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or if he had been injured while fighting the French in Portugal. She stepped forward.
    “Do you require any assistance, my lord?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
    Too late she realized her folly and knew that he had realized it as well. By repeating almost word for word the taunt they had exchanged two nights before in the alley, she had revealed herself to him.
    She watched, frozen as his eyes hardened into cold green-gold stones and his face stiffened. His mouth flattened into a hard, grim line and he caught her outstretched hand in a grip that made her flinch.
    “Yes, madam,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “I believe I do.”

Chapter 3
    V arya did the only thing she could in such a situation.
    She feigned a swoon.
    She pitched herself right into the arms of the Marquess of Wynter, who tensed and swore under his breath. Had they not been in company, she had no doubt he would have gladly dropped her.
    Or worse.
    He carried her to the chaise and draped her along its length as though she were the heroine in a tragedy. If she weren’t so aware of what the marquess could do to her, she would have smiled at the irony. She rather felt like an actress in a bad play.
    As with most public swoonings, there was a collective gasp and immediately the crowd closed in. Piotrand the Earl of Carnover ordered them all back while Miles made a great show of chafing her wrists.
    Varya was conscious of the eyes upon her. She was also conscious of the pain in her arm caused by the marquess’s savage rubbing. She winced and slowly opened her eyes, although what she really wanted to do was club him over the head.
    The chafing ceased, but he did not release her. His fingers had a death grip on hers. Avoiding his piercing gaze, she glanced around at the faces of her guests.
    “Did I faint?” she inquired in a small, confused voice. Lord, could anyone else hear the deception in her tone?
    “Yes,” Wynter replied, sending shivers of dread down her spine. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I think it would be best if everyone left now. Obviously, the night has already been too taxing for you.”
    Varya forced herself to meet his cold stare and was surprised to find that it wasn’t cold at all. It was hard, yes, but seemed to radiate the heat of his anger.
    With a slight nod she raised her gaze to the crowd gathered around her. A strange warmth flooded her veins, flushing her chest and neck. Despite the anxious faces, the worried murmurs, she wasn’t aware of any presence in the room other than the man sitting beside her, his hard thigh close enough for her to touch.
    “Please forgive me, everyone.” How firm her voice sounded. The anxiety that bound her insides had yet to reach her tongue. “I fear the night has exhausted meand I must cut our visit short. Please come back after my next performance.”
    A low murmur of disappointment followed the crowd as Piotr began ushering people out. A torrent of farewells and felicitations rushed at Varya in a gentle buzz. She couldn’t distinguish one voice from another. Smiling at her adoring public, she waved and prayed silently for them to be gone. If they knew what she had done to their precious Marquess of Wynter, they would turn on her in a minute.
    Those who still waited outside loudly voiced their discontent when they realized they would not be seeing Varya in person that evening, but left with the satisfaction of at least catching a glimpse of the elusive performer. Some of them called out to her, others tried to fight their way inside. Piotr closed the door in their faces.
    Varya frowned. She found the male attention disarming. She didn’t know what kind of fantasies they had built around her, but she was certain she didn’t want to find out.
    “Are you coming, Miles?” Carny asked on his way out. Varya frowned at the blatant disapproval in the man’s pale eyes. Her life was none of his business.
    “No.” Miles glanced over his shoulder at his friend.