So what did he know?

She was an Englishwoman, unquestionably gently bred-her accent, her bearing and her smooth declaration that they moved in similar circles had settled that. And she knew her Cynsters well. Not only had she stated it, her whole presentation had been artfully designed to appeal to his Cynster instincts.

Gabriel swung into Brook Street. One thing the countess didn't know was that he rarely reacted impulsively these days. He'd learned to keep his instincts in check-his business dealings demanded it. He also had a definite dislike of being manipulated-in any field. In this case, however, he'd decided to play along.

The countess was, after all, an intriguing challenge in her own right. All close to six feet of her. And a lot of that six feet was leg, a consideration guaranteed to fix his rakish interest. As for her lips and the delights they promised… he'd already decided they'd be his.

Occasionally, liaisons happened like that-one look, one touch, and he'd know. He couldn't, however, recall being affected quite so forcefully before, nor committing so decisively and definitely to the chase. And its ultimate outcome.

Again, energy surged through him. This-the countess and her problem-was precisely what he needed to fill the present lack in his life: a challenge and a conquest combined.

Reaching his house, he climbed the steps and let himself in. He shut and bolted the door, then glanced toward the parlor. In the bookcase by the fireplace resided a copy of Burke's Peerage.

Lips quirking, he strode for the stairs. If he hadn't promised not to seek out her identity, he would have made straight for the bookcase and, despite the hour, ascertained just which earl had recently died to be succeeded by a son called Charles. There couldn't be that many. Instead, feeling decidedly virtuous, not something that often occurred, he headed for his bed, all manner of plans revolving in his head.