He had never been so captivated by a woman before, so ensnared in her feminine allure that he couldn’t tear himself away, and that was the crux of the problem. That’s what pushed him to take another drink of the watered down brandy and settle back to watch the woman who intrigued him. She moved with a lithe grace that was poetry in motion to watch. She ducked and swayed past the groping hands, scowling occasionally when one got too close. He watched the interplay, wondering how long it would be before she finished for the night and he could make his move. Whether she was Jemima, or Eliza didn’t matter. Somehow he had to persuade her to go to Leicestershire with him. Given her earlier reluctance to trust him, he knew that was not going to be an easy task. She was pretty enough. He could understand why Peter was so absorbed by her, but for the life of him he couldn’t understand why she would want to remain hidden. What kind of trouble was she in? He eyed her feminine curves with masculine appreciation.
