Leo's eyes were glued to the actor playing Don Giovanni, watching every action the foul-mouthed, deceit-driven character made. He'd seen the opera before, and he knew what was going to happen at the end. Poor Gio here was about to be carried off to hell by a horde of demons. A little dramatic, Leo supposed, but it was the theatre.

Surely Scarlett did not truly believe he was the same as such a character. Leo was a harmless, though perhaps relentless, flirter. He did not seduce and debauch innocent women. When he did engage in a relationship, it was always with women who were searching for something mutually beneficial. Actresses or widows who sought comfort and pleasure in the bed of another for some time. No strings attached, no expectations.

Leo never involved with innocent women, and he certainly had never slept with a married one. Such women had propositioned him on more than one occasion, but Leo had no desire to fight off jealous husbands in a duel. He'd definitely lose; marksmanship was not his strong suit.

But the way that Scarlett had compared Leo to Don Giovanni sat uncomfortably on his shoulders. She'd always rebuked his advances, but never in such a cold way.

Leo was suddenly relieved that he hadn't signed his name to the betting book at White's.

Oh, he was undoubtedly involved in the wager. But only in the way that he was determined for no man to succeed.

That day he'd found out about the bet, Leo sat at White's with Will for hours, debating. Sinking deeper and deeper into his glass of scotch. They had not talked much. Leo had slouched back into his leather armchair, watching, glaring, as man after man had come to sign their name to the wager.

And now, sitting in the royal box at the opera, Leo felt the eyes of all those men on him. To them, Leo was winning at a game he wasn't even playing. Hopefully, they would all simply give up, but Leo was not that naive. Especially after their encounter with Symons.

Scarlett seemed unfazed about what had happened in the corridor. Leo could not say the same for himself.

Sneaking a glance at Scarlett, Leo's breath caught in his throat. Christ, it was no wonder every man wanted her affections. She was simply exquisite.

Leo was almost relieved when the performance was over. Standing, he shook his legs out one at a time. He hadn't even realized that they'd gone partly numb from sitting so still. Giving a little bow to Addie and Theo, Leo smiled and thanked them for the invitation. He then waited impatiently as Scarlett did the same thing before guiding her by the elbow out of the box. An attendant stood just beyond the curtained doorway and offered to retrieve their outerwear, to which Leo gratefully accepted.

"This way," Leo said in a hushed tone after they put on their cloaks, turning the opposite direction of the route they had come in.

"Why?" Scarlett said, her footsteps quickening to keep pace with Leo's.

"We can go out the side door and make our way to the carriage from there." They had reached the end of the corridor, the maroon and gold carpet stopping abruptly at the top of steep steps. Leo made sure he had a firm grasp on Scarlett's arm before descending.

"Why?" Scarlett repeated, a little breathless.

"Fewer people," Leo said succinctly. "I do not wish you to face another encounter from Lord Symons or some other overzealous lord."

He thought he heard Scarlett mumble something, but couldn't discern what it was. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Leo led her through the door directly to their right. Pushing through it, the frigid air instantly beat against Leo's cheeks. Luckily, Leo saw his carriage on the other side of the manicured hedges that lined the street and quickly steered them toward it.

After ensuring that Scarlett was comfortably settled within the carriage, Leo hoisted himself in and sat across from her. As usual, she was perfectly poised upon the carriage seat, her posture erect, her expression unwavering.

Leo observed her for a second longer before speaking. "If you really thought I was London's own Don Giovanni, then you are not as intelligent as I previously thought, Scarlett."

She gave him a sharp glance. If it were possible, her back straightened even more. "Excuse me?"

"You didn't even try to stop me from dragging you down abandoned hallways and into dusky, secluded carriages," Leo replied, crossing his legs casually.

"Well," she said tightly. "You are my ride home, are you not?"

Leo smirked. "And what type of sensible woman accepts a ride from the devil himself?"

There was a pause. "Perhaps, I am not sensible."

"Or perhaps I am not the devil, darling."

"I never said you were," she shot back.

Leo gave her a pointed glance. "You implied it."

Scarlett took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. "Then who are you, Lord Farrington?"

The question made Leo hesitate, and then Scarlett continued. "You might not be the devil, but you cannot play the innocent, either. You act as though you are protecting me from men like Lord Symons, and yet I cannot help but wonder if you are merely trying to keep me to yourself."

Leo leaned back on the carriage bench, throwing an arm across the length of the carriage wall as he did. "Do you wish to go back inside then, Lady Humphries? Are there others that you wished to engage with this evening that I have kept you from?"

Scarlett looked out the window in the direction of the theater entrance, as if contemplating his question.

"I'll escort you back inside if you'd like," he added. "Or I could wait here if that is something you might prefer." Leo hoped that she didn't pick the latter option. He didn't care for the idea of sending her back into the sea of seedy gentlemen on her own. Even if she was an independent, capable woman.

"No, I don't wish to go back inside," Scarlett said finally, softly.

Relief warmed him, but Leo merely raised a brow in response.

"Oh, do not give me that look," she scoffed and folded her arms across her chest.

He threw her a wink before hitting the roof of the carriage, indicating that they could be on their way. The carriage lurched forward, but their progress was slow with the traffic of other vehicles in front of them. Eventually, the shouts and laughter of carriage drivers and aristocrats alike vanished into the background, and Leo assumed they had left the theatre scene behind.

They fell into a silence that felt reminiscent of the ride they had taken earlier. Scarlett was once again studying the patterns of frost on the carriage window. A shiver ran through her, and she drew her arms tighter around her chest, clutching the woolen fabric. Her cloak did not appear adequate for the chill in the air tonight.

In one swift movement, Leo scooted himself across the carriage, so he was sitting next to her. Before she could argue, he lifted one arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to his chest. He heard a breathy gasp escape through her lips, her body immediately stiffening beneath his touch.

"Relax," he murmured into her raven-colored hair. "Remember, I am not the devil. But you are cold, and I am warm."

She was quiet. Leo couldn't see her face, and it bothered him to no end.

"Alternatively, you could just put on my overcoat?" he tried to ask. After several beats of silence, Scarlett gave a quick shake of her head. Her hair rubbed against the bottom of Leo's chin in the process. He felt her relax into his embrace, and Leo let out an exhale. Perhaps there was still a chance to thaw his ice queen.

"You never answered my question, you know," Scarlett said faintly.

Leo made a face, but then realized she couldn't see it. "What question?" he asked.

"Who are you, Leo?" Her typically smooth and occasionally haughty tone was gone, and in its place was a gentle wondering.

He chuckled and noticed his own voice had changed, too. The laugh that came through his lips was throaty. Deep. "I would think by now, you would know who I am."

Scarlett abruptly twisted in his arms, surprising Leo. He'd been looking down on her, and now her upturned face was a very short distance from his own. She blinked quickly twice as if also dazed by their closeness. Her mouth hung open, on the verge of speaking words that seemed stuck somewhere on her tongue.

Leo took the opportunity to appreciate her stunning features. Her fair, alabaster skin contrasted beautifully with the rosy hue of her lips. He wondered if she had applied rogue to them to make them appear so alluring but realized if she did, he'd likely be able to tell from this distance. No, everything about her was perfection without adaptation.

"I thought I did know who you are," she eventually said, and the words released from her lips as a whisper. Leo wasn't really listening to her though, he'd been too busy watching her mouth move and imagining what it would feel like to kiss it. What would it feel like to trace his tongue along that graceful curve, the line that defined the edges of her lips?

The thought continued to tempt him as her bright, green eyes flicked up at him. He expected that she'd turn away when she noticed how close they were, but she didn't. She didn't, and it was killing him.

Leo might tease women with his words, but just a look from Scarlett James could haunt a man for days.

But he couldn't kiss her now. Not after the things she had accused him of this evening. And especially because Leo didn't want just one kiss, one brief meeting of their lips. He wanted much, much more, and he wasn't going to do a damn thing about it until he was sure she wanted the same.

They were so close that her breath fanned across his lips, and he gripped the edge of the seat beneath him. He should turn his head away. He needed to end this heated moment before he lost all ability to think.

Perhaps she didn't realize what she was doing to him, but Leo guessed otherwise. This was Scarlett James, after all, the most bewitching widow in the ton. She was truly holding up her reputation tonight because Leo had never before been so mystified by a woman. He didn't understand the game they were playing, but he suspected she was winning.

****

Scarlett had rushed quickly toward her house after the carriage had lurched to a stop in front of it, breaking whatever spell had immobilized her in Leo's arms. She burst through the front entrance, welcoming the warm air inside her home. Sagging against the closed door, Scarlett took a deep breath.

Leo Pearce said he wasn't the devil, but yet he seemed to have her possessed.

What was she thinking to let him hold her? Why had she leaned into the crook of his arm?

She wasn't. Thinking. That was the problem. She hadn't been thinking at all.

But now her mind was running wild. She was trying to figure out why she had let him put his arm around her. She was trying to figure out why she hadn't turned away when she'd looked up to see his face. She was trying to figure out why she had instead watched, mesmerized by the way desire had flooded his irises. But mostly, Scarlett was trying to figure out why he hadn't kissed her. And why there was this nagging, annoying pang of disappointment that he hadn't.

Any other man would have taken Scarlett's position—and her lack of action to move away—as an open invitation. Why would a man who was trying to win a bet for her affections not take advantage of such a situation?

Scarlett sighed. She couldn't waste any more time thinking about Leo Pearce tonight. She needed to ready a piece for Mischief in Mayfair and get it sent to her publishers for tomorrow's column. Scarlett made her way to her room, rang for Fallon to help her with her clothes, and then sat at her writing desk. Timothy jumped up in her lap, and Scarlett stroked him slowly, feeling the slight purr beneath her fingers.

The blank piece of parchment on her desktop taunted her. She had wanted to write something about the opera, but she recalled very little about the performance. Leo's performance, on the other hand...

Oh, right. She wasn't going to think about that.

Scarlett sighed. It would be a long night.