Page 71 of On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

"Yes, and dinner at the Wrexhams' before it." Laying aside her napkin, Louise rose, shrewd eyes assessing her eldest daughters. Amelia was quiet, as she often was, but a frown inhabited her eyes and her mind was clearly elsewhere as she sipped her tea. Amanda… quite aside from her tiredness, she seemed unnaturally abstracted. Rising, Louise passed them both, trailing one hand on one youthful shoulder, then the other. "Don't forget to rest."

At the scratch on her bedchamber door, Amanda turned, unsurprised to see Amelia slip in. Her twin took in her stance by the curtained window, then quietly shut the door.

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I will in a minute. I think I've finally worked out what he's up to."

"Dexter?"

"Hmm. I think he's trying to make me want. Make me physically yearn so I'll agree to marry him."

Amelia flopped on the bed. "Is he succeeding?"

Frowning, Amanda joined her. "Yes, damn him-that's why I couldn't sleep." Why she'd tossed and turned, restless and unsatisfied. "He's a fiend, but I'm not going to give in."

After a moment, Amelia asked, "How does he do it-make you yearn?"

"Don't ask. But I'm not going to marry him just because he knows how to make me feel very nice."

"So how are you going to stop him"-Amelia gestured-"working his magic and making you yearn?"

"I'm not." Amanda stared at the canopy, reliving the illicit interludes she and her nemesis had shared. "That's what I was just thinking about. This latest tack of his might well work in my favor. In fact, it might work better than anything / could instigate."

"How so?"

"Consider this: for every ounce of desire he evokes in me, then… I'm not certain of this, but from all that's passed between us it seems to be so-for every ounce of desire he makes me feel, then he feels the same, if not more."

After a moment, Amelia ventured, "Are you saying that your battle, as it were, might come down to who can resist desire best?"

Amanda nodded. "And I think he's miscalculated. He's used to ladies being"-she gestured wildly-"swept away by desire. He's used to doing the sweeping. I don't think it's occurred to him that I might hold firm."

"Hmm. But he's very experienced, I imagine."

"Very, but in this case, experience might be a disadvantage. He's accustomed to having his desires gratified, more or less instantly. He's not used to having to wait, or negotiate. He wants, he takes. But this time, he's using desire like

a carrot. He wants something else first, before he agrees to satisfy my desire or his."

"So he might well end hoist with his own petard?"

"Yes. And given I'm not accustomed to desire and likewise not accustomed to having it fulfilled, then…"

"Then it's possible this tack of his might play into your hands."

"Precisely." Amanda considered the prospect, viewed it from every angle she could conjure. "It's definitely a way forward, and as he thinks it's his plan, he's less likely to be defensive." She glanced at Amelia, aware her twin's thoughts had wandered. "How's your plan going?"

Amelia met her eyes, then grimaced. "I've a remarkably long list of possibilities which, every day and every night, I'm steadily reducing." Settling her head on the pillow, she closed her eyes. "It is, however, going to be a slow business." Amanda held back the urge to suggest a shortcut-a flurry of crossing off that would leave only one name. Although it wasn't her way, she understood Amelia's need to be certain in her own mind before she committed herself to pursuing that one name. Snaring that particular gentleman was going to be a Herculean task.

The thought brought her mind back to her own task, her own gentleman. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift to the delightful prospect of having her lion trapped securely in his coils.

She felt sure he'd appear at the Cottesloes' ball. Their ballroom was on the ground floor; the windows at one end opened onto a terrace giving access to a parterre, which happened to abut a formal shrubbery. The evening was mild, perfect for strolling in the moonlight.

The dinner at the Wrexhams dragged on, but once they reached the ball, her greatest obstacle in meeting with Martin proved to be her increasingly attentive would-be suitors. Now that the Season was in full swing, they'd materialized in hordes.

"Like locusts," she muttered, dodging through the crowd. Having to glance every way at once was distracting. Keeping her social smile firmly in place, she doggedly progressed toward the most shadowy corner of the room.

"At last!" Slipping past the last guests, she was disappointed to find no large and handsome male waiting. Beyond the windows lay the terrace; the doors giving onto it lay to her right.

Frowning, wondering if she'd misjudged, either him or his intentions, she turned and rescanned the room, wondering if she'd overlooked some other useful place where he might be lying in wait for her-

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