Chapter Sixteen.

As Ranelaw loomed nearer, he watched horror dawn on Antonia's beautiful face. She wore her dowdy disguise, but these days, he couldn't regard her as anything other than spectacular.

"Go away," she growled under her breath. Behind her ugly spectacles, her eyes darted from side to side as if she sought some way of fending Ranelaw off without attracting notice.

"Miss Smith?" He didn't lower his voice. Challenging Antonia was always exhilarating.

"Stop it. I won't listen," she hissed, trying to sidestep.

He hemmed her in, easy when surrounded by so many chairs, most occupied. The old kitties finally noted the small drama. He read surprise and prurient curiosity in their faces.

"You'll generate considerably less interest if you agree to dance with me," he said in a low voice, seizing her arm in a grip that brooked no resistance.

For two weeks he'd wanted her, with a craving so painful and persistent it was like an illness. Touching her kicked his heart into a gallop. Through several layers of fabric, he felt her power and vigor. The same power and vigor that made possessing her such a world-shaking experience.

Even for a rake like him.

"You'll generate less interest if you go away," she muttered through her teeth. He saw her consider struggling, then decide, sensibly, that physical confrontation would only bolster gossip.

Smart girl.

"But I'm not going away," he said equably, striding toward the couples forming in the center of the room. To prevent him dragging her unceremoniously after him, Antonia was forced to follow.

Her hand covered his where it lay on her arm and she dug her fingernails in hard. Black lace gloves shielded her claws. Heat shuddered through him as he remembered her hands bunching in his shirt. She'd have drawn blood that night if he'd had the finesse to undress before tumbling her.

"I hate you," she said viciously.

"No, you don't." With a commanding movement, he swung her around to face him. "Now dance with me like a sweet little poppet or set tongues wagging."

"I hope you rot in hell." Under his hands, she vibrated with outrage. He'd intended the poppet remark to raise her hackles.

"That outcome is beyond argument, sweet Antonia." His devil-may-care smile was sure to stir any hackles poppet left undisturbed.

The waltz started and he swept her into a twirl. Excitement buzzed in his veins. Around them, curiosity rose to a cacophony.

"They know you're mocking me," she said without inflection, performing a perfect waltz step. She followed him with a lightness that made his heart dip with admiration. He'd known she'd dance like an angel.

"Let them think what they like."

He whirled her into a dizzying turn that had her hand clutching at his shoulder. Another memory shuddered through him, of her hands digging into his shoulders as he pressed his way inside her body. Since she'd deserted him, he'd relived every detail of that fierce encounter again and again. With her now, the vividness of the recollections left him shaking with desire.

He'd been unhappy, restless, irritable since leaving Surrey. He'd lived on memories of her. Her absence slowly strangled him. The instant he took Antonia in his arms, he breathed again.

"I'd rather they thought me the butt of a joke than guessed the truth," she sniped back.

"What is the truth, my lady mystery?" he asked silkily, performing another breathtaking turn.

For all her hostility, she moved smoothly. However they argued, physically they were in complete accord. His arm was firm and possessive around her lissome waist and their bodies were so close, her heat curled out to lure him. Her fresh scent teased. He drew it into his lungs and his curious sense of rightness crescendoed with the music.

"What are you up to, Ranelaw?" She glanced around fretfully.

All eyes fixed on them. Laughter, much of it cruel, lit the watching faces. Futile rage ripped at his gut. Antonia was worth a million of these self-satisfied fribbles. Hell, Antonia was worth a million of the Marquess of Ranelaw.

He'd walked into the room and immediately seen her in her frumpish costume. Something in him had mutinied. Society wits talked about diamonds of the first water, but for Ranelaw, Antonia was the one true gem among all these paste imitations.

By God, he'd make her shine before he was done.

"You shouldn't be sitting with the old tabbies."

She flushed with annoyance and her back was ramrod straight. Under the spectacles, she looked flustered and annoyed and poignantly young. "Yes, I should," she retorted through tight lips.

He fought a nigh irresistible urge to press his mouth to those lips until they parted and begged for more. Even for a libertine, publicly kissing a respectable woman was beyond the pale.

"You should be draped in silk and rubies, commanding the room with one flash from those ice blue eyes."

Before she could snap him down, he executed a series of turns that left her clinging just to stay upright. She drew a shuddering breath and the stiffness eased from her spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cassie staring with unguarded interest.

He shot her a triumphant grin-he felt triumphant, he danced with the woman he desired. To his shock, she grinned back. Not the polite, consciously appealing smile she usually awarded him, but a full-blooded grin.

"Please stop." Antonia clutched his shoulder as they circled the room. "You're making me a laughingstock."

"I want to dance with you," he said stubbornly, although he couldn't mistake the throbbing misery in her voice. His hand tightened, feeling the warmth of her skin through their gloves.

"I don't want to dance with you," she said with renewed defiance. Behind those distracting glasses, he caught the sparkle of anger. She didn't act like a servant. She acted like a lady playing at fancy dress.

"I can't dance with you, but you'll give yourself to me?" he asked slyly.

The blood drained from her face and she cast a horrified glance around the watching crowd. "We can't talk about that," she insisted in a frantic whisper. "Not here."

He blithely ignored her. They were far enough away from the other couples for privacy. "I want to do it again."

Aghast she stared at him. "No . "

He smiled at her. Surely she couldn't be surprised. He'd had her once, too briefly. Even so, it was the most intense sex he'd ever enjoyed. "Yes."

The prospect of another encounter was so intoxicating, he missed a step. She stumbled and for one breathless moment, her breasts slammed against his chest. Automatically his arm hooked around her back, crushing her. His heart battered his ribs.

"Ranelaw!" she gasped, struggling for balance. As she fought to straighten, she brushed against him. Her head jerked up and she stared appalled into his face.

She'd discovered how aroused he was. He'd wanted her the moment he saw her. After all this physical contact, he was as hard as an iron bar.

He glanced longingly at the open French doors. Through them waited a garden with dark walkways and hidden arbors. Two or three gliding steps and he'd whisk her into the night.

Two steps .

A soft breeze wafted through the doors, begging him to heed the impulse. Steal Antonia away to unbridled pleasure.

For all the lure of the forbidden, he didn't make that final move. Hell, now he was stuck having to restore himself to decency. He couldn't shame her by announcing to the world that she made him as randy as an untried boy.

Quickly she found her feet, forcing a small gap between them. He burned to snatch her against him. The bloody agony of it was that he couldn't. Not here.

This was death by desire.

She glanced down to his rampant cock and bit her lip. Sweet, fugitive color seeped under her skin. "You shouldn't have started this." For once, animosity was absent.

A rueful laugh escaped. "I couldn't help myself." Nothing less than the truth. "You're utterly irresistible." Again the truth.

"Stop it, Ranelaw," she snapped, her eyes lifting to clash with his.

"In Surrey you called me Nicholas."

"I'll call you lots of things before I'm done," she said sharply. "Take me back to the chaperones. You've made your point."

"What point is that, I wonder?"

Her lips flattened in disapproval and she glanced around the room again. Avid eyes fixed on them and derisive titters rose above the music. "That I'm completely susceptible to your machinations."

He frowned, firming his grip on her waist as he swung her around and around. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is." She lifted her chin with a pride that triggered the now familiar ache in his chest.

To his piercing regret, the waltz drew to a close. He'd managed to restore some control to his unruly body. The music's coda heralded the end of touching her. For tonight at least. Pussyfooting around social conventions was a bloody nuisance. He couldn't hope to get away with another dance. Even one was dangerous.

"I want you to myself." Much as he strove to sound the assured man of the world, ragged emotion edged the words. Every moment she moved so beautifully in his arms made him ache to get her alone. His hand trailed down her back in a surreptitious caress.

"Ranelaw . "

She paused and swallowed and for one searing instant, her hand clenched on his as if she too regretted parting. Her voice was so low, he had to bend to hear. Another drift of that clean, fiendishly enticing scent filled his head. He was sober as a judge, yet he felt drunk on finest brandy.

She spoke with difficulty. "Nicholas, we had . we had our occasion. I can't . I can't be sorry. But it can't be repeated."

"I refuse to accept that."

"You could so easily destroy me." Antonia's stare was a burning brand. "If anyone discovered what we did in Surrey, I'd be on the streets."

"You wouldn't be on the streets," he said in a harsh voice. "You'd be in my bed."

"For how long?" she asked dully.

Something in him wanted to insist he wouldn't use then discard her the way he used and discarded every woman he seduced. Innate honesty stifled easy promises.

She didn't wait for his answer. "I can only appeal to your black heart. Please, if you possess an ounce of goodness, leave me alone. Leave Cassie alone."

Shame stirred in his gut. He hated it. And he hated Antonia Smith for making him acknowledge the bottomless abyss of selfishness within him.

Even hating her, he couldn't let her go.

"I can't leave you alone." He whirled her around for the waltz's last few bars, loathing that within seconds, he must release her.

"Please . "

Antonia Smith was a woman born to command, not to plead. Another sour punch of shame in his gut. She'd consign him to the lowest corner of Hades before they were done.

"You should save your scolding for a better man," he said with genuine regret.

Her lips turned down in cynical disapproval. Even under the hideous disguise, she looked like an angry goddess. "It's easy to be a better man, Nicholas. You just decide to do the right thing."

As the music descended to its final cadence, he burned to argue with her uncompromising statement. Instead he remained silent. She'd stared unflinching into his heart, and the barrenness there aroused only her contempt.

The waltz ended and Ranelaw released Antonia with a reluctance she felt in her blood. She hoped his lingering withdrawal wasn't as obvious to their audience. The room still buzzed with sniggering curiosity. All attention focused on Ranelaw and his drab partner.

Ranelaw extended his arm with a sardonic smile. Antonia curled her fingers around his elbow and raised her chin to hide her turmoil. What choice had she but to pass this off in high style? If she displayed embarrassment, the ton's cats would shred her.

After ten unexceptional years, every move in the last few weeks set her teetering on the brink of disaster. The abrupt change left her giddy.

To her surprise and relief, Ranelaw didn't return her to the duennas but escorted her to Cassie and her friends. She wondered what Cassie made of Antonia dancing with Ranelaw. She wondered what Cassie made of Antonia dancing at all.

She hadn't danced since rare gatherings at Blaydon Park during her girlhood. After her elopement, opportunities for dancing became nonexistent. She'd forgotten how much she loved it. Furious as she was with Ranelaw for making a blatant show of her, joy had unfurled inside her to waltz in a swirl of music and color.

"Toni, I've never seen you dance." Cassie's voice was warm.

Half a dozen pairs of eyes settled on Antonia with malicious interest. She forced a smile although she felt shaken and edgy after touching Nicholas for the first time since making love. She released him and shifted to create some distance between them. Terrifying how difficult it was to relinquish the privilege of touching him. The link they'd forged in the summerhouse seemed to strengthen by the minute.

"Lord Ranelaw bet a crony that he'd get the fiercest of the chaperones to dance with him," she said, grateful the words emerged with dry amusement. A note of tolerant laughter that boys will be boys.

The look he cast her spoke volumes. She braced for him to contradict her.

"I wouldn't dream of employing such an unflattering description, Miss Smith." He bowed over her hand. Through her glove, her skin tautened with longing for the brush of his lips. To his credit and her grudging regret, he didn't make contact.

She breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief. He meant to cooperate. His hand briefly tightened and his black eyes glinted, brilliant with desire.

He turned to Cassie. "Miss Demarest, are you quite well again? I'm sorry illness marred your visit to Surrey."

He bowed over Cassie's hand with the same elegance he'd directed at Antonia. Was she a fool to imagine his manner less engaged?

She was indeed a fool.

Cassie and Ranelaw started their usual flirtation. Antonia should curtail the encounter. She was so overset by the dance, she couldn't summon the will. Her heart pounded and her knees felt unsteady. Not because of the notice she'd attracted but because a notorious rake deigned to touch her. She sank deeper and deeper into the mire of sexual hunger. Nothing she'd felt with Johnny had prepared her for this gnawing, eternal craving for Ranelaw.

When she gave herself to him, she'd felt unfettered and reckless, as though she made a last throw of the dice. But after the game, gamblers went home with their winnings. She hadn't gauged how she'd react to his continued presence, to pretending nothing existed between them apart from the gulf separating their stations.

It was impossible to stand beside him without remembering how he'd ravished her. Nor to listen to the deep timbre of his voice without hearing his hoarse groans of release. Her senses flooded with his scent. As though he'd marked her that night the way an animal marked its mate.

Before Surrey, dealing with Lord Ranelaw had been difficult. Now they'd become lovers, it threatened to defeat her.