On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

The shadows fell from him as he neared; light reached him and illuminated details. A coat that could only have come from one of the ton's foremost tailors topped trousers that skimmed muscled thighs before sweeping down long legs; an ivory cravat intricately tied and a rich satin waistcoat completed the picture, one of expensive elegance. His carriage, effortless and aloof, exuded confidence and more-an absolute belief in his ability to succeed, regardless of the challenge.

His hair was thick, brown, falling in fashionable disarray about his head, shading his broad brow, brushing his collar. Candlelight reflected from lighter strands, turning the whole into a tawny mane.

He neared, his approach in no way threatening, yet there was a sense of force distilled and harnessed in each long, prowling stride.

At the last, the shadows gave up their hold and revealed his face.

Amanda caught her breath.

Sharp bones rode high above the austere sweep of his cheeks, lean, lightly shadowed where they met his jaw, uncompromisingly square. His nose was straight, definite, a clear indication of his antecedents; his eyes were large, heavy lidded, set beneath sweeping brows. As for his lips, the upper was straight, the lower full and frankly sensual. His was a face she recognized instantly, not in specific but in general. A face as elegantly aristocratic as his clothes, as powerful and definite as his carriage.

Eyes the color of moss agates met hers, held her gaze as he halted before her.

Not a hint of the predatory reached her; she searched but could find no trace of disguised intent in his changeable eyes. Understanding was what she saw, what she sensed-that, and self-deprecatory amusement.

"If you're in need of a partner, I would be honored to assist you."

The voice suited the body-deep, slightly gravelly-rusty, as if underused. Amanda felt his words as much as heard them, felt her senses leap. His gaze didn't shift from her face, although his eyes left hers to travel quickly over her features before returning, once more, to her eyes. Although he hadn't looked at Reggie, Amanda knew he was aware of her friend tugging at her sleeve, hissing disjointed injunctions.

"Thank you." She trusted him-trusted those moss agate eyes. Even if she was wrong, she didn't care. "Miss Amanda Cynster." She extended her hand. "And you are?"

He took her hand; his lips curved as he bowed. "Martin."

She sincerely doubted he was Mr. Martin-Lord Martin, then. She vaguely recalled hearing of a Lord Martin.

Releasing her hand, Martin turned to Connor. "I assume you have no objection?"

Following his gaze, Amanda realized that Connor did indeed have an objection. A serious one, if the scowl in his eyes spoke true. Perfect! Perhaps Connor would now draw back…

Even as the thought formed, she realized how unlikely that would be. Men and their ridiculous rules!

Sure enough, Connor brusquely nodded in assent. He would have liked to protest, but felt he couldn't.

Amanda glanced at Reggie. His expression was utterly defeated, utterly aghast. He opened his mouth-his gaze flicked past her, then slowly he shut his lips tight. "I hope you know what you're doing."

His mutter reached her as she turned to her new partner.

Martin was looking at Connor. "Perhaps we should get started." He waved into the shadows.

"Indeed." Turning, Connor stumped into the gloom. "The night hours are winging."

Considering the shadows, Amanda suppressed a grimace. She looked up to find Martin's gaze on her face, then he looked over her head toward the main door. "Two fresh packs, Mellors." Martin glanced down at her again. "And two lighted candelabras."

He hesitated, then offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She smiled and placed her hand on his sleeve, instantly aware of the steely strength beneath it. He guided her toward the corner where Connor and Meredith stood waiting.

"Are you a good player, sir?"

Lips quirking, he glanced down at her. "I'm considered to play a tolerable hand."

"Good, because Connor's an expert, and I'm not. And I think he plays often with Meredith."

After an instant, Martin asked, "How well do you play?"

"Reasonably well, but I'm not in Connor's class."

"In that case, we shall do." He lowered his voice as they neared the others. "Play straight-don't try to be clever. Leave that to me."