Felix was worried. Seriously worried. Since far first night at Almack's, the situation between Sophia Fleming and Daniel Hammington has rapidly deteriorated to a state which, from experience, he knew was fraught with danger. As he watched Sophia across Lady Langdon's ballroom, chatting with determined avidity to an eminently respectable and thoroughly boring young gentleman, his brows drew together in a considering frown. If, at the beginning of his guardianship, anyone had asked him where his sympathies would lie, with the Misses Fleming or the gentlemen of London, he would unhesitatingly have allied himself with his wards, on the grounds that four exquisite but relatively inexperienced country misses would need all the help they could get to defend their virtue successfully against the highly knowledgeable rakes extant within the ton. Now, a month later, having gained first-hand experience of the tenacious perversity of the Fleming sisters, he was not so sure.

His behaviour with Margaret on the night of their first visit to Almack's had been a mistake. How much of a mistake had been slowly made clear to him over the succeeding weeks. He was aware of the effect he had on her, had been aware of it from the first time he had seen her in his library at Delmere House. But in order to make use of that weapon, he had to have her to himself. A fact, unfortunately, that she had worked out for herself. Consequently, whenever he approached her, he found her surrounded either by admirers who had given too much encouragement for him to dismiss easily or one or two of her far too perceptive sisters. Emma, it was true, was not attuned to the situation between her eldest sister and their guardian. But he had unwisely made use of her innocence, to no avail as it transpired, and was now unhappily certain he would get no further opportunity by that route. Neither Maribella nor Sophia was the least but perturbed by his increasingly blatant attempts to be rid of them. He was sure that, if he was ever goaded into ordering them to leave their sister alone with him, they would laugh and refuse. And tease him unmercifully about it, what was more. He had already had to withstand one episode of Maribella's artful play, sufficiently subtle, thank God, so that the others in the group had not understood her meaning.

His gaze wandered to where the third Fleming sister held court, seated on a chaise surrounded by ardent swains, her huge eyes wickedly dancing with mischief. As he watched, she tossed a comment to one of the circle and turned, her head playfully tilted, to throw a glance of open invitation into the handsome face of a blond giant standing before her. Felix stiffened. Hell and the devil! He would have to put a stop to that game, and quickly. He had no difficulty in recognizing the large frame of Henry, Lord Byron. Although a few years younger than himself, in character and accomplishments there was little to choose between them. Under his horrified gaze, Henry took advantage of a monetary distraction which had succeeded in removing attention temporarily from Maribella to lean forward and whisper something, Felix could guess what, into her ear. The look she gave him in response made Felix set his jaw grimly. Then, Henry extended one large hand and Maribella, adroitly excusing herself to her other admirers, allowed him to lead her on to the floor. A waltz was just starting up.

Knowing there was only so much Henry could do on a crowded ballroom floor, Felix made a resolution to call on his aunt and wards on the morrow, firmly determined to acquaint them with his views on encouraging rakes. Even as the idea occurred, he groaned. How on earth could he tell Maribella to cease her flirtation with Henry on the grounds he was a rake when he was himself trying his damnedest to seduce her sister and his best friend was similarly occupied with Sophia? He had known from the outset that this crazy situation would not work.

Reminded of what had originally prompted him to stand just inside the door between Lady Langdon's ballroom and the salon set aside for cards and quietly study the company, Felix returned his eyes to Sophia Fleming. Despite her assured manner, she was on the edge, her hands betraying her nervousness as they played with the lace on her gown. Occasionally, her eyes would lift fleetingly to the door behind him. While to his experienced eye she was not looking her best, Daniel, ensconced in the card-room, was looking even worse. He had been drinking steadily throughout the evening and, although far from drunk, was fast attaining a dangerous starts. Suffering from Fleming-induced frustration himself, Felix could readily sympathize. He sincerely hoped his pursuit of the eldest Miss Fleming would not bring him so low. His friendship with Daniel Hammington stretched back over fifteen years. In all that time he had never seen his friend so affected by the desire of a particular woman. Like himself, Daniel was an experienced lover who liked to keep his affairs easy and uncomplicated. If a woman proved difficult, he was much more likely to shrug and, with a smile, pass in to greener fields. But with Sophia Fleming, he seemed unable to admit defeat.

The thought that he himself had no intention of letting the elder Miss Fleming escape and was, even now, under the surface of his preoccupation with his other wards, plotting to get her into his arms, and, ultimately, into his bed, surfaced to shake his self-confidence. His black brows rose a little, in self-mockery. One could hardly blame the girls for keeping them at arm's length. The Fleming sisters had never encouraged them to believe they were of easy virtue, not that they would accept anything less than marriage. Their interaction, thus far, had all been part of the game. By rights, it was they, the rakes of London, who should now acknowledge the evident truth that, despite their bountiful attractions, the Flemings were virtuous females in search of husbands. And, having acknowledged that fact, to desist from their pursuit of the fair ladies. Without conscious thought on his part, his eyes strayed to where Margaret stood amid a group, mostly men, by the side of the dance floor. She laughed and responded to some comment, her copper curls gleaming like rosy gold in the bright light thrown down by the chandeliers. As if feeling his gaze, she turned and, across the intervening heads, their eyes met. Both were still. Then, she smoothly turned back to her companions and Felix, straightened his shoulders, moved further into the crowd. The trouble was, he did not think that he, any more than Daniel, could stop.