Her heart beat with excitement. Was she really about to dance with him? This truly was playing with fire.

  It’s only a dance.

  A waltz. All the dances at the Maida balls were waltzes now, and they were largely an excuse for close embracing. And she did not even know his name.

  Well, at the table, the spring before last, most people had addressed him as Johnny. A few of the gentlemen had called him Fish, which she had found odd for he looked nothing like a fish. There had been so many my lords being flung among the company that she had never been sure if any had been addressed to him. What she did know was that he was a gentleman, a friend of the Earl and Countess of Wenning, and so far above her social stranding that a secret, masked dance with him was as close as she should get for the sake of wisdom and her own heart. For nothing in their brief encounter so far had even begun to break the nameless fascination of that afternoon last year.

  She was at a loss to account for her feeling. It wasn’t awe, for he was not the first gentlemen to show her kindness. For example, the Earl of Wenning himself, a tall, handsome nobleman, who had once actually lived in her uncle’s barn for several nights, had been kind. He, too, had a charming smile, and yet it had never melted her bones as his did. Even when not directed at her, there had been something open and carefree about him, a genuine pleasure in life as well as in his company.

  For some reason, this spoke to her, caught her attention, and held it. The fact that he had noticed her enough to take a heavy tray from her, to see her as a person and not just a servant there for his convenience… He was an unusual gentleman. She had seen that people liked him, listened to him, and she knew he had been in Lord Wenning’s confidence concerning the card trick.

  “You have turned very silent,” he observed now.

  “I was just thinking,” she blurted, “wondering who you were.” She glanced up to find his gaze on her face.

  “Isn’t that the point of masked balls? Which reminds me…” He stopped on the path, wrapping the plain, black mask around his face and wrestling with the strings.

  She smiled, for somehow, his obvious difficulties with the task made him endearingly human. “Let me.” She reached up, taking the silk strings and brushing his hands aside. His hair was thick and unexpectedly soft, and she had to resist the urge to run her fingers through it. Warmth radiated from his broad back. She could not help inhaling his clean, masculine scent of woodland and some subtle spice that seemed to liquify her insides.

  “Thank you,” he said meekly, turning to face her.

  “I expect having regiments of servants to dress you puts you at a disadvantage on occasions.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” A smile lurked in his eyes, a little more than teasing, and butterflies soared through her stomach.

  Hastily, she took his arm once more and tugged him down the path. She hoped he didn’t hear the breathlessness in her voice. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

  “John Winter,” he said easily. “You can call me Johnny if you like.”

  He was telling her the truth, which mattered in some way she was at a loss to understand, even as she breathed a sigh of relief that there was no grand title involved. It seemed to make him marginally less out of her reach.

  “What do I call you?” he asked, his gaze steady, intent, and yet still teasing. It was exhilarating to be the sole center of his attention.

  “Kitty,” she managed.

  “Just Kitty? Like the cat?”

  “My uncle gave me the name because everyone thought he was only fit to bring up a cat, and he proved them wrong.”

  “Then your uncle adopted you?”

  “He did.”

  “I suppose then, he is a wise uncle, trying to keep you from places like this and men like me.” There was an odd ruefulness in his tone that made her glance at him again.

  “Men like you,” she repeated. “Are you a bad man, Johnny?”

  “Sometimes. But I don’t think you are—er…a bad girl, so that will probably save you.”

  “Save me from what?” she asked bluntly. “You?”

  “I am something of a hedonist,” he admitted. “And you are quite delightful.”

  Heat flooded her body. Even though she knew men said things like that just to get their own way.

  “Because I tied your mask?” she scoffed.

  He laughed. “No, though it undoubtedly helped.”

  As the path led them toward the pavilion, she grew ever more conscious of the long, lean body strolling along beside her. He moved with careless, unconscious grace, and yet she could feel the hard muscle of his arm. He was no mere elegant fop. His coat fit him perfectly, the material fine and soft beneath her fingers, but he wore it somehow casually, indifferent to how he was perceived. She liked that, too.

  A sudden glimpse of her cousin Rob striding toward the main entrance made her reach up to make sure her hood covered her hair. It didn’t, so she hastily dragged it back up.

  In truth, it gave her something of an extra thrill to sail past Rob and into the pavilion on the arm of a gentleman who had just admitted, more or less, to being a rake. But mostly, she breathed a sigh of relief that Rob did not notice her, for she could not have borne to be deprived of this dance—wherever it led, and she did not want to think of that.

  Besides, the music and the gaiety inside the pavilion brought their own seductive charm. He led her past two screeching women, a bashful couple, and through a throng of noisy people deciding on partners. The anonymity of masks removed many inhibitions, which was, her uncle always said, why the public masquerades were always so popular. And she had to agree. Only a mask had given her the courage to enter the pavilion before on a ball night, to accept dances with strangers.

  Johnny paused at the edge of the dance floor and turned to face her. Below the mask, his mouth curved sinfully, and she could not breathe. He gave a slight bow and took her in his arms.

  Heat rushed through her, and she forgot to move her feet, stumbling as he swept her into the dance. Dear God, this was not the effect of her other waltz partners, one of whom had held her rather closer than this.

  “Look at me, not your feet,” he advised, and that helped, for she could not look away and her feet, freed from her conscious attention, followed his from instinct. “You don’t dance often enough.”

  “I don’t,” she agreed. And she suspected dancing with him would spoil her for other partners forever more. Despite their disparity in height, they seemed to fit together magically, and, somehow, she felt graceful in his arms. Gladness seeped through her as she relaxed into the music.

  “If you expect me to be good,” he said softly, “you will have to stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “As if dancing with me is your sole happiness.”

  “I like dancing.”

  Laughter sparkled in his eyes. “Another shot through my self-satisfaction. I like dancing with you.”

  “Is that what I should have said?” she asked.

  “Why no. By most customs, the gentleman makes the compliments.”

  “Then it’s a silly custom because no one need mean anything they say.”

  “That is very perceptive and lamentably true in most cases. But since we are masked, I feel we might speak the truth to each other.”

  “You are making fun of me again.”

  He drew her a fraction closer. “Actually, I’m not. And I could happily dance with you all night.”

  “You don’t feel constant waltzing might get dull or sore on the feet?”

  “Not with you,” he said, his eyes gleaming beneath the chandelier. “And besides, there are many dances.”

  Since he drew her almost against his body as he spoke, she wondered wildly if he was making suggestions she didn’t understand.

  “Not at Maida,” she said firmly, and his breath of laughter brushed her cheek, her lips. His thigh almost touched hers as he swept her backward and around in the dance, and nothing in the world had ever been so exciting.

  “No. Not at Maida,” he agreed.

  “And you’re still flirting, aren’t you?”

  “It’s easy to flirt with you.”

  “Why?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  An almost arrested look came into his eyes. For an instant, his expressive mouth was quite still, and then curved into an odd half-smile. “I don’t know.”

  It wasn’t what she had expected, and she had no idea what to make of it. Perhaps fortunately, the music was coming to an end, but the idea filled her with panic. As the other dancers began to mill around, leaving the floor, exchanging partners, he did not release her.

  “Another?” he asked softly.

  Oh God, yes… “One more.”

  There were always spare musicians to spell each other and avoid any need to stop for more than a few seconds, so in no time, the chaos around them resolved into more couples, and another waltz began.

  With a sigh, she glided into the dance once more. Somewhere, she knew it was more intimate than it should have been. His hip should not have brushed hers; her breast should not have been so tantalizingly close to his chest that she ached. Nor should his thumb have been caressing her wrist in sweet, seductive circles.

  But it all blended into the thrill of the waltz, of being held in his arms, pinioned by his intense, smiling eyes which somehow darkened and warmed at the same time. She grew increasingly fascinated by every tiny movement of his lips as they bantered. She exulted when she brought the laughter into his eyes and thrilled to the heated glow that frequently replaced it.

  Everything was so new and wonderful that this time, when the music began to draw to a close, she felt no sense of panic at all. Instead, she let him spin her off the edge of the dance floor and out one of the many doors into the cool night.

  He waltzed her off the path and behind a broad elm tree that more or less hid them from view, both from the pavilion and the various paths. Slowly, his arm fell away from her waist. At the same time, he released her hand and, reaching behind her head, drew deliberately on the ribbon of her mask.

  She grabbed at the falling wisp of muslin, half-stumbling back against the tree. He stepped closer and rested his palms on the bark at either side of her head. Her heart thundered, not in fear but in some desperate anticipation.

  “Are you still flirting?” she asked unsteadily.

  A smile flickered across his lips as he bent his head nearer hers. “Yes. And perhaps… just a little bit more.”

  His breath kissed her lips, and she gasped as though she needed to inhale him to survive. He gazed down at her, predatory and overwhelmingly masculine. There was nothing in her head, in her whole being, but him. And yet he waited, his gaze fixed to her lips.

  “May I kiss you?” he whispered.

  She couldn’t speak, not with words, and so, suddenly terrified that he would take silence as refusal, she stood on tiptoe, all but closing the last of the distance between them. His lips quirked with what might have been relief, and then his mouth took hers.

  Chapter Two

  Kitty was one and twenty years old, sociable, and curious. This was not her first kiss, but it might as well have been, for all she had to compare with it. Toby’s wet, smacking kiss had made her laugh and push him away. Another, more timid friend’s awkward attempt during a Christmas party at Vera’s house.

  There was nothing awkward about this kiss, nothing to make her laugh. Somewhere, she knew that Johnny was both skillful and practiced, but that didn’t stop her from melting at the first touch of his mouth.

  It was a silken caress, a soft sealing kiss as though given as a fitting end to their dance. God knew that was astounding enough, but when he released her lips, and she stared up at him, something changed in his eyes, a glint that was both rueful and voraciously hungry. Again, he gave her a moment to avoid it, and then he slanted his mouth across hers and kissed her with far greater abandon.

  Nothing had prepared for this, for the surge of hot, heavy desire knotting in the pit of her stomach. She clutched his coat with both hands for fear of falling because he did not hold her, merely kissed with slow, invasive sensuality. In wonder, she pushed her hand up over his chest and shoulder to his cheek, and from sheer instinct, kissed him back.

  It was several wild, delicious moments before he slowly broke the kiss and raised his head.

  “Well,” he murmured, one hand caressing the lock of hair that had escaped from its pins. “Would you consider…” He paused as something beyond her caught his eye. “What the devil is that?” he asked in some amusement, dropping his hands at last from the tree and stepping back.

  Quite naturally, he took her hand, drawing her with him as he gazed up at the vehicles lumbering along the top road toward the barn.

  Still stunned by the blinding, astonishing kiss, Kitty blinked at the caravan in the distance, and reality hit her with a thud. Oh, no…

  “Let’s go and see,” Johnny said, tugging her with him.

  She pulled back. “What’s to see in a couple of old carts?”

  “At night?” His gaze came back to her, considering. Then he smiled, swung up her hand, and kissed it. “Then wait here for me if you choose. I’ll only be a few minutes.” He dropped her hand and loped off, his long strides eating up the ground far, far too quickly.

  “Oh, the devil!” she muttered and hared around by the quicker route.

  She did not know for certain what was in the wretched carts, but she had a pretty good idea, and Dan had no business bringing them in before the Gardens were closed. Uncle Bill would be furious when he came home, and rightly so. All she could do now was try to hide the goings-on from Johnny.

  Knowing where the carts would be unloaded gave her some advantage, so she bolted through the trees, along the path to the cottage, through the gate, and across the garden to the back of the house where the barn stood.

  The inside of the barn was lit by several lanterns, though not so many as to draw too much attention from the Gardens. But there was no sign of the carts or Johnny, and just for a moment, she thought she might be in time to prevent disaster.

  Only then, through the sound of her ragged breathing, she heard voices drifting out through the open doors, along with various bumps and dragging sounds. Of course, the carts were farther inside the barn than she could see, ready for unloading. If she simply closed the doors, Johnny would see nothing.

  With this in mind, she hurried forward. The barn was a hive of activity, with crates and barrels being unloaded from the carts and stacked against the walls. The horses were happily munching the hay from the floor. Dan and Cousin Pete were the only men present she recognized. Although she had seen a couple of the others with her uncle from time to time, they had never been introduced to her, which told her a good deal.

  She grasped the edge of the door, but before she could move it, she caught sight of Johnny, standing to one side, masked and elegant, lounging casually against one wall to observe the activity. Her heart plunged.

  Her one hope was to drag him out of there, telling him it was just a delivery and, surely, he would rather dance than watch anything so dull. But she had not taken more than a step before one of the strangers growled, “Who in hell is that?”

  Kitty froze. Everyone in the barn stopped working to turn and stare at the interloper.

  Johnny, finding himself suddenly the center of attention, straightened and casually inclined his head as though he’d just arrived at his club or somewhere equally innocuous.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said amiably, strolling forward—instead of backward and out the door, Kitty thought furiously. “Forgive the intrusion, but what on earth are you doing?”

  What on earth are you doing?

  Loads were abandoned, directions changed. Everyone advanced toward Johnny, who seemed careless of the danger, although he moved no further inside.

  “Whatever it is,” Johnny observed when he received no answer, “I can’t imagine Mr. Renwick would approve.”

  It gave them pause—because, in fact, Johnny was quite right—but only for a moment.

  “Get him,” growled one of the smugglers, and as they swarmed toward him, Kitty, who had been creeping nearer, reached out to seize Johnny by the hand.

  Before she could grab him, someone buffeted against her, shoving her out of the way to get at Johnny from behind. Only someone was before him. Recovering her balance, she saw a different brawny stranger lunge at Johnny, who took everyone by surprise by sidestepping his attacker and bringing him down with one swift kick behind the knees. Almost at the same time, his fist sent the next man flying into his fellows, and he spun just in time to block on his arm the massive blow coming from the man behind. He even managed to get in a punch of his own before his eyes suddenly found Kitty, who was staring at him, both frightened and astonished. Somehow, she had never imagined he could, or would, fight.

  It was the tiniest instant of inattention on his part, and in truth, it could hardly have made any difference to the end result. He was seized by several men at once while the one facing him drew back his fists.

  “No!” Kitty snapped, pushing past to stand with her hands on her hips, glaring at him, her back to Johnny. “What do you think you’re doing, imbecile?”

  The man blinked, scowled in bafflement, and looked wildly around him for support or at least explanation.

  “Kitty?” came Dan’s stunned voice. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  Kitty swung around to face him, carefully avoiding Johnny’s gaze although she knew he still struggled in the grip of several men.

  “What am I doing here?” she raged. “What are you doing? While the Gardens are full of people? You must all be fools! Especially as you seem to be about to add assault—if not murder!—of guests to your idiocy.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Dan said uneasily. “We’re not going to hurt him.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Be reasonable, Kit. We can’t let him go until they’re clear away,” Pete said reasonably, waving one hand to encompass the strangers, horses, and carts.

 

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