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Lord Linny’s masquerade ball was indeed the crush of the Season, with all who attended agreeing it was a resounding success. Surprisingly, the Marquess of Dardington was among those who voiced a favorable opinion of the event.

Though he privately thought the sight of Meredith in her Roman gown was worth surviving any social occasion of the ton , Trevor actually managed to enjoy himself that night.

He had also succeeded in doing what no other man of society had managed, except for his father, the duke—Trevor had danced with the beautiful Marchioness of Dardington.

She had smiled with delight when he presented himself to her, bowing elegantly and asking for the honor of the next dance. Tapping her finger to the side of her cheek, she had feigned indecision, claiming she was uncertain if she knew the identity of the man behind the black domino.

He had allowed her the jest, then swept her up in his arms before she could say another word. The lavish mirrored ballroom, filled with bouquets of white, red and yellow roses, was the perfect setting for this magical night that hinted at endless possibilities.

Though he had not planned it, Trevor was pleased to discover their dance was a waltz.

Just to tease her, the marquess held his wife at the distance that was perfectly correct for the dance.

She frowned at him in puzzlement, trying several times to close the gap between them, but he would not allow it.

For Trevor knew such intimate nearness might heat his body to an embarrassing level of arousal.

In the crush of the ballroom, other dancers spun past them, but for Trevor it felt as if no one else was there but the two of them.

He escorted Meredith into supper at midnight, and they sat cozily together at a corner table, conversing, laughing and sampling delicious morsels of food from each other’s plates.

Meredith’s brother Jason interrupted them, asking with a polite, pleading note in his voice if he and his dinner partner could join them.

Jason had certainly gotten into the spirit of the evening.

He was dressed as a pirate, complete with a jaunty eye patch.

An impressive-looking crescent saber was tucked into a wide red sash tied about his waist.

His companion, Miss Elizabeth Sainthill, was garbed as a shepherdess.

The white ruffles surrounding the sides of her poke bonnet framed her face artfully, and the satin ribbon tied beneath her chin perfectly matched the shade of her eyes.

Seated beside Meredith, Trevor could not help but notice Miss Elizabeth looked sweet, innocent, and impossibly young.

“I am sorry to intrude, but I have at last managed to slip away from Elizabeth’s sister, Harriet,” Jason whispered to Trevor as he took a seat. “Yet I could not indulge in sequestering my lovely Elizabeth at a private table without any sort of chaperon. It would be highly improper.”

“I understand,” Trevor replied, though he had a difficult time imagining himself in the role of acceptable chaperon.

Why, only a few short weeks ago a young, impressionable girl of Elizabeth’s stature would have been forbidden even to be seen in the presence of the scandalous Marquess of Dardington without a bevy of her male and female relatives along.

Apparently that had all changed. His wicked reputation, deservedly earned over the past eight years, was now replaced with one of respectability—thanks solely to Meredith.

She had weathered the storm of their scandalous marriage with dignity and grace, refusing to accept anything less than the full acknowledgment of society.

And while Trevor was the first to admit he was hardly ready to cast himself in the role of an elder, stodgy gentleman, it was refreshing to have the choice.

“Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Sainthill?” Trevor asked.

A soft flush rose in the young girl’s cheeks.

“It has been very entertaining. The decorations are elegant, the atmosphere fun and festive. And there are so many people dressed in a most impressive range of costumes while others are portraying specific historical characters. I have never before seen the like.”

Jason smiled enthusiastically. “We have been having a devil of a time trying to decide who is who beneath their masks.” He put his hand over Elizabeth’s, which was resting on the edge of the table, and squeezed gently.

“Mr. Barrington clearly has the advantage over me in that endeavor, since he is acquainted with far more members of Society,” Elizabeth replied. Smiling shyly, she unobtrusively extricated her hand and placed it in her lap.

Jason seemed unaware of her withdrawal. The conversation switched topics and the four began a lively, nonsensical debate about which costume was the most original, most daring, or most ridiculous. It continued, with much laughter, until the musicians returned and began tuning their instruments.

“You must excuse me.” Elizabeth lifted the dance card that hung around her wrist and consulted it carefully. “I need to return to the ballroom. This next dance is promised to our host. It would be rude to force him to search for me in all the rooms on this floor.”

Jason immediately stood. “I shall deliver you to Lord Linny personally—if you promise me one more dance later?”

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, then nodded her head in agreement. The pair said goodbye and melted away into the crowd heading back to the ballroom.

“Jason is certainly smitten,” Meredith observed as the two trotted off.

Trevor took a drink of his excellent wine. “Very much so, yet Miss Elizabeth’s feelings are not nearly as obvious.”

Meredith shrugged. “She is female, cautious and thoughtful by nature. He is a male, headstrong and conceited. Of course they will have differing views on the state of their relationship.”

Trevor placed his crystal goblet on the table with a loud thunk . “Is that how you see me, madame? A headstrong and conceited male?”

Her eyebrow lifted to a provocative angle. “Headstrong, absolutely. Conceited? Perhaps impossibly arrogant is a better description.” She flicked her tongue over her top lip teasingly. “Be quick and finish your wine, sir, so we may also return to the ballroom.”

Trevor groaned in exaggerated despair. “Though you are only dancing with the duke and myself, you have already taken the floor several times. Are you not yet tired?”

She shook her head. “I can assure you that thanks to these marvelous sandals I can dance until dawn. Now come along.”

Once back in the ballroom, it took several minutes for the marquess to achieve a festive mood.

He was again on guard against any possible danger to his wife, observing all those who came near with a suspicious eye.

Trevor had taken this duty very seriously, for the need to know Meredith was safe had now become almost an obsession.

He reasoned it was in part due to his feelings for her, feelings he had not expressed in words but rather in physical contact. Meredith had slept in his bed, or he in hers, each and every night since the incident at the theater.

She had welcomed him with an almost fanatical embrace, and Trevor admitted he had been very foolish to deny them both this closeness in the past, especially because Meredith seemed to need and want it so much.

When their marriage began, he had believed physical distance was the only honorable course, since he was convinced he could not form any emotional ties to her.

But he was wrong. Those emotional ties had somehow been forged even with only limited physical relations between them. And though neither of them had yet expressed their true inner feelings to the other, the marquess sensed that moment would soon be upon them—at least for him.

It had taken nearly losing Meredith for Trevor to realize she was what he had wanted all along. She gave him a sense of completion that had long been missing from his life. Miraculously, she made him dare to envision that a happy, promising future was indeed possible.

There had been no occurrences since that fateful night at the theater, but Trevor refused to abandon his mission to protect his wife.

True, Meredith had, at his request, severely limited her social engagements, so the opportunities for someone to harm her, if there was indeed a someone , were fewer.

More and more of late he wondered if perhaps he had overreacted to the situation. But Trevor then decided it did not matter. Better to exercise caution and be wrong than to relax his vigilance and have Meredith suffer the consequences.

After three more dances, Trevor was finally able to convince his wife it was time to leave the masquerade ball. The duke was also ready to depart, and the three climbed into the ducal carriage for the short ride home.

Trevor accepted his father’s invitation of a late night brandy, and the two men seated themselves in the gold salon to indulge.

Meredith declined to join them. Instead, she bade them both a charming, sweet good night, kissing first the duke and last her husband.

Yet the gleam in her eye and the possessive manner in which her hand fisted so tightly upon his lapel when she chastely pressed against his cheek told the marquess she fully expected to see him later.

Warmth unfurled in his gut and his lower regions. Just knowing she was eager to give herself to him brought on a tantalizing surge of both desire and emotion. Her enchanting Roman costume was a sensuous garment. It draped over her hips and breasts, clinging to every delectable curve of her body.

Trevor could so easily envision himself peeling it from her, inch by inch, exposing the creamy, white flesh he knew was underneath.

He remembered how her skin glowed in the light of the candles, how her breasts peaked when he caressed them, how her eyes seemed to beg him to take her, possess her, however he wished.