Her faint "Good God!" was overridden by Dexter's much more decisive "Come on."
He whisked her around; holding her close, he steered her in the opposite direction.
Scanning the crowd, Martin mentally cursed. The waltz had distracted him; he'd missed the moment he'd been watching for-the moment when, by general consensus, the tenor of the evening changed. From the licentious to the determinedly bawdy. From what he could see as he glanced about, matters would soon descend to the outright lewd.
The change had happened early tonight, as it sometimes did. Normally, he would retire to his box with whichever lady he had on his arm, there to indulge as they would in privacy; over the past year he might have eschewed the ton, but he hadn't lived the life of a monk.
Tonight, however, celibacy was definitely his fate. As he bundled Amanda up the stairs to their box, the idea of spending any length of time with her there, alone, his behavior rigidly correct when what he wanted to do-
He cut off the thought with another mental curse.
She stepped into the box. Before he could stop her, she went straight to the front and looked out. "Great heavens!" After scanning the throng, her gaze fixed on one spot. Her jaw fell. "Good Lord-look at that!"
He didn't need to; she didn't, either. Martin grasped her elbow-
A muffled shriek jerked their attention to the next box. Other sounds followed-panting, incoherent exclamations, garbled directions. Martin gave thanks that the occupants had had the foresight to draw the curtains. Tightening his grip, he drew Amanda back. "Come on-we're leaving."
"Leaving? But-"
"No."
On that uncompromising syllable, Amanda found herself drawn irresistibly to the door. One part of her wanted to dig in her heels; this was her last night with him, her last chance at him, and he was cutting it short. On the other hand, the venue had not proven as amenable as she'd hoped-not romantic, not subtly seductive-not subtle at all. Subtle was what she needed, she was sure of that.
The behavior of the revellers they passed as Dexter grimly escorted her out of the building reinforced the notion that Covent Garden was the wrong place for her purposes. Fighting her blushes, disguising her shock, was too distracting; she needed her wits about her.
She was actually relieved when Dexter handed her into his carriage, but she had no time to relax, although she pretended to do so when the door shut and he sat beside her. The carriage rocked, rolled forward. She glanced at the street and racked her brains for inspiration. She'd got him where she'd hoped to get him-burning with desire for her. But how to capitalize when he was so determined to resist? How to snatch victory from his jaws?
The horses clopped along Pall Mall as she frantically searched for some way to prolong her time with him. Tried to think what she could do to further weaken his defenses; if he escaped her now in the mood in which he presently was, she would not, she felt sure, see him again. The carriage passed St. James; the dark shadows of Green Park lay ahead. Amanda glimpsed them, and suddenly knew what to do. A sense of calm descended; she waited until the carriage had turned into the street bordering the park before glancing at Dexter. "It's still early, the night's mild. Can we walk in Green Park for a while?"
Martin looked at the park, designed for strolling, gravel walks spread beneath tall trees. During the day, it was the preferred venue of governesses and nursemaids with young children; by night, it was deserted. It was free space, not fenced; safe enough given it was all lawns and trees, no bushes or anywhere any miscreant could hide.
"I did expect a whole evening at Covent Garden. However…" Amanda shrugged as he glanced at her. "In the circumstances, let's stroll under the trees and I'll be satisfied."
He smothered a "humph," yet it was a reasonable suggestion. That he was acutely conscious that this would otherwise be his last moments with her-that strolling in the park would put off the instant when he would bid her good-bye for the last time-he steadfastly ignored, along with the unwelcome yearning that he could instead keep her, take her to his house and shut her in his library, his to enjoy for all time.
Jaw setting, he shook aside the thought. "Very well."
At his direction, the carriage pulled up by the verge; he descended, handed Amanda down, then helped her change the domino for her velvet cloak. Knotting the ties at her throat, she left the cloak partly open, revealing the warm hue of her gown. Even more to his silent approval, she left the hood down, so her lustrous curls sheened in the weak light.
His fingers itched to touch. Instead, he reached for her hand, twined her arm with his, and they set off down the nearest path.
Amanda accepted his silence without comment; she'd realized he used the tactic to keep people at a distance, but she knew how to slip through his guard. They strolled under the trees, in and out of the shadows. She waited until they were deep within the park, out of sight of his coachman.
Then she drew her hand from his arm and stepped across him. Let him walk into her, let him catch her to him, his hands on her gown beneath her cloak. Smiling, she laid her palm to his cheek, stretched up and set her lips to his.
It wasn't a "thank you" kiss, but she hoped he might think so long enough to give her the opening she needed. Whether he was fooled or simply surprised, she gained the breach she wanted-his lips met hers easily, readily.
She seized the moment, seized control of the kiss.
He'd kissed her often enough for her to understand how to be brazen and bold. Their lips merged; her tongue sought his, found, stroked, tangled. Winding her arms about his neck, she stretched up, pressed herself to him.
His hands tightened about her waist, fingers gripping as if to put her from him. She angled her lips, pressed the kiss deeper, fanned the flames licking between them… and the moment passed. His hands eased, then, hesitantly, as if he'd lost direction, they slid over her back, his touch gentle, wondering.
The advantage was hers. She wasn't about to let it slide, not before she made it clear just where they stood, just what she was offering.
Herself.
She let the fact infuse her kiss, let that truth ring clearly as she sank against him. He didn't seize, but gathered her to him as if she were delicate porcelain, something he feared to break. She pressed closer yet, as if to prove him wrong.
Suddenly, the kiss changed.
Shifted to a plane different from any she'd previously been on, a place of whirling pleasures, a kaleidoscope of sensual delight. He drew her deeper, then returned the pleasure she'd been lavishing on him, with interest. Yet something had changed. He wanted her, but it wasn't ravenous desire that drove him. The restraint that had earlier held him back was gone, yet some barrier still stood between them-between her needs and his, barring their mutual fulfillment.
It was his needs that had changed, or rather, clarified. She could taste it in the way his lips took hers, in the languid, unhurried, wondrous depths of their kiss. In the gentle way he held her, in the subtle coaxing that had her head spinning, in the hesitant, reluctant acknowledgment of the possibility that lay between them.
Deep in the kiss, wrapped in his arms, she suddenly saw-suddenly understood. He wanted her not just sexually, but with a deeper, richer, infinitely more alluring need. No simple desire but something profound, the sleeping heart of her lion.
She saw, and wanted-reached with both hands…
Only to sense his retreat.
Gradual, as reluctant as he'd been to be lured forth in the first place, yet step by step he eased back from the kiss, backed out of the trap she'd set. The trap she'd baited with herself.
"No." Martin whispered the word as he ended the kiss. His head was spinning, his body one massive ache. An ache so profound, one that went so much deeper than muscle and bone.