On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

"That's by the by. I'm twenty-three. I've been out for six years. No one could imagine I'm an innocent miss."

Reggie uttered a strangled sound, slammed his arms across his chest and slumped back against the seat. He said nothing more as the carriage joined the line leading to the discreetly lit door of Number 19, Gloucester Street.

The carriage stopped; tight-lipped, Reggie descended and helped her down. Amanda shook out her skirts and looked up at the door. A liveried footman stood beside it. Reggie gave her his arm. "Say the word and we'll leave."

"Onward, Horatio!"

Reggie grumbled but complied, leading her up the steps. He gave the footman their names; instantly, the door swung open and the footman bowed them through. In the marble-floored hall, Reggie looked about as Amanda surrendered her cloak to a very correct-looking butler.

"Always wanted to know what this place looked like inside," Reggie confided as Amanda rejoined him.

"See." Taking his arm, she turned him toward the drawing room. "You were just waiting for me to give you a valid excuse to come."

"Humph!"

They entered the drawing room, stopped and looked about.

Lady Hennessy's was a world apart from Mellors-here a lady's touch reigned supreme. The walls were hung with cream silk bearing a delicately worked turquoise pattern. The cream, gold and turquoise theme was reflected in the satin-striped upholstery of chaises and chairs, in the heavy curtains screening long windows. Expensive Chinese rugs covered the floor, muting the click of fashionable heels.

The wealthy relict of a Scottish peer, Lady Hennessy had decided to enliven her life and that of a good portion of the ton by creating a salon in the tradition of the previous century. Her rooms were furnished with an eye to luxurious comfort and fashionable elegance; her ladyship's refreshments were always of the best. As for the play, on the few nights on which gaming was permitted, the wagers were rumored to be astronomical.

For the most part, however, Lady Hennessy concentrated on providing entertainment guaranteed to attract the most blue-blooded rakes in town. This in turn ensured the attendance of the cream of the married ladies looking for distraction, which in turn guaranteed that every rake worthy of the name invariably returned to Gloucester Street. Her ladyship's genius lay in perceiving the connection between her two principal groups of guests, and promoting it; there was an excellent string quartet playing softly in one corner, and the lighting, provided by lamps large and small, wall sconces and candelabra, created patches of soft light and shadow more conducive to the discreet pursuit of passion than the harsh light of a chandelier.

There were whispers of other rooms which were occasionally given over to private parties. Although curious, Amanda was certain she wouldn't need to experience such functions. Lady Hennessy's public rooms should be more than sufficient for her purpose.

Reggie frowned. "Rather quiet, ain't it? Not what I expected at all."

Amanda hid a smile; Reggie had expected a cross between a bordello and a public house. Yet while the elegant crowd conversed in quiet, well-modulated tones, while the murmurs, chuckles and laughter were distinctly well bred, the tenor of the comments, the tension that passed between couples in close converse was anything but mild. As for the glances exchanged, some could have set flame to coal.

Almack's was the ton's marriage mart; Lady Hennessy's was a market of a different stamp, frequented by the same class of both sellers and buyers. It was said that on any given evening during the Season, more aristocratic male blood was to be discovered in Gloucester Street than at any other venue in the capital.

Completing an exhaustive survey, Amanda was relieved to see no one she would rather not-like one of her father's cronies. Or one of her mother's circle. Or any of her cousins' friends. That had been her only fear in embarking on this strategy. Reassured, she relaxed, and gave her mind to her immediate next step.

"I'm parched. Do you think you could get me a glass of champagne?"

"Right-o. I think the refreshments are laid out in there." Reggie nodded to the connecting salon, and headed in that direction.

Amanda waited until he was out of sight, screened by shoulders and broad backs. Then she stepped into the crowd, and let her eye roam.

It took her five minutes to gather three admirers of precisely the right stamp. Gentlemen well favored, attractive, elegantly turned out, who were witty, charming in a bantering way, and who were all extremely interested in discovering the reason for her appearance in Lady Hennessy's salon. Amanda had attended too many balls and parties, too many houseparties, to feel challenged by the task of crossing verbal swords with the three-Mr. Fitzgibbon, Lord Walter and Lord Cranbourne-while concealing her intentions. Indeed, the very fact she was so glib in shielding her purpose only fired the gentlemen's imaginations and anchored them within her circle.

By the time Reggie found her, she was creditably beseiged. Greeting him with a smile, she accepted the glass he'd brought for her and made him known to her three admirers. His expression bland, Reggie acknowledged the introductions. Ignoring his severe look when he turned back to her, she smiled at Mr. Fitzgibbon. "You were describing boating on the Thames by night, sir. Is the experience truly worth the inconvenience?"

Mr. Fitzgibbon was quick to assure her it was. She took mental notes as he waxed lyrical on the sight of the stars reflected in the black waters. She had no idea how many nights she would have to spend here, keeping her trap baited with men like Fitzgibbon, Walter and Cranbourne-men only too ready to help her take her first steps into the less virtuous world th

ey inhabited.

She had no intention of accepting their aid, but she hid that well. Logic suggested that Dexter would visit Lady Hennessy's salons; she was betting she had his real measure.

If he didn't appear, she would waste a few nights, a drop in the ocean of time she'd already spent searching for a husband. If he appeared but failed to react as predicted, she would gain an immensely valuable insight, enough to conclude that despite all she believed, Dexter was not in fact for her.

But if all went as planned… she stood to win all she desired.

She thought her plan quite splendid. With a glorious smile, shamelessly deploying her eyes and her charms, she threw herself into its execution.

Martin saw Amanda the instant he entered Helen Hennessy's drawing room. She was standing to one side of the hearth; the light from a candelabra on the mantelpiece fell full on her, bathing her in golden light.

The effect of seeing her surprised him-the sudden clench of possessiveness, the unexpected visceral tug. He shook the sensations aside; his cynically amused mask in place, he strolled forward to greet his hostess.