debauchery. Lonely wives are generally a fair bet."

"I..." Her eyes widened in shock a split second before they narrowed in suspicion. "You're making the lot of this up as you go along, aren't you?"

"Not the whole whole lot," he a.s.sured her and grinned as she laughed. lot," he a.s.sured her and grinned as she laughed.

In truth, she really didn't care if it was was the whole lot. It was still a most intriguing conversation. She'd have liked to continue it, but the musicians were playing the final notes of the waltz, and before she knew it, Mr. Hunter was leading her off the dance floor. the whole lot. It was still a most intriguing conversation. She'd have liked to continue it, but the musicians were playing the final notes of the waltz, and before she knew it, Mr. Hunter was leading her off the dance floor.

"Shall I escort you to your mother?" he inquired.

Kate glanced to where her mother stood in a small gathering of her friends. Several gentlemen were standing nearby, quite obviously waiting for Mr. Hunter to deliver Lady Kate into her mother's care.

"I think perhaps I could use another gla.s.s of lemonade," she declared.

"You must be exceedingly uncomfortable by the end of these events."

She glanced up at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"How much food do you have to consume in your little ruse to keep the gentlemen at bay?"

She opened her mouth, closed it again. Was there nothing the man missed?

Mr. Hunter steered her around a small grouping of chairs. "Are you going to tell me I've mistaken the situation?"

She thought about it, and decided there wasn't any point. They'd both know she was lying. "It isn't necessary that I consume it," she replied with a shrug. "I need only be near it."

"That's it?" he asked with a quick look at the men standing near her mother. "They're as easily frightened as that?"

For some reason, she felt the need to come to the defense of her suitors. "Occasionally, I have to actually hold something." She smiled as they reached the refreshment table, remembering a ball in her second season. "I chased off Sir Patrick Arten with a cream pastry once."