FIVE.

D uncan strode through the entrance to New Spring Gardens, then paused, disoriented. Years had pa.s.sed since his last visit, and he had forgotten how busy it was on a fair summer night. The masquerade had drawn crowds of disguised revelers, and the grounds covered sixteen acres of woods and walks. Where the devil should he start?

If you can't discover her, you're a failure as both lover and Guardian. Smiling wryly, he stepped into a niche that held a large wooden lion and closed his eyes. Was Gwynne near? Yes.

How near? He visualized the layout of the gardens, with its groves and crisscrossing walkways. When his mind was calmed, he felt her as a moving pulse of light toward the far end of the gardens.

Hoping he would have need of it later, he reserved a supper box, then headed to the far end of the gardens, all his senses extended. Convenient that the domino and mask he'd borrowed from Simon were black. In this colorful crowd, he drew no attention.

He used both eyes and intuition to scrutinize the merrymakers he pa.s.sed. Since Gwynne had come with friends, she would probably be in a group. Was she wearing a costume? Consulting his inner senses again, he decided not. But she was at least masked, and probably wearing a domino as well.

As he neared the end of the gardens, he found a dance area beside the intersection of the Grand Walk and one of the smaller crosswalks. She was very near, he was sure of it. Eyes narrowed, he studied the dancers and onlookers. Could she be the graceful woman in a blue domino who danced with a short, broad satyr? No. Or perhaps the masked woman sitting on a bench with a group of friends? She looked to be about the right height and build. He was ready to walk toward her when she made a gesture that immediately proved her a stranger.

He searched for Gwynne again, but she was too close, he couldn't get any clearer sense than the powerful knowledge that she was near. But where?

Frustrated, he stalked across the open area toward the crosswalk-and suddenly there she was. Even though the woman was masked and cloaked in scarlet silk, he knew instantly it was Gwynne. And she stood alone, her tall figure outlined by lantern light.

Now that he had found her, he mustn't drive her away again. He forcibly masked the power and pa.s.sion she aroused until it was an ember instead of a bonfire.

Then he created a light spell of attraction-not strong enough to affect Gwynne's will, just enough that she would find him intriguing. With luck it would allow him enough time to capture her interest. Then he might attain his true goal-rousing her deeply hidden pa.s.sions toward romance, not the anger that he had sparked in her before.

He must disguise his physical characteristics since Gwynne had seen him twice in the last two days. A French accent would conceal his faint Scottish inflections. He would also walk with his weight shifted forward to the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, just enough to make his movements subtly different.

Hoping that her power wasn't strong enough to recognize him despite his precautions, he went in pursuit of his lady.

Gwynne gasped as the dark man turned toward her. Even though he was masked, she had the sense that his gaze had struck to her soul. She'd had a similar experience when she met Ballister. Was it possible . . . ?

Even before the thought had formed, she rejected it. As the man walked toward her with a warrior's balanced tread, she decided that he was even taller and broader than Ballister. Her judgment was confirmed when he extended one hand and spoke in a deep voice enriched by a husky, sensual French accent. "Will you dance, milady?"

"Oui, milord." She couldn't have refused if she tried.

He bowed with a courtier's grace, then clasped her hand and led her to a dance set. Heat burned through her kidskin glove under the pressure of his fingers.

Most dancers laughed and chatted with their partners. The dark man said nothing, but his gaze never wavered from hers as they performed the simple figures of the country dance. Perhaps that silence was why she was so intensely aware of him. She sensed the shape of his limbs under the domino, the controlled movements of long, honed muscles. And though she could not see his eyes, his gaze burned wherever it touched her body.

As they moved together and apart, turning and double-stepping through the dance, she felt almost painfully alive, like a tender bud threatened by a late frost. She tried to convince herself that she was only excited by the naughtiness of dancing with a stranger, but without success. There was some force in this man that compelled all her attention.

As she circled her partner, she caught a glimpse of Norcott. The footman had seen her accept the dark man willingly, for he sat on a bench with his casual gaze following her. It was good to know she was protected, though she felt no threat from the dark man. At least, no threat that she didn't welcome.

The music ended and the group leader announced that the musicians were taking a short break. Mutely the dark man crooked his arm toward Gwynne. She slipped her hand into his elbow, wondering where he would lead her. Charmed she might be, but she was not ready to head into the shrubbery with a stranger.

His hand rested over hers, warm in the cooling air. "Will you join me for refreshments, my fair lady?"

"It will be my pleasure." She studied his lips and chin, the only area of his face visible below the mask. It was a strong jaw. Familiar? She couldn't decide. She thought again of Ballister. But being with him made her wary, while this stranger attracted her like a needle to a lodestone.

"Are you here alone, milady?" he asked as they began walking back toward the central area of the gardens. Despite the crowds, she felt as if they moved in their own private bubble of mutual awareness.

Even if she were alone, she wouldn't be so besotted as to admit that. "I'm with a party of friends, and even now a guardian watches over me."

A smile sounded in his dark velvet voice. "Milady, angels will always protect you wherever you may go."

Why was a French accent so utterly erotic? She felt almost dizzy with attraction. She wanted to run her hands over him, feel the muscles and sinew that lay beneath his domino. Touch those lips, which held such promise. She drew a slow breath to steady her unruly mind. "Are you an angel or a devil, milord?"

"I am but a man. One who is entranced by beauty."

She had to laugh. "You go too far, flatterer. I could be the ugliest woman in Christendom and you wouldn't be able to tell, the way I'm disguised."

"One can sense beauty even when it is disguised. There was beauty in your standing proud and alone in the night." His fingertips skimmed lightly along the inside of her gloved wrist. "There is beauty in your posture and the free way that you walk and in the curve of your arm. Beauty in your soft voice, which soothes as it excites." He touched her throat delicately with his knuckles, and shivers ran through her. " You are a symphony of grace. Seeing your face and form could only enhance that by revealing the countenance created by life and laughter."

His compliments left her breathless. She had wanted to learn to flirt, but she was out of her cla.s.s. The dark man was the world champion of flirtation. "You could lure an angel down from heaven to listen to your sugared words, milord. I do not know how to reply. I don't even have a fan to rap your knuckles for being outrageous."

His laugh was soft and rich. "I am grateful you lack such a formidable weapon. Better that we simply enjoy each other's company, and the magic of the night."

She wondered if he hoped to seduce her. The bushes were alive with misbehaving couples, but it was presumptuous even for a silver-tongued Frenchman to think he might be able to coax a woman he'd just met into the shrubbery. Unless her scarlet domino had misled him? But he was making no improper overtures. His behavior was tenderly solicitous, as a true gentleman should be.

He guided her from the main walk into a grotto that contained a fountain. Colored lamps illuminated a naked female with a writhing serpent strategically draped over her and water spurting from the serpent's mouth. "The decorations can be considered tawdry by the jaded, or delightful by the enthusiastic." He scooped a handful of water from the basin and let it trickle away between his fingers, the droplets sparkling with light. "Which are you, milady?"

"I've never been to New Spring Gardens before, so I choose to find everything delightful. How can so many people enjoying themselves fail to be charming? This statue might be vulgar by daylight, but by night it invites the imagination to soar."

"I have just discovered new beauties in you," he said softly. "Those of the mind and the spirit."

"It is fortunate that we are masked, milord, or you would know that I am quite ordinary. Reality can never match illusions."

"There I must disagree, my scarlet lady." He took her arm and guided her back to the Grand Walk. "Illusions are as gossamer as clouds and hold no more satisfaction. Reality can be a flame that consumes. " Wry amus.e.m.e.nt crept into his voice. "Though I must be grateful that you hold illusions about me. I do not pretend to be ordinary. Perhaps it would be better if I were."

"No," she said positively. "Do not wish yourself less than you are. Even masked, you are extraordinary. Compelling. Enigmatic. A master spinner of words. A conjuror of dreams."

"Then it is best we never unmask, milady, for I shall never be able to maintain such high regard from you."

His words reminded her how artificial this interlude was. She was entranced by a man who was more a creation of her imagination than real.

A group of drunken young bucks stumbled past, taking more than their share of s.p.a.ce. Smoothly the dark man changed positions so that he was between her and the rowdies, and she could see how narrowly he watched until they were safely beyond. He might be a stranger but he was real enough in his strength and courtliness.

They reached the colonnade of supper booths. The Tuckwell booth was still empty. She was about to suggest that they could use it when the dark man led her to a different booth that he must have already reserved. Had he come to the gardens tonight with the plan of picking up whatever lone female was willing? Wryly she acknowledged that he had reason to be confident. "Your voice is French. Do you live in London now?"

"No, milady." He sat beside her, close enough to touch, but not touching. "I am merely visiting your great city."

She scolded herself for feeling instant regret. Womanlike, she had met an attractive man-one whose name and face she didn't even know!-and wanted to think about a future. The only reality between them was this swift, ephemeral flirtation. She must accept that limitation and enjoy a situation too exciting to be real. If they did really know each other, the excitement would be less.

The dark man murmured an order to the serving man, and a selection of refreshments were delivered almost immediately. Gwynne examined the platter of shaved ham with interest. "These slices of ham are so thin they're almost transparent. What skill the carver must have!"

"They say that one ham can be cut so thinly that the slices will cover the whole of New Spring Gardens." The dark man lifted a fragile curl of ham and rolled it into a cylinder. "It's a marvel, but the portions are designed to tease rather than satisfy."

He touched the rolled ham to her lips. She opened her mouth and took in the tidbit, the delicate salty slice as sensual on her tongue as a kiss. She felt delightfully wicked, though she was safe enough since the booth was open to anyone who cared to look in this direction. After swallowing, she said, "Surely teasing and antic.i.p.ation are the best parts of eating, and of flirtation."

She was reaching for the ham so she could offer him a slice when he caught her hand. His gaze holding hers, he very slowly peeled off the glove. His warm fingers sent more shivers through her. When her wrist was exposed, he bent forward to press a kiss on the pulse point. "Desire can be both tease and fulfillment, milady," he whispered.

She gasped and pulled back, her heart pounding. She had not known that such arousal was possible. "You must content yourself with the former."

He smiled down at her. "For me, your company is a deep satisfaction. I need no more for this night."

"And there will be no tomorrow." She tried to sound matter-of-fact. Already she was missing him and he wasn't even gone.

Gently he tugged the glove from her hand, finger by finger. "There is always a tomorrow, even if we do not know the shape of it." The glove slipped away and he breathed a kiss into the sensitive center of her palm.

She felt an intoxicating blend of fierce desire and pliant yearning. Instinctively she cupped her hand around his chin, feeling warm, firm flesh spiced with the provocative p.r.i.c.kle of hidden whiskers. He inhaled sharply at her touch. She let her palm trail down his bare throat, absurdly pleased that she could affect him as powerfully as he affected her.

To maintain her advantage, she peeled off her other glove and rolled a sliver of ham for her companion. He took it neatly, his teeth just grazing her fingertips. She gasped, realizing that she should have known she could never best him at erotic games. Though in this game, there were no losers.

He offered her a sip of wine, then turned the goblet and deliberately drank from the place her lips had touched, while his gaze held hers. His eyes behind the mask seemed light-colored, though the strands of hair dancing beside his face were dark.

She licked his fingertips when he gave her the next slice of ham. He laughed softly and stroked the inside of her wrist where her pulse beat swift with excitement. Then he skimmed his hand up inside the loose domino until he reached the edge of her sleeve. He caressed her bare skin, his fingers warm, knowing, indecently provocative. "Ah, milady, how can you imagine that you are ordinary?"

She laughed softly, drunk with sensuality and the power of his presence. He offered her a marzipan disk imprinted with the image of a ship. She took the sweet with her teeth, and the taste of almonds and sugar melted across her tongue. Feeling wanton, she nipped at his fingers. "I am ordinary, but the night is not."

He placed another marzipan in his mouth and leaned forward in silent offering. Giddily she lifted her face and took the sweet. His lips were rich with the taste of wine and spice. She swallowed the dissolving marzipan, then nibbled delicately at his lips.

He made a rough sound in his throat and put his arms around her, his mouth opening on hers demandingly. Heart pounding, she closed her eyes, wholly in the pleasure of the moment. For an instant she felt rapture.

The moment shattered in a kaleidoscope of images. Fire, blood, death! Homes consumed by flames, screaming children stumbling over the bodies of the dead. Horror beyond imagining . . .

She gasped and shoved him away as devastation seared her mind. Pa.s.sion and danger were inextricably interwoven with this man.

And she knew who he was. She ripped off his mask and stared at the familiar craggy face, wondering how she could have been fool enough to be deceived. "d.a.m.n you, Ballister! How dare you!"

After an involuntary flinch at being exposed, he said calmly, "I needed more time with you, Gwynne. From the beginning, I have alarmed you. Some of that, I think, is because of my reputation. I hoped that if you had a chance to spend time with me as a stranger, not the Lord of Thunder, you would relax enough to feel what is between us instead of always running away." He reached toward her with the warm, strong hands she had found so enticing. "Now that you and I have spent an hour together as a man and woman rather than as Lord Ballister and Lady Brecon, can you deny that attraction?"

No, nor could she deny the ghastly visions triggered by his kiss. Too upset to think, she scrambled sideways across the bench seat and stumbled to her feet. "Don't ever come near me again!" she said, voice shaking. "Ever!"

She hurled his mask to the ground, then bolted from the booth even though her knees were almost too weak to hold her. She was halfway to the Grand Walk when a familiar voice called, "Gwynne? What's wrong?"

She turned to the left and saw the green dominoed figure of Anne Tuckwell, her husband beside her. At the same time Norcott sprinted toward her from the right. "My lady, are you hurt?"

"No, only . . . only upset." Gwynne went gratefully into Anne's maternal embrace. She yearned for Lady Bethany, who would help her understand what had happened. Struggling to compose herself, she said, "I must go home now, but there's no need for you to leave. If you walk me to the river, I'll hire a boat. . . ."

"Nonsense, Norcott and I will take you home. George, wait in our booth for Sally and William to return." A protective arm around Gwynne's waist, Anne turned toward the river landing. "Can you talk about it?"

What, after all, had happened? Gwynne had flirted with a man, and now regretted it. "It was . . . not a great matter, except to me. I am not suited to adventures, I think."

She glanced back and saw Ballister standing in the supper booth, a blacker shape against the shadows of the night. Even at this distance she could see the tension in his cloaked figure, and knew that he wanted to rush after her. Those clever, provocative hands would be clenched with the effort of controlling that impulse.

The pull between them was undeniable-despite the horror of her visions, she yearned to return to his arms. She wondered if he had bespelled her, for she had never felt such a compulsion before.

Deliberately she turned away and concentrated on the walk back to the river landing. Ballister was mysterious, compelling, the most fascinating man she had ever met-and tonight it had been made blindingly clear that he was even more fearsome than she had imagined.

Aching, Duncan watched Gwynne flee to her friends. He supposed he should be grateful that she didn't send the two men to beat him. Perhaps she thought that a mage might do her friends an injury.

As she left, she glanced back at him. Her burning gaze was implacable.

Then she was gone. He retrieved the mask from the ground. She had yanked it from his head with such force that one of the ties had broken. Numbly he removed the domino and folded it around the mask. Now that he had alienated her forever, there was no point in disguising himself.

He dropped a handful of coins on the table and headed for the river. His thoughts circled obsessively all the way back to Falconer House. He had hoped to charm Gwynne into accepting their mutual attraction, and at first it had worked. She had been as warm, playful, and responsive as he had known she could be.

Why had that kiss destroyed the very human magic that bound them? He would swear that she was as eager as he. It wasn't only that she recognized him and was furious over his deception. He had seen fear in her when she cursed his name and ran away. How could she think he would ever hurt her? Ordinary women might find him fearsome, but she was no ordinary woman.

Her kiss would haunt him forever.

He had hoped to be able to retire without being seen, but when he entered the foyer of Falconer House, he saw that the door to the sitting room was open and Simon was sprawled in a chair by the fire. His friend glanced up and made a lazy gesture. "Join me for some brandy and tell me how your night's hunting went."

Duncan grimaced and entered the sitting room. After laying the bundled domino and mask on a table, he accepted brandy and folded into the chair on the opposite side of the fire from his host. He took a sip of the brandy, then another, glad to have the spirits burn through his numbness. "My hunt was a disaster. It's time for me to return home."

Simon's brows arched. "Without Gwynne? I thought you were determined to win her, whatever the cost."

Duncan's laughter was bitter. "I've destroyed whatever hope there was." Succinctly he described the events of the evening, and the catastrophic ending. "She'll not forgive me for deceiving her-that I'm sure of."

"Perhaps she won't, but the two of you aren't done with each other. Though that kiss triggered an explosion, it's also a sign of the incredible amount of energy between the two of you. You're like opposite poles of a magnet, inexorably drawn together." Simon closed his eyes and frowned. "When I imagine the two of you together, the energy is like a city burning. Fate will draw you together again. That I guarantee. "

Duncan rubbed his aching temples. After this disastrous night, he wasn't sure whether Simon's prediction was a source of hope-or of threat.

SIX.

G wynne managed to regain a semblance of calm on the boat ride back to Richmond. Once they were safe in Lady Bethany's drawing room, she dismissed Anne and Norcott with a.s.surances that she was fine, and many thanks for the exciting evening.

Lady Bethany wasn't fooled, of course. Eyes narrowed, she waited until they were alone before saying, "You look as if you've seen your own ghost, my dear."

Gwynne sank into a chair, trembling, and was grateful when Athena jumped into her lap. The cat's purring warmth helped her keep her voice steady as she described her encounter with Ballister, including the visions of doom. She ended by asking, "Is he evil, Bethany?"

"Not at all, but good men can cause evil without intending it." Expression troubled, the older woman rose. "Get ready for bed. I'll prepare a posset that will help you sleep."

Knowing her friend's skills, Gwynne asked, "Is it more than a sleeping draft?"

Bethany nodded. "I'll use a potion that will calm you enough for me to ask questions without upsetting you again. I need to know more about those visions."

Gwynne needed to know more, too. Athena in her arms, she returned to her room and rang for her maid, glad to exchange corset and petticoats for a cambric nightgown. She brushed out her hair and was braiding it for sleep when Lady Bethany appeared with a gently steaming goblet. Gwynne tied the end of her braid with a ribbon, then took a sip of the spicy drink, wondering what it contained besides warm milk and wine.