Kisses were something Emma felt she could handle. Being held securely in Francis's arm's was a delight. But when his hand closed gently over her breasts she gasped and pulled away. The reality of her feelings hit her. She burst into tears.

"Emma?" Francis, cursing himself for a fool, for pushing her too hard, gathered her into his arms, ignoring her half-hearted resistance. "I'm sorry, Emma. It was too soon, I know. Emma? Sweetheart?"

Emma gulped and stifled her sobs. "It's true!" she said, her voice a tear-choked whisper. "They said you were a rake and you'd want to take me to bed and I didn't believe them but it's true." She ended this astonishing speech on a hiccup.

Francis, finding much of her accusation difficult to deny, fastened on the one aspect that was not clear. "They—who?"

"Sophia and Bella and Maggie. They said you're all rakes. You and Felix and Lord Daniel and Lord Byron. They said there's something about us that means we attract rakes."

Finding nothing in all this that he wished to dispute, Francis kept silent. He continued to hold Emma, his face half buried in her hair. "What did they suggest you should do about it?" He eventually asked, unsure if he would get an answer.

The answer he got was unsettling. "Wait."

Wait. Francis did not need to ask what for. He knew.

Very much later in the evening, when Francis had escorted Emma back to the ballroom, Felix caught sight of them from the other side of the room. He had been forced to reassess his original opinion of the youngest Fleming's sobriety. Quite how such a youthful innocent had managed to get Francis into her toils he could not comprehend, but one look at his brother's face, even with his mask in place, was enough to tell him she had succeeded to admiration. Well, he had warned him.

Maribella's role in the great plan was to flirt so outrageously that everyone in the entire room would be certain that it was indeed the vivacious Miss Fleming under the rose-pink domino. None of the conspirators had imagined this would prove at all difficult and, true to form, within half an hour Maribella had convinced the better part of the company of her identity. She left one group of revellers, laughing gaily, and was moving around the room, when she found she had walked into the arms of a large, black-domino-clad figure. The shock she received from the contact immediately informed her of the identity of the gentleman.

"Oh, sir! You quite overwhelmed me!"

"In such a crowd as this, my dear? Surely you jest?"

"Would you contradict a lady, sir? Then you're no gentlemen, in truth."

"In truth, you're quite right, sweet lady. Gentlemen lead such boring lives."

The distinctly seductive tone brought Maribella up short. He could not know who she was, could he? As if in answer to her unspoken question, he asked, "And who might you be, my lovely?"

Maribella's chin went up and she playfully retorted, "Why, that not for you to know, sir. My reputation might be at stake, simply for talking to so unconventional a gentleman as you."

To he unease, Henry responded with a deep and attractive chuckle. Their light banter continued, Maribella making all the customary responses, her quick ear for repartee saving her from floundering when his returns made her cheeks burn. She flirted with Henry to the top of her bent. And hated every minute of it. He did not know who she was, yet was prepared to push an unknown lady to make an assignation with him for later in the evening. She was tempted to do so and then confront him with her identity. But her heart failed her. Instead, when she could bear it no longer, she made a weak excuse and escaped.