Maggie knew nothing of the sort; she was pretty, she thought, but too young and unsophisticated to be really beautiful. “I’ve got absolutely no idea how to behave at dinner tonight!” she blurted out, partly to change the subject and partly because she really was afraid of making a fool of herself at Government House.

Duncan arched one eyebrow and folded his arms, letting one shoulder rest against the hallway wall. He was blocking Maggie’s way to her room and she suspected that he was doing it on purpose. “Nothing more is required of you, Miss Chamberlin, than that you conduct yourself as a lady.”

“But I’m not a lady!” Maggie cried desperately.

Duncan shrugged. “You were an actress in London; play the role of a lady, then.”

Maggie had not thought of that, but it seemed a good idea. She would watch Rosalind and the other female guests and do as they did. Brightening a little, she started around Duncan, only to be stopped by his hand gripping her arm. For a moment his fingers caressed the skin beneath the short puffy sleeve of her blouse, but then he let Maggie go so swiftly that she was left wondering if she hadn’t imagined the entire episode.

As many of these patently dull affairs as he’d attended. Reeve was jarred out of his cynical languor by the sight of Maggie, strolling into Government House on Duncan Kirk’s arm. She was wearing an indigo dress that sparkled in the soft lighting and her silver-honey hair was swept up, revealing her long, graceful neck. Reeve remembered running his lips along that neck, and something deep inside him tightened painfully. He set aside his wineglass and strode toward Maggie, completely forgetting the buxom young thing he’d been charming moments before.

The front of Maggie’s dress, Reeve decided, revealed far too much. Why, one good tug at that glittering bodice and …

“Hello, Maggie,” he said, coming to a stop directly in front of her.

The expression on her face as she looked up at him was one of utter surprise. “Reeve!” she gasped, then color flooded her cheeks and she tossed one glance at Duncan, who was glowering. “H-how have you been?”

Reeve was in no mood for small talk. He wanted to cover Maggie’s full bosom before any other man could look. More than that, he wanted to take her somewhere private and bare those delectable breasts, preferably in the moonlight, to taste their pink-confection tips, hear Maggie whimper in response, feel her fingers entangling themselves in his hair. He darted one look at Duncan—it conveyed a silent reiteration of their conversation at the club the day before—then demanded in a polite undertone, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, wearing a dress like that in public?”