astily smoothing the expression of distaste from her face, Leigh moved sideways through the crush of guests until she reached Sybil Haywood's group. "Sybil, I need a favor," she said, drawing the astrologer aside. "I have an awkward social problem—"

"You certainly do," Sybil agreed with a knowing grin. "Virgos can be very difficult to deal with, especially when Pluto and Mars are—"

"No, no. It's not an astrological problem. I need someone I can trust who can deal with a particular man—"

"Who happens to be a Virgo—" Sybil stated positively.

Leigh adored Sybil, but at the moment, the astrologer's fixation on astrology was driving her crazy. "Sybil, please. I have no idea what his astrological sign is. If you'll take him off my hands and chat with him for a few minutes, you can ask him your—"

"Valente is a Virgo," Sybil interjected patiently.

Leigh blinked at her. "How did you know?"

"I know, because when the Senate was investigating him last September Valente was asked to give his full name and date of birth. The Times reported on his testimony, and the reporter noted that Valente was actually testifying on his forty-third birthday. That told me he was a Virgo."

"No, I mean how did you know that Valente is my 'awkward social problem'?"

"Oh, that," Sybil said with a laugh as she passed a slow, meaningful glance over all the other guests within view. "He does stand out in this crowd of politicians, bankers, and business leaders. There's not another criminal in the entire place for him to socialize with—Actually there are probably a lot of criminals here, but they haven't been caught and sent to prison like he was."

"You could be right," Leigh said absently. "I'm going to introduce myself to him. Would you get him a drink and bring it over in a couple of minutes so I can escape gracefully?"

Sybil grinned. "You want me to socialize with a tall, antisocial, semihandsome man who happens to have a murky past, a questionable present, and fifteen billion dollars in assets, probably all from ill-gotten gains? Is that it?"

"Pretty much," Leigh admitted ruefully.

"What shall I bring him to drink? Blood?"

"Glenlivet," Leigh said, giving her a quick hug. "No ice, no water, no blood."

She watched Sybil begin working her way toward one of the bars, and with reluctant resignation, Leigh pasted a smile on her face and wended her way toward Valente. He studied her with detached curiosity as she approached, his expression so uninviting that Leigh doubted he was actually "a fan" of hers or even that he particularly wanted to meet her. By the time she was close enough to hold out her hand to him, she'd noted that he was at least six feet three inches tall with extremely wide, muscular shoulders, thick, black hair, and hard, piercing amber eyes.

Leigh held out her hand. "Mr. Valente?"

"Yes."

"I'm Leigh Manning."

He smiled a little at that—a strange, speculative smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. With his gaze locked onto hers, he took her hand in a clasp that was a little too tight and lasted a little too long. "How do you do, Mrs. Manning—" he said in a rich baritone voice that was more cultured than Leigh had expected it to be.

Leigh exerted enough pressure to indicate she wanted her hand released and he let it go, but his unnerving gaze remained locked on hers as he said, "I enjoyed your performance very much tonight."

"I'm surprised you were there," Leigh said without thinking. Based on what she knew of him, he didn't seem the type to enjoy a sensitive theatrical drama with a lot of subtleties.

"Perhaps you thought I'd be knocking off a liquor store, instead?"

That was close enough to the truth to make Leigh feel exposed, and she didn't like it. "I meant that opening night tickets were virtually impossible to get."

His smile suddenly reached his eyes, warming them a little. "That's not what you meant, but it's charming of you to say so."

Leigh clutched at the first topic of common interest that came to mind. With an overbright smile, she said, "I understand you're thinking of going into some sort of business venture with my husband."

"You don't approve, of course," he said dryly.

Leigh felt as if she were being maneuvered into a series of uncomfortable corners. "Why would you think that?"

"I was watching you a few minutes ago when Logan told you I was here, and why I'm here."

Despite the man's unsavory background, he was a guest in her home, and Leigh was a little mortified that she'd let her negative feelings about him show so openly. Relying on the old adage that the best defense is a good offense, she said very firmly and politely, "You're a guest in my home, and I'm an actress, Mr. Valente. If I had any negative feelings about any guest, including you, you would never know it because I would never let them show."

"That's very reassuring," he said mildly.

"Yes, you were completely mistaken," Leigh added, pleased with her strategy.

"Does that mean you don't disapprove of my business involvement with your husband?"

"I didn't say that."

To her shock, he smiled at her evasive reply, a slow, strangely seductive, secretive smile that made his eyes gleam beneath their heavy lids. Others might not have noticed the nuances of it, but Leigh's career was based on subtleties of expression, and she instantly sensed peril lurking behind that come-hither smile of his. It was the dangerously beguiling smile of a ruthless predator, a predator who wanted her to sense his power, his defiance of the social order, and to be seduced by what he represented. Instead, Leigh was repelled. She jerked her gaze from his, and gestured to the painting on the wall, a painting that Logan wouldn't have let hang even in a closet under ordinary circumstances. "I noticed that you were admiring this painting earlier."

"Actually, I was admiring the frame, not the painting."

"It's early seventeenth century. It used to hang in Logan's grandfather's study."

"You can't be referring to that painting," he said scornfully.

"I was referring to the frame. The painting," she advised him with a twinge of amused vengeance, "was actually done by my husband's grandmother."

His gaze shifted sideways, from the painting to her face. "You could have spared me that knowledge."

He was right, but Sybil's arrival saved Leigh from having to reply. "Here's someone I'd like you to meet," she said a little too eagerly, and introduced the couple. "Sybil is a famous astrologer," Leigh added, and immediately resented his look of derision.

Undaunted by his reaction, Sybil smiled and held out her right hand, but he couldn't shake it because she was holding a drink in it. "I've been looking forward to meeting you," she said.

"Really, why?"

"I'm not sure yet," Sybil replied, extending her hand farther toward him. "This drink is for you. Scotch. No ice. No water. It's what you drink."

Eyeing her with cynical suspicion, he reluctantly took the drink. "Am I supposed to believe you know what I drink because you're an astrologer?"

"Would you believe that if I said it was true?"

"No."

"In that case, the truth is that I know what you drink because our hostess told me what you drink and asked me to get this for you."

His gaze lost some of its chill as it transferred to Leigh. "That was very thoughtful of you."

"Not at all," Leigh said, glancing over her shoulder, wishing she could leave. Sybil gave her the excuse she needed. "Logan asked me to tell you he needs you to settle some sort of debate about the play tonight."

"In that case, I'd better go and see about it." She smiled at Sybil, avoided shaking Valente's hand, and gave him a polite nod instead. "I'm glad to have met you," she lied. As she walked away, she heard Sybil say, "Let's find somewhere to sit down, Mr. Valente. You.can tell me all about yourself. Or, if you prefer, I can tell you all about yourself."

IT was after 4 A.M. when the last guest departed. Leigh turned out the lights, and they walked across the darkened living room together, Logan's arm around her waist. "How does it feel to be called 'the most gifted, multitalented actress to grace a Broadway stage in the last fifty years'?" he asked softly.

"Wonderful." Leigh had been running on excitement until they walked into their bedroom, but at the sight of the big four-poster bed with its fluffy duvet, her body seemed to lose all its strength. She started yawning before she made it into her dressing room, and she was in bed before Logan was out of the shower.

She felt the mattress shift slightly as he got into bed, and all she managed to muster was a smile when he kissed her cheek and jokingly whispered, "Is this how you thank a man for a fabulous ruby-and-diamond pendant?"

Leigh snuggled closer and smiled, already half asleep. "Yes," she whispered.

He chuckled. "I guess I'll have to wait until tonight in the mountains for you to properly express your gratitude."

It seemed like only five minutes later when Leigh awoke to find Logan already dressed and eager to leave for the mountains.

That had been Sunday morning.

This was Tuesday night.

Logan was lost somewhere out in the snow… probably waiting for Leigh to do something to rescue him.