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someone we know, and because I haven’t danced in ages. Please, Harry, indulge me.”
    “Amanda, I’m not sure I—”
    “Oh, come now, it’s just a country dance. You do remember the figures, don’t you?” she teased. She took his hand and led him toward the nearest set of couples. Harry was stiff as a wooden plank, but he managed to get through the figures well enough.
    The dance ended far too soon for Amanda—she had enjoyed herself almost to the point of forgetting why she was here in the first place. The opposing lines bowed to each other at the final chord and began to disperse.
    “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Amanda asked with a little laugh.
    Harry didn’t answer; his attention was focused across the room. “Ah … I think I see someone,” he announced. “It’s Captain Bennett. He said he might attend this evening. He would introduce you to Lord Hardwicke. Do you want me to get his attention?”
    The butterflies in Amanda’s stomach redoubled their fluttering. She needed a way to put Harry off the scent, and quickly. “Oh—well, I—oh, botheration!” she exclaimed, staring down at her hem.
    “What is it? Did someone step on your dress?” Harry, bless him, did not disappoint her.
    “I’m afraid so.” She managed to disguise her panic. “I should go down to the cloakroom at once to repair it. If I don’t return this dress in pristine condition, it will mean my head!”
    Exasperation crossed Harry’s face. “Oh, all right. But I should go speak with him. Dashed bad form not to thank him for getting us these invitations. I’ll meet you over there.”
    More rotten luck; Harry was too determined for his own good. “Of—of course,” she stammered. “I shan’t be long.”
    At least this meant that Harry would be occupied for a time. Eager to make her escape, Amanda turned away, but with such haste that she collided with another body. She stared at the broad chest before her. Her gaze rose along the line of waistcoat buttons, up the elegant white waterfall of the cravat, and finally reached the man’s dark, sardonic face. Heavens! Amanda retreated.
    “Oh! I didn’t see you.” She fumbled for the words. “My apologies. Do excuse me.” She started to move around him, but the stranger reached out and snagged her hand.
    “No apologies are necessary,” he said with a smooth smile. “I can only consider it a stroke of luck. You find yourself without a escort, and I find myself without a partner for the next set. Perhaps this is Fate.”
    Amanda recognized the gentleman from the country dance set. With his athletic figure, raven hair, and deep brown eyes, she supposed him very handsome. His predatory gaze, though, disturbed her; he regarded her as if she were a sweetmeat ready to be devoured.
    “I beg your pardon,” she replied with more confidence than she felt, “but we have not been introduced.”
    The man’s expression turned calculating. “A mere formality,easily remedied. I am the Marquess of Bainbridge, at your service.” He raised her fingers to his lips.
    “G—good evening, my lord,” she stammered, nonplused. “I am Mrs. Seagrave. But if you will excuse me, I really must—”
    “How unchivalrous of your husband, ma’am, to leave you alone in the middle of this crush.” Lord Brainbridge kept hold of her hand, ignoring her protests. His gaze caressed her body with almost physical force.
    Amanda wished that Harry hadn’t left her alone, after all. A warning, a sense of imminent danger, raised the small hairs on the back of her neck. “That was not my husband, my lord, merely a friend. I—I am a widow.” Again she tried to pull her hand away.
    Lord Bainbridge did not release her. He arched a dark eyebrow. “Indeed,” he murmured. A devilish smile lit his handsome features. He turned her hand over and drew his thumb across the palm. “Do you miss your husband very much?”
    “Miss him?” Amanda blinked. Really, he was standing far too near for comfort;