Duncan scowled across the table as Reeve seated his own dinner partner, a saucy, dark-haired vixen who had once been his mistress, while Maggie ignored him studiously. He had to admire the way she fitted herself to her surroundings; even though Reeve was sure Maggie had never attended a social event of this magnitude, she took her cues from the other women at the table with a sublime subtlety, always using the right fork, the right gesture, the right word.

The sumptuous meal was nearly over before Maggie allowed Reeve to catch her eye, and she flushed deeply when he winked. If it wouldn’t have been the pinnacle of bad manners, Reeve would have laughed out loud.

There was dancing after dinner in the enormous mirrored ballroom upstairs, and Reeve watched Maggie whirl about with Duncan as long as he could bear it. Then, when Kirk slipped away to the terrace to converse with a few of his investors, Reeve made his way to Maggie’s side before any of several other men with the same idea could manage.

Without waiting for a yes or a no, Reeve swept her into the swirling stream of a waltz, delighting in the ire that flared in her eyes and the color glowing on her cheekbones.

“Your decision to follow Duncan to Melbourne must have been an impulsive one,” he said, his social smile fixed in place, his voice even, “since you didn’t bother to tell me about it.”

Snapping pewter eyes met his gaze squarely. “I don’t have to report my every move to you, Reeve McKenna,” she said with dignity. Behind her the room was a tangle of jewellike colors as other women danced in their splendid dresses.

Expressively, Reeve glanced down at the swell of alabaster bosom revealed by Maggie’s dress. He still wanted to tie a dinner napkin around her neck, but he wasn’t above enjoying the view. “That’s quite a gown,” he said. “Did Duncan choose it for you?”

“I’m quite capable of selecting my own clothing, thank you very much,” was the chilly reply.

Reeve maneuvered her toward the open doorway of one of the many terraces, and before she could grasp what was happening, he was pulling Maggie across the stone balcony and down the set of steps that led to the gardens.

They were moon-washed, those gardens, almost spooky in an ethereal sort of way. The shadows and strange forms made Maggie draw a little closer to Reeve instead of running away, as she would have at any other time.

“Mr. Kirk will be furious,” she said lamely, gazing up at Reeve, her skin glowing like white opal in the moonlight.