"It is as I thought, then," she said. "How old are you, Lord Merton?"

The music began again, a slightly faster tune this time. He looked suddenly amused again.

"I am twenty-five," he told her.

"I am twenty-eight," she said. "And for the first time in my life I am free. There is a marvelous freedom in being a widow, Lord Merton. At last I owe no allegiance to any man, whether father or husband. At last I can do what I want with my life, unrestrained by the rules of the very male-dominated society in which we live."

Perhaps her words would be truer if she were not so utterly destitute.

And if three other persons, through no fault of their own, were not so totally dependent upon her. Her boast sounded good anyway. Freedom and independence always sounded good.

He was smiling again.

"I am no threat to you, you see, Lord Merton," she said. "I would not marry you if you were to approach me on bended knee every day for a year and send me a daily bouquet of two dozen red roses."

"But you /would/ seduce me," he said.

"Only if it were necessary," she said, smiling back at him. "If you were unwilling or hesitant, that is. You are so very beautiful, you see, and if I am to exercise my freedom from all restraints, I would rather share my bed with someone who is perfect than with someone who is not."

"Then you are doomed, ma'am," he said, his eyes dancing with merriment.

"No man is perfect."

"And he would be insufferably dull if he were," she said. "But there /are/ men who are perfectly handsome and perfectly attractive. At least, I suppose their number is plural. I have seen only one such for myself.

And perhaps there really are no more than you. Perhaps you are unique."

He laughed out loud, and for the first time Cassandra was aware that they were the focus of much attention, just as she and the Earl of Sheringford had been during the last set.

She had thought of the Earl of Merton and Mr. Huxtable yesterday as angel and devil. Probably the /ton/ gathered here this evening were seeing him and her in the same way.

"You /are/ outrageous, Lady Paget," he said. "I believe you must be enjoying yourself enormously. I also believe we ought to concentrate upon the steps of the dance for a while now."

"Ah," she said, lowering her voice, "I perceive that you are afraid. You are afraid that I am serious. Or that I am not. Or perhaps you are simply afraid that I will cleave your skull with an axe one night while it rests asleep upon the pillow beside mine."

"None of the three, Lady Paget," he said. "But I /am/ afraid that I will lose my step and crush your toes and utterly disgrace myself if we continue such a conversation. My sister taught me to count my steps as I dance, but I find it impossible to count while at the same time conducting a risquГ© discussion with a beautiful temptress."

"Ah," she said. "Count away, then, Lord Merton."

He really did not know if she was serious or if she joked, she thought as they danced in silence – as she had intended.

But he was attracted – intrigued and attracted. /As she had intended/.

Now all she needed to do was persuade him to reserve the final set of the evening with her, and /then/ he would discover which it was – serious or not.

But good fortune was on her side and offered something even better than having to wait. They danced for a long while without talking to each other. She looked at him as the music drew to a close and drew breath to speak, but he spoke first.

"This was the supper dance, Lady Paget," he said, "which gives me the privilege of taking you into the dining room and seating you beside me – if you will grant it to me, that is. Will you?"

"But of course," she said, looking at him through her eyelashes. "How else am I to complete my plan to seduce you?"

He smiled and then chuckled softly.

STEPHEN was feeling dazzled and uncomfortable, amused and bemused.

What the devil had he run into tonight – quite literally?

Had she really noticed him yesterday from beneath that dark veil of hers while he and Con had been noticing /her/, and then singled him out this evening and quite deliberately collided with him so that he would have little choice but to waltz with her? /I know you are not trying to seduce me. It is the other way around. I am trying to seduce you. And determined to succeed, I may add/. /Because you are beautiful, Lord Merton/. /I would rather share my bed with someone who is perfect than with someone who is not/.

Her words echoed in his mind, though he could hardly believe he had not dreamed them.

He offered his arm when the music ended, and she linked her hand through it rather than setting it along his sleeve in a more formal manner. The ballroom was emptying fast. Everyone was heading toward the dining room and the salons to either side of it. Every one was ready to eat and rest from the exertions of dancing.

And everyone was looking at the two of them. Or at least, since most people were too polite to stare openly, everyone was /aware/ of them, focused upon them. It was not something he was imagining, Stephen knew.

And it was understandable. Lady Paget's arrival at Meg's ball, uninvited, had caused a considerable stir.

He was not embarrassed by the fact that he was with her. Indeed, he was glad of it, since his escort would save her from any open insult or the cut direct, at which so many members of the beau monde excelled. He did not know any of the facts of Lady Paget's case, but Meg and Sherry had not turned her out. Indeed, they had gone out of their way to make her feel welcome. It behooved all their guests, then, to show her courtesy at the very least.

He spotted a small unoccupied table with two chairs squashed into one side of the salon to the left of the dining room and led Lady Paget toward it.

"Shall we sit here?" he suggested.

Perhaps it would be more comfortable for her here than at one of the long tables in the dining room, where she would be very much on public view.

"TГЄte-Г -tГЄte?" she said. "How clever of you, Lord Merton."

He seated her at the table and went into the dining room to fill a plate for each of them.

Had she really been offering herself to him as a /mistress/? Or did her intentions extend only to tonight? Or had he misunderstood altogether?

Had she simply been joking with him? But no, he had not misunderstood.

She had openly talked about seducing him. Lord, she had asked him if he was afraid she would kill him with an axe /while his head was upon the pillow beside hers/.

Someone caught hold of his arm and squeezed it tightly. Meg was beaming up at him.

"Stephen," she said, "I am /so/ proud of you. And of myself for having raised my only brother to be a gentleman. Thank you."

"For…?" He raised his eyebrows.

"For dancing with Lady Paget," she said. "I /know/ what it is like to be a pariah, Stephen, though no one has ever quite ostracized /me/.

We all owe one another good manners, especially when we are making judgments upon one another based solely upon gossip and rumor. Will you sit with us for supper?"

"Lady Paget is in the next room, waiting for me to bring her a plate of food," he said.

"Oh, good," she said. "Nessie and Elliott have gone to look for her.

They intended inviting her to join them. I am proud of /all/ of you.

Though I suppose you are all doing it as much for my sake as for Lady Paget's."

"Where is the Marquess of Claverbrook?" he asked.

"Oh, he has gone to bed," she said. "The foolish man insisted upon being in the receiving line and sitting and watching the first two sets, even though he was desperately tired and hates social occasions even when he is not. And then he started grumbling about the fact that we were going to allow the waltz. No one ever allowed anything so improper in /his/ day. Et cetera, et cetera." Her eyes twinkled. "That was it. I banished him to his bed. Duncan swears that I am the only person who can manage his grandfather, but so could everyone else if they were not so /afraid/ of him. He is a veritable lamb beneath all the ferocity."