Guy waited until she was inside, then climbed back into the cab. “Westminster,” he instructed the driver, and sat back with a slight smile, his fingertips running thoughtfully over his lips where he could still feel the soft, pliable shape of Petra’s mouth. She’d interested him ten years ago, as a girl on the cusp of womanhood, with her eagerness to experience whatever came her way. He remembered how she had responded to his careful lovemaking with an openness and enthusiasm that he had found quite delightful. She had rather more armor now, but he had recognized for a moment while he was kissing her that same swift, sensual response. She’d quashed it quickly but he hadn’t been mistaken.

Would Miss Rutherford be willing to play a little flirtatious game, he wondered. He found her both challenging and enticing, and it would be entertaining to find out if he could overcome whatever resistance their earlier history had caused.

Lord Ashton had never been able to resist a challenge.

* * *

Petra gained the tranquility of her bedroom with a sigh of relief. She seemed to be on very slippery ground when it came to Guy Granville and she didn’t like the feeling at all. Games were one thing, but playing with fire was quite another. She was beginning to wonder if the strategy she had concocted with her friends was going to prove more difficult to put into play than she’d so blithely assumed.

Two things were clear: Guy would not be easily manipulated and her own treacherous responses would not be easy to restrain. Maybe she should just give up the idea, but her spirit recoiled at the thought of leaving him in control of the field after what had passed between them. He was still arrogant, he still pursued his own path regardless of whose feelings he insulted on his way. He was the epitome of the overly privileged aristocrat who had never questioned his position or his right to do exactly as he pleased, when and where he pleased.

Of course, Petra was obliged to admit that she and Jonathan too were the product of that privileged upbringing, but somehow she didn’t think either she or her brother were quite so ruthlessly self-centered. Or at least, she thought, kicking off her shoes, it was to be hoped they weren’t. One didn’t always see oneself as others saw one.

She lay down on the bed, closing her eyes on the disconcerting reflection. She was sleepy after the wine at lunchtime, another perfect choice by their perfect host, she thought, wishing perversely that she hadn’t enjoyed it so much.

Dottie’s arrival woke her from a deeply refreshing nap, her spirits as refreshed as her body. She sat up, yawning. “What time is it, Dottie?”