It would be so easy to seduce her. He knew he had the power to do so, and even though Henry had grown frightened at their last encounter, he didn't think she would try to stop him again. He could wash her over with pleasure. She'd never even know what had hit her.

He shuddered, as if the physical motion could restrain him from leaning across the seat and taking the first step toward his goal. He hadn't brought Henry to London to seduce her. Good Lord, he thought wryly, how many times had he had to repeat that refrain during the past few weeks? But it was true, and she had a right to meet all of London's eligible bachelors. He was going to have to back off and let her see for herself who else was out there.

It was that damned chivalrous instinct. Life would be a lot simpler if his honor didn't always intrude when it came to this girl.

Henry turned back to face him, and her lips parted slightly, startled by the harsh expression etched in his face. "Is something wrong?" she quietly asked.

"No," he replied, a little more gruffly than he'd intended.

"You're upset with me."

"Why on earth would I be upset with you?" he all but snapped.

"You certainly sound as if you're upset with me."

He sighed. "I'm upset with myself."

"But why is that?" Henry asked, her face showing her concern.

Dunford cursed himself under his breath. Now what was he to say? I'm upset because I want to seduce you? I'm upset because you smell like lemons and I'm dying to know why? I'm upset because—

"You don't have to say anything," Henry said, clearly sensing he did not want to share his feelings with her. "Just let me cheer you up."

His groin tightened at the thought.

"Shall I tell you what happened to Belle and me yesterday? It was most amusing. It was...No, I can see that you do not want to hear."

"That's not true," he forced himself to say.

"Well, we went to Hardiman's Tea Shoppe, and...You're not listening."

"I am," he assured her, working his face back into a more pleasant expression.

"All right," she said slowly, giving him an assessing glance. "This lady came in, and her hair was quite green..."

Dunford made no remark.

"You're not listening," she accused.

"I was," he started to protest. Then he saw her dubious expression and admitted with a boyish grin, "I wasn't."

She smiled at him then, not the familiar cheeky smile to which he'd grown so accustomed, but one born of sheer mirth, artless in its beauty.

Dunford was entranced. He leaned forward, not realizing what he was doing.

"You want to kiss me," she whispered with wonder.

He shook his head.

"You do," she persisted. "I can see it in your eyes. You're looking at me the way I always want to look at you, but I don't know how, and—

"Shhh." He pressed his finger to her lips.

"I wouldn't mind," she whispered against him.

Dunford's blood pounded. She was an inch away from him, a vision in white silk, and she was giving him permission to kiss her. Permission to do what he'd been aching to do...

His finger slid from her mouth, catching on her full lower lip in its descent.

"Please," she whispered.

"This doesn't mean anything," he murmured.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

He leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. "You're going to go to the ball, meet some nice gentleman..."

She nodded. "Anything you say."

"He'll court you...Maybe you'll fall in love."

She said nothing.

He was just a hair's breadth away. "And you'll live happily ever after."

She said, "I hope so," but the words were lost against his mouth as he kissed her with such longing and tenderness that she thought she would surely burst with love. He kissed her again, and then again, his lips soft and gentle, his hands warm on her cheeks. Henry moaned his name, and he dipped his tongue between her lips, unable to resist the soft temptation of her mouth.

The new intimacy shattered whatever control he'd been exerting over himself, and his last rational thought was that he mustn't muss her hair...His hands slid down to her back, and he pressed her against him, reveling in the heat of her body. "Oh, God, Henry," he groaned. "Oh, Hen."

Dunford could feel her acquiescing and knew he was a blackguard. If he had been anywhere other than in a moving carriage on the way to Henry's first ball, he probably would not have had the fortitude to stop, but as it was...Oh, Christ, he couldn't ruin her. He wanted her to have a perfect time.

It didn't occur to him that this might be her idea of a perfect time.

He took a ragged breath and tried to tear his lips from hers, but he made it only to her jawline. Her skin was so soft, so warm, he couldn't resist trailing a kiss all the way up to her ear. Finally he managed to pull away, loathing himself for taking such advantage of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, needing to keep her at arm's length, then realized that any touch between them was potentially explosive, so he pulled back his hands and moved across the seat cushion. Then he moved to the opposite seat.

Henry touched her tingling lips, too innocent to understand his desire was being held in check by a very thin thread. Why had he moved so far away? She knew he was right to stop the kiss. She knew she ought to thank him for it, but couldn't he have remained by her side and at least held her hand? "That certainly didn't mean anything," she tried to joke, her voice breaking on the words.

"For your sake, it had better not."

What did that mean? Henry cursed herself for not having the courage to ask. "I-I must look a mess," she said instead, her voice sounding very hollow to her ears.