Caro clung to Drew's elbow, her eyes wide and watching until she finally said, "Well? What is it, Ross?"

"Look, I'll just say it right out." He reached back to find Elizabeth's hand, relaxed a bit to feel the fierceness of her grip. "We should have said something earlier, but the situation changed too quickly."

"Oh!" Kate gasped and clapped her hands together then pointed at them. "You two are getting married!"

"Are you?" Caro grabbed Kate's hand. "Is that what you're trying to say, Ross? If so, you're not doing a very good job of it."

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he should have sent them a note. From Paris.

"Please, ladies." He felt his wife's hand at the small of his back, so wonderfully familiar. "No, actually. Elizabeth and I are not getting married."

"Ooohhhhhhhh, no!" The two women wound down like a pair of case clocks, visibly sagging against their spouses.

Blast it all, this wasn't going at all well. Jared and Drew weren't helping either, looked confused while their wives fluttered around the truth.

"That is to say..." Just blurt it out. "Elizabeth and I were married last night."

They went utterly silent. No sound on the terrace but the strains of the orchestra trailing through French doors.

"What?" Jared said a second before Drew's own befuddled, "When?"

"Married?" Tears welled in Kate's eye 's - j ust as he'd feared they would.

"Married!" Caro reached out for Elizabeth, who'd been standing safely out of the fray, and pulled her forward into an unsparing embrace. "Elizabeth, how wonderful!"

"Well, thank you, Lady Wexford!" His wife looked surprised, then pleased, giving back an equal embrace.

"Please call me Caro."

"Welcome, dear Elizabeth!" Kate was next, with a smiling hug and then a kiss on his wife's flushed cheeks. "And please call me Kate."

"Well done, Ross!" Jared and Drew had finally come smiling out of their stupor and were now boxing him around like a couple of bears and a beehive.

"You're an old fox, man."

"Now then, Ross Carrington. " Kate was standing in front of the men, frowning, looking perfectly scandalized. "You'll tell us why you didn't bother to invite us to your wedding. Your own family."

Another complication that he wasn't yet ready to explain in a crowd. Not without Elizabeth's consent.

"Sorry, Kate," Ross said, taking her hand, "but there was no time for invitations."

"We would have come at the run. We were even here in London. A moment's notice and we'd have been there."

Now it was Caro's turn. "You said last night, Ross. What time?"

"In truth..." Elizabeth cleared her throat. "It was actually this morning just before one. The very middle of the night."

"At the very last minute," Ross said, taking Elizabeth's hand.

The four of them went silent again and just stared until Caro spoke. "Why?"

Elizabeth gave his arm a shy squeeze. "Because Ross was good enough to save my life."

"Now that sounds like our Ross!" Jared clapped him on the shoulder.

"Saved you from what, Elizabeth?" Kate quirked her brow.

"Myself, really."

"That's not enough of an answer." Caro shook her head.

Ruthless woman. Ross tucked Elizabeth behind him again. "That's all you're getting tonight, Princess."

"What's more, if you got married last night, you surely haven't had a proper send-off."

"Don't worry about it, Caro." This wasn't going at all well. He smelled danger. The Kate and Caro kind of danger. "And now, if you don't mind, Elizabeth and I are going to join the dancing."

He grabbed his wife's hand and led her toward the dance floor.

They didn't quite make it.

Lady Maxton hove into view as they reached the glittering ballroom. She bore down on them at full steam, resplendent in her own silk extravaganza and wearing a bright orange Turkish-style turban.

"Dear Elizabeth, you look simply glorious tonight. Don't you think so, Lord Blakestone?"

"Indeed." But I'd rather have her home with me in our bed.

"And you, Lady Maxton." Elizabeth grinned at Ross, then turned to the hostess, and the two exchanged a burst of whispering and giggling into each other's ears.

"So you're ready, my dear?" Was the only thing he heard, besides his wife's, "Oh, yes!"

And for no reason that he could imagine, as Lady Maxton glided away, Elizabeth's words struck fear into his heart.

"What was that all about, wife?"

She swung into his arms and looked up at him, her eyes wide and bright. "Just a little woman talk, Ross."

"Well, that's... uh in... just fine." He lost track of the rest of the world, felt only her fingers playing at his nape. "Another move from your Unbridled Embraces."

"Number seventeen, husband." She closed her eyes for a moment as though trying to recall something. " 'Touch him fondly in private moments, a knowing squeeze at his waist during a dance'"- 's he slipped her hand beneath his jacket, then her fingers into his waistban d - " 'a flirting promise of intimacies after the ball.' Effective, husband?"

"Very, wife. If you mean to have me sweep you out of here right now, long before midnight." They danced then, caught up in the music. He ignored the trail of men who tapped him on his shoulder. One after another, wanting to partner with his wife.

Ignored Drew.

And Jared.

The Lord Mayor.

Jonathan Ef fi ngton, the very eligible Marquess of Helmsley.

Even the fretting little Austrian deputy amba.s.sador tried his best to steal her away.

But Ross cheerfully monopolized his bride's every moment, making her laugh in delight when he actually stopped in the middle of the floor, struck out the other names on her dance card then added his own all the way down the list.

And Elizabeth adored him for it.

For being such a powerfully accomplished dancer. Probably the reason for the looks of envy she'd received from all those sad-eyed spinsters who waltzed past them.

For being so enchanting and attentive, so different from the raging beast he'd been when he stormed Scotland Yard to rescue her fr om the evil clutches of the law.

For stealing her breath away with the brush of his lips against her temple as they danced.

But for all his magnificence, he was still an impossible threat to her plans and programs. Because he seemed to have the terrifying power to addle her wits.

"You look delicious tonight, Elizabeth."

To make her weak in the knees.

"Will the backs of your knees taste of roses, I wonder?"

And fill her head with illusions.

"Will your nape smell of cinnabar?"

Would she wake up from this lovely dream and find that he had stolen her will along with her independence?

"Eleven o'clock, my dear," he said like the chime of a hall clock, ticking off every five minutes with his wolfish smile.

As they danced to the edge of the crowd, Elizabeth glanced out to the deserted side terrace and caught a glimpse of a tall, well-dressed man shaking his fist at a young woman.

Another turn around Ross and Elizabeth could see that the man was furiously scolding the woman. He grabbed her chin and shook it.

"How dare he!" Elizabeth whipped her head around to follow the scene.

"What are you looking at, sweet?" Ross slowed and followed her gaze, but the brute was already stalking back into the ballroom, and the young woman had faded into the shadows.

"Who is he, Ross? That blond fellow grabbing that gla.s.s from the waiter's tray." She was finding it very difficult to focus on the man, waltzing as they were.

"Lord Sto p es. Why?" Ross obviously hadn't seen the man's shamefully abusive behavior.

"Is he married?"

"You already have a husband, madam." The blighter pulled her closer than proper and turned her madly in his dance.

"Is he married, Ross?"

"I don't think so."

"Engaged?"

"Wouldn't know." Her husband only shrugged and kept dancing.

Whoever she was to the vicious Stopes, the terrified young woman stepped gingerly down the stairs from the terrace, visibly shaking, hiding her flushed face with a lace fan as she tried to fade into the mirrored wall.

Elizabeth wanted desperately to run to her and take her into her arms, to soothe her fears and give her strength. But that would call attention to the poor girl, at the expense of her beastly a.s.sailant. And he didn't seem to be the sort of man to suffer embarra.s.sment without doling out punishment to the nearest innocent.

Fleeing the country was the very last resort in a case like this. But the beleaguered young woman could doubtless use a friend and a bit of subversive counseling. If only to fortify her spirits.

Elizabeth had been about to excuse herself to her husband when the music faded and Lady Maxton appeared in all her glory on the dais, waving her tutti-hued fan in the air.

"Time to sacrifice another bachelor, madam?"

"Not yet, Ross."

Her one-woman diplomatic mission would have to wait for the moment. It was time to shock a few people out of their donations.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Lady Maxton called into the quieting room. "Yes, thank you all for being so generous tonight. We'll have another bachelor to auction off in just a few minutes. And you can be sure that every last ha'penny will go to the Relief Fund for Abandoned Children."

The applause rose nicely and rolled through the crowd, then settled back as Lady Maxton signaled for silence.

"I would also like to thank the members of the Abigail Adams ladies' club, for offering their time and their generosity to the affair." A dubious rumble followed the light applause, as though even the slightest mention of her club was scandalous.

"Pay them no mind, Elizabeth." Her husband's unexpected whisper of support caught her right in the heart, right where she was the most vulnerable to him.

"I would especially like to thank Miss Elizabeth Dunaway, the owner of the Adams, for her inventive ideas for making this charity event one that will be remembered for years and years to come."

"We'll have to tell them we're married, sooner or later, wife," he whispered against her temple in the wake of the applause.

"I guess later, Ross."

"Miss Dunaway, if you could come up."

Well, here goes!

But before she could step safely away from her husband, he slipped his hand through her elbow and pulled her back against his chest. "What's this about, Elizabeth?"

Fearful of his wife's inventive ideas, Ross made sure he was looking directly into her eyes when she answered.

But she tilted her head up to him with one of her devastating smiles and whispered back, "You'll see, husband."

"That's what I'm afraid of." But he let her go anyway, trusting in her sense of fair play, in her common sense, and watched her wade through the admiring crowd.

"Don't be shy, Miss Dunaway!" Lady Maxton was beckoning with a finger. "Come on up, dear. Please, let her through. That's it."

His wife mounted the three short steps onto the dais, drawing a murmur of admiration from the crowd. Only making him more impatient for her. He pulled out his pocket watch for the umpteenth time.

Eleven-fifteen. And counting.