Then Comes Seduction

2

KATHERINE Huxtable was one of the most fortunate of mortals, and she was well aware of that fact as she took a brisk morning walk in London’s Hyde Park with her sister Vanessa, Lady Lyngate.

Just a few short months ago she had been living in a modest cottage in the small village of Throckbridge in Shropshire with her eldest sister, Margaret, and their young brother, Stephen. Vanessa, the widowed Vanessa Dew at the time, had been living with her in-laws at nearby Rundle Park. Katherine had spent a few days of each week teaching the very young children at the village school and helping the schoolmaster with his other classes. They had been living a life of genteel poverty, which had meant that there was almost no money except for food and the essentials of clothing-and what Meg had been saving for Stephen’s education.

And then suddenly everything had changed. Viscount Lyngate, a total stranger at the time, had arrived in the village on Valentine’s Day, bringing with him the startlingly unexpected news that Stephen was the new Earl of Merton and owner of Warren Hall in Hampshire as well as other sizable and prosperous properties-and a huge fortune.

And all their fortunes had changed. First they had all moved to Warren Hall, the mansion and park that were Stephen’s principal seat, taking Vanessa with them. Then Vanessa had married Viscount Lyngate. And then they had all come to London to be presented to the queen and the ton and to participate in all the busy activities of the spring Season.

So here they were, she and Vanessa, walking in the park as if there were nothing better to do in life. It all felt shockingly decadent-and undeniably enjoyable too.

Suddenly they were in possession of all sorts of new and wonderful things-money, security, fashionable clothes, vast numbers of new acquaintances, and more entertainments than there were hours in the day during which to enjoy them. And suddenly for Katherine there was the prospect of a glittering future with one of the numerous and eligible gentlemen who had already shown an interest in her.

She was twenty years old and still unattached. She had never been able to persuade herself to fall in love when she lived in Throckbridge, though she had had a number of chances. The trouble was that she still could not here in London even though she genuinely liked a number of her admirers.

She had just admitted in response to a question Vanessa had asked that there was no one special among the gentlemen of her acquaintance.

“Do you want someone special in your life?” Vanessa asked with perhaps a thread of exasperation in her voice.

“Of course I do,” Katherine admitted with something of a sigh. “But that is it you see, Nessie. He must be special. I am coming to the conclusion that there is no such person, that I am looking for a mirage, an impossibility.”

Though she knew romantic love in itself was not an impossibility. She had only to consider her sister’s case. Vanessa had been deeply in love with Hedley Dew, her first husband, and Katherine strongly suspected that she loved Lord Lyngate just as much.

“Or perhaps,” she admitted, “there is such a person but I just cannot recognize him. Perhaps the fault is in me. Perhaps I was just not made for soaring passion or tender romance or-”

Vanessa patted her reassuringly on the arm and laughed.

“Of course there is such a man,” she said, “and of course you will recognize him when you find him and feel all the things you dream of feeling. Or after you have found him, perhaps, as I did with Elliott. We were married before I knew how much I loved him-or that I loved him at all, in fact. Indeed, I have still only just admitted it to myself, and I am not at all sure it would not alarm him dreadfully to know it, poor man.”

“Oh, dear,” Katherine said. “This does not sound at all encouraging, Nessie. Though I am sure Lord Lyngate would not be alarmed.”

They looked at each other sidelong and both chuckled.

But perhaps the fault really was in herself, Katherine thought in the coming days and weeks. Perhaps she had too rigid a notion of what the man of her dreams would look like or behave like. Perhaps she was just looking for love in the wrong places. In all the safe places.

What if love was not safe at all?

That startlingly unexpected and really rather alarming question occurred to her when she was at Vauxhall Gardens one evening.

Margaret and Stephen had just gone back to Warren Hall to stay, Margaret because she was upset over the recent news that Crispin Dew, her longtime beau, had married a Spanish lady while with his regiment in the Peninsula-though she would never have admitted it if confronted-and Stephen because at the age of seventeen he could not yet participate fully in the social life of the ton but could get back to his studies and prepare himself for Oxford in the autumn. Vanessa and Lord Lyngate had gone with them to spend a few days at Finchley Park, their home nearby. Although Katherine would have been more than happy to go too, she had been persuaded to remain in London for the rest of the Season to enjoy herself. So she was staying at Moreland House on Cavendish Square with Viscount Lyngate’s mother and his youngest sister, Cecily, who was also making her debut this Season. The dowager Lady Lyngate had promised to keep a maternal eye upon Katherine.

But that eye was perhaps not quite as watchful as it ought to have been, Katherine concluded during the evening on which she and Cecily joined a party at Vauxhall Gardens organized by Lord Beaton and his sister, Miss Flaxley. Their mother had undertaken to take charge of the party of young people, and the dowager Lady Lyngate had decided upon a rare evening of relaxation at home.

It was a party of eight young persons, not counting Lady Beaton herself-and it included Lord Montford of all people.

Baron Montford was a gentleman who had been specifically pointed out to Katherine as one of London’s most disreputable and dangerous rakehells. The warning had come from one of his friends and therefore someone who ought to know-from Constantine Huxtable, in fact, her wickedly handsome, half-Greek second cousin, whom she had met for the first time only recently when she had moved to Warren Hall with her family. Constantine had been obliging enough to take both her and his first cousin, Cecily, under his wing here in London, escorting them about town to see the sights and to meet new people whom he considered suitable acquaintances for them. No chaperone could possibly have been stricter on that point, though Katherine suspected that he knew any number of less savory persons and was perhaps even friendly with them.

There was Lord Montford, for example. That gentleman had approached them in the park one day, calling a greeting to Constantine as if he were his closest friend in the world. But Constantine had merely nodded to him and driven on by without stopping to make introductions. It had seemed almost rude to Katherine.

Baron Montford was mockingly handsome, if such a word could be used to describe a man’s looks. Even if Constantine had not proceeded to warn her against him after that chance meeting, Katherine was sure she would have taken one look at him and known that he was a rake and someone best avoided. Apart from his good looks, the careless, expensive elegance of his clothing, the assured skill with which he rode his horse-all attributes of numerous gentlemen she had met during the past several weeks-there was something else about him. Something-raw. Something to which she could not put a satisfactory name even when she tried. If she had been familiar with the word sexuality, she would have known it as the very one for which her mind searched. He positively oozed it from every pore.

He also oozed danger.

“If I should see either of you so much as glancing his way at any time for the rest of the Season,” Constantine had said after Lord Montford had ridden by and he had explained who the man was and why there had been no introductions, “I shall personally escort the culprit home, lock her in her room, swallow the key, and stand guard outside her room until summer comes.”

He had grinned at each of them as he spoke, and both of them had laughed merrily and protested loudly, but neither Cecily nor Katherine had been left in any doubt that he would do something dire if he ever caught them consorting in any way at all with that particular friend of his.

All of which, of course, had piqued Katherine’s interest-quite against her will. She had found herself stealing curious glances at Lord Montford whenever she saw him-and because they moved in largely the same social circles, that was often enough.

He was even more handsome than she had thought from that first glimpse in the park. He was tall without being too tall, slender without being thin, and firmly muscled in all the right places. He had thick, dark brown hair, which he wore rather longer than was fashionable, and there was one errant lock of it that was forever falling over the right side of his forehead. His eyes were dark and slumberous-though perhaps that was not quite the right word. They looked sleepy because he often kept his eyelids drooped over them, but Katherine had come to realize that the eyes beneath those lazy lids were very keen indeed. Once or twice she had even met their gaze and been forced to look beyond him on the pretense that she had not really been observing him at all.

Each time her heart had thumped rather uncomfortably in her bosom. He was not the sort of man one wished to be caught observing. It was at such moments that the word mocking leapt to mind.

He had a handsome, arrogant face with the right eyebrow often cocked higher than the left. His finely chiseled lips were usually slightly pursed, as if something rather improper were proceeding in his mind.

He was a baron and was reputed to be enormously wealthy. But his company was not courted by the very highest sticklers of society. Constantine had not exaggerated about his reputation for unbridled wildness, for taking on any mad and dangerous challenge anyone was willing to wager on, for hard, reckless living and wicked debauchery. Several matchmaking mamas, even some of the more aggressively ambitious ones, avoided him as though he had a permanent case of the plague. Or perhaps they avoided him more because they feared he would turn those keen, mocking eyes on them, raise his right eyebrow, purse his lips, and make them feel as if they were three inches high if they presumed to suppose that he might pay court to their daughters-or even dance with them.

He never danced.

Many ladies gave Lord Montford a wider than wide berth for another reason too. He had a way of undressing them with his eyes if they looked too boldly at him. Katherine knew it to be true-she had seen him doing it, though never, thank heaven, to her.

She was fascinated by him, if the truth were known. Not that she had ever been even remotely tempted to try acting upon that fascination. But in unguarded moments she had often wondered what it would be like…

She had always stopped her wonderings before asking herself what she meant by it.

And now she was a member of a select party that included him, so she was doomed to spend a whole evening in fairly close proximity to him. The dowager Lady Lyngate would be horrified when she knew, for of course Cecily was here too, and Cecily was only eighteen years of age and was fresh out of the schoolroom. Constantine would be furious-except that he was not in London at the moment. He had recently purchased property in Gloucestershire and had gone off to see it. Lady Beaton was not too happy either if her stiff posture and rather sour facial expression were anything to judge by.

Katherine felt some sympathy for her because this was really not her fault at all. What could she have done when presented with a fait accompli, short of being very rude indeed? Miss Rachel Finley, another member of the party, was a particular friend of Miss Flaxley-and a close acquaintance of Cecily and Katherine too, even though she was a number of years older than them. Naturally, then, she was an invited member of the party-as was Mr. Gooding, her betrothed. But Mr. Gooding had had the misfortune to turn his ankle that very morning when jumping down from his curricle and was unable to set his foot to the ground as a consequence. Rather than cancel her plans for the evening, Miss Finley had done the best she could in the short time available to her. She had pleaded with her brother, Lord Montford, to escort her instead-and he had been obliging enough to agree.

And here he was, and here they all were with no alternative but to act as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be sharing a box at Vauxhall with one of London’s most notorious rakehells.

Katherine found herself wondering why he had agreed to escort his sister. He did not seem the sort of man from whom one would expect any deep filial feelings, and this was hardly the sort of company with which he usually consorted. None of the other gentlemen were particular cronies of his, though they all showed a tendency to eye him with awe and even hero worship, which was perhaps marginally better than open hostility. Or perhaps not. Why would any gentleman hero-worship a rake? But here he was anyway, looking sleepy-eyed and slightly amused, as if he were enjoying a private joke and not bothering to share it.

And what a joke it was! Gracious heavens! Cecily had fanned her face vigorously on his arrival and looked genuinely frightened.

“What shall we do?” she had whispered to Katherine on his arrival with Miss Finley. “Con said-”

There was, of course, nothing they could do.

“We must relax and enjoy the evening,” Katherine had told her, just as quietly, “under the safe chaperonage of Lady Beaton.”

After all, it was highly unlikely that Lord Montford would try to bear one of them off in among the trees to have his wicked way with them. The thought amused Katherine considerably, and she decided to follow her own advice and enjoy the evening and the unexpected opportunity it presented to observe the gentleman more closely.

Lord Montford had seated himself beside Lady Beaton and had proceeded to make himself agreeable to her, and even charming-with noticeable success. The lady soon relaxed and was laughing and even flushing with pleasure and tapping him on the arm with her fan. Everyone else gradually relaxed too and chatted among themselves and looked about with interest at their surroundings. There could be no more magical setting on a warm summer’s evening than Vauxhall on the southern bank of the River Thames, one of Europe’s foremost pleasure gardens.

Lord Montford had a light, cultured voice. He had a soft, musical laugh. Katherine observed him surreptitiously from the opposite corner of the box until he caught her at it. He looked at her suddenly, while she was biting into a strawberry. It was a direct, unwavering gaze, as if he had deliberately picked her out-though his eyes did dip for a moment to watch the progress of the strawberry into her mouth and the nervous flick of her tongue across her lips lest she leave some juice behind to drip down her chin.

He watched as she lifted her napkin and dabbed her lips and then licked them because she had dried them too much and his scrutiny made her nervous.

Oh, goodness, she ought not to have looked at him at all, she thought, lowering her eyes at last, and she would not do so again. He would think she was smitten with him or flirting with him or something lowering like that. She wished Margaret were here with her.

“Would you not agree, Miss Huxtable?” he asked her just as she was lifting another strawberry to her mouth.

The fruit remained suspended from her raised hand.

It amazed her that he remembered her name, though his sister had introduced them less than an hour ago.

All she had to do was the sensible and truthful thing-to tell him that she had not been listening to his conversation with Lady Beaton. But her mind was flustered.

“Yes, indeed,” she said, and watched the smile deepen wickedly in his eyes while Lady Beaton looked at her in some surprise. She had made the wrong response. “Or, rather…”

And it struck her as if out of nowhere that it would be very easy indeed to fall head over ears in love with someone like Lord Montford. With someone forbidden, unsafe. Dangerous.

Definitely dangerous.

Or perhaps it was not someone like Lord Montford with whom she could fall desperately in love if she was foolish enough to allow herself to do it. Perhaps it was precisely him.

The thought caused a strange tightening in her breasts and an even stranger ache and throbbing that spiraled downward to rest between her inner thighs.

It was then that the thought occurred to her that perhaps love was not safe. That perhaps it was her very attempt to find it in safe places that had prevented her from finding it at all. That perhaps she would never find it if she did not…

If she did not what?

Take a leap in the dark? The very dangerous dark?

He held her eyes rather longer than was necessary before returning his attention to Lady Beaton, and the evening proceeded more safely and predictably and altogether more comfortably. Lord Beaton danced with Katherine in the space before the tiered boxes after they had all dined, and then, with another couple, they went for a short stroll along the grand avenue beneath the colored lamps that swayed magically in the tree branches overhead, dodging crowds of revelers as they did so.

Lord Beaton was one of Katherine’s more persistent admirers. With just a hint of encouragement, she sensed, he would probably court her in earnest. And a very advantageous match it would be for her, considering the fact that at the beginning of the year she had been a lowly village schoolteacher even if her father had been a gentleman and grandson of an earl.

She had never given that hint of encouragement. She liked Lord Beaton. He was fair-haired, good-looking, good-natured, and… well, and ever so slightly dull. There was not the smallest suggestion of danger about him.

Which judgment, she realized, was far more of a condemnation of her than it was of him. His steadiness of character ought to be his strongest recommendation. Why had it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps she would like a dangerous man better? Or rather, that she would more than just like one particular dangerous gentleman? She had better hope that her strange, irrational theory was never put to the test.

It was, though.

After more dancing and feasting and conversing, they all went walking to fill in the time before the fireworks display. They proceeded again along the grand avenue, all talking amiably with one another, not in any particular pairings.

Until, that was, Katherine was jostled by a drunken reveler who could no longer walk a straight line, and found when she stepped smartly out of his way that Lord Montford was at her side, offering his arm.

“One needs a trusty navigator upon such a perilous voyage,” he said.

“And you are such a navigator?” she asked him. It seemed far more likely that he was the perilous voyage. She did not know whether she should take his arm or not. She felt breathless for no discernible reason.

“Assuredly I am,” he said. “I will steer you safely to harbor, Miss Huxtable. It is a solemn promise.”

He smiled, and his eyes beamed good humor. He looked safe and reliable. He was behaving like a perfect gentleman, offering her protection from the reveling crowds. And she found that she wanted to take his arm.

“In that case,” she said, smiling back at him, “I accept. Thank you, my lord.”

And she slid one hand through his arm and felt-foolishly-as though she had never done anything nearly so daring and reckless and plain exciting in her whole life. It was a rock-solid arm. It was also warm. Well, of course it was warm. What had she expected? That he was the walking dead? She could smell his shaving soap or his cologne-a subtle, musky scent that was unfamiliar to her. It was very… masculine.

So was he. He was masculinity incarnate. She felt surrounded by it, enclosed in it.

Someone had robbed her of breathable air.

And here she was, behaving like a very green girl indeed just because a handsome, charming gentleman with a shady reputation had paid her some attention and offered his arm to steer her past the crowds. She was being ridiculous. Silly might be a better word.

“You must be missing young Merton and your sisters and Lyngate now that they have gone into the country,” he said pleasantly, drawing her a little closer to his side. But she took no alarm from that fact. The crowds were very dense, and he was protecting her from them with some success. Indeed, she felt very safe indeed.

With a little thread of danger that caused her heart to thump away in her chest.

But-he knew her? He knew who she was, who her family members were? He knew that Meg and Stephen had returned to Warren Hall, that Vanessa and Lord Lyngate had gone with them to spend a few days at Finchley Park? She turned her head to look into his face. It was startlingly close to hers.

“But is it with sadness that you miss them?” he asked her. “Or is it with relief at being free to kick up your heels in their absence?”

That very safe smile in his eyes had developed an edge of wickedness.

This presumably was kicking up her heels. He must know that her family would not knowingly allow her within fifty yards of him unescorted. Not that she needed their escort. Good heavens, the very idea! She was twenty years old.

“I hope I do not need my brother and sisters to ensure that I behave as I ought, my lord,” she said, hearing the primness in her voice.

He laughed softly. It was enough to send shivers up her spine.

“Or Con either?” he said. “I have teased him so mercilessly about turning himself into a prim nursemaid since your advent in town, and Miss Wallace’s, that he has turned tail and fled into the country to hide his mortification.”

“He has not fled anywhere. He has gone into the country to see his new estate,” Katherine told him. “It is in Gloucestershire.”

“However it is,” he said, moving his head a little closer to hers, “he is gone, and so are your brother and sisters and your brother-in-law.”

He made it sound as if she had plotted long and hard to be rid of them in order to be free to allow this forbidden tryst. It was not a tryst. She had not even known he was going to be here. She had not-

But suddenly it felt like a tryst.

“I am staying at Moreland House,” she explained to him, “with the dowager Lady Lyngate as my chaperone.”

“Ah,” he said. “The lady who is conspicuous in her absence this evening?”

“I am here-” she began indignantly, but she stopped when he laughed softly again.

“-under the chaperonage of Lady Beaton,” he said, “who does not even appear to have noticed that we have fallen behind the group.”

And so they had. Several people had passed them and were between them and their own party. She could see Lady Beaton’s royal-blue hair plumes nodding above other heads in the middle distance.

“Miss Huxtable,” he said, moving his head even closer to hers and turning it so that he could look into her face, “do you never feel even the smallest urge to live adventurously? Even dangerously?”

She licked her lips and found that even her tongue was rather dry. Had he been reading her mind this evening?

“No, of course not,” she said. “Never.”

“Liar.” His eyes laughed.

“What?” She felt the beginnings of outrage.

“Everyone wants some adventure in life,” he said. “Everyone wants to flirt with danger on occasion. Even ladies who have had a sheltered, very proper upbringing.”

“That is outrageous,” she said-but without conviction. She could not look away from his eyes, which gazed keenly back into hers as if he could read every thought, every yearning, every desire, she had ever had.

He laughed again and lifted his head a little away from hers.

“Yes, of course it is outrageous,” he agreed. “I exaggerated. I can think of any number of people, both men and women, who are staid by nature and would sooner die than risk stubbing a toe against even the smallest of adventures. You are not, however, one of those people.”

“How do you know?” she asked him, and wondered why she was arguing with him.

“Because you have asked the question,” he said, “instead of pokering up and staring at me in blank incomprehension. You have become defensive. You know that I speak the truth but are afraid to admit it.”

“Really?” she said, injecting as much frost into the one word as she could muster. “And what adventure is it that I crave, pray? And with what danger is it that I wish to flirt?”

Too late she wished she had used a different word.

His head dipped closer to hers again.

“Me,” he said softly. “In answer to both questions.”

A shiver of horrified excitement convulsed her whole body, though she hoped it was not visible. Everyone, she realized, had been perfectly right about him. Constantine had been right. Her own instincts had been right.

He was a very dangerous man indeed. She ought to pull her arm free of his right this moment and go dashing after the others as fast as her legs and the crowds would allow.

“That is… preposterous,” she said, staying instead to argue.

Because danger really was enticing. And not so very dangerous in reality. They were on the grand avenue at Vauxhall, surrounded by people even if their own party was proceeding farther ahead with every passing minute. Danger was only an illusion.

“I speak of your deepest, darkest desires, Miss Huxtable,” he continued when she did not reply. “No true lady, of course, ever acts upon those, more is the pity. I believe any number of ladies would be far more interesting-and interested-if they did.”

She stared at him. She glared at him-at least, she hoped she did. Her cheeks were uncomfortably hot. So was all the rest of her. Her heart was pounding so hard she could almost hear it.

“You most of all,” he said. “I wonder if it has ever occurred to you, Miss Huxtable, that you are a woman of great passion. But probably not-it would not be a genteel admission to make, and I daresay you have not met anyone before now who was capable of challenging you to admit the truth. I assure you that you are.”

“I am not,” she whispered indignantly.

He did not answer. His eyelids drooped farther over his eyes instead, and those eyes laughed. The devil’s eyes. Sin incarnate.

Suddenly and so unexpectedly that she almost jumped with alarm, she laughed. Out loud.

And she realized with astonishment and no uncertain degree of unease that she was actually almost enjoying herself. She knew that she would relive this part of the evening in memory for several days to come, perhaps weeks. Probably forever. She was actually talking with and touching the notorious Lord Montford. And he was actually flirting with her in an utterly outrageous way. And instead of being paralyzed with horror and tongue-tied with enraged virtue, she was actually laughing and arguing back.

They had stopped walking. Although her arm was still drawn through his, they were standing almost face-to-face-and therefore very close together. The crowds of revelers flowed around them.

“Oh, how very wicked of you,” she was bold enough to say. “You have quite deliberately discomfited me, have you not? You have deliberately maneuvered me into hotly denying a quality of which we all wish to think ourselves capable.”

“Passion?” he said. “You are capable of it, then, Miss Huxtable? You admit it? How sad it is that a gentle upbringing must stamp all outer sign of it from a lady.”

“But it is something she must display only for her husband,” she said, and felt instantly embarrassed by the ghastly primness of the words.

“Let me guess.” He was more than ever amused, she could see. “Your father was a clergyman and you were brought up listening to and reading sermons.”

She opened her mouth to protest and shut it again. There was no smart answer to that, was there? He was quite right.

“Why are we having this conversation?” she asked him, about five minutes too late. “It is very improper, as you know very well. And we have not even set eyes upon each other until tonight.”

“Now that, Miss Huxtable,” he said, “is a blatant bouncer for which you will be fortunate indeed not to fry in hell. Not only have you set eyes upon me before tonight, but you have done so quite deliberately and with full awareness on more than one occasion. My guess is that Con’s warnings against me-I do not doubt he did warn you-have had the opposite effect from what he intended, as a man of his experience ought to have known. But before you swell with indignation and perjure your soul with more lies, let me admit that since I am aware of your observing me before tonight, then of course I must have been observing you. Unlike you, though, I have no wish to deny the fact. I have seen you with increasing pleasure. You must realize how extraordinarily lovely you are, and so I will not bore you by going into raptures over your beauty. Though I will if you wish.”

He raised both eyebrows and gazed very directly into her eyes, awaiting her answer.

Katherine was fully aware that she had waded into deep waters and was by now quite out of her depth. But oddly she had no wish to return to safe waters just yet. He really was flirting with her. And he had noticed her before tonight just as she had noticed him.

How very foolish to feel flattered. As if she did not know better.

“I see, my lord,” she said, “that you do not observe the rules of polite conversation.”

“Meaning,” he said, “that I do not endorse lies and other hypocrisies in the name of politeness? You are quite right. When I see a spade, I see no conversational advantage in calling it something else. Perhaps this is one reason many people of good ton avoid my company.”

“One reason, perhaps,” she said. “There are others.”

He smiled fully at her and regarded her in silence for a few moments. For which she was very thankful. The smile transformed him into… Oh, where were there adequate words? A handsome man? She had already thought of him as being handsome. Irresistible, then?

“That was a very sharp and nasty retort, Miss Huxtable,” he said. “And not at all polite.”

She bit her lower lip and smiled.

“We are being a severe annoyance to all who are proceeding along this avenue,” he said. “Shall we move on?”

“Of course.” She looked ahead. Their party was right out of sight. They were going to have to walk quickly to catch up. This brief, strange interlude was at an end, then? And so it ought to be. She should be feeling far gladder about it than she actually was.

But he did not lead her in their direction. Neither did he turn back toward their private box. He turned her instead onto a narrower path that branched off the grand avenue.

“A shortcut,” he murmured.

Within moments they were enclosed by trees and darkness and solitude. There were no lamps swaying from the branches here. There was an almost instant feeling of seclusion.

This encounter, Katherine thought, was taking a very dangerous turn indeed. She did not for a moment believe that this was a short route back to the others. She ought to take a firm stand right now, insist upon being taken without delay back to the main avenue and on to Lady Beaton and safety. Indeed, she did not even have to be taken. She could go on her own. He surely would not stop her by force.

Why did she not do it, then?

Instead of taking any stand at all, she walked onward with him, deeper into a darkness that was only faintly illumined by the moon and stars far above the treetops.

She had never really known adventure-or danger. Or the thrill of the unknown.

Or the pull of attraction to a man who was forbidden.

And definitely dangerous.

And, for the moment at least, quite irresistible.