His quarry looked astonishing and wicked, mysterious and alluring. She was a powdered and painted beauty from another time.

Oddly, Elliott found that he rather missed her freckles. Still, there was that expanse of creamy bosom to console him in his loss.

He spread his hands, indicating her costume. “My heavens, Miss Jackham. Is this all for me?”

She sidestepped and tried to evade him, but he knew perfectly well that other than instigating a full-on row in the hallway, she had no alternative but to play along for the moment.

Elliott bowed, then straightened and extended his arm. “A dance, Miss Jackham?”

“Oh. No, thank you.”

Elliott smiled but allowed a little steel to enter his gaze. “Oh. Yes, thank you.”

She looked at him warily, her green eyes dark as a forest behind her mask. Elliott merely waited, his arm proffered. After a long moment, she slid her hand to rest upon it. He could feel her fingers trembling.

They began to walk down the hall toward the ballroom. Elliott could hear her breathing and could nearly feel her pulse pounding. She no longer seemed like a cool and detached professional. She seemed like a terrified woman trying not to flee him.

He didn't want her frightened. He wanted her apprehended and properly trained, to protect herself and to be an asset to the Crown! He had not confessed this secret desire to James or Dalton. He imagined that they themselves had something similar in mind. She was too good to leave loose, too dangerous by half—yet Elliott believed that she could be reached. Some few thieves were spurred on by greed alone, but somehow he didn't think that that was her sole ambition. He hoped not.

Damn, that was an exceedingly enjoyable bodice. He thought the current style of gowns quite pretty. They looked comfortable and they did nice things for a lady's figure. But he had to admit that a few decades ago, they'd really known how to tempt a fellow.

The Liar and the Thief entered the ballroom just as the musicians struck up a new waltz tune. The orchestra was excellent and the music came falling clearly down upon them uninterrupted by the usual ballroom chatter and racket.

Elliott could not resist sweeping her into his embrace and melting into the crowd of other dancers on the floor. She stiffened in his arms, clearly still alarmed.

Alarmed by him? It must be his costume. He was a good fighter, but he knew that his foppish good looks and easy smile led most people to underestimate him. She seemed to see directly past his facade.

Perhaps it was his dark mask or his leather trousers but he felt dangerous tonight. When more dancers joined the floor, he pulled her close and then closer still.

* * *

Amie set aside the largest portion of her mind to dance with him and to follow the music. Another small secret room she kept closed off. There was a panicked creature running in circles in that little room—clawing at the walls, shivering and shaking and crying to be set free. She locked that fearful bit of her away.

Simply dance. That's all you are required to do at this moment. Dance… And think. Think fast. Think for your life.

Her captor did not seem inclined to cart her off to prison or to dump her in the Thames. His sole interest in her seemed to be this moment, this waltz, this dance of enemies in a glittering ballroom.

She risked gazing up into his face. The dark hunter's mask seemed to be setting a new sort of man loose in those gray-green eyes. Or perhaps it simply revealed him. She felt something inside her quivering in response, like a plucked string ringing in harmony with his.

She desired him. She savored this moment. As dire and fearful as it was, she knew that deep down she enjoyed the danger. Heat coiled and simmered deep in her belly. She breathed in his marvelous scent and closed her eyes, all the better to enjoy it.

I am in a great deal of trouble, yet I care not. She tried to think what Papa would tell her, what Mama would say. For once, there was no one speaking in her mind except herself—she was beginning to fear that herself was the last person she should trust.

Her feet stumbled in the unaccustomed heels. It was only a slight misstep but another guest trampled on her hem and she was pulled off balance. In another gown, she could've twisted and saved herself from a fall, but the uncompromising whalebone stays that did such unnatural things to her figure now prevented her from easy movement. She staggered, her arms flailing. She felt a strange disconnection from herself. She never fell. Where was her grace? Where was her catlike ability to squirm out of any situation? Who was she in this moment, fearless thief or damsel in distress?

Strong arms swept about her waist and caught her up. He set her on her feet to one side of the crush, her fearless Huntsman come to her rescue. No wait, it was her capture.

She was so confused. How could she love the feeling of his strength and his hands upon her? He was the enemy. He threatened everything she knew and loved. He threatened her very life and the lives of her sisters.

“Are you all right? Are you ill?” The concern is his masked gaze seemed strangely real.

She shook her head and pressed her hands against his chest trying to ease herself away from him. “I—I simply need a bit of air.”

He lifted his head and shot his gaze around the ballroom. Was he looking for something? He pressed his lips together and seemed to come to a decision. “The terrace is just this way. Let us get you out of this throng.”

He took her hand and guided her through the crowd to the doors at the end of the ballroom. The mullioned glass was lined in frost, but she could see that it looked out onto the terrace and the snowy grounds beyond. “Do you need a wrapper? Do you need your cloak?”

It was an excellent notion. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought to bring one. Or to own one, for that matter. I gave away my good coat to escape you. Then she thought about the grounds and somehow possibly reaching the wall past them.

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.” He pushed open the terrace doors and led her outside. The terrace had been swept clean of snow and small decorative lanterns placed here and there, leaving enticing shadows. He led her into one.

She went directly to the stone balustrade and leaned her back against it, facing him, unwilling to turn her back on him.

The air was crisp and icy but there was no wind. After the heat caused by the crowd and her own physical confusion, it felt wonderful. This was exactly what she needed. A bit of quiet. A moment to think, to clear her head, to fix upon a plan.

Then he kissed her.

* * *

His mouth was hot and hard. The large hand that he slipped around the back of her neck was warm and supportive. It was fair to say that he did not steal the kiss so much as begin it…

Wherein she decided to finish it. All by themselves, her arms flew up and her hands clasped behind his neck. She pulled him down to her even as she stood upon her tiptoes. The touch of his lips had opened a floodgate to a reservoir of something she had not even known she contained.

Something wild and fierce and heated erupted from her, obliterating her conscious thoughts before it. She could hear the small sounds she made in her throat as he deepened the kiss. His hard hands slipped fully around her and he pulled her tightly against him.

When he growled a deep and needful sound, it vibrated through her to resonate urgently in a place she'd ignored for most of her life.

Oh yes. Oh please. More…

His huntsman's cap fell off his head and onto the stones as she ran her fingers up into his hair. She tightened her fists to drag herself closer. But there was no closer. She could not… It wasn't…

Then his hot hand released one of her breasts from her low bodice. The icy air tightened her nipple but only for a moment before his heated palm covered it. He hefted her breast, lifting it.

His mouth left hers and he took her rigid nipple into his mouth.

Oh…

The throbbing between her thighs grew to almost pain, such a terrible, empty ache! He pressed her body back against the balustrade with his hips. She braced herself with her hands as he leaned her over his arm and devoured her nipples, one turn on another. She could feel the rigid thickness in his trousers press against her.

She had an idea what that was. She'd seen some of paintings Papa had brought home at the height of his career, before he had later sold them. She knew what men kept there, and she knew that women were made to receive it.

But no one had ever told her about the searing, blazing heat she experienced at the very thought of taking him inside her.

Then she felt him lift him up her skirt with one hand. For a moment she nearly panicked but he was on the wrong side of the garter with the keys.

Then again, what did it matter? He knew she was a thief. In that moment, she realized for the first time why he was able to reach her this way. He was her enemy, but he was also her equal.

There were no lies between them. He knew she was a thief. She knew he was a spy. They may be costumed and masked, yet she had never been more revealed to a man than she was at that moment.

Then his hand found her and his cool fingers slipped within her and slid in her dampness to find the center of her pleasure.

Yes. Yes I want that. I want him. I want his hand right there, right now.

There was no voice of logic. There was no canny plan. If she was captured, then her life as she'd known it was over. If she did manage to escape, she would never see him again.

Either way, this was her last chance to know him, to feel him, to slide her hands over his wide shoulders, to dig her fingers into his thick hair, to feel his mouth on her nipples and his hand bringing her pleasure beneath her skirts. It might be all she ever had to keep her warm through her future lonely Christmases.

I'm stealing this moment. That is, after all, what I do.

Then all thought was burnt away like paper before the flames he stoked within her. He made her writhe and tremble and cry out and then the starry sky above her disappeared behind the brilliant lightning of her shuddering pleasure.