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better."
    "Do you?" He dipped his head and almost, but not quite, brushed her mouth.
    It was a daring, bold act on the dance floor. It was mischievous and certainly begged trouble. Thankfully, no one realized what he had almost done. She pressed her hand into his waist. "Behave, Jorlan Reynard."
    "Is that what you recommend?"
    "If you wish to be safe, yes."
    "Perhaps I don't wish to be entirely safe... Marquelle."
    She sucked in her breath. "You like to play with danger, I see. But be forewarned: Should you play this game with others, they might not be as mindful as I am."
    "Then perhaps I should play this game just with you."
    He knew what she was about! Her initial plan to teach him a small lesson was backfiring on her. The veil was toying with her! She arched her brow. In the arena of games, he was a novice compared to her mastery. If the Duchene's grandson wanted to experiment with his limits, she would be only too happy to oblige him. "Is that what you really desire?"
    "And if I do?"
    "Then I would say, come take a walk with me."
    "A walk? Where?" He asked her cautiously.
    "Just outside to the gardens."
    He hesitated for only an instant. Then his gaze fell on her mouth once more. The heat in his glance told her his response before he answered.
    "Lead the way, Marquelle."
    "Always," she murmured low.
    Turning, Green noticed her archenemy, She-Count Claudine D'anbere across the room.
    She was standing in the corner surrounded by her sycophants, lesser nobles of shady reputation who followed the She-Count about for whatever favors she could dispense.
    She was watching them intently.
    At first, Green assumed that it was her usual fixation on Green that was at the root of it. But the more she observed her, the more Green realized that Claudine was for once not focused on her—but on Jorlan. "Claudine D'anbere seems to have a tendresse for you, Jorlan."
    He glanced the She-Count's way. Unconcerned, he turned back to Green. "Then she wastes her time. I have already rejected her suit."
    "She doesn't seem to realize that."
    "Then that is her misfortune. I have made it quite plain that besides not wanting a name-giver, I do not like her. There is something about her that chills me."
    "I agree, but a word of warning: Be careful of her. She does not take rejection well. In fact, she does not take rejection at all."
    He raised his brow. "What do you mean?"
    "Ask her past three name-bearers. They initially refused her, only later to change their minds." And they all died in rather strange accidents, but Jorlan didn't need to know that. "Just heed my words. Do not toy with her as you have me tonight. You might find yourself in a situation you would not like."
    "I see, although I'm not tempted to do such a thing. None of these newbreeds holds any interest for me. You are the only one I have ever been—" He stopped when he realized what he was saying.
    Green smiled, somewhat stunned. "Thank you, Jorlan, that means a great deal to me."
    He was surprised. "Why should it? I have heard you—"
    She placed her finger over his lips. "It does, Jorlan. Leave it at that."
    He nodded curtly once, his trust warring constantly with his maturity. No longer a youth, not yet a tried man, Jorlan Reynard was an intriguing blend of both. While his demeanor and reactions were that of a seasoned male, on occasion she caught the vestiges of innocent surprise on- his features. She suspected that was part of his nature and would never change, no matter the circumstance of his life.
    What a compelling, mystifying personality! And what a shame it was that she was not interested in procuring a name-bearer or she would surely be tempted to make a bid for him.
    She only hoped that his eventual name-giver would appreciate his rare qualities and allow him the room to develop his potential.
    She sighed morosely. Knowing the Top Slice, the chances of that happening were extremely remote. Most women would see him as a beautiful ornament to dress their table and father