Free On a Wild Night by Stephanie Laurens Page A

wave that included Amanda. “They are as nothing compared to you, mon cher . But how wicked to slip in without paying your respects—I didn’t even know you were here.”
    Precisely . He reached for Amanda an instant before Agnes reached for his arm. “Permit me to introduce . . . Miss Wallace.”
    Agnes’s black eyes flashed with the temper that was never far from her surface. She drew herself up, turned haughtily to Amanda. “Miss Wallace?”
    Martin glanced at Amanda, and saw her smile. She held out her hand. “Miss Korsinsky. Your soirée has been quite delightful. I spent some moments talking to your brother . . .”
    It took effort to smother his grin. He stood and watched Agnes get bowled over by an effortless tide of ballroom patter. She was no match for one who’d spent six years in the ton. In the end, Agnes recalled someone she had to see. With a mere nod for him, but polite words to Amanda, she left them.
    Only then could he allow his lips to curve. “Thank you.” Lifting Amanda’s hand to his lips, he brushed her fingertips—just as their eyes met.
    He felt the shiver that raced through her to his toes. Felt arousal surge through him in response, saw her eyes widen.
    She drew breath, smiled, slid her fingers from his. “Was there some reason for my change of identity?” She turned away, scanning the crowd.
    His gaze locked on the golden curls before his face, he murmured, “Agnes is not one to trust. She can be . . . vindictive.”
    Amanda glanced briefly his way. “Especially over things she wants but hasn’t succeeded in getting?”
    â€œEspecially then.”
    She started to stroll; he fell in in her wake. The crowd had grown; it was difficult to walk abreast.
    Her voice drifted back to him. “Now that I’ve saved youfrom Miss Korsinsky, perhaps I can prevail upon you to assist me.”
    This was where she would ask him to drive her around Richmond at midnight. “In what matter do you require assistance?”
    She glanced back, smiling easily. “In the matter of selecting which gentlemen I should ask to squire me on my quests for excitement.”
    She faced forward again; again he was left staring at her golden curls. Left, once again, wondering what it was about her that evoked such a maelstrom of impulses in him—impulses stronger, wilder, infinitely more dangerous than anything she was imagining experiencing.
    And she was the focus of those impulses.
    Jaw locked, he prowled in her wake, grateful she couldn’t see his face, his eyes. They tacked through the crowd; he kept close, unwilling to let her get more than six inches away while he wrestled his demons into some semblance of subjection. She wasn’t intending to ask any other gentleman to squire her. She was baiting him, he was sure.
    Amanda stopped here and there, exchanging greetings, very conscious of Dexter at her back, aware that, although he exchanged nods and names, he said nothing more. She could feel his heat, his strength like a hot storm threatening. Smiling confidently, she continued searching for the right provocation to make the storm break.
    Then she spied Lord Cranbourne. His lordship was elegant of manner, assured, glibly pleasant. Perfect.
    She stopped walking, steeled herself not to react when Dexter walked into her. As he stepped back, without looking at him, she put a hand on his arm. “Lord Cranbourne,” she murmured. She sensed rather than saw Dexter follow her gaze. “I should think he’d be perfect to drive me to Richmond. His conversation is superior, and his greys are magnificent.”
    Plastering on her best smile, she released Dexter’s arm and stepped out, her gaze fixed on Lord Cranbourne.
    She’d managed all of two steps before hard fingers wrapped, manaclelike, about her wrist.
    â€œNo.”
    The low growl that had preceded the word nearly made her grin. She