Once she'd drunk her fill and confirmed that, as far as she could tell, there were no familiar faces hidden among the throng, she turned and regarded him through the slits in her halfmask. "Can we go down?"
He wanted to say "No." She could see it in his eyes-he hadn't worn a mask. Little point; he was easily recognizable-there was no other with hair of his particular shade, so richly burnished. The gold overlaying the brown was doubtless one of the changes his years in India had wrought.
Indolently, he stirred; his gaze drifted to the crowd. "If you wish."
He stood; she gave him her hand and let him raise her. His gaze returned, slid down, over her, taking in her gown of apricot silk revealed as her domino parted. She'd chosen the gown carefully; its hue made her skin glow and turned her hair a deeper gold.
For one instant, he stared, then, reaching out, twitched the cloak closed. "It would be wise to remain incognito. One look at that gown and the cogniscenti will be rabid to learn who you are."
An angel slumming in hell. Her hand anchored on his sleeve, Martin escorted her down the stairs to the vestibule. As they reached the pit and the noise engulfed them, he reminded himself it wasn't truly hell; if it had been, he'd never have brought her here.
Here, however, was a place she didn't need to be, didn't need to see-she didn't need to be exposed to this kind of company. At least in his opinion.
He knew better than to argue. Jaw set, he guided her into the throng, intent on ensuring that what she did see was, if not acceptable, then at least not shocking. He was counting on the fact he had a woman on his arm to ward off any approaches; nevertheless, numerous arch glances, come-hither pouts and knowing winks were directed his way. A fact his partner didn't miss.
She stiffened; her fingertips sank into his arm. But as they penetrated further into the crowd, her tension gradually eased.
He glanced at her face, but with her mask on and her gaze on the crowd, he couldn't see her expression, couldn't guess her thoughts.
Didn't foresee her direction.
Amanda's open-mindedness over the women parading the pit ended the instant she realized they were as aware of her escort's potential as she. Fifteen feet of slow progress, however, demonstrated that he had no interest in them-his attention remained firmly riveted precisely where she wanted it.
On her.
Which left her free to take in all she would, to catalogue the flourishes, the teasing glances, the flirting whisk of a fan, to glean all she could from experts in the field. Yet the fact he seemed immune suggested that she would need more subtle weapons.
She'd turned her mind to evaluating exactly what subtle weapons she possessed when a jocularly jostling couple bumped her, sent her careening-
Dexter hauled her to him-she fetched up against his chest, breathlessly locked against him. Protectively shielded.
She glanced up. His face was a stony warrior's mask, his gaze fixed beyond her. She could hear some gentleman gabbling his apologies. Beneath her hands, in the arms around her, she felt tension swell, muscles flex. Dragging in a breath, she fought to turn-but only succeeded in turning her head. "That's quite all right." She glanced up as Dexter looked down.
He looked ready to argue.
She smiled. Patted his chest. "No harm done."
The couple took advantage of his distraction to melt into the crowd; Martin looked up and they were gone-he felt as if he'd been deprived of his rightful prey. It took an instant more to shackle his instincts. To quell his reaction enough so he could ease his arms from…
Damn! He refused to meet her gaze as he forced his arms from her. Closing one hand about hers, he twined her arm with his and anchored her hand on his sleeve. "What now?"
The growled words were barely polite, but… she was the one who had wanted to come here.
He felt the glance she threw him, declined to meet it.
"Let's amble. I want to see all there is to be seen."
There was not a chance of him permitting that. He steered her through sections of the crowd that he'd first ascertained w
ere safe, avoiding any group whose behavior he considered too lewd for her angelic blue eyes.
And reminded himself why he was here.
Because he'd agreed to bring her here, because he'd extraded a promise that if he did, she'd return to the ballrooms where she belonged. The years had taught him wisdom; he knew she'd keep her word. She had her own brand of honor, as did he. His demanded that once this night was over, he retire from her life. And he would. Regardless. All he had to do was survive tonight, and all would be well.
The shrill shrieks, the high-pitched gibber of excitement that always seemed to occur beyond her view, informed Amanda that she was missing a good deal of what she had ostensibly come to see.
She no longer cared. The game she and Dexter were engaged in demanded her entire attention. Tonight would be her last chance to breach his walls. While he might be a superior card player, in this particular game they were more evenly matched. All she had to do was tip the scales her way.