Leo tucked Anne’s hand into the crook of his arm. “We’ll talk with him.” He took a stride forward, then stopped when he noticed Anne staying rooted to the spot.

“We cannot simply walk up to him and start a conversation,” she protested. “Not even to perform some legerdemain.”

“Why the devil not?”

“I only know Lord Toombe by reputation, but I’ve never had a formal introduction. And our hosts tonight have not introduced us yet!”

“Our hosts are busy.” Lord and Lady Overbury were now drinking and flirting, respectively. He tugged on Anne’s hand. “Following ceremonial codes of conduct is idiotic. This is the modern era, not the Age of Chivalry.”

Still, she looked uncertain. He might have simply towed his wife behind him, or gone on without her. But he wanted her to make the choice.

After a moment’s hesitation, she matched her step with his. “It is rather absurd, to pretend someone doesn’t exist unless you adhere to a set of outdated rules.”

As they crossed the chamber together, her step grew more confident, her chin tilted higher. When Leo first saw Anne, months ago, she had been standing at the side of a chamber, much like this one, at an assembly very similar. It had been one of the few times Leo had attended such a gathering and paid any attention. He preferred wilder masquerades and revelries where the company was decidedly less virginal.

Yet something about the shy girl watching the festivities had intrigued him, even as she hung back from the entertainment and spoke only when spoken to. Then, she had been the suggestion of potential. Now, as they walked together toward the phenomenally wealthy earl, throwing off convention like dried carapaces, he could actually see her change, grow bold. She felt the eyes of the guests upon her, and she did not shrink. She soaked in their attention as if it were her due.

That night, he had seen aristocratic breeding in the fine structure of her face. This evening, her bearing came not just from bloodlines, but from action and confidence.

What was that sensation in him? That strange, rising warmth? A new kind of magic? No.

Respect. Not self-admiration, in what he could achieve or earn or buy, but appreciation of her, and that he could help fashion her metamorphosis.

He stopped in front of the earl. The older man stared at him, baffled. Leo stuck out his free hand. “Lord Toombe. Leo Bailey. My wife, Anne.”

The earl, still mystified, shook Leo’s hand, and bowed to Anne. “Do I know you, sir?”

“Your son and I are friends.” Which was not precisely true, but Leo considered netting Berrow a handsome profit a decent foundation for friendship. “A singularly intelligent fellow.”

Everyone is gratified to hear their children praised, and Toombe proved no different. He smiled, self-congratulatory. “He reminds me of my father, with his brains.”

“You are too modest, my lord,” Anne said. “The resemblance between Lord Berrow and yourself is remarkable. Both in appearance and acumen.”

As Toombe blustered his approval, Leo’s admiration of his wife grew to encompass the whole of the chamber. She possessed a natural instinct for finessing a potential target, no prompting required. Catching the approbation in Leo’s gaze, she glowed with pride in herself.

When Leo and Anne strolled away ten minutes later, they had been invited to Toombe’s for dinner the following Sunday. Three other men and their wives would be attending the dinner as well, three men with expansive pockets and an untapped interest in commercial enterprise.

Anne’s eyes gleamed. “That was ... exhilarating.”

“Nothing gets the blood moving like stalking one’s prey.” He felt his own surging, not just from hooking an invitation to a wealthy peer’s home, but because his wife had worked with him in perfect harmony.

Her brows rose. “Prey? Is that how you see these men?”

“Those Suriname jungles follow the same principles. To survive, one must see everything and everyone as either a threat or sustenance.”

“Quite mercenary.”

He slanted her a grin. “Exactly. We see to our own interests. Come,” he cajoled, guiding her to stand by the windows at one end of the chamber. “You knew precisely what our purpose was, and you fought the battle flawlessly.”

“My part was very minor,” she demurred.

“I’ll have no false modesty, not from my wife.” He watched the guests, but was acutely conscious of Anne’s hand on his arm, her slender form beneath silk, panniers, and stays. “Negotiating business deals—that is my expertise. You, however, understand the nuances of polite society. You guided the conversation without appearing to. Toombe honestly thinks that inviting us to dinner had been his idea.”

At first, it seemed as though she would protest again, but then she pursed her lips and allowed herself the faintest trace of conceit. “It was rather well done of me.”

He laughed. God, he found her more and more delightful, as unexpected as a butterfly amongst moths. “If you have given me the ailment of respectability, it’s only fair that I corrupt you.”

They gazed at each other. With her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, she looked like a woman eager for ravishment. He quickly assessed the chamber. There was a folding screen in one corner. He could draw her behind the screen, kiss her again, and see if this morning’s heat was atypical, or something he could coax forth once more.

He liked knowing things. Futures, investments, strategies. But nothing seemed more worth knowing than whether or not he could kiss his wife breathless with desire.

Something in his eyes must have given him away, for her smile faded and a look of anxious expectancy crossed her face.

Yes, he’d lead her away now—

A familiar voice said his name. “Leo, what the devil are you doing here?”

He smothered a curse and turned to find John staring at him in utter astonishment.

“Conducting the world’s most discreet robbery,” Leo answered.

“Mrs. Bailey.” John offered Anne a bow, and she curtsied in return. He glanced at the guests within the chamber. “This circle is a good deal more sober than your normal company.”

“Spoken as a constituent of my normal company.”

“Are you so scandalous, then?” asked Anne.

Before John could answer, Leo said to him, “You never mentioned associating with this crowd.”

John narrowed his eyes. “I have interests beyond your understanding of me. Lord Overbury hosts some of the most influential figures in the government.”

Thus, John’s presence. It made sense, yet Leo knew his friend better from late-night horse races and houses of pleasure than electoral races and Houses of Parliament.

“Please pardon me, gentlemen.” Anne disengaged her hand from his arm, and he felt a strange compulsion to snatch it back again.

“Are you well?” he asked. Though she had insisted that she had recovered from whatever mysterious ailment had troubled her earlier, he didn’t want to risk a relapse.

“Yes, yes certainly. I just need to ...” She glanced toward the corridor, which led to the ladies’ retiring room.

Within the chamber they now stood, servants were removing furniture and rolling up rugs in preparation for dancing. Anne saw this, and said, “Perhaps when I return, we might dance.”

“I don’t know the steps,” Leo said.

“I could teach you.”

“Many things I’m willing to try, but I’d sooner kiss John than learn to dance in public.”

“Flattering,” drawled John.

Yet Anne looked disappointed. Clearly, the girl who had hesitantly danced at their wedding celebration had transformed into a woman more comfortable in herself. Leo felt his own stab of remorse. He wanted to please her.

“John, you had a dancing master.”

Seeing the direction Leo was heading, John spread his hands. “Monsieur Desceliers never had a less apt pupil than I. It is rumored that, in despair, he fled back to the Continent and became a rat catcher. Or a drunkard. Or both.”