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too much time together, Mr. Wade. People are paying attention to that.”
    “You mean certain men.”
    “No, I mean everyone,” she said calmly. “Whatever you think you’re doing with me, it isn’t working. You risk upsetting me. Why would I want to tell you anything in such a state that might compromise myself?”
    “And how will I coerce you to tell me anything, if I don’t make you upset?”
    Her laughter was almost a groan. “Can you not go play cards, like some of the other men?”
    “I’ll retire to that eventually. Just remember that a waltz shows off your form to the gentlemen present. It’s a chance for them to watch you without appearing impolite.”
    She shot him a startled glance, then looked away. He remained silent, trusting in the dance itself to ease her qualms. As she relaxed, they moved more easily together. He had imagined most bluestockings as uncoordinated, another good reason for them to remain with their studies. But Susanna put a lie to that reasoning.
    “You’re allowing me to lead,” he said at last.
    She blinked up at him, chocolate eyes studying him. “I am supposed to.”
    “I thought you would resist being led.”
    “It’s a dance, not an insurrection—should I define the word for you?”
    He grinned. “I seem to recall asking you to spell a word for me that night at my club.”
    “You were teasing me during a stressful time. I did not take well to it.”
    When the dance ended, she curtsied to him. “This is all the homage you’ll get from me, Mr. Wade,” she said softly, before walking away.
    He chuckled, and went to do his duty with another partner. He’d never considered it a duty before to have an awed young thing in his arms, but tonight he felt . . . impatient. He thought of Julian and Peter and wondered at the methods they were using to coerce the truth about the painting out of two reluctant women. It wasn’t the money that was important to Leo, nor defeating two very worthy opponents. He’d used both of those goals at first, a way to combat his growing, confusing restlessness. But somehow this challenge had become all about Susanna, understanding her, defeating her—winning her. Having her was growing more important than the wager, than even the truth.
    S usanna stood near the open windows, letting the breeze cool her damp skin. She’d danced more this night than she had at crushes of two hundred people. Though pleasantly tired, she felt satisfied with her performance. She’d danced with every man there, even Mr. Tyler—when he was practically forced by his hostess—who could only stammer about the weather and looked past her shoulder rather than into her eyes. Perhaps he was trying not to stare into her cleavage, but she was only deluding herself.
    Lord Swanley brought her champagne, and she sipped it gratefully, looking up into his eyes so far above her.
    “Thank you, my lord. You are rescuing a lady in distress.” Was she actually flirting now, she thought, feeling her cheeks redden with heat. Rebecca would be stunned!
    Though she smiled at the viscount, inside a lump seemed to lodge in her throat. She didn’t remember the last time she’d spent even a few days apart from her sister. Though they were dissimilar in temperament and dreams and so many other things, they shared the fierce bond of sisterhood. What would Rebecca think of how Susanna was opening herself up to the chance of suitors? Their cousin Elizabeth Cabot would be proud since she thought only marriage could give a woman fulfillment.
    But Rebecca? No, Rebecca had been ready for adventure for a long time, and the wager over the painting seemed to give her a new purpose. But Susanna always knew that Rebecca would someday find a husband to love her. Susanna knew Rebecca wanted the same for her.
    Of course, Susanna wasn’t a success yet since no man but Mr. Wade spent an inordinate amount of time with her, but she wasn’t expecting a sudden thunderclap of love.
    “You look