“I do not want to cause mass drunkenness,” said Anne. “Nor would I appreciate the spectacle of my husband kissing anyone but me.” She blushed, but did not lower her gaze. “We shall save the dancing for another occasion. Pardon me, gentlemen.”

Both Leo and John bowed as she took her leave. Leo watched her as she circled the room, noticing how she kept her chin tilted up, her tread confident. When they had come in, less than an hour earlier, she had kept her chin tucked low, and her step had hesitated. She grew before his very eyes, as if he could somehow watch a rose unfurl its petals within the span of a moment.

“Oh, for the love of sin,” muttered John.

Leo tore his gaze away as Anne left the chamber. “The hell are you going on about?”

“You’ll be as bad as Edmund soon.” John batted his eyes.

Leo scowled. “Edmund is besotted.”

To which John only gave him a very droll look.

To which Leo gave John a very rude hand gesture.

John smirked, but his humor did not last. In the glare of candlelight, his long, thin face and deeply set eyes looked almost macabre. “How fared you the rest of the day? Did you accomplish what you needed to do?”

Sobering, Leo answered, “Whit won’t be received at any of the gaming clubs. Not White’s, nor Boodle’s, nor the others. It took just a handful of suggestions that he played dishonestly, a few fraudulent written testimonials, and a promise to make several valuable investments on behalf of the club managers.”

John nodded, pleased. “I went to several of the taverns and coffee houses he frequented. Did much the same.” His smile widened. “Reading minds gives one tremendous insight. It makes it so much easier to say to exactly what one needs in order to render a particular result.”

“What am I thinking now?” John’s a scary bastard.

His friend glowered. “You know I cannot read the thoughts of the Hellraisers. One of my gift’s limitations. Further,” he added, “you were probably thinking something boorish about me. The gift’s other limitation is that I cannot read thoughts if they are about me.”

“Seems our mutual friend Mr. Holliday gave us all slightly flawed gifts,” Leo murmured.

“Of course he did. Only an idiot would bestow unlimited power on someone.”

“And Mr. Holliday is certainly not an idiot.”

“He chose us as the recipients of his gifts, did he not?” John grinned. “Clearly, he possesses superior intelligence.”

The dancers gathered in the middle of the chamber, forming rows for a set. They looked like troops assembling for war, troops clad in silk, armed with cutting glances instead of sabers.

Leo’s attention wavered as he saw Anne reenter the chamber. Her gown was not the brightest in the room, nor did she wear the most jewels, and there were other women who might be called more beautiful, but when she paused at the entrance of the room, he could not look anywhere but at her. Just as her gaze automatically found him. Warmth spread through him when she smiled in response.

And he was not alone in his attention. She drew the gazes of many at the assembly, especially the younger men. One of the bucks approached her, hand out. Asking for a dance. Anne immediately looked to Leo—seeking permission.

Leo’s first instinct was to cross the room and plant his fist in the bloke’s face. He already felt his hand curl in preparation.

But this was not the street. Nor even the pugilism academy. A punch laying the gent out might satisfy Leo, but damn it, he had to at least pretend to be civilized.

More to the point, Anne wanted to dance. The buck with the padded calves offered to dance with her, when Leo could not.

His neck felt stiff as whalebone as he nodded, the barest inclination of his head, granting her leave to accept the offer.

She looked momentarily surprised, then took the gent’s hand. Leo ground his teeth together as she and her partner took the floor. They faced each other. The air began, and Anne curtsied as her partner bowed. Leo did not miss the way the gent’s eyes strayed to the soft shapes of Anne’s silken breasts above the neckline of her gown. He calculated interest rates to keep himself from tackling the bloke.

“Christ,” muttered John. “You haven’t heard a sodding word I’ve spoken.”

“Something about Whitehall, something concerning Bram and Edmund.” Yet Leo continued to watch Anne as the dance began, and the dancers moved in their intricate patterns.

John exhaled in annoyance. “Only a few days ago, you talked of her like a promising piece of land, and now you stare at her as if she were the North Star.”

“I don’t need her to find my direction.” In truth, he saw that his sense of direction had already begun to alter since their wedding night. He felt himself gently veering off course.

“She’s only a woman.”

“She’s also my wife—and far more complex than I had thought.”

John snorted. “I’ve yet to meet any women of complexity.”

A corner of Leo’s mouth turned up. “Perhaps you need to reconsider the female company you keep.”

“Hell, the very last thing I crave is an added complication. I have my work in Whitehall, and if I want for female company, ’tis an easy matter to purchase precisely the kind I desire.”

Not so long ago, Leo held the same outlook. The edges were beginning to fray. He wondered—should he rush to stop the tear, or allow the fabric of his existence to be rent apart?

He knew two things: Whit would not be allowed to take his magical gift from him. For it brought Leo far more power than he had ever anticipated, and with that power, he could give Anne more and more. He found he wanted as much as he could grab, not for himself alone, but for her. A new development.

The other thing Leo knew: he couldn’t watch his wife dance with another man any longer.

Without saying another word to John, he strode away, directly into the movement of the dance. The dancers stared at him, their patterns stuttering to a stop in half-finished arcs and turns. He shouldered past Anne’s partner. A vicious satisfaction in seeing the nob stagger. Then Leo stood before Anne.

She, too, stared at him, her eyes wide, her hand suspended as she waited for the next form in the dance.

Leo took her hand in his, and stalked from the dance floor, towing her behind him. Like roaches, guests skittered out of his path. He moved on, out of the chamber, into the hallway.

“Get Mrs. Bailey’s cloak,” he snapped to a waiting footman. “And summon my carriage.”

As the servant darted off, Anne said, “That was rude.”

“I’ll give him a generous vail.” One always tipped servants when visiting another’s house, and Leo tipped liberally.

“Not the footman.”

He turned to face Anne as they stood in the entryway of Lord Overbury’s home. Leo searched her face for anger, even as he knew he didn’t care whether or not she was angry. He had acted, primal instinct pushing his body into motion, heedless of consequence.

Her eyes were bright. But not with anger. Something far more visceral. Excitement.

“Tomorrow.” He advanced on her, stalking her, yet she did not back up in fear. She met him straight on, until their bodies were less than an inch apart. “You teach me how to dance.”

“You have taken a sudden interest in it.”

He shook his head. “If anyone partners my wife, it will be me, and no other.”

Color stained her cheeks. “Dancing exclusively with one’s spouse is considered unfashionable at best. Gauche at worst.”

“Don’t. Bloody. Care.” He brought his mouth down on hers. Her lips were soft, silky. And eager.

Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him close, as she met his kiss. In the span of a day, already transformation had begun. For she knew him now—not perfectly, not entirely, just as he still did not fully know her—but this, the touch of lips to lips and the consuming of each other, this was known and explored further.