She moved without thinking, reaching for him, arms extending toward him as she whispered, “Who are you?”

Even through the silk of her gloves, his hair was soft—like thick sable. She let her fingers sink into the strands until they rested on his scalp, the heat of it a stark contrast against the cold March air.

It was gone before she could revel in it, replaced by one large, strong hand, no more than a shadow in the yawning blackness, capturing both of hers with ease.

She gasped and tugged.

He did not let go.

What had she been thinking?

Her spectacles were slipping, and she stilled, afraid they would topple off her nose if she moved too much.

“You should know better than to reach into the darkness, Pippa,” he said softly, the sound of her name familiar on his lips. “You never know what you might find.”

“Release me,” she whispered, risking movement to look over her shoulder to the still-open door to the ballroom. “Someone will see.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” His fingers tangled with hers, the heat of his grasp nearly unbearable. How was he so warm in the cold?

She shook her head, feeling the wire frames of her glasses slip more. “No.”

“Are you certain?” His grip shifted, and suddenly, it was she holding him, not the other way around.

She forced herself to release him. “Yes.” She put both hands safely on the stone railing, straightening, but not before her glasses dropped into the darkness. She reached for them, knocking them off course with her fingertips, sending them shooting through the night. “My spectacles!”

He disappeared, the only sign of him the whisper of fabric as he moved away from her. And she didn’t know how, but she could feel the loss of him. The top of his head came into view, a few inches of blurred, burnt orange gleaming in the candlelight loosed from the ballroom.

Recognition surged on a tide of excitement. Mr. Cross.

She pointed toward him. “Do not move.”

She was already heading for the far end of the balcony, where a long staircase led down to the gardens.

He met her at the base of the stone steps, the dim light from the house casting his face into wicked shadows. Extending her spectacles to her, he said, “Return to the ballroom.”

She snatched the glasses and put them on, his face becoming clear and angled once more. “No.”

“We agreed you would relinquish your quest for ruination.”

She took a deep breath. “Then you should not have encouraged me.”

“Encouraged you to eavesdrop and hobble yourself?”

She tested her weight on the foot, wincing at the pinch of pain in the toe. “I think at the worst it is a minor phalangeal fracture. It will heal. I’ve done it before.”

“Broken your toe.”

She nodded. “It’s just the smallest toe. A horse once stepped on the same toe on the opposite side. Needless to say, ladies’ footwear does not provide much in the way of protection from those so far better shod than we.”

“I suppose anatomy is another one of your specialties?”

“It is.”

“I am impressed.”

She was not certain he was telling the truth. “In my experience, ‘impressed’ is not the usual reaction to my knowledge of human anatomy.”

“No?”

She was grateful for the dim light, as she could not seem to stop speaking. “Most people find it odd.”

“I am not most people.”

The response set her back. “I suppose you’re not.” She paused, thinking of the conversation she’d overheard. She ignored the thread of discomfort that came with the memory. “Who is Lavinia?”

“Go back to your ball, Pippa.” He turned away from her and started along the edge of the house.

She could not let him leave. She might have promised not to approach him, but he was in her gardens. She followed.

He stopped and turned back. “Have you learned the parts of the ear?”

She smiled, welcoming his interest. “Of course. The exterior portion is called the pinna. Some refer to it as the auricle, but I prefer the pinna, because it’s Latin for feather, and I’ve always rather liked the image. The inner ear is made up of an impressive collection of bones and tissue, beginning with—”

“Amazing.” He cut her off. “You seem to know so much about the organ in question, and yet you fail so miserably at using it. I could have sworn I told you to return to your ball.”

He turned away again. She followed.

“My hearing is fine, Mr. Cross. As is my free will.”

“You are difficult.”

“Not usually.”

“Turning over a new leaf?” He did not slow.

“Do you make it a practice to force the ladies of your acquaintance to run to keep up with you?”

He stopped, and she nearly ran into him. “Only those whom I would like to lose.”

She smiled. “You came to my location, Mr. Cross. Do not forget that.”

He looked to the sky, then back at her, and she wished that she could see his eyes. “The terms of our wager were clear; you are not to be ruined. If you remain here, with me, you will be missed, and sought. And if you are discovered, you will be ruined. Return. Immediately.”

There was something very compelling about this man—about the way he seemed so calm, so controlled. And she had never in her life wanted to do something less than leave him. “No one will miss me.”

“Not even Castleton?”

She hesitated, something akin to guilt flaring. The earl was likely waiting for her, lemonade warming in hand.