"I believe in what I have observed my whole life long, sir. Just as surely as I believe in the course of the sun and the stars."

He narrowed his eyes. "If that's true, then you purposely went with your ladies to Parliament, with your trap baited and set, fully expecting to snare your quarry?"

Had she really?

"Possibly. But I was truly hoping against hope that the members of your s.e.x would prove me wrong this time around. We would have loved to have been left to our harmless mission in the gallery; to observe for ourselves the workings of government. To be defended by our men folk instead of publically reviled by them."

He had made his way to her end of the worktable. "Not all men are as intolerant as that idiot Sayers."

"But there are enough of them for the rest of you to hide behind."

"Me? You're calling me a coward?" He leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Including me in your blanket condemnation."

The poor man looked more stricken than angry. And he was, in truth, generally undeserving.

"To be honest, sir, I was surprised and quite impressed when you came so quickly to our defense in the Commons."

"Sayers is a madman."

"Yes, but you forcibly held him back from reaching his wife. And that took courage."

"Nonsense. Sayers is a scrawny b.a.s.t.a.r.d, for all his bl.u.s.tering, and I -"

"Yes, and you could have pounded him into the ground with a single blow. But that's not the kind of courage I am talking about."

He seemed suddenly pleased with himself. "What other kind is there?"

"The most important kind. Moral courage. You stood up for us in front of your peers. That says a great deal about the strength of your character."

"Madam, I merely stood up to a bully." He shrugged those ma.s.sive shoulders as though to dismiss her compliment, which had so obviously pleased him, then left her for one of the walls of bookshelves. "Any man would have done the same thing, in the same situation."

"Pardon me, my lord, if I don't count on it next time. You did the courageous thing, and the ladies of the Abigail Adams agreed that your behavior was exceptional."

"Did they?" He turned back from his browsing and arched a brow at her, then went back to scanning the shelves.

"They talked about you all the way home. And told me to thank you the next time I saw you." She'd been giddily hoping he would come tonight. "And here you are, so... thank you. From me, as well."

"You're all very welcome, though I'm not nearly as deserving of praise as you are."

"Me?"

He stopped in front of the neat rack of newspapers and turned back to her. "For your grand exit from Parliament this morning."

"Are you mocking me?" His comment stung. Though she'd only known the man for a week, she'd come to expect so much more from him.

"I would never." He leaned against the bookcase strut, appraised her for a long sweep of his dazzling gaze. "I thought you were... spectacular."

Spectacular? Me ?

She tried to calm her heart, tried not to read anything into his admiring eyes, because there was danger here, of untold dimensions. "In what way, sir?"

He was smiling again, nodding as though he approved of her stance. "You stood up to the most powerful governmental body in the world, with great composure and dignity, and rightly chided them for their rude behavior."

She shrugged lightly, hoping to stave off the flush that his unexpected praise was beginning to cause. "I only spoke my mind."

"You challenged their petty universe to a duel of wills."

"A duel? I didn't mean - "

"And, make no mistake, Miss Dunaway, you rattled more than one conscience."

"Oh, I doubt that."

"And had you stayed to listen instead of sweeping down the stairs with your entourage, you would have heard one of thos e rare moments that sometimes overtakes the House of Commons in times of national distress."

"Rare, how?"

"Silence, my dear. Utter silence."

"Oh." At the time, she couldn't actually hear anything for the anger and embarra.s.sment ringing in her ears. And her heart had been pounding as wildly as it was now.

"Of course, all h.e.l.l broke loose a moment later, madam, but you did substantially affect the morning's proceedings. They will remember you."

But will you remember me when you're gone, my lord, as I'll remember you?

He stared at her a moment longer, then turned back to the bookshelves, taking a sudden interest in reading each of the t.i.tles.

The t.i.tles! Oh, dear, this wasn't an ordinary library, for ordinary readers.

"Well, my lord, I will certainly remember my promise to them. " Sensing his prowling interest in the contents of the shelves, Elizabeth gathered up the newspapers strewn across the surface of the table.

"And, though I don't know what the reporter from the Times will write about the your battle for the Public Gallery, you'll have some press again tomorrow morning."

"Then we're sure to be the object of ridicule at every breakfast table in London and in every dining room of every gentleman's club in St. James."

Looking much like a stalking bear, Blakestone pulled a burgundy leather-bound book off the shelf, then frowned at the cover.

Surely at the controversial t.i.tle: Rebel Wives and Household Revolutions.

He glanced back at her with that weighty, unreadable glint in his eyes, tilting the book at her. "Was your childhood home a household of revolutions?"

She'd never considered it before, but, "Yes, I suppose it was. That is to say, my great-aunts were both wildly revolutionary for their time."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

"What I mean is that they didn't bend their values to suit public opinion.""So that's where you get your..."She knew exactly the word he was searching for: "Pigheadedness ?""Confidence, madam. An essential ingredient in all revolutionaries.""I'd hardly call myself revolutionary." But she liked that he thought of her that way. Liked too much that he thought of her at all.

That he looked at her with such heat in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth.

"Neither of your aunts ever married, did they? The Hasleton sisters."

Blast it all, the man seemed to know everything about her and her past.

"The choice was theirs, Blakestone. They were both legendary beauties in their day, as well as wealthy heiresses, from an old family. They could have married anyone. However, to their dying days, they both preached loudly against marriage."

He gave a quick grunt. "I do hope you didn't listen."

Lord, what could he mean by that remark? And by the wry tilt of his frown, as though he were disappointed? Or cared.

"What does it matter to you, my lord, what I think about marriage?"

" I... well, I just think you ought to keep your options open."

"To paraphrase my Auntie Clarice: after marriage, the husband and the wife are one person, but that person is always the husband."

"Ah, and your Aunt Tiberia's words of wisdom?" Of course the lout would know her other aunt's name as well.

"Aunt Tibbs firmly believed that the law should not force the woman to surrender her independence or her fortune to her husband. And that men are only good for one th i -"

She stopped her words abruptly enough, but could do nothing about the flush of crimson spreading like a wildfire out of her bodice.

She probably could have stopped the flush by sheer dint of will. If only Blakestone hadn't suddenly shifted the heat of his gaze from her bosom to her face.

If he hadn't slowly smiled at her, like an artful, un-sated pirate.

"Good for one thing, madam? And what would that one thing be?"

"Um in in..." There was just a humming occupying her head at the moment, the burring drone of a little bee, then a whole hive of them.

"Escorting a woman to the opera? Or as an object in a charity auction?"

"No, certainly, my lord, bu 't... you see, my Aunt Tiberia was a..." With every beat of her heart, he came closer and closer, until he was peering down at her.

"Your aunt was a... ?"

Great heavens, what a ninny she'd become. Cowering like an innocent in the face of Blakestone's rather simple question. A test of her mettle, which she knew she could easily pa.s.s.

Elizabeth squared her shoulders. "Aunt Tibbs was very broad-minded. Both of my aunts were."

"And this 'one good thing' about men?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Intercourse, of the s.e.xual type."

He had been peering at her, one eyebrow raised. Now it drooped. "What did you say?"

There! That had gotten him!

"s.e.xual intercourse," she said, landing hard and deliberately on every syllable, as though he might not understand, when she knew perfectly well that the man never missed a nuance.

Certainly not a s.e.xual one.

And this moment was getting very s.e.xual. Very hot.

"I see."

She could see too; she could see the bronze muscle playing in his jaw, the smile lurking in the corners of his mouth.

"You're a man of the world, my lord. You must realize that just because a woman like my Aunt Tiberia isn't married doesn't mean she can't enjoy the pleasures of the flesh with the man of her choosing."

"I've heard as much."

"Once in a while."

"Once in aw hile?"

"Absolutely."

"Ah."

"And safe enough, if precautions are taken against conception. Interruptus, for one. French letters, for another."

"English papers, in France."

"I didn't know that."

He blinked at her, then took a huge breath and cleared his throat. "So, I can a.s.sume that you agree with your aunts' philosophies, Miss Dunaway."

"I'm a modern woman, Blakestone, with modern ideas. In charge of my own destiny. My own body."

Oh, but not in charge of that charming, runaway blush, my dear Miss Dunaway, Ross thought, but didn't dare say for fear of spooking her. He was enjoying this banter far too much to risk her ejecting him from her sultry presence.

He'd never known a woman whose emotions played so plainly, so perfectly, on her flawless features as they did on Miss Dunaway's.

Spots of velvety pink blooming on her cheeks, peeking out of her bodice, making him want to explore his way to the source, with his mouth, his tongue.

"Ah, then," he said, turning away from all that boldly inviting beauty and going back to the wall of bookcases with its provocative selection of t.i.tles, "that would explain it, my dear."

"Explain what?"

He said nothing for a moment as he combed carefully along the amazingly eclectic t.i.tles.

Ancient Queens of Britain, Exotic Indulgences, Atlas of the World, Home Repairs Made Simple...

Ah, and now there was at least part of the answer. Scarborough's wife must have been borrowing books from the Adams library. Mistress of the House, Mistress of the Bedchamber.

"What is it that needed explaining, Blakestone?" She was standing at his elbow, her voice impatient at his silence.

"Just an interesting comment made to me today by a colleague."