"No, it does no'." The hell she'd besecuring Quin. Ethan would have to see her around London continually as their paths crossed—and if tonight was any indication, he'd have to continually cuckold Quin. "Forget him. He's no' here and I am."

She gazed up at him and tilted her head. "Take off your mask."

"That defeats the purpose of a masquerade, does it no'?" If he removed it, she would stop looking up at him with a growing curiosity glinting in her eyes, and instead, stare in horror. "I can enjoy you just as well with our masks on."

"And what makes you think I'd allow you to 'enjoy' me?" A flirtatious note had eased into her voice, so subtly he might have missed it. Not coquettish—but amused, intrigued.

She was playing, enjoying herself, but she had no idea what she toyed with. "I've a sense for these things." He brushed the backs of his fingers below the sapphire silk of her mask, down her cheek, and she allowed it. "Tonight you're aching for a man."

At that, she glanced away. "You might be right, Scot," she said casually, then faced him once more. Her voice a purr, she asked, "But areyou the man I await…where I ache?"

He felt on the verge of grinning. Ach, he liked this excitement. This bandying. He liked that she flirted with him, even knowing she didn't plan to go further. Why hadn't a man like himself been attending masquerades every bloody week?

"I am that man." He took her by her tiny waist and lifted her onto the table along the wall.

"Scot, put me down!" she cried, but he could tell she was excited, well past intrigued now. "Why did you do that?"

"I want to be face-to-face with you when I kiss you for the first time."

Finally, his words drew a small gasp from her lips. "Are you always so arrogant?"

"Aye, always." He wedged his hips between her legs.

"You need to let me down," she said, even as she hesitantly ran her fingertip over his arm—as if she'd struggled not to but hadn't been able to help herself. "I've no time or use for handsome rakes with smooth words."