was only when he looked into the cool grey-green orbs that he saw the twinkle of amusement lurking there. Unused to provoking such a response, he frowned.
"Who, exactly, are you?" His voice, he was pleased to find, was even and his diction clear.
The smile which had been hovering at the corners of those inviting lips finally came into being,
disclosing a row of small pearly teeth. But instead of answering his question, the vision replied,
"I was waiting for the Duke of Twyford."
Her voice was low and musical. Mentally engaged in considering how to most rapidly dispense with
the formalities, Max answered automatically. "I am the Duke."
"You?" For one long moment, utter bewilderment was writ large across her delightful countenance.
For the life of her, Caroline could not hide her surprise. How could this man, of all men, be the Duke? Aside from the fact he was far too young to have been a crony of her father's, the gentleman before her was unquestionably a rake. And a rake of the first order, to boot. Whether the dark-browed, harsh-featured face with its aquiline nose and firm mouth and chin or the lazy assurance with which he had entered the room had contributed to her reading of his character, she could not have said. But the calmly arrogant way his intensely blue eyes had roved from the top of her curls all the way down to her feet, and then just as calmly returned by the same route, as if to make sure he had missed nothing, left her in little doubt of what sort of man she now faced. Secure in the knowledge of being under her guardian's roof, she had allowed the amusement she felt on seeing such decided appreciation glow in the deep blue eyes to show. Now, with those same blue eyes still on her, piercingly perceptive, she felt as if the rag had been pulled from beneath her feet.