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in the hallways. Even they had taken pains with their appearance, donning their finest uniforms and adding beads and flowers to their hair. However, much to their displeasure, the menservants vowed to banish the maids to the kitchen the moment Kane arrived.
    He was, after all, the boto.
    Upon first learning from Kan of the American's infamous reputation as the mythical lover, Sarah had scoffed. Surely these people, who had lived under Great Britain's influence for a hundred years, had grown beyond such superstition. Yet she'd discovered that customs died hard among the people she had grown to love and respect. They believed in the boto. They revered it in every way imaginable, down to selling its potent powders in the marketplace. For a very high price one could purchase the left eye of the pink dolphin. Dried and grated into a woman's food, it was believed to make her mad with desire. The left eye socket of the boto could be shaped into a ring which, when a man viewed a woman he desired through it, made her immediately attracted to him.
    Only once in a century did the boto actually leave the sanctuary of the Amazon River and take on human form. When he did, no maiden was safe on the streets at night. One look in his eyes and her body and soul were his.
    Frowning and thinking of Morgan Kane, Sarah couldn't imagine him seducing anyone of rational sensibility. Then she recalled her own quickened pulse when she'd watched him make love to the beautiful, exotic woman the night before. Surely her body had responded as it had because of the forbidden thrill of secretly witnessing such a private, passionate act, and not because she found him remotely appealing.
    Not in the least.
    She didn't care for sweat and unshaven faces, or brooding lips and eyes. His body was too hard, his skin too brown, his hair too black. She preferred fair men like her fiance" ... blond hair, blue eyes...
    "Missy Sarah."
    Startled, she spun around. Kan stood at the veranda door, his eyes intense as he watched her.
    "He has come," he said quietly.
    She didn't speak. Her heart was racing too fast.
    "Shall I show him here?" Kan asked.
    She nodded, unable to release her breath until Kan had disappeared. Only then did she notice how quiet her surroundings had become. The maids had stopped their tittering. The night creatures had ceased their whirring. There wasn't a hint of a breeze. Even the air seemed to crackle with anticipation as she awaited the American's arrival.
    Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the low wall surrounding the veranda and steeled herself for their confrontation. The sky had grown dark. She wondered if the light streaming from the house was adequate enough to display her gown. She had prayed for her father's forgiveness when she'd replaced her mourning, garb with a lavish creation she had purchased in London for a dinner honoring her engagement to Norman. In it, her ice-blue satin bodice, tiny waist, and soft, slender, flower-wreathed shoulders rose up out of a crinoline skirt of ivory gros de Naples with an overskirt of gauze trimmed in white and swagged at the back in a bustle adorned with bouquets of pink primroses.
    Her gold curls were adorned with more primroses, and be- hind her right ear she had fixed a miniature orchid. Every- thing had to be perfect if she was to succeed at her plan.
    Briefly she closed her eyes, until she heard a noise. She turned toward the house.
    He moved into the doorway and stopped. The outline of his body was as detailed as a silhouette, the light from behind splashing over his broad shoulders and momentarily blinding her. She threw up her hand and blinked. When she looked again he had not moved, but stood as still as the banyan tree at her back. One knee was bent in an arrogant show of masculinity, throwing his hip slightly off center.
    "Mr. Kane?" For a moment her question hung in the air.
    He did not respond, but stepped onto the porch, disappearing and then materializing from the light as if by