Harry turned and stalked out of the garden and back down the lane. He seethed every step of the way over the fact that he had just bargained like a fishmonger over the length of his own engagement. He wondered if this was how Antony had felt when dealing with Cleopatra.

Harry was inclined to be more sympathetic with Antony tonight than he had been in the past. Previously he had always considered the Roman a victim of his own unbridled lust. But Harry was beginning to understand how a woman could undermine a man's self-control.

It was a disturbing realization and Harry knew he would have to be on his guard. Augusta was displaying a talent for being able to push him to the edge.

Hours later, safe in her bed, Augusta lay wide awake and stared at the ceiling. She could still feel the commanding warmth of Harry's mouth on hers. Her body remembered every place he had touched her. She ached with a strange new longing to which she could not put a name. A heat seemed to be flowing in her veins, pooling in her lower body.

She realized with a shiver of awareness that she wished Harry were here with her now to finish whatever it was he had started there on the floor of his library.

This was what was meant by passion, she thought. This was the stuff of epic poems and romantic novels.

For all her vivid imagination, she had not truly understood how enthralling it would be, nor how dangerous. A woman could lose herself to this kind of glittering, compelling excitement.

And Harry was intent on marriage.

Augusta felt a wave of panic rise up inside her. Marriage? To Harry? It was impossible. It would never work. It would be a terrible mistake. She had to find a way to end this engagement, for both their sakes. Augusta watched the shadows on the ceiling and warned herself that she would have to be very careful and very clever.

Harry propped one shoulder against the ballroom wall and sipped meditatively at a glass of champagne as he watched his fiancée step into the arms of yet another man.

Augusta, glowing in a gossamer silk gown of dark coral, was smiling with pleasure as her tall, handsome, red-haired partner swept her into a dashing waltz. There was no denying the couple made an attractive sight on the crowded dance floor.

"What do you know of Lovejoy?" Harry asked Peter, who was lounging beside him with a bored expression on his handsome face.

"You'd do better to ask that question of one of the ladies." Peter's gaze wandered restlessly across the crowded ballroom. "I understand he's got quite a reputation among the fairer sex."

"Obviously. He's danced with every eligible female in the room tonight. Not one of them has turned him down yet."

Peter's mouth twisted briefly. "I know. Not even the Angel." His eyes lingered briefly on Augusta's demure, golden-haired cousin who was dancing with an elderly baron.

"I don't care if he dances with Claudia Ballinger, but I may have to put a stop to his waltzing with Augusta."

Peter's brow rose mockingly. "You think you can accomplish that feat? Augusta Ballinger has a mind of her own, as you should know by now."

"Be that as it may, she is engaged to me. It's time she learned to behave with a bit more propriety."

Peter grinned. "So now that you've selected your bride you intend to turn her into the sort of wife you think you want, is that it? This should prove interesting. Bear in mind that Miss Augusta Ballinger comes from the wild branch of the Ballinger family. From what I have heard that lot never could do anything with propriety. Augusta's parents scandalized Society by making a runaway marriage, Sally tells me."

"That is an old piece of business and need not concern anyone now."

"Well, then, how about more current news?" Peter said, beginning to show some interest in the conversation. "There's the rather mysterious manner in which Miss Ballinger's brother was killed two years ago."

"He was shot dead by a highwayman on the way home from London."

"That's the official story. Things were hushed up, but according to Sally there was some speculation at the time that the young man was involved in highly questionable activities."

Harry scowled. "Bound to be some speculation and gossip when a young rakehell is cut down by violence. Everyone knows Richard Ballinger was a hotheaded, neck-or-nothing sort, just like his father before him."

"Yes, well, speaking of the father," Peter murmured with relish, "have you pondered the reputation the man had for fighting duels because of his wife's penchant for drawing the wrong sort of attention? Aren't you afraid that sort of problem might continue in the current generation? Some say Augusta is very much like her mother."

Harry set his jaw, aware that Peter was deliberately baiting him. "Ballinger was a reckless idiot. From what Sir Thomas has told me, the man exercised no control over his wife. He allowed her to run wild. I do not intend to permit Augusta to get into the sort of trouble that will oblige me to go about making dawn appointments. Only a fool finds himself fighting a duel over a woman."

"Pity. I think you'd be rather good at them. Duels, I mean. There have been times when I have actually believed you had ice instead of blood in your veins, Harry. And everyone knows cold-blooded men do better than hot-blooded ones on the dueling field."

"That is a theory I do not intend to test personally." Harry frowned as he watched Lovejoy whirl Augusta around in a particularly uninhibited turn on the dance floor. "If you will excuse me, I believe I shall claim a dance with my fiancée."

"Do that. You can entertain her with some elevating lectures on propriety." Peter levered himself away from the wall. "In the meantime, I believe I shall ruin the Angel's evening by requesting a dance. Five to one she turns me down flat."

"Try talking to her about the book she is writing," Harry suggested absently as he set down his glass on a passing tray.

"What book is that?"

"I believe Sir Thomas said the title was A Guide to Useful Knowledge for Young Ladies."

"Good God." Peter looked suitably appalled. "Is every woman in London writing a book?"

"It would appear so. Cheer up," Harry advised. "You might learn something useful."

He moved off into the crowd, forging a path through the colorful throng. His progress was halted on several occasions by acquaintances who insisted on detaining him long enough to offer congratulations on the engagement.

During the past two days, in fact, ever since the notices had appeared in the papers, Harry had become well aware that most of Society was quite intrigued by the announcement of the unexpected alliance.

Lady Willoughby, a stout matron dressed in pink, rapped her fan on the black sleeve of Harry's evening coat as he went past. "So it's Miss Augusta Ballinger who made it to the top of your list, eh, my lord? Never would have guessed the two of you would make a match of it. But then, you've always been a deep one, haven't you, Graystone?"

"I assume you are congratulating me on my engagement," Harry said coolly.

"But of course, sir. All of Society is happy to congratulate you. We are expecting the entire affair to provide us with considerable entertainment this Season, you see."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "No, madam, I do not see."

"Come, now, my lord, you must admit this is all bound to be wonderfully amusing. You and Augusta Ballinger are such an unlikely pair, are you not? It will be vastly interesting to see if you can get her to the altar without being obliged to fight any duels or without requesting her uncle to ship her off to the country. She's a Northumberland Ballinger, you know. Troublesome lot, that branch of the family."

"My fiancée is a lady," Harry said very quietly. He held the woman's gaze for a chilling instant, allowing no emotion to cross his face. "I expect that when people speak of her, they will keep that fact in mind. You will remember that, will you not, madam?"