At least his public ease within Cassie's circle made the waltz seem less shocking, less a declaration of predatory intentions. Not that anyone imagined the high stickler Ranelaw could ever be moved to pursue a hag like her.

Of course his interest could make people look more closely at her. If he penetrated her disguise, so could other sharp eyes. Nervously she surveyed the ballroom, but people no longer paid her any attention. The hiss of scandalized whispers ebbed as it became clear this was a prank to put a too scrupulous chaperone at a disadvantage. The joke was on Antonia. But the joke was also on Ranelaw for partnering such a fright.

Ranelaw danced with Cassie, then excused himself after a volley of pretty compliments. He hardly cast Antonia another glance. But she knew, she knew, that he noted her every move.

Cassie went into supper with Lord Soames. Antonia took the opportunity to slip away. Cassie was safe with her friends. And this evening Nicholas had been uncharacteristically discreet about his interest in the girl.

The retiring room was down a long corridor on the floor above the ballroom. With everyone at supper, Antonia had it to herself. She made her way back when strong arms twined around her waist from behind.

"Let me go!" she gasped as her assailant dragged her into a side room and slammed the door behind them.

"Antonia, I need to see you."

"Nicholas, you've already caused too much talk tonight," she said repressively, even as her pulses leaped with forbidden excitement.

Of course it was Ranelaw. Nobody else would evince a moment's interest in dour Miss Smith. His touch had become so familiar, she'd know it blindfolded.

She tried to back away but only bumped the door behind her. They were in the library. A single lamp on an imposing Boulle desk provided illumination, leaving most of the room in shadow.

He traced her jaw with one finger and a faint smile lifted his sensual mouth. Traitorous warmth oozed through her veins. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized again how his male beauty sliced away resistance. It was so unfair.

"My purpose isn't seduction."

She arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"

She should have expected this. She'd recognized his hunger when they danced. But he must know they couldn't make love in the Merriweathers' elegant library in the middle of the famous annual ball.

Even Ranelaw couldn't be so foolhardy.

"Really." The smile faded and he stared hard into her face. She had the odd impression he struggled with what he wanted to say.

Nervousness stirred. A nervousness unconnected to the possibility of scandal. Her hands settled on his forearms with a naturalness she hardly noticed. He kept a firm hold of her waist.

"What is it?"

She stared into his dark face. Something was definitely wrong. A muscle jerked in his lean cheek and his voice was harsh.

"John Benton just arrived."

Chapter Seventeen.

Ranelaw's hands tightened as Antonia staggered. Until this moment, he still hadn't been completely sure Benton had been her lover. He was sure now. She made a choked sound of distress in her throat and her face turned paper white. Even her lips turned pale.

For one fraught moment, he wondered whether she'd faint.

She was stronger than that. After a moment's horrified silence, her chin tilted with false bravado. But nothing stopped her voice emerging in an unsteady whisper. "You know."

It wasn't a question.

"I guessed." His chest constricted with rage and a helpless ache to take away her pain.

Under his hands, she felt as fragile as a blade of grass. He had a sudden piercing memory of their first meeting, when he'd vowed to humble her haughtiness. Now he watched her pride crumble to dust, and he counted himself the lowest creature in existence. Her naked suffering made him want to flay Benton alive.

She continued to stare at him through those ugly spectacles. For once, he was glad they obscured her eyes.

"How?" She sounded as if forcing out even one word tested her.

"I met Benton in an inn. He spoke of you."

"Oh, God." She shuddered and sagged at the waist as if she suffered a blow. "Did you know before . "

"No," he said quickly. "No, not then."

"Of course you knew afterward," she said almost soundlessly, straightening with a jerk. Her lips were still that frightening color and there was no blood in her face at all. "A man of your experience would know he wasn't making love to a virgin."

"Antonia, stop it." He abhorred her desolation and the corroding shame beneath it. With sudden violence, he ripped off her spectacles and flung them onto the desk. "I don't care that you've had a lover."

"If that's true, you're the only person in Creation who doesn't," she said bitterly. Her eyes were glazed with betrayal and misery. "Now Johnny's tossing my name around a common tavern."

He grabbed her shoulders and fought the urge to shake some spirit back into her. Dear God, why couldn't she be angry? He couldn't endure this biting sorrow. "I met him when I rode back from Surrey. Nobody except me would recognize you from the description. And that he said you were unforgettable."

"How cozy." Her sarcasm did nothing to mask her crushing humiliation. "I imagine you compared notes. His recollections, of course, are ten years out of date, but you could offer something more recent."

He didn't bother gracing that with a rebuttal. "Antonia, he thinks you're dead."

"The woman he knows is dead." She stared at Ranelaw as if he was a stranger. Under his hands, she remained as pliant as a cloth doll. He loathed this. Loathed it more than he'd loathed anything since watching Eloise's life disintegrate when he was eleven.

"No, she's not dead," he said sharply, desperate to spark a response other than this terrifying blankness. "She's more alive than anyone I've ever met."

She hardly seemed to hear. "Do you know everything?" She closed her eyes and sucked in a quivering breath. "How you must have laughed."

His hands dug into her shoulders. She felt so brittle, he was afraid she'd shatter. "Not everything. I don't know who you are."

At last, the unnatural control cracked. Her mouth trembled and when she opened her eyes, they glittered with tears. "What does it matter? You know the most important fact. That I'm a whore."

"Antonia, my darling," he groaned, and dragged her against him, lifting one hand to press her head into his shoulder. His gut coiled with crippling grief. Her suffering shredded him to ribbons. The protectiveness he'd always refused to acknowledge surged like a boiling wave. He'd rather cut off his own arm than hear her denigrate herself. "Don't do this."

Briefly she resisted his embrace. Then she slumped on a shuddering exhalation. She threaded her arms around his waist, muffling her broken sobs in his coat.

As if his strength alone could keep the ravening world at bay, he wrapped her tight in his arms. Yearning to take her pain on himself. Yearning to shield her.

Of course he couldn't. He'd flirted with damnation too often to pose as anyone's savior.

Within too short a time, she withdrew, dashing at her eyes with unsteady hands. "If Johnny sees me here, everything is lost." Shakily she stepped back to lean against the desk. "He must continue to believe I'm dead."

She was right. She had to leave this house. Before encountering Benton. Before anyone saw her so obviously distraught. This at least Ranelaw could do for her.

His mind clicked into practicalities. "I'll fetch Cassie and have your carriage brought around the back."

"Won't that cause speculation?" Her voice was dull and her gaze skittered away from his.

"Even if your absence is noted, everyone knows Cassie's been ill."

Her face was still drawn although she wasn't crying anymore. He almost wished she would. Tears might be an improvement on her trembling desolation.

She raised her chin with a resurgence of the pride that had always struck him as completely unsuitable in a woman of her station. Whereas he discovered that the pride wasn't unsuitable, it was the station. He swore that before much longer, he'd find out exactly who she was.

"My lord, I'm grateful for your trouble. There's no reason you should aid me."

He laughed shortly and with a hint of grimness. Surely she knew by now that they were in this together. "Don't be a complete goose, Antonia."

He strode behind the desk and rifled through the drawers until he found what he wanted. He dipped a pen in the inkwell and passed it across, sliding a sheet of paper before her.

"Ask Cassie to meet you in the retiring room. It's the one place you're safe. Although Benton's such a milksop, he probably uses the ladies' facilities."

To his surprise, she released a choked laugh. "Poor Johnny. He never was a tower of strength." Then she sobered. "I hoped I wouldn't see him again."

If Ranelaw had his way, she wouldn't see the bastard again. Even if she wanted to. He extended the pen. "Write. We'll work out a strategy tomorrow."

She arched an eyebrow, reminding him of the woman who had fought him every step. He sent up hosannas of gratitude. He wanted her strong. Her wretchedness made him want to kill someone.

"We?" She took the pen and bent over the paper. She had slashing, quite masculine handwriting, he noticed.

"Yes. You and me." He waited for her to sign the note and seal it. His voice lowered into urgency. The need to be with her was a rushing torrent in his blood. He had an absurd fancy that he could keep her safe. Absurd when safety was the last thing a rapscallion like him could offer her. "Will you meet me tomorrow?"

A faint line between her blond brows, she stared at him. "Nicholas . "

She sounded uncertain rather than hostile. She must feel like her world disintegrated, leaving nowhere to hide.

"I can't bear to think of you facing all this alone. I want to help you."

"You want more than that," she said with a return of familiar wariness.

Just what did he want? The answer became more complicated by the day. He began to believe nothing less than all of her would satisfy him. God help her.

"Yes, I do. And so do you." He caught her arm with a gentleness that acknowledged her vulnerability. She stiffened but didn't pull free. "Antonia, don't come because you're afraid. Come because you want to. Come because you can't stay away."

Her eyes were troubled. "You think I'm too weak right now to say no."

Cupping her cheek, he fought the urge to kiss her within an inch of her life, until she forgot Benton and the threat of scandal. He ached to snatch her in his arms and steal her away to a place where gossip and old pain couldn't reach her. "I'll meet you at noon in the mews behind the house."

Already she shook her head. "Someone will see. And what will I tell Cassie?"

"You'll think of something." Suddenly he found himself smiling at her. Even with her cheeks sticky with tears and her beautiful eyes red and swollen, she was utterly glorious. "The woman who invented that story about a wager for a waltz can concoct a tale to satisfy a silly chit like Cassie."

"She's not a silly chit," Antonia said automatically. She paused, biting her lower lip. Her face was pale and set, as though she contemplated a death sentence instead of untold rapture. Suspense bunched his belly into knots until she nodded briefly. "It will have to be later. I'll meet you at six in the churchyard of St. Hilda's. It's near-"

His heart leaped with triumph. "I know it."

"If I can't be there . "

"You'll be there."

"Yes."

He swept her up in a hard, passionate kiss. She kissed him back without hesitation. She tasted of tears and desire. She tasted like everything he'd ever wanted.

Before the kiss took fire, he dragged himself away. The effort nearly killed him. He hated that they parted now, although he knew there was no choice.

Then tomorrow.

He raised her hand to his lips in a final kiss. "Go to the retiring room and wait for Cassie."

She nodded and slipped out without a backward glance. Ranelaw left the library and located a footman, pressing the note and a coin into his hand and requesting that he find Miss Cassandra Demarest. He sent another footman to arrange for the carriage to wait at the back gate.

How bizarre for such a disreputable rogue as he to protect a woman's honor.

Don't get used to it, man. You'll be her ruin before you're done.

The churchyard was empty when Antonia slipped through the gate, wearing a black hooded cape that turned her into just another anonymous female figure on the crowded streets. The evening was gray and cold, discouraging anyone from dawdling in the tumbledown graveyard. Even the weather conspired to grant her one last glimpse of ecstasy. She felt like a thief, stealing this single night of rapture before she returned to life as Antonia Smith.

After tonight, she'd go back to Bascombe Hailey and stay for as long as Mr. Demarest cared to employ her. Once he no longer had a use for her, she'd endeavor to find a position as companion to some reclusive old lady in the provinces or a middle-class family with aspirations to gentility. Somewhere that promised no contact with high society, including the decadent marquess.

She'd spent last night tossing in her bed, tortured by how quickly her restricted but safe little world unraveled. Tortured by whether she could risk meeting Nicholas. Now when Johnny's return made the possibility of her unmasking loom ominously close.

Eventually, weary of chasing grimmer and grimmer forecasts around her troubled mind, she'd risen to write to Cassie's father about Johnny's arrival. Once Mr. Demarest sent instructions for Cassie, Antonia would leave London. If she didn't hear quickly, she'd make arrangements on her own.

She'd devote the rest of her life to being good. Tonight she would be wicked.

Perhaps that was why she'd succumbed so swiftly to Nicholas's blandishments in the library. Or perhaps it was that he'd rushed to her rescue with a chivalry she still found difficult to credit.

When she realized he knew about Johnny, she'd wanted to crawl into a ditch and hide forever. His personal connection with her seducer made her stomach heave. She'd braced for Nicholas's contempt, but he hadn't played the hypocrite. Her heart had fisted with emotion when he'd so immediately taken her part. That heart had finally broken when he'd drawn her into his arms and held her while she cried for all the vile mistakes she'd made.

For a brief interval, he'd made her believe she was no longer alone against the world. That she had a stalwart and formidable ally in the Marquess of Ranelaw.

The memory of his strength shoring up her weakness had fundamentally changed the way she thought about him. And made it impossible to deny him-or herself. He'd made her believe that her reputation was secure with him. Not just hers, Cassie's too.

She was here now because Nicholas had kept her safe, because he'd been kind.

Don't lie, Antonia. You're here now because you want him and you always have.

She was half an hour early, which was dangerous. The longer she remained in public, the more likelihood of someone noticing her, remembering her. But she couldn't bear to loiter around the house any longer, awaiting the fateful hour.