"Never?"

"Never."

"How very dull."

"Well, I am a rather dull fellow," he retorted, his fingers lingering on the racing pulse at the base of her throat.

Rachel felt mesmerized as she met the midnight gaze. "I think you are fascinating."

His lips twitched. "And I think you are a minx."

"Is that bad?"

"It all depends."

"Upon what?"

"If it is truly your nature or only a means of a disguise."

Rachel frowned. "Disguise?"

"I think, Miss Cresswell, that you enjoy shocking society and dazzling poor susceptible gentlemen until they are too blinded to notice the true woman beneath your sophistication."

Rachel stepped away from his distracting touch. She was suddenly aware that this gentleman was far more dangerous than her usual flirts. Those damnable eyes saw far too much for comfort.

"And I think, sir, that you enjoy speaking in riddles," she retorted in determinedly light tones.

A hint of satisfaction curved his lips as he studied her wary gaze.

"Who was that gentleman I saw you arrive with?"

Rachel paused, not at all certain she liked the manner he could prick through her composure.

"My uncle, Mr. Foxworth."

"H-he looks familiar."

"He should. He is the Prince's current advisor, you know."

A black brow arched. "Is he?"

"You do not sound particularly impressed."

"Probably because I am not."

She gave a reluctant laugh. Anthony Clarke may be the most dangerous gentleman she had ever encountered, but she could not resist the temptation to claim him as another trophy. The very fact he was bound to be far more wily than most gentlemen only added spice to the chase.

"Of course, the elusive Mr. Clarke," she challenged. "Indifferent to the trappings of society."

"You look a great deal like him."

"Oh yes, I very much take after the old Fox."

"Then I shall no doubt find him irresistible," he murmured. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have brought with me a project that I wish to attend to."

Rachel widened her eyes in surprise. "You are leaving me for a project?"

His lips twitched at her disbelieving tone. "Do not fear. There are several other gentlemen about who are no doubt anxious to be dazzled by the charming Miss Cresswell."

"No doubt," she retorted with a hint of annoyance. In her experience gentlemen did not abandon her with such seeming indifference. Could it be that he had not followed her to Surrey? That his presence was nothing more than a coincidence? With a narrowed gaze she watched as he strolled toward the door with languid grace. "Mr. Clarke."

Slowly halting, he turned to face her with a quizzical expression. "Yes?"

"May I be allowed to view your project sometime?"

"I fear it would not hold much interest for you, my dear."

She offered her most enticing pout. "I am interested in many things."

"I shall keep that in mind," he murmured, then with a bow he turned and disappeared from the room.

On her own, Rachel was torn between annoyance and amusement. Anthony Clarke appeared determined to play their little game by his rules. It would be interesting to see who came out the victor.

With a faint shake of her head Rachel moved across the room and into the hall.

She could not allow herself to be distracted by Anthony Clarke. A lighthearted flirtation was all well and good, but she had come to Surrey with a purpose. She very much feared that it would be easy to lose sight of that purpose in a pair of midnight eyes.

Searching for a servant to lead her to her room, Rachel was startled as Violet suddenly raced down the stairs, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. At the same moment the Devilish Dandy stepped out of the library and moved forward.

The collision was inevitable and Rachel watched from a distance as her father wrapped his arm about the young maiden to keep her upright.

"Forgive me," Violet exclaimed, making no visible effort to free herself from the clutches of the Devilish Dandy.

"There is nothing to forgive," Solomon assured the young lady. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Are you certain?" Rachel watched her father lift a hand to touch Violet's cheek. "You have been crying."

"No, there was merely something in my eye."

"It must have been something quite terrible to cause such tears." Solomon reached into his pocket to retrieve a dry handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. "Here."

"You are very kind."

"No, I am rarely kind," the Devilish Dandy admitted wryly. "But I do not wish to see a young maiden in such distress. Perhaps on the next occasion you are troubled with your eyes you will come to me? I can be quite clever in sorting out such difficult situations."

Rachel bit her lip, wondering what the Devil was up to. Violet was clearly troubled and highly vulnerable at the moment. Surely her father would not be so callous as to use her weakness for his own pleasure?

"I fear no one can help me," Violet denied in broken tones. "Excuse me."

Pulling herself free, Violet rushed down the hall. Solomon watched her retreat, unaware of Rachel's approach until she was standing at his side.

"Well, well, Fox. Are you not rather old for such nonsense?" she drawled, only partially teasing.

Surprisingly, the lean features tightened into a rueful grimace.

"Yes. Far too old."

Three.

Despite the morning sunshine there was a distinct chill in the air. Pulling his caped greatcoat closer to his body, Anthony leaned negligently against the small grotto at the end of the garden.

It was not the neglected flower beds or fountains that had clearly not functioned in several years that had drawn him from the house. It was not even the lure of following the other gentlemen through the heavy brush in a futile attempt to bag a bird or two.

Oh no, he was on the hunt for something far more delectable than pheasants or grouse, he acknowledged with a flare of anticipation. He was hunting a golden-haired, hazel-eyed minx.

A smile touched his lips. On his arrival in Surrey he had briefly wondered what odd impulse had led him from the pleasures of London. Although Thomas Carlfield was his mother's eldest brother, he had never particularly cared to spend more time than necessary in his company. He found him to be shallow and pompous with careless disregard for his responsibilities. But just a few moments in the company of Miss Cresswell had reminded him of precisely why he had behaved in such an uncharacteristic fashion.

His smile widened. He had been very careful not to overplay his hand. Throughout the previous evening he had taken care to avoid Miss Cresswell. He had been well aware that her hazel gaze had followed him about, calculating and darkened with a hint of annoyance. She expected him to flock about her like the other enthralled gentlemen. To lure her with sweet compliments. It scraped at her pride to think he might be indifferent to her charms.

He did not doubt that she had devoted a great deal of time brooding on how best to bring him properly to heel.

It would be vastly amusing to see how she decided to best accomplish her role.

He did not have long to wait as the sound of approaching footsteps disrupted the silence. Hidden by the grotto, he watched Miss Cresswell wind her way through the twisted paths.

Attired in a brilliant yellow morning gown with a green spencer, she looked unlike any other debutant. There was no pale pastel or simpering manner. Everything about her was vibrantly alive, from her bold choice in fashion to her confident stride. He only wished that her glorious golden curls were not hidden beneath the green bonnet. He would like to see the satin strands flowing about her shoulders.

Waiting until she was nearly upon him, Anthony straightened and stepped onto the path.

"Good morning, Miss Cresswell."

She halted in surprise before a wry smile curved her lips. "Mr. Clarke, you possess an astonishing habit of appearing at the most unexpected places."

"Not unexpected," he denied in soft tones. "Merely logical, my d-dearest."

"Logical?"

He ran a hand down the length of his jaw. "I asked myself this morning what a young lady bent upon revenge would do first. The obvious answer was to seek out her quarry so her game could begin."

She jerked as if startled by his perception, but to her credit her smile never faltered.

"Perhaps I merely wished a short stroll on such a lovely morning."

"If that is the case then you will not mind if I join you."

She regarded him in silence for a long moment, as if determining whether or not he would prove to be a hindrance to her plans before giving a faint shrug.

"If you wish."

Stepping forward, Anthony placed her hand upon his arm and slowly began strolling across the open parkland.

"I suppose I need not tell you that you look lovely this fine morning?"

As if his compliment had suddenly reminded her that she was determined to bewitch him, her expression became coy.

"I must admit I possessed a few qualms about this particular shade of yellow. It appeared rather insipid."

"I defy anything to appear insipid on you."

"How very charming." She allowed her gaze to slowly survey his own form. A sharp, pleasurable heat raced through him. "Do you always wear black, Mr. Clarke?"

"I h-have little interest in the latest fashions. To my mind it is all a great deal of nonsense."

"Do you think so?"

"But of course. Just consider those ridiculous dandies devoting their mornings to preening before a mirror in the hopes of catching your attention, while I have managed to capture you all to myself."

She gave a low chuckle. "Very logical."

"P-precisely."

"But I believe that you have a fault in your logic."

Anthony lifted a dark brow. "And pray what would that be?"

"I do not believe gentlemen devote hours to their appearance in an effort to capture my attention or that of any other lady."

"Not?"

"No. I believe it is just another means of attempting to better one another. Like strutting peacocks."

Anthony felt a flare of satisfaction at her shrewd words. He had sensed there was a swift intelligence behind those pretty features. Obviously he had not been mistaken."

"For all your frivolous manner you are very perceptive, my dear."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Not at all." He locked her gaze with his own. "As I have said, I believe that you like to disguise your true self."

She abruptly turned her head, clearly uneasy at the thought that she had revealed more than she had intended. Anthony studied her delicate profile as they crossed a small bridge and entered the fringe of trees that marked the end of Carlfield property. Miss Cresswell was clearly determined to keep a part of herself hidden from the world. He could only wonder what she feared to expose.