She walked over to Raul in a falsely sauntering stride, meeting his measuring gaze without flinching. Inwardly, she felt the seething heat of embarra.s.sment and indignation, but she maintained an outward poise.

"Good evening, Miss Thomas." His glance drifted briefly down to take in her gown. Her fingers tightened on the gla.s.s stem. She wasn't sure if that look was a deliberate reminder of her previous nudity or an unconscious act.

"I'm torn between throwing this champagne in your face and simply laughing at the whole ridiculous episode." She held her jaw stiffly as she spoke while she struggled to raise the flash point of her temper.

"I would prefer that you not throw the champagne. The suit does not belong to me."

"When I noticed how poorly it fit you, I guessed it was either that or an inept tailor," she retaliated, seeking to make him uncomfortable with the sleeves that were a half-inch too long and the fullness of the jacket through the chest. "But since you are seldom in one place for long, I decided you were probably the kind who travels light."

"That is true."

She had not meant to acknowledge how thoroughly he had frustrated her, but it welled beyond her control. "Not many men have ever gotten the best of me the way you have. You are becoming quite a challenge."

"I have no wish to challenge you," he countered smoothly.

"Maybe not," Trisha conceded. "But I admit to wishing that I'm around the day some woman forces you to your knees."

"If you had attended today's game, you would have seen me flat on the ground when my mare threw me." A lazy, half-unused smile curved his mouth.

"I was thinking in terms of the two-legged kind." Trisha lifted the champagne gla.s.s, using it for a distraction.

A rich, deep-throated laugh came from a nearby cl.u.s.ter of guests. With the gla.s.s to her lips, she half turned, spying Luz among them. Briefly she felt shadowed by her mother's stunning looks and sophistication. The metallic fabric of her evening gown, the color of dark steel, shimmered in a thousand rippling shades over her slim body. The long sleeves were held together by a crisscrossing lattice all the way to the high-throated neckline, hinting at bare arms and shoulders. Her hair was pulled sleekly back in a chignon at the nape, and crescents of diamond baguettes glittered on her earlobes. Trisha glanced again at the gown, recalling its distinctive feature. It was backless, plunging low on the spine.

When Luz noticed Trisha, she extricated herself from the laughing group and glided toward her, a half-empty champagne gla.s.s dangling from her hand. Trisha spared a glance at Raul, murmuring, "You haven't met Luz, have you?" Then she was turning back to greet her mother.

"Trisha. I wanted to see you before you came down," Luz declared, but after an appraising look, a smile widened her lips. "Not that there was any need. You look beautiful." Trisha detected a faint slurring of words and remembered Emma's warning, especially when the champagne gla.s.s was raised for another swallow.

"So do you," she returned uneasily.

"I noticed Rob has already been stolen away by a young lady." Luz glanced in the direction of the dance floor.

"A lady by t.i.tle only," Trisha inserted.

The comment elicited a lifted brow from Luz. "I shouldn't be surprised," she said. "It appears Fiona took her guest list from the pages of Debrett's Peerage and Burke's Landed Gentry, with a few notable exceptions such as ourselves." She drained the gla.s.s, then noticed Raul looking silently on. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Luz Kincaid Thomas ... and I'm trying very hard to forget that my name was once Mrs. Drew Thomas until a few short weeks ago." She held out her hand, level, in the Continental fashion that required it only be clasped, not shaken. "Which count or lord are you?"

"Seor de nada, lord of nothing." Raul leaned slightly over her hand, a mocking smile on his lips.

The servant appeared with filled champagne gla.s.ses balanced on his tray. Luz motioned for him. "I'll have another."

"I don't think you should, Luz," Trisha cautioned.

"Never mind my daughter," she instructed the servant and traded her empty gla.s.s for a full one, missing the sharp glance Raul directed at the pair of them. He was seeking a resemblance without finding an obvious one. "She mistakenly believes I've had enough to drink."

"Yes, madam."

"What is your name?" she asked the servant.

"Simms, madam."

"Well, Simms, do you see this gla.s.s?" She showed him the one she had just taken from the tray. "I want you to keep your eye on it this evening, and when it starts getting empty, I want you to see that I have a refill. Will you do that for me, Simms?"

"As you wish, madam," he acknowledged, nodding politely.

"That is what I wish. Thank you, Simms." With a shift of her attention, she dismissed him.

"I don't think that's wise, Luz," Trisha repeated.

"Why must I behave wisely?" Her shoulders lifted in a careless shrug before she turned to Raul. "What my daughter fails to understand is that tonight I want to get drunk. I don't want to be responsible for the things I say or do."

Raul watched her take a drink from the gla.s.s, vaguely surprised that she was aware of what she was trying to escape. It was apparent that the alcohol she'd already consumed had loosened her usual restraint, or she never would have admitted such a thing. Odd bits of information fit into place-Trisha's a.s.sertion that her father was marrying a considerably younger woman and her mother's desire to forget her former married name. The divorce was evidently very recent ... and the bitterness very fresh. He'd seen it before, although this woman, even half drunk, had a certain cla.s.s about her.

"Are you married, my lord of nothing?" Luz inquired.

"No."

"Divorced, then?"

"No."

She frowned, narrowing her eyes to examine him more closely. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-seven."

"You have made a mistake, milord." Luz wagged her gla.s.s at him in a scolding fashion. "You should have married the daughter of some wealthy, influential family, had a couple of children, preferably a son and daughter, and used the family connections to make a name for yourself. Once you have the fine home, important friends, and the money, you can dump your first wife. She'll be old by then. With wealth, power, and status, you can have all the pretty young things you want. That's how it is done, milord."

"I see." It was an old story, retold countless times.

"You would be amazed how easy it is to fool a woman." She bolted down a swallow of champagne, then stared at the sparkling wine left in the gla.s.s. "She's invariably the last one to guess anything's wrong. All your friends will see it. Even your family. But not her."

"Luz, please," Trisha urged while she glanced uncomfortably at Raul.

"Luz, please-what? Don't make trouble?" she mocked. "You can count on that. How can a woman make trouble without appearing to be a b.i.t.c.h? It isn't fair. He divorces her for someone else-and she becomes the social outcast. Friends suddenly don't want you around for fear what happened to you might rub off onto them. Or else they're afraid you'll go after their husbands." She looked around the room with bitter, knowing eyes. "Worse is going to a party alone."

"Luz, why don't we go out on the terrace and get some fresh air?" Trisha suggested.

Luz drew away from the hand that reached to take hold of her arm. "I told you I don't want to be sober tonight. Or ..." She paused to glance ruefully at Raul. "Am I boring you?"

"Not at all." He felt a certain curiosity, a detached interest in this little byplay. These formal affairs didn't appeal to him, so he had no desire to mingle and engage in boring small talk with some guest.

"Do you know what the saddest thing is?" She appeared to address the question to the nearly empty champagne gla.s.s. "Realizing you'd be better off if he were dead."

"How can you think that?" Trisha demanded angrily.

"Because it's true," she flashed. "If he were dead, I could at least have his memories to hold on to. But now I look back on twenty-one years and see the waste. It was all for nothing. It's been thrown away-like my life. What do I have left? Where do I begin again? I've always been a wife. You warned me, Trisha. My life has no purpose, you said. Well, it doesn't. Not anymore." She downed the rest of the champagne and swung away from them. "Where's Simms?"

She took an unsteady step forward and hooked the hem of her gown, nearly tripping. In a reflexive move, Raul was at her side, a supporting hand on her waist to right her. "Thank you," she said.

Her head remained downcast, a slight flush staining her cheeks. Over his shoulder, Raul caught the look of silent appeal Trisha sent him; she was plainly at a loss to prevent the certain embarra.s.sment she knew would come.

"I believe Simms has gone for more champagne, Mrs. Thomas." Raul had no idea where the servant was. "I am rather tired of standing around myself. Would you care to dance? At least until Simms comes back."

She looked at him, a degree of sobriety in her brown eyes, but he could feel the uneven sway of her body; she needed his support. "Are you trying to save my pride so that I won't look the fool in front of all these people?"

"Yes." He smiled faintly at her astuteness.

"You are the most gallant lord here tonight," she mocked. "I would curtsy at the honor, but you understand, my lord of nothing, that if I sank to the floor, I would likely stay there."

"I understand." His smile deepened.

With his arm firmly around her slim body, he guided her through the milling guests to the small dance floor. She held her head high, smiling and nodding to two or three people along the way. When they reached the cleared area, he took the empty winegla.s.s from her and gave it to a bystander, then gathered her into his arms. As he spread his hand over the hollow of her back, he was surprised by the heat of her bare skin. She had given him the impression of coolness, yet her flesh felt almost feverish. The fiery warmth stirred him, and he frowned thoughtfully, aware of the exotic fragrance scenting the curve of her neck.

"It's been a long time since I danced with a stranger," she mused aloud. "I suppose I'll have to get used to that."

Her attempts to follow the slow pattern of his dance steps were uncoordinated. The champagne had affected her sense of balance, and she had to rely more heavily on the muscled band of his arm. When it tightened to bring more of her weight against his body, she relaxed in his hold. Dancing with him felt different somehow-the pressure of his hand on the hollow of her spine, the movement of his legs against hers. This wasn't what it had been like to dance with Drew. It was all strange and new. Luz didn't know whether to blame the sensation on the man or on the alcohol.

Her hand rested on the ridge of his shoulder. It was wider than Drew's, muscled but not bulging. Almost idly, she ran her hand along it, stopping at the darkly tanned column of his neck. She noticed the sinewed cords and traced one from collar to jaw before lifting her gaze to his face. She was conscious of his blue eyes looking down at her, but they made no impression on her. Her tactile exploration was almost abstract, the way one would explore the contours of a statue. Her stroking finger followed the high ridge of his cheekbone, then made a slow sweep down the slashing groove by his mouth and stopped on the point of his chin.

"My husband had a deep cleft," she murmured absently.

On the sidelines, Trisha watched the pair, appalled by her mother's behavior. Luz was practically draped all over Raul. And the way Luz was touching his face, like a lover-it was too intimate. She knew Luz was drunk, but that made it all the more embarra.s.sing. Trisha scanned the other couples on the dance floor, looking for Rob so that she could signal him to cut in.

"May I have this dance, Trisha?"

The inquiry took her by surprise, but she recognized the young man with the acne blotches on his smoothly shaven face. She'd met him several times at various parties, although his name escaped her at the moment. He was the third son of some viscount or earl-and a lot of fun, she remembered that much.

"Not right now. I'm looking for my brother. Have you seen him?"

"I think I saw him duck outside a few minutes ago." He grinned. "Our sin-loving Lady Cyn had him in tow, I believe."

"Thank you." Her smile came and went swiftly as her attention reverted to the dance floor. Silently she swore at Rob for disappearing at such an inopportune time while she watched helplessly, wondering how much longer that slow, seductive song was going to last.

When Luz's reference to the cleft in Drew's chin elicited no response from her partner, she wasn't troubled by his silence. She was in a champagne mist. And if her living statue were to speak, it would likely have jarred her. As it was, nothing disturbed the swirling fog.

With the rounded point of a polished nail, she outlined the lower curve of his mouth. Lately she had tried to imagine what it would be like to have another man hold her and make love to her. All these years there had been only Drew. One or two times she had met men who had briefly tempted her, but she had never needed the stimulation of an outside affair. Now she wondered if that meant she'd been a coward all this time, afraid to try something new and different.

She had tried to imagine the pa.s.sion of another man's kiss devouring her lips-the taste of his tongue. She had gone so far as to visualize his hands roaming over her body, cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, spreading across her hipbones and up the curve of a bent leg. Yet when she tried to see her imaginary lover's face, he had none, and her fantasy was lost. A body could not make love to her. It had to be a person with a face.

And here was a face. She liked his clear eyes, the way they looked at her so steadily. And his hair, so thick and dark-she wondered if it was coa.r.s.e like Drew's. She hadn't thought about a man's hair before. She touched a smooth side, discovering its fine texture, so soft, almost silken. She slid her fingers into it, and decided it was more like velvet, hundred-dollar-a-yard silk velvet.

Of all the eligible men she knew, she had finally met one whose face could fit with the body of her fantasy lover. The man had admitted being a bachelor. Dimly Luz also recalled that he'd claimed his age as thirty-seven. He was younger than she was.

"How old do you think I am?" she asked, but when his glance sharpened on her, it almost pierced the alcohol veil that protected her. "No. Don't look too closely." Quickly, Luz lowered her chin and rested her head on his shoulder, partly hiding her face near the curve of his neck so that he couldn't see the fine lines that had begun to appear.

This was better, not looking at him. Everything was becoming hazy from the champagne, and it was difficult to concentrate on more than one thing at a time. At the moment, she was satisfied with the sensation of his hand on her lower back, the pressure of his thumb on her spine and the alternating touch of his fingers on her waist. Luz felt loose and warm. Everything had been so wrong in her life for so long; this was the first time in months anything had seemed right.

His jaw and throat gave off the heady scent of a male cologne. She breathed it in each time she inhaled. At the same time, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her eyelids and knew his mouth must be somewhere near her eyebrow. Little things, yet they were so disturbing they made her ache inside. She wanted to cry, but she wasn't sure why. Drinking did that to her sometimes. Tears would flow from her eyes on their own.

"Mrs. Thomas." His voice seemed to prod her, and she wished he had kept silent.

"What?" she said impatiently. So little effort had been expended in movement that Luz was slow to realize they had ceased dancing. In her eyes, the room was still swaying.

"The song has ended," he told her.

She listened and could hear no music, only the uneven hum of accented voices. With a push of her hands, she reeled away from him, and the room started to spin. Luz stopped and pressed a hand near her eyes, trying to clear her head and her vision. She felt his arm go around her ribs in support of her tottering body.

"The song ended." When she looked up, her fantasy died, too. Men like her lord of nothing wanted young girls. A bitter laugh rolled from her arched throat. "I almost forgot. All men are b.a.s.t.a.r.ds." She badly needed a drink. "G.o.d, where's Simms? d.a.m.n him anyway." She shrugged away from the arm holding her and lurched forward to look for the servant. As he crossed the room with a drink tray, Luz saw him. "Simms." But someone stopped her before she could go after him.

"Luz, you're drunk." At the low and angry denouncement, she frowned, while Trisha's face kept going in and out of focus. It was true.

"More champagne, madam." A sea of gla.s.ses swam in front of her eyes, all filled with amber-pale liquid.

"No, thank you, Simms." Luz formed her words carefully, making an effort to speak clearly. "I believe I am sufficiently inebriated. Would you be so kind as to escort me to my room? I should not like to pa.s.s out in front of ... all these people."

"As you wish, madam." He offered her a dark-sleeved arm, which she tightly gripped with both hands.

The incongruous pair crossed the room at a slow, stately pace. Trisha watched them, angrily ashamed yet grudgingly admiring the measure of dignity Luz was able to maintain. "Only Luz could get away with that." She hadn't intended to think out loud, and glanced quickly at Raul. "I'm afraid my mother-"

"No apology is needed for her," he interrupted. "If you will excuse me." He turned and walked toward the terrace doors.

Trisha stood uncertainly, then swung in the opposite direction and came face to face with the young man who had asked her to dance earlier. "I didn't think those musicians could play anything that had a beat to it," he said, drawing her attention to the up-tempo song. "Want to try it?"

"Sure." She didn't glance in the direction of the terrace as they walked onto the dance floor.

In a secluded corner of the terrace where the shadows were thick and deep, Raul paused and took a thin cheroot from his inside pocket. He struck a match and cupped the flame to the end of the narrow black cigar. Blue smoke swirled in front of his face as he exhaled.

He was unsettled by what had happened. He had danced with countless women over the years. Some had aroused his l.u.s.t, but few his interest. Yet this woman was different. The reaching out for love and comfort had touched something inside him-and the way she had bitterly rejected what she couldn't have had enforced the feeling. He sighed heavily and took another drag of the cheroot, wondering why she had gotten into him for even that brief time and why he still thought about her. Forgetting came easy to him. He'd forget her, too.

Beyond him lay the formal patterns of the knot garden, the hedges and plants arranged to create intricate knot designs. But the light from the terrace couldn't penetrate it, and the garden was a dark blur, black shadows dissolving into one another. A hedge rustled nearby, and Raul caught m.u.f.fled sounds, groaning whispers and heavy breathing. He dropped the half-smoked cheroot onto the stone terrace and ground it beneath his heel. He wasn't interested in listening to some couple make love. Besides, it was time he went back inside and made his presence seen so he could leave this obligatory party.

The thin material of her gown offered little barrier to the sensation of the nubby point of her breast under his hand. Its outline was as definite to Rob as it would have been if he were actually touching her flesh. The wild little sucking sounds she made while he drove his tongue deep into her mouth stimulated his own building excitement, and the hands kneading the muscles in his shoulders and back needlessly urged him to do more. He was almost half crazy now. The bulge in his pants had stiffened into a rod after the first kisses had exploded in pa.s.sion. He could feel his throbbing p.e.n.i.s straining against his trousers. He felt hot enough to pop right now.

He rocked his mouth off her wet lips and dragged it across her cheek to lick at the opening of her ear, his rough and labored breathing sounding loud in his own ears. "G.o.d, you're beautiful." He meant it the way that anything with two b.u.mps where a pair of b.r.e.a.s.t.s belonged and a hot quivering cavity between a pair of legs was beautiful to an aroused male. Only Rob knew she wasn't some ugly c.u.n.t a bunch of h.o.r.n.y high school boys had persuaded to spread her legs for them. This girl was some s.e.xy b.i.t.c.h, and she was hot for him.

"So are you," she whispered rawly, kissing the side of his jaw and neck with an abandoned eagerness. "So are you."

But when he tried to force her onto the gra.s.sy carpet of the garden, she resisted. "The gra.s.s. I'll get green stains all over my gown." Rob groaned in agonizing frustration, thinking quickly and desperately.

"Let me take off my jacket. You can lie on it." He urged with his hands and his nuzzling mouth, trying to keep her as aroused and wanting as he was.

"No, silly." She laughed and pulled a half-step away from him. When he reached out to gather her back, Rob noticed her hoist her long skirt up around her waist. "I'll just climb on and neither of us will get soiled. Unzip your pants."

The shadows from the hedges and the overhanging branches of a tree made it seem as if he were moving in a dream. And everything was centered on the ivory paleness of her legs and hips. He could hardly take his eyes off of them. Then she was too close, a hand on his shoulders and another holding up her skirt in a bundle while a long, slim leg hooked itself high around his hips. Instinctively he lifted her.

"Jeezus," he swore at the ease with which he was swallowed into her hot, tight hole.

Her legs locked around his hips in a scissor hold, the strength of their muscles surprising him as she began rocking against him. But there wasn't any one thing he could concentrate on, not with that hot little tongue darting in and out of his ear and driving him wild. He felt the slap of her bottom against his pumping hips.

"Yes. Yes." Her urging moans were getting louder.