“It is the role most women choose for themselves.”

“Only for lack of opportunity.”

Lady Tatham giggled nervously and tapped Jenkyn’s arm lightly with her fan in girlish rebuke. “Sir Jasper likes to tease,” she told Garrett.

Jenkyn made Garrett’s skin crawl. There was a quality about him, a malignant vitality that people would interpret as magnetism instead of corruption.

“Perhaps you’re in need of an accessory, Dr. Gibson,” he said. “Shall we find some virile young trophy for you to flaunt on your arm?”

“I already have an escort.”

“Yes, the estimable Dr. Havelock. I see him over there at the side of the room. Would you like me to take you to him?”

Garrett hesitated. She didn’t want to spend another second in Jenkyn’s company, but neither did she want to take his arm. Unfortunately, according to etiquette, a woman was not allowed to walk across the room unescorted at a formal event.

“I would be obliged,” she said reluctantly.

Jenkyn looked over her shoulder. “Ah, but wait—we’re being approached by an acquaintance of mine, who appears most intent on meeting you. Allow me to make an introduction.”

“I would rather not.”

Lady Tatham leaned to whisper close to Garrett’s ear, making her shiver irritably. “Oh, but you must meet this young man, my dear. He may lack family connections, but he is an unattached gentleman of means. A speculative builder from Durham. And he’s exceptionally fine-looking. A blue-eyed stunner, as one of my friends put it.”

A strange feeling came over Garrett. Her gaze lifted to the massive pier glass, which was filled with a blur of color dabs, like a painting by Monet. She glimpsed herself in the vast mosaic of reflections . . . the shimmering blue-green dress, her pale face beneath upswept hair. A dark form was moving through the crowd toward her with a controlled and lethal grace she’d seen before in only one man.

Alarmed by the violent pulse that had begun to lash in her wrists and throat, Garrett closed her eyes briefly. Somehow she knew who the blue-eyed stunner would turn out to be, she was sure of it, and while her brain warned that something was very wrong, her senses were running wild with anticipation.

She could feel a tide of color rising to the surface of her skin, a bloom of exhilaration and desire. There was nothing she could do to suppress it. The room was an oven. She was being braised alive. To make matters worse, her corset had been cinched a half-inch tighter than usual to accommodate Helen’s slender measurements, and while it hadn’t been a problem up until now, she suddenly couldn’t take in enough air.

Someone came up behind her, a large form pausing amid the crush of bodies until there was sufficient room to move to her side. All her skin changed, gooseflesh rising despite the sweltering heat.

Garrett was filled with ice and fire, nearly ill with excitement as she turned to confront an unfamiliar version of Ethan Ransom, all steely masculine perfection in formal black and white, every inch of him polished and impeccably groomed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly, in the English accent that seemed jarring now that she was familiar with his real one.

Confused and uncertain—they were supposed to be strangers, weren’t they?—Garrett asked faintly, “H-have we met?”

Something in his stone-cold face softened. “Sir Jasper knows we’re acquainted. He assigned me to help with the security arrangements for tonight, but neglected to mention you would be here. And for some reason your name was left off the guest list.” He leveled a hard glance at Jenkyn.

“I asked Lord and Lady Tatham to make certain Dr. Gibson would attend,” Jenkyn explained in a silken tone. “I thought it would enliven the evening—particularly for you, Ransom. I do so like to see young people enjoying themselves.”

Ethan’s jaw set. “Apparently it slipped your mind that I have a job to do.”

Jenkyn smiled. “I felt quite certain of your ability to do more than one thing at a time.” He glanced from Ethan’s hard face to Garrett’s flushed one. “Perhaps you might take Dr. Gibson to the refreshment room for champagne. She seems rather overcome by my little surprise.”

Ethan held the older man’s gaze for a long moment, while tension laced through the air like metallic thread. Garrett inched closer to him uneasily, realizing he was fighting for self-control. Lady Tatham’s fatuous smile began to dissolve. Even Jenkyn seemed subtly relieved when Ethan turned to Garrett.

She took his arm, her fingertips curling into the sleek, expensive fabric of his dress coat.

“A delight to have made your acquaintance, Dr. Gibson,” she heard Jenkyn say. “As I expected, you are a woman of sharp wit.” After a sliver of a pause, he added, “And even sharper tongue.”

Had Garrett not been so dumbfounded at finding herself in Ethan Ransom’s presence, she might have thought of some withering retort. Instead she responded with a distracted nod and allowed Ethan to lead her away.

There was little opportunity to speak as they moved through a crowd as tightly packed as olives in a jar. Not that it mattered: Garrett doubted she could have managed to put more than three or four sensible words together. She couldn’t believe she was with him. Her gaze went to the neat shape of his ear. She wanted to kiss it. She wanted to press her mouth to the place where his close-shaven beard started, and move down to his throat where she could feel him breathing. But he seemed so unyielding, so unreachable in his iced-over wrath, that she wasn’t at all certain he would reciprocate.

Silently Ethan led her through the circuit of rooms and out to a stairwell landing with a cluster of potted palms near one corner. The palms had been arranged to partially conceal a small, plain door that must have led to the service area of the house.

With effort, Garrett managed to speak. “Is that the man you referred to as your mentor? Why did he want me to be here tonight?”

“It’s a warning for me,” Ethan said flatly, not looking at her.

“A warning about what?”

The question seemed to fracture Ethan’s self-assured façade. “He knows that where you’re concerned, I . . . have . . . a preference.” Guiding her past the palms, he opened the service door and took her to the landing of a servants’ stairwell. The abrupt cessation of noise was an unspeakable relief. It was cool and dimly lit in the stairwell, the dank staleness relieved by a slight breeze filtering in through outside air vents.

“Preference,” Garrett repeated cautiously. “What does that mean? You prefer me to what?”

As they stopped in a corner, Ethan’s head and broad shoulders were silhouetted in the faint glow of a sconce on the opposite wall. She began to tremble as he stood over her, big and dark, his nearness awakening a pulse of high music in her.

“I prefer you to everything,” he said gruffly, and bent to take her mouth with his.

Chapter 11

As Ethan kissed her roughly, Garrett melted against him, a moan catching in her throat. Too much pleasure, too much feeling, and yet she wanted more. She couldn’t seem to draw it in fast enough. His body was solid and heavy, raw power wrapped in civilized formal attire. Her hands slid inside his black evening coat, following the lean contours of his waist up to the muscled vault of his ribs and chest. Ethan tensed and shivered at her touch, and angled his head to fit their mouths more tightly together. Still not enough. She had to feel more of him, all of him. Daring to reach down to his hips, she pulled him closer, and gasped at the feel of his aroused form against hers.