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what?" He leaned down from his tremendous height, shading her face from the fading sunlight. "Because, like it or not, Miss Dunaway, I find you quite feminine."
    "Me?"
    "Quite."
    Oh, my!
    "Well ... I, uh ... I can't help that, can I?" Try as she might to remain unaffected by all that overwhelming maleness, she couldn't keep her heart from thrumming madly against her ears, making it difficult to hear him clearly, causing her to tip her head even closer to catch his every word.
    Every single word, because she wanted to feel each of them brushing against her ear.
    "I wouldn't want you to, madam."
    Wouldn't want her to what? To feel his words against her ear? Steamy as they were. Close as they wer e —
    Dear God, had she babbled her fantasies out loud? "You don't want me to what, Blakestone?"
    "To be anything but feminine in everything you do."
    Those words were even steamier, closer. And yet their meaning was just now piercing her fogbound brain. The lout had lured her.
    No, she had allowed herself be lured, seduced by his voice. His exotic scent. His broad, shadow-casting shoulders. Served her right for succumbing to .. . to . . . whatever he'd done to her.
    Said to her.
    "Why feminine, Blakestone? To keep me in my place, I suppose?"
    "To keep us honest, my dear." His eyes darkened to coal as he lowered his voice.
    "To keep who honest?" she asked in a whisper.
    "The male of the species."
    The male. She didn't know what to think beyond that single thought. The male. Except she was quite sure that nothing in the world would keep this particular male honest if he had a mind not to be.
    After all, he'd been playing her like a violin since the moment she'd f i rst set eyes on him.
    Though just now his gaze seemed honest in th e extreme, able to set her cheeks afire, probing deeply enough to steal her breath away.
    Though for all the world, the man had just sounded as though he supported her cause. Not that she could trust anything about him.
    The sly, circling wolf.
    "Though I'm grateful for your patronage, Blake-stone, I was not put on this earth to be the feminine antidote to your manhood."
    His eyebrows shot up, one cocked higher than the other. Then a slanting smile filled his eyes with a devilment that made her cast backward for what she had said that would have made him react t o —
    His manhood! An antidote! Oh, heavens, he couldn't possibly have thought she mean t —
    "Believe me, Miss Dunaway, you are not and never could be the antidote to my manhood."
    Dear Lord! A fiery blush had banked itself just beneath her bodice for the last few minutes and now it roared to life, heating her chest and her neck, rising right up to her cheeks and brows.
    "Yes, well, thank you for delivering me safely, my lord. Good day." Before her blush could unmask her completely, she clamped her hand against her bosom, turned abruptly toward the sanctuary of the Adams and headed for the front door.
    The blackguard had riddled her into a complete dither. Blast it all! She wasn't the dithering type.
    No matter. London was a big town. With any luck she'd never see him again.
    Except that she could hear the blighter following her like a stalking shadow, his stride long and as possessive as his handshake.
    At least she'd had the chance to tame her confusion and regain her tattered dignity as she started up the wide granite steps toward the elegant front door, which, under the keen-edged footman's timing of Mr. Ronald Hawkins, opened wide as she approached.
    "Ah, good evening, Miss Dunawa y ," Hawkins said, with a graceful nod of his blond head. "Welcome back to the Adams."
    The young man was learning well. Though his black coat seemed to have shrunk across his shoulders in the last few months.
    "Thank you, Hawkins." Feeling her old self again, in charge and at ease, Elizabeth took a quick breath, then turned to face the persistent earl, in all his flagrant manhood, full on. "As for you, my lord. Do give my best to your colleagues at the Times.