mission?”
She did not reply at once, and about them music swirled and dancers cavorted. “I prayed that I would stay strong for you. That I would be what you needed.”
Wyn’s heart stumbled, the most disconcerting sensation. But he’d been disconcerted since the moment he encountered Diantha Lucas in a Mail Coach. “I daresay the fruits of your prayer merely gilded the lily.”
Her eyes shone. With the return of that light, she was again the woman he had watched climb a tree, the woman who had finagled her first kiss in a stable, the woman who had changed his life though he’d fought every moment of it.
“You seem well,” she said.
“I am. Now.” Better than he’d ever been.
“I mean, you look well. You look . . .” Her gaze slipped over his shoulders and chest and her cheeks flushed again. “ . . . well.”
“I intend to call on you tomorrow. I have a question to ask you.”
“A question?”
“Yes. But now is not the best moment for it. Your brother is looking daggers at me.” And if he had to endure her eager perusal much longer he would be hard pressed not to take her off to a secluded alcove so that perusal might turn into something much more satisfying.
Her brow dipped. “I don’t know what is wrong with him.”
“Perhaps he does not like it that I have distracted you from his friends. I will retire and leave the field to your eager suitors. For the moment.”
“But—” She laid her hand on his arm, and his body flooded with heat. “What of Lord Eads? Are you telling me the truth?”
Wyn grasped her fingers, blessedly gloved, bowed over them and whispered, “Minx, if you touch me again inappropriately in a crowded ballroom—if you touch me in any manner at all in this ballroom—I will not hold myself accountable for what I do to you before the watching eyes of hundreds of people.”
Her throat jerked delicately. She withdrew her hand. “Please tell me the truth about him. I want to help if I can.”
“I have told you the truth. I don’t believe he poses a threat to me.”
“But you don’t know that for certain.”
“That I am now alive is excellent evidence.”
“Perhaps he has only been waiting for opportunity.”
“He would have had it at countless moments upon the road to and from Yarmouth.” Despite her brother’s glare, Wyn stepped closer to speak quietly below the music and voices. “Diantha, be at ease about this.”
“I’m afraid I cannot be. My nerves are rather high on the matter. When you did not come to London immediately, I imagined all manner of—all manner . . .” She turned her face from him.
Wyn’s chest tightened. He did not want her confusion or distress. He wanted her exuberant smile, her open laughter, and her hot, generous body in his possession at the earliest convenience.
Then her lips opened in a little O and she whispered, “Good heavens!”
He should follow her attention to the source of her surprise, but he could not look away from that perfectly round, soft, berry-pink opening. Her parted lips released a soft breath; he imagined it brushing his skin. He could taste her already, feel her body in his hands, her hands upon him. The memory of those fantastically capable hands blotted out all but the urgent need to have her beneath him.
“The Misses Blevinses!” she uttered.
He wrenched his gaze aside. Two ghostly ladies from a bygone era tottered into the place in draping yellowed lace and dull jewels.
“I never would have thought to see them here.” Diantha laid her palm impetuously upon his chest, and Wyn saw but one solution to both of his pressing needs.
“Mrs. Dyer, would you care to dance?” He grasped her hand, wrapped his other about her waist, and swept her onto the floor. Diantha might have laughed except for the persistent prick of worry inside her. But the thrill of happiness welling up proved stronger. He had come, he was not in danger, and he was dancing with her.
His arms were strong and his direction, she soon realized, purposeful. With effortless grace he maneuvered them around other couples across the floor toward the crowd opposite—away from the Misses Blevinses. This was not really a dance; it was an escape.
“Mr. Dyer, we will draw attention.” She could not resist her joy. “The patronesses of Almack’s have not yet given me permission to waltz.”
“Lady B is a far more liberal hostess.” He guided her off the dance floor and swiftly between clusters of guests, tucking her hand beneath his arm. “Case in point.” A French window was propped open, cool air streaming in. He tugged her through, grasped her hand, and she tripped along behind him into a garden. The half-moon was bright, the night air shedding gooseflesh across her bare arms as they skirted a fountain flanking a row of tall rosebushes. It seemed a remarkably ornate place, crowded with robust statues and high hedges and deep shadows everywhere.
“What are we doing?”
“It’s a dark garden.” He spoke low. “Guess.”
She could not think, only feel his hand surrounding hers. “Tell me.”
“Making a start on those children the Misses Blevinses encouraged us to have.” He pulled her around the corner of a trellis and to an abrupt halt. But he released her.
Diantha swallowed her cry of disappointment. “You are not serious.”
“A stable is one thing. A ball with half of society in attendance is quite another.” But he stood very close and his eyes glimmered in the crisscrossing shadows of twining vines. “We need a plan.”
She gulped. “A plan for finding a stable?”
“A plan to deal with the Misses Blevinses,” he said patiently, but she could barely hear for the raucous pounding of her heart. His gaze slipped over her neck and shoulders, coming to rest upon her mouth quite as though he did in fact intend to kiss her. Her breaths petered. He wanted her. Still, surrounded by all the elegant ladies of London, he truly wanted her.
“I shall plead a megrim and ask Serena to take me home,” she barely managed.
“That will suffice until I devise a more lasting solution.”
“We are not in a ballroom now.” She could not help herself. “If I touch you inappropriately here will you do things to me for which you will not be held accountable?”
“I misspoke.” His voice was rough. “I must remain accountable. Always with you.”
She laid her palm on his chest and the swift, hard beat of his heart shot heat through her. She slid her fingers down fine fabric to his waist and he remained very still. “Always the gentleman,” she murmured.
“Not a gentleman at present.”
Her hand dipped lower. “Because you have dragged me into a dark garden to hide?”
“Because I am not going to stop you from doing what you are about to do.”
She slipped her palm over the fall of his trousers. He was hard already, from only looking at her, dancing with her, and it made her hot inside. Her eyelids fluttered down as she settled her hand around him. He grasped her arms, his cheek bent to hers. She stroked and his body responded, a sound coming from his chest of pure masculine pleasure. She could not contain her own soft moan. It was so good to touch him.
“Oh, Wyn,” she breathed, “do you think we might get to work on those children right now after all?”
His mouth was so close to hers, his body thoroughly rigid. He grasped her hand and trapped it to his erection for a moment that seemed wonderfully to last forever. Then, with a harsh breath, he detached her and took a step back. His eyes were heavy with desire. “I will call on you tomorrow, Miss Lucas.”
“Wyn—”
“Diantha, if you do not return to that ballroom this moment, find your stepsister, and depart—”
“You will ravish me here and leave me to be discovered by half of society, like a proper villain would?” She flashed a hopeful smile.
“Something like that, except for the leaving part. Go. Now.” Tension locked his jaw and shoulders, but his heated gaze was laughing.
Diantha’s heart did a series of delicious little trills. She grabbed the lapels of his coat, pressed herself fully to
