"Very well." She sensed his shrug. "But if you change your mind, don't hesitate to tell me."

Did he have to be so bloody reasonable and accommodating? "Aren't you finished yet?"

"As a matter of fact—"

"Malory!" The shout was muffled on the other side of the door, but then George Amherst burst into the room. "Tony! You'll—"

Roslynn shot out of the chair, Amherst's presence canceling Anthony's threat in her mind. She didn't wait to hear what he was so eager to impart to her husband, but rushed past him and out the door, offering up a little prayer that Anthony wouldn't make another scene by trying to stop her.

She didn't look back, either, as she ran down the stairs and straight into the parlor. She came to an abrupt halt on finding Frances still there, standing in front of the white marble fireplace with her back to the room. She turned, and Roslynn felt a lump of misery rise in her throat, seeing the great tears swimming in her friend's eyes.

"Och, Frances, I'm so sorry," Roslynn lamented as she swiftly closed the space between them, catching up Frances in her arms. "I'll never forgive Anthony for interfering. He had no right—"

Frances stepped back to interrupt. "I'm getting married, Ros."

Roslynn just stood there, rendered speechless. Not even the brilliant smile Frances gave her, a smile like one she hadn't seen for years, could make her believe what she had just heard. The tears denied it. The tears…

"Then why are you crying?"

Frances laughed shakily. "I can't seem to help it. I've been such a fool, Ros. George says he loves me, that he always has."

"You—you believe him?"

"Yes." And then with more force, "Yes!"

"But, Fran—"

"You're not trying to change her mind, are you, Lady Malory?"

Roslynn started and turned to see the most unfriendly look she had ever received from a man on George Amherst's handsome face as he sauntered forward. And his tone had been rife with menace too, the gray eyes positively frigid.

"No," she said uneasily. "I wouldn't dream—"

"Good!" The transformation was immediate, the smile blinding. "Because now that I know she still loves me, there isn"t anyone I would let come between us."

The implication was there, as plain as the warmth now generating from his eyes, that "anyone" also included Frances. And it was also plain to see that Frances was thrilled by the subtle warning.

She hugged a bemused Roslynn, whispering happily in her ear, "You see now why I don't doubt his sincerity? Isn't he wonderful?"

Wonderful? Roslynn wanted to choke. The man was a rake, a libertine. It was Frances herself who had warned her about trusting such men, and here was her friend, willing to marry the very one who had broken her heart.

"I hope you'll forgive us for running off, m'dear," Frances was saying as she stepped back, a becoming blush staining her cheeks as she finished. "But George and I have so much to talk about."

"I'm sure she understands how we'd like to be alone just now, Franny," George added as he put an arm about Frances' waist, drawing her indecently close. "After all, she's newly married herself."

Roslynn did choke this time, but fortunately, neither of them heard, too involved with gazing into each other's adoring eyes to pay attention to much else. And somehow she must have said the appropriate thing in reply, for less than a minute later she found herself alone in the parlor, staring dazedly at the floor, bombarded with so many conflicting emotions that not one of them could dominate to eliminate her bewilderment.

"I see you've received the good news."

Roslynn turned slowly toward the door, and for a moment every single thought in her head deserted her at the sight of her husband. He had done himself up fancy in a dark emerald coat of satin, with an abundance of snowy lace spilling from his throat. And he had combed his hair back in defiance of the current favored style, but it was so soft it refused discipline, already falling forward over each temple in thick ebony waves. He was stunning, there was no other word for it, so handsome she felt her heart trip over.

But then she noticed the stance, one very familiar to her now, the shoulder braced against the doorjamb, the arms crossed over his chest—and the smugness. Hell's teeth, it fairly dripped from him, the self-satisfied smirk, the laughter in his cobalt eyes, made so much bluer in contrast to the dark green of his coat. He was peacock-proud of himself, the scoundrel and flaunting it with his usual male arrogance.

"Nothing to say, sweetheart, after you made so much fuss over nothing?"

Now he was taunting her, rubbing it in. Her teeth slammed together, her fingers curling into fists on her hips. Her emotions had found their channel. Fury. But he wasn't finished. He had to go for blood.

"It must be disconcerting to have the very woman who fostered your distrust of men turn traitor and trust one. Rather puts a new light on things, doesn't it?"

"You—" No, she wouldn't do it. She refused to yell like a fishwife again for the servants' amusement.

"Actually," she gritted out between clenched teeth, "there's no comparison between my case and hers."

And then she hissed, "She'll come to her senses in the morning."

"Knowing old George, I doubt it. The only thing your friend will have on her mind in the morning is how she spent the night. Sound familiar?"

She tried to fight it, to hold it back, but her cheeks bloomed with color despite her effort. "You're disgusting, Anthony. They left here to talk."

"If you say so, sweetheart."

The condescending tone infuriated her. He was right, of course. She knew it. He knew it. It had been so embarrassingly obvious why George and Frances were in such a hurry to leave. But damned if she'd acknowledge it to him!

Tightly, she said, "I believe I've developed a headache. If you'll excuse me…" But she had to stop when she reached the door, the space still blocked by his casual pose. "Do you mind?" she asked scathingly.

Anthony straightened up slowly, amused when she gave him her back by twisting to squeeze past him without touching. "Coward," he said softly and grinned when she stopped halfway across the hall, shoulders stiffening. "And I believe I owe you a lesson in a chair, don't I?" He heard her gasp just before she broke into a run for the stairs. His laughter followed her. "Another time, sweetheart."

Chapter Thirty-three

Approaching the wide double-door entrance of Edward Malory's grand ballroom two nights after Frances' defection to the enemy camp, as Roslynn had come to think of her reunion with Amherst, Roslynn was brought up short, dragging her two escorts to a halt as well. The many carriages in front of the Malory mansion should have given some indication, but even so, they wouldn't have accounted for the nearly two hundred people gathered in the large room before her.

"I thought this was only to be a quiet affair of friends and family," Roslynn remarked to Anthony, unable to keep the stiffness from her tone. After all, this party was for them. She should have been given some kind of warning. " 'Nothing too big,' I recall were your brother's very words."

"Actually, this is small for one of Charlotte's entertainments."

"And I suppose these are allyourfriends?"

"I hate to disillusion you, sweetheart, but I'm not that popular." Anthony grinned. "When Eddie boy said friends of the family, I believe he meant friends of each individual member of the family, or so it appears.

You're dressed accordingly, my dear."

She wasn't worried about how she was dressed. The moss-green gown of silk crepe, with black lace over satin bandings around the cap sleeves, the deep-scooped neckline, and the high waist and hem, was suitable for any ball, and that was certainly what this had turned out to be. Black evening gloves and satin slippers completed the outfit, but it was the diamonds, dripping from ears, neck, wrists, and several fingers, that made her presentable in her mind, even for a presentation to the Prince Regent.

She said no more. Anthony wasn't exactly paying attention anyway, leisurely scanning the room, which gave her a moment to gaze at him, but only a moment. She forced her eyes away, gritting her teeth.

Arriving with Anthony and James, two of the most handsome men in London, she should have been immeasurably proud, and would have been if she had considered it. But the only thing on Roslynn's mind was how soon she could escape her husband's presence. After the intolerable ride over here, during which she had been forced to sit next to him in the carriage, she was now a mass of screaming nerves.

The ride wouldn't have been so bad, the seats were certainly wide enough, but Anthony had deliberately pulled her close, draping an arm firmly about her shoulders, and she couldn't do anything about that with James sitting across from them, quietly observing them with his misplaced humor. But then that was why Anthony had done it. Because he knew very well she wouldn't make a scene in front of his brother.

But it had been hell, tortured bliss, feeling his thigh burning against hers, his hips, his side pressed so close. And his cursed hand wouldn't be still for a minute, the fingers constantly caressing her bare arm between the short sleeve of her gown and her elbow-length glove. And he knew exactly what it did to her. Even though she was as stiff as a board, she couldn't stop the quickened breath, the hammering of her heart, or the telltale gooseflesh that appeared again and again under his fingers, bringing one shiver after another to tell him how effective was hisinnocenttouch.

The ride had seemed to take forever, when it was no more than a few blocks around the corner from Piccadilly to Grosvenor Square, where Edward Malory lived with his wife and five children. And even though they had arrived and Roslynn could breathe normally again by putting a distance between herself and Anthony, she still knew it would be a while yet before she could escape him entirely. With the party in their honor, they would be forced by etiquette to remain together for introductions, and now she saw how long that was going to take, with so many guests to meet. But the very moment she had met the last one…

All the Malorys were present. She saw Regina and Nicholas standing with several of Edward's offspring; Jason and his son Derek by the refreshment table, along with Jeremy, who had come over earlier to help his aunt Charlotte with the last-minute decorations, which by the looks of them had entailed raiding Charlotte's garden of every single flower in bloom. She noticed Frances and George, and several other people she had met since arriving in London.

And then she realized the hush falling over the room. They had themselves been noticed, and she groaned inwardly, feeling Anthony's arm slip around her waist to present a very loving picture. Was there to be no end to the liberties he was going to take tonight? It seemed not, for he didn't release her when Edward and Charlotte appeared at their side with a small group of people in tow, and the introductions began. The only interruption was when they had to start off the dancing together as the guests of honor, and that was another excuse for Anthony to torment her with his closeness.

She soon methisfriends, the sorriest bunch of lecherous rakes imaginable. There wasn't one who didn't ogle her shamelessly, flirt with her, or banter with wicked insinuations. They were amusing. They were outrageous. And they managed to get her away from Anthony's side with one dance after another, until when she finally begged for a moment's respite, Anthony was no longer in sight. At last, Roslynn felt she could relax and enjoy herself.

"See here, Malory, either you're going to play cards or you're not," the Honorable John Willhurst said in

exasperation as Anthony rose from the table for the third time in less than an hour.

The two other players tensed as Anthony placed both hands on the table and leaned toward Willhurst.

"I'm going to stretch my legs, John. But if you've a problem with that, you know what you can do."

"No—not at all," John Willhurst got out. He was a neighbor of Jason's and so knew from past experience the explosive tempers of the Malory brothers, having grown up with them. Whathadhe been thinking of? "Could use a new drink myself."

Willhurst hurried away from the table himself while Anthony shot the other players a look to see if there would be any more objections. There weren't.

Calmly, as if he hadn't just been on the brink of challenging an old family friend, Anthony picked up his drink and left the card room. He stopped at the place he had stopped at previously, the entrance to the ballroom, his eyes scanning the crowd until he found what was repeatedly drawing him back here.

Damnation take her, he couldn't even play a simple game of cards with Roslynn in the same vicinity. Just knowing she was near, but where he couldn't keep his eye on her, destroyed his concentration, so much so that he had already lost nearly a thousand pounds. It was no good. He couldn't stay near her without touching her, but he couldn't stay away from her either.

Across the room, Conrad Sharp nudged James in the ribs. "He's back again."

James glanced in the direction Connie had indicated and chuckled to see Anthony scowling at his wife as she whirled by on the dance floor. "A face worth a thousand words, that. I would say my dear brother is not at all happy."

"You could remedy that by having a little talk with the lady and enlightening her to the truth."

"I suppose I could."

"But you're not going to?"

"And make it easy for Tony? Come now, Connie. It's so much more fun watching him muddle through this on his own. He hasn't the temperament for rejection. He's bound to dig the hole deeper before he finally crawls out."