Chapter One

Lady Freemantle’s matchmaking is vexing enough to drive a saint mad, and you know I am no saint.

—Miss Lily Loring to Fanny Irwin

Danvers Hall; Chiswick, England; June 1817

“I cannot understand why he flusters me so,” Lilian Loring mumbled unevenly to the gray cat. “No man has ever unsettled me this way.”

A soft purr was the only reply Lily received to her complaint.

“It is not merely because he is handsome, either. I am not ord’narily attracted to handsome noblemen.” If anything she was highly wary of them. “And I care nothing for his rank and consequence.”

Giving a woozy sigh, Lily stretched out in the straw as she stroked the cat’s fur. She was hard-pressed to explain the deplorable effect that Heath Griffin, Marquess of Claybourne, had on her. Particularly since she had just met him for the first time this morning at her sister’s wedding.

“The trouble is, he is too sharm…charming.” And virile. And vital. And powerful.

Whatever his attributes, they made her absurdly breathless and agitated.

“Devil take ’im….”

Lily bit her lip and fell silent upon registering how slurred her words sounded. No doubt the result of drinking three full glasses of champagne—which was at least two glasses too many, given how spirits of any kind went directly to her head. But the events of the evening had been dismaying enough to drive her to imbibe.

She wasn’t completely foxed at the moment, yet it had probably been a mistake to attempt climbing up to the stable loft wearing a ball gown—an exquisite confection of pale rose silk—and dancing slippers. Weaving her way up the ladder in such narrow skirts while carrying a napkinful of tidbits had challenged her usual athleticism. But she had wanted to bring supper for Boots before she left the wedding celebrations.

Boots, the Danvers Hall stable cat, had recently given birth to a litter of kittens. Currently the family of felines was contentedly curled up in the box Lily had arranged in the loft to protect the mother cat and her new offspring from the home-farm dogs. Lily had left her lantern hanging on a peg below so as not to frighten the youngsters, and the muted golden glow contributed to the tranquility of the loft, as did the warmth of the night, since it was nearly summer.

The three kittens were little balls of fluff, their eyes barely open, but they were beginning to show their own unique personalities—much like the Loring sisters, Lily thought. The sight of the baby kittens blinking sleepily up at her roused intensely tender feelings in her chest, since she had a soft spot for the helpless and less fortunate.

If she was honest with herself, however, she would admit that she’d sought refuge in the stable loft as much to escape Lord Claybourne as to feed the estate cat and indulge in a bout of self-pity.

While Boots was nibbling delicately on breast of roast pheasant, Lily carefully reached inside the box and picked up one of the adorable kittens.

“Do you re’lize how precious you are?” she murmured, pressing her nose into its soft ebony fur. The black kitten was the rambunctious one, like Lily herself, and it swatted at her nose playfully.

Lily gave a low laugh, which helped staunch the ache in her throat at the poignant memories she was trying to hold at bay.

It had been a lovely wedding this morning in the village church, where her eldest sister Arabella had married Marcus Pierce, the new Earl of Danvers. An enormous wedding breakfast and ball had followed at Danvers Hall, with nearly six hundred guests in attendance. The celebrations had gone splendidly, due in large part to her middle sister Roslyn’s untiring efforts and hostess skills.

The ball would continue for at least another hour or two, until after midnight, but Lily and Roslyn had said farewell to Arabella in private a short while ago, sharing tears of happiness and sadness.

It was extremely hard for Lily to bear, losing Arabella to marriage, but the evening had been made even more difficult by the meddlesome matchmaking efforts of their kindly patron, Winifred, Lady Freemantle. Several years ago, when the Loring sisters had been penniless and in desperate need of earning their own livings, Winifred had supplied the funds to start their Academy for Young Ladies for the daughters of the wealthy merchant class. All during the ball, Winifred had kept pushing Lily in the path of Marcus’s close friend, the Marquess of Claybourne.

Eventually, much to her chagrin and dismay, Winifred cornered her and practically forced his lordship to dance with her.

“You will be delighted to have so desirable a dance partner as Miss Lilian, my lord, no mistake,” the middle-aged matron assured him.

“Delighted and honored,” Claybourne replied, smiling lazily down at Lily.

She felt color heat her cheeks. As her traitorous friend turned away, beaming with sly glee, Lily stared back at Claybourne, vexed and tongue-tied.

The marquess was tall and powerful, with an air of breathtaking virility that commanded attention. His hair was a tawny brown, his eyes a gold-flecked hazel, and he had an utterly masculine face that made countless feminine hearts flutter.

Lily discovered that she was no different. Deplorably aware of her quickening pulse and heightened senses, she stood there feeling awkward and fuming at Winifred’s machinations. It was mortifying, being paraded before the very wealthy, very eligible marquess like a heifer at a fair.

She remained mute as she accepted Lord Claybourne’s hand and let him lead her onto the ballroom floor. And when the orchestra struck up the opening bars of a waltz, she reluctantly moved into his arms. She did not like being so close to him, to his heat and vitality. Nor was she pleased at how conscious she was of his body, of his natural grace, his easy sensuality as he guided her to the lilting rhythm of the music. She had never observed such things about a man before. Normally she only noticed a man’s potential for brutality, the size of his fists—

“Do you dislike dancing in general, Miss Loring?” Claybourne finally asked to break the silence between them. “Or do you object to dancing with me in particular?”

Lily was taken aback by his perceptiveness. “Why would you think I object, my lord?” she hedged.

“Perhaps because of that fearsome scowl you are wearing.”

Feeling a fresh flush tinge her cheeks, she forced a polite smile. “I beg your pardon. Dancing is not my favorite pastime.”

Those jeweled eyes glinted down from beneath heavy brows. “You do it quite well. I confess that surprises me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why should it surprise you?”

“Because Marcus claims you are a spitfire and a hoyden. I understand you would rather enjoy a good gallop across a field than be caught dead in a ballroom.”

That honest observation won a reluctant laugh from Lily. “Most decidedly I prefer riding to waltzing, my lord, although ‘spitfire’ is a bit harsh. Marcus thinks I am one because I frequently quarreled with him about Arabella when he was courting her. But I am fairly even-tempered. However, I freely admit to being a hoyden—except when I play teacher at our Academy and must set a good example. Or upon occasions such as this, when I am required to endure the social niceties for my sisters’ sakes. In truth, I find a certain pleasure in defying the dictates of the ton.”

“I can admire a rebel,” he said, his tone edged with amusement. “You are very different from your sisters, are you not?”

His observation earned a sharp look from Lily. She regarded Claybourne suspiciously, unable to tell if he considered the difference favorable or not.

Not that she minded if his judgment of her was unfavorable. Nor did it bother her that she always fell short in comparisons with her sisters. Both Arabella and Roslyn were remarkable beauties with fair hair, creamy complexions, and tall, elegant figures.

Lily couldn’t match their height or aristocratic bearing—in addition to having dark hair and eyes and a rosy coloring that made her seem a changeling in her blond, blue-eyed family. Moreover, her sisters were the epitome of grace and ladylike gentility, while her own high spirits and stubborn aversion to conforming to the absurdly stuffy precepts of the ruling elite regularly led her into trouble.

But Lily had no intention of apologizing to his lordship for her subversive tendencies. Indeed, to her mind, the less conversation she had with him the better.

He, however, did not appear inclined to take her hint and keep silent. “Did you enjoy the wedding ceremony this morning, Miss Loring?”

That topic was an extreme sore point with her also, although she managed to hide her wince. “Arabella made a beautiful bride,” she said carefully.

“But you don’t approve of your sister marrying my friend.”

Lily’s frown returned as she scanned the ballroom for the bridal couple and found Arabella and Marcus laughing together as they waltzed. “I fear she may be making a mistake, wedding so suddenly. They have known each other for barely two months.”

“And yet they profess to be madly in love.”

“I know,” Lily said morosely. Watching the tender looks Belle and Marcus shared as they glided together in the dance, she had to admit they seemed very much in love. “But I worry that it won’t last.”

Claybourne smiled. “You sound very much like my friend Arden.”

Arden, Lily knew, was Marcus’s other close friend, Drew Moncrief, the Duke of Arden. The three noblemen—Danvers, Arden, and Claybourne—were as thick as thieves. “His grace did not want them to marry, either?”

“No, and for your same reasons.”

“What about you, my lord? What is your opinion of their union?”

Claybourne’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “I am reserving judgment for the time being, but I’m inclined to approve. They look remarkably happy now, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. And I truly hope it continues. I don’t want Arabella to be hurt.”

That seemed to catch his attention. “And you think Marcus will hurt your sister?”

“That is what noblemen tend to do,” Lily muttered under her breath, although his lordship evidently heard.

His gaze turned curious. “Not all noblemen are villains, Miss Loring.”

“No…in all fairness, they are not.”

At his mention of villains, she studied the marquess measuringly. He was a powerfully-built man, broad-chested and muscular. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder.

Ordinarily she was wary of powerful men. She tended to measure them by how they treated women, a habit ingrained in her when she was a mere girl. Yet surprisingly Lord Claybourne did not make her apprehensive. At least not for the usual reasons, because he was bigger and stronger than she.

He looked very strong, yet he didn’t seem to be the kind of man who would use his strength against someone weaker.

Perhaps it was his easy smile. Or perhaps it was because of the tales she’d heard of him. The Marquess of Claybourne was legendary for the way women adored him.

He was said to adore women in turn, just not enough to marry any one of his numerous conquests. Which made it surprising that he didn’t object to his friend Marcus’s unexpected marriage.

“I trust you don’t mean to condemn me out of hand,” Claybourne observed, interrupting her intent perusal. “At least not until we are better acquainted.”

Lily clamped down on her wayward thoughts. “There is no need for us to become better acquainted, my lord,” she said lightly. “We don’t move in the same circles, and as soon as the wedding celebrations are over, I plan to resume being a hoyden and never set foot in another ballroom except under pain of death.”

His laugh was husky and charming—and quite disarming. “Marcus warned me you were unique.”

Lily had a mutinous desire to resist that effortless charm. Tearing her gaze away from his amused one, she focused on a distant point over his shoulder.

She didn’t want to admit her attraction to Lord Claybourne. He made her feel delicate and fragile and feminine—and she did not care for the sensations at all. Indeed, the sense of power, of vitality, about him, was overwhelming.

But oddly, his allure was due to more than his handsome features and masculine form. There was an aura about him that hinted at excitement. He looked like a bold adventurer. A traveler, an explorer. As if he should be captaining a ship, sailing the seven seas, or leading an intrepid expedition, probing the secrets of unknown lands.

Lily didn’t know if he owned a ship, but she knew he was a sportsman. The stories of Claybourne’s sporting exploits were repeated in all the drawing rooms. And Winifred had been singing his praises the entire day, attempting to rouse Lily’s interest in targeting him for her husband.

She had absolutely no desire to marry the marquess, however, or any other man for that matter. Even though she was forced to admit that Claybourne was the most compelling man she had ever met—which was an ideal reason to keep away from him.

As soon as the waltz was over, Lily had extricated herself from his unnerving company.

She intended to leave the ball early in any case, to spend the night with her good friend Tess Blanchard, a genteel young lady who was also a teacher at the Freemantle Academy.

After saying farewell to Arabella and then drinking two more glasses of champagne in quick succession—Lily had needed the libation for fortitude and to hold back her tears of sadness—she made her way to one of the rear stable wings, formerly used for broodmares, to feed Boots and check on her kittens. It was blessedly quiet here, set away from the rest of the yard.

Her head was still swimming from the overindulgence of champagne, along with her potent memories of Lord Claybourne. The feel of him as they’d waltzed—sinewy and powerful, all lithe grace—had uncustomarily flustered her.

“But I trust I will never see him again after t’night,” Lily muttered as she returned the black kitten to the box. “Or at least that I will never again be the victim of Winifred’s humiliating mash…matchmaking schemes.”

It was then that Lily heard a faint noise from below, like a throat being cleared.

Wondering who had entered the stable, she shifted her position to look over the loft’s edge. Her heart skipped a violent beat when she spied the broad-shouldered Marquess of Claybourne leaning against a post, his arms folded, his head cocked to one side.

When her head suddenly started spinning dizzily, Lily drew back in haste. Oh, dear heaven. Had he overheard her lament that he was too charming? What other incriminating observations had she made about him?

Holding a hand to her throbbing temple, Lily slowly peered over the side again. “M-my lord, what are you doing here?”

“I saw you leave the ball and wondered why you would visit the stables.”

“You followed me?” Lily asked blankly.

Claybourne gave a bland nod. “Guilty as charged.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So you were shamelessly eavesdropping?”

“I was curious. Do you always talk to yourself, Miss Loring?”

“Sometimes. But in this case I am speaking to the cat…Actually cats. Boots the stable cat recently had kittens.”

“Would you care to explain what you are doing up there in the loft?”

“If you mush…must know…I am feeding her.”

“You came here to feed the stable cat?” His tone held surprise and a hint of disbelief.

“Should I have let her starve?” Lily asked rhetorically. “Boots is an excellent mouser, but at the moment she has more important tasks to occupy her, namely taking care of her kittens.”

His handsome mouth quirked. “Do you mean to remain there with the cats?”

“No. I will come down as soon as my head clears. I seem…to have drunk a bit too much champagne.” To her chagrin, she was too dizzy just now to climb safely down the ladder to escape Lord Claybourne’s unwanted presence.

“Then you won’t mind if I join you,” he said, moving across the aisle to put a foot on the lowest wooden rung.

Yes, she minded! Lily sat up abruptly, wondering how she could prevent him from imposing his company upon her. “You cannot climb up here, my lord!” she exclaimed, yet her protest obviously had no effect, since his head soon appeared above the ledge.

“I believe I can. I plan to keep you company.”

With his torso in view, he paused to survey her with interest.

“You will get your coat dusty,” Lily said lamely, eying his elegantly tailored evening coat of burgundy superfine—Weston, no doubt—that fitted those magnificent shoulders to perfection.

“My coat will survive.” His gaze raked over her own attire. “What about you? You are wearing a ball gown.”

“That is different. I don’t care about clothing.”

When his eyebrow shot up, Lily realized that her retort could have two meanings. “I d-don’t mean that I like to go naked…” she stammered, feeling scalding heat flood her cheeks. “I only meant that I don’t care about fancy clothing…ball gowns and shuch.”

“How novel.” His tone turned wry as he climbed the last few rungs and settled a hip on the loft’s edge. “It strains the imagination. You must be the first female I have ever met who isn’t interested in fancy gowns.”

“But you see, I am not normal, my lord. I am very abnormal.”

“Is that so?” he replied, easing himself closer to sit beside her.

Even in the dim light, she could see that his hazel eyes were dancing. He was laughing at her!

Stiffening her spine, Lily opened her mouth to remonstrate, but he spoke first. “What is so abnormal about you, angel? You look exceedingly normal to me.”

When his gaze drifted downward again over her body, Lily pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks and willed herself to calm down—which was deplorably difficult considering the fluttery, flustered sensations that were racing through her at his lordship’s close proximity.

Stretching up to her full sitting height, she tried to appear regal and made her tone dampening as she replied. “I meant that I am not usual for a female.”

“I have little doubt about that.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “The thing is, I should have been born male. I would have been mush happier.”

“Oh, and are you so unhappy now?”

In her slightly inebriated state, her thoughts were more sluggish than usual, and she had to consider his question for a moment. “Well…no. I like my life quite well. But women have little of the freedom that men enjoy.”

“What freedom would you like to enjoy, love?”

Lily bit her lower lip, abashed at how her tongue was running away from her. Yet she couldn’t seem to help herself; the champagne had loosened her tongue deplorably. “Never mind. Don’t listen to me, my lord. I don’t hold my liquor at all well.”

“So it would seem. What made you drink so much then?”

“I was drowning my sorrows, if you insist on knowing.”

“What sorrows?”

“At losing my sister to matrimony. I was indulging in a bout of melancholy. But it was supposed to be private.” When he didn’t respond, Lily added pointedly, “That is a veiled hint for you to leave, my lord.”

Instead of retreating down the loft ladder, he smiled and leaned back, casually resting his weight on his palms and crossing his long, satin-clad legs in front of him, as if settling in for a long stay.

Lily exhaled in a huff. “I don’t think you comprehend the danger you are in, Lord Claybourne. It is a grave mistake for you to be alone with me. If Winifred knew, she would be ecstatic.”

“Winifred?”

“Lady Freemantle. She is the main reason I left the ball early—to escape her scheming. She is trying to mash…match me with you. You must have noticed.”

Her allegation didn’t seem to alarm him as it should. “Perhaps, but her machinations are no worse than usual. I’m well-accustomed to eager mamas throwing their daughters at my head.”

Lily grimaced in disgruntlement. “Perhaps you can dismiss her plotting, but I cannot. It is mortifying in the extreme. I am not a prize heifer, to be exhibited before an eligible gentleman and judged for my defects and qualifications.”

His eyes were dancing again. “I should think not.”

At his blithe reply, exasperation welled up in Lily full force. “Do you not understand? Winifred wants me to set my cap at you.”

“But you don’t intend to.”

“Certainly not! I have no interest in marriage.”

“That is quite a unique perspective for a young lady. Most women have made it their mission in life to find a husband.”

“True. But you needn’t worry about me hounding you, Lord Claybourne. Oh, I know you are a prime catch. You are disgustingly rich, you have a vaunted title, you aren’t so shabby in appearance, and you are said to be irresistibly charming.”

“But you aren’t swayed by this delightful catalog of my attributes.”

“Not in the least.” Lily smiled faintly to soften the harshness of her observation. “No doubt you have a bevy of lovestruck admirers, but I will never join their ranks. And I have no intention of behaving like all the other flagrant husband-hunters you know. I won’t chase after you.”

“You relieve my mind, Miss Loring. I don’t enjoy being chased.” From the provocative laughter in his voice, he seemed to be enjoying himself far too much. “But I am quite curious to know why you have such a profound distaste for marriage.”

Lily drew a deep breath. Hoyden or not, she normally would never dream of discussing her personal affairs with a perfect stranger. But in this case, she was eager to be rid of him, so a liberal dose of frankness might stand her in good stead.

“In my experience marriage usually leads to unhappiness for a woman,” she said honestly.

“You speak from personal experience?”

Lily made a face. “Unfortunately, yes. My parents’ union was hostile enough to give me an aversion to matrimony for life.”

The gleaming light in Claybourne’s eyes faded as he studied her. His searching perusal was more unsettling than his amusement, however.

“I don’t need a husband,” she hurried to add, “despite what proper society decrees for young ladies. I am financially independent now, thanks to the generous settlement Marcus made me. So I can have a fulfilling life without having to marry.”

“Yet you implied you wanted more freedom.”

She smiled uncertainly. “True.” Her dream had always been to escape to a life of freedom and adventure. “I mean to use the funds to travel the world and explore new and exciting places.”

“Alone?”

“Lady Hester Stanhope did it,” Lily pointed out, mentioning the adventurous earl’s daughter and niece of William Pitt the Younger who had sailed to the Middle East and eventually joined a settlement of Arab tribesmen.

“So she did. But she was significantly older than you.”

“I am one and twenty, old enough to take care of myself.”

“So…you won’t marry because men often make their wives unhappy,” Claybourne said slowly, as if testing the theory in his mind.

“Yes. First you make us too infatuated to think clearly, so we give over all control to you, and then you make our lives a misery.” Unconsciously Lily ground her teeth. “I think it abominable that husbands have the legal right to be villainous toward their wives. I am not about to give any man that power over me.”

To her surprise, Claybourne leaned forward and raised a hand to touch her cheek. “Who hurt you, angel?” he asked quietly.

Discomfited, Lily drew back. “No one hurt me. It was my mother who was hurt. And my eldest sister also, for that matter.”

He was silent for a moment. “I understand your father was a champion philanderer.”

Lily looked away, not wanting to recall the painful memories. “He was indeed. He flaunted his mistresses before my mother at every opportunity. It hurt her terribly. And Arabella’s first betrothed betrayed her almost as badly. Belle loved him, but when my parents’ scandal broke, he ended their engagement out of hand.”

Lily was certain Lord Claybourne knew all about the terrible scandals that had befallen her family four years ago. First their mother had taken a lover because she was unable to endure her unhappy marriage any longer, and then was forced to flee to the Continent by her outraged husband. A fortnight later their libertine father gambled away the last of his fortune and was killed in a duel over one of his mistresses. The Loring sisters had been left penniless and homeless, at the mercy of their curmudgeonly step-uncle, the Earl of Danvers, who had taken them in most grudgingly.

“Is that why you didn’t want Marcus marrying your sister?”

“In large part.”

“You seem to harbor a strong prejudice against noblemen.”

“I won’t deny it. Noblemen can make the worst sort of husbands.”

“Then I can take heart from the fact that your aversion is not directed at me personally.”

Her brows drew together. “No, I have nothing against you personally, my lord. I don’t even know you.” Thankfully, she added to herself.

Claybourne remained silent for another dozen heartbeats before shifting his position to study the box’s inhabitants. “I take it this is Boots,” he murmured, reaching down to scratch the mother cat behind one ear. Surprisingly Boots didn’t object but started purring at once, rubbing her head sensuously against his fingers.

Lily found her gaze riveted on his lordship’s hands as he stroked the silky gray fur. He had strong, graceful hands, surprising in such a bold, masculine man.

“I think you are forgetting one important fact,” he said finally.

She didn’t immediately realize that Lord Claybourne was speaking to her. “What fact?”

“It is true that some men can be hurtful, but they can also give women great pleasure.”

Warmth rose to her face. “Perhaps some men can, but that is beside the point.”

Just then the black kitten pounced on his cuff and started chewing his knuckle.

“Hungry little fellow, aren’t you?” he murmured with a smile. “And you as well,” he added as the gray kitten attacked his thumb.

He drew out the tiny creatures, settling them in his lap. Almost at once the black kitten crawled up his chest, digging its claws into the gold brocade of his waistcoat.

“I am sorry, my lord,” Lily said regretfully.

“It is no matter.” When the black one scampered higher, Claybourne gave a soft laugh. The low, husky sound raked across Lily’s nerve endings with undeniable potency.

“Here, let me help…” she hastened to say.

Leaning forward, she reached out to pluck the kitten off his chest, but the curling claws clung to his cravat. Lily tried to extricate the tiny claws from the fine fabric without damaging it and somehow wound up pushing the marquess back in the straw.

He lay there, looking up at her. Leaning over him, Lily froze at the expression on his face. He had gone quite still, but there was a soft fire in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.

“I am sorry,” she repeated, suddenly breathless.

“I am not.”

His fingers closing gently around the tiny black paws, he managed to free his cravat and set the kitten in the straw beside him. Immediately it bounded off toward the box, and the gray went scrambling after its littermate.

Even so, Lily couldn’t look away from Lord Claybourne. When he reached up and slid his fingers behind her nape, her breathing faltered altogether. Then shockingly, he drew her mouth down to meet his in a featherlight contact.

She was unprepared for the rush of sensation that shot through her at the unexpected caress; his lips were warm and firm yet enticingly soft at the same time—and much too tempting.

Stifling a gasp, Lily pressed her palms against his chest and lifted her reeling head. “W-why did you do that?” she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse.

“I wanted to see if your lips were as inviting as they look.”

His reply was not what she expected. “And were they?”

“More so.”

Lily stared down at him, unable to move. Her gaze was riveted on his face. It was a strong face, arresting and beautiful in the muted glow of lamplight. He had a beautiful mouth also, even though she hadn’t let herself acknowledge it before. His lips were chiseled and generous, and they curved now in a faint smile as he returned her regard.

“I expect you have no idea what you are missing, sweetheart. Passion between a man and a woman can be quite remarkable.”

Lily cleared her suddenly dry throat, fighting her enchanted stupor. “Even so, I don’t care to have anything to do with passion.”

“What do you know about it? Have you ever even been properly kissed?”

Her brow furrowed cautiously. “What do you mean by ‘properly’?”

His quiet chuckle was soft, husky, as he drew her face down to his again. “If you have to ask, the answer must be no. I think we should rectify the deficiency at once….”

As the warm mist of his breath caressed her mouth, Lily braced herself for the renewed shock, but when his lips began to play over hers with exquisite pressure, she felt her resistance melting.

The effect of his kiss was spellbinding. The heady sensation he roused made her light-headed and giddy, much like the effect of the champagne.

When he left off this time, he reached up and stroked her cheek with a finger. “Did you find that pleasurable, sweeting?”

She couldn’t utter a denial for it would be a lie. His kiss had left her breathless and dazed, and she felt a strange quivering between her thighs, a restless ache low and deep in her feminine center. “Y-yes.”

“You sound unsure.”

“It was…quite pleasant.”

His mouth curved wryly. “Merely pleasant? I think I should be insulted.”

“You know you needn’t be. You are said to be a devil with the ladies, and you have countless conquests—” She paused, shaking her head in a futile effort to clear it. “At least now I can understand why everyone says women adore you.”

“Who says so?”

“Fanny.”

“Fanny Irwin? Ah yes, I recall your sister Arabella mentioning that you were childhood friends with Miss Irwin.”

Fanny was one of the most sought-after courtesans in London. But as one of their dearest friends, she had attended Arabella’s wedding celebrations today, much to the dismay of the ton’s high sticklers.

Lily desperately wished Fanny were here now to advise her. How had she gotten herself into such a fix? What was she doing here in a secluded loft with this utterly beguiling stranger? Somehow she was sprawled all over Lord Claybourne, pressed against his hard, muscular body. Warmth radiated up from his chest, infusing her breasts with a delicious heaviness.

And that was before he raised a finger to the hollow of her throat and lightly stroked. “I think I should demonstrate.”

“Demonstrate what?” she asked unsteadily.

His eyes smiled into hers. “The kind of pleasure a man can give a woman.”

Her heart started thudding harder as he made good on his declaration. His hand cupping the back of her head, he drew her close again…yet this time his kiss held an even more delectable pressure. This kiss was slow and erotic and extremely thorough; parting her lips, his tongue slid into her mouth, creating an intense yearning inside her that only added to her light-headedness.

Lily fought the powerful urges in her body. Her head was still spinning from the champagne, but that didn’t explain her overwhelming feelings of desire or her deplorable attraction to the seductive marquess.

She couldn’t resist letting him continue, though. Not when he was assailing her mouth with such throat-stopping languor…molding, tasting, teasing. All her senses felt assaulted as his tongue stroked provocatively against hers, tangling in a sensual dance.

With a sound between a sigh and a whimper, Lily surrendered.

In response, his kiss only deepened.

Helplessly she raised her hand to his sun-streaked brown hair, which was amazingly thick and silky. His own hand cradled her throat, then slid lower to where the square decolletage of her evening gown exposed a generous amount of bare skin.

When his knuckles skimmed the upper swells of her breasts, Lily tried to draw in a shaky breath of air. But he kept on kissing her, arousing with silky strokes of his tongue, slowly driving, deliciously plundering.

She was achingly aware when he shifted beneath her, for one of his knees separated hers. Through her skirts she felt the pressure of his sinewed thigh against her femininity. At the same time his hand moved lower to lightly cup her breast.

Lily moaned at the feverish surge of pleasure that sensuous caress engendered. She felt overwhelmed with sensation, and when his fingertips discovered her nipple beneath her bodice, fire streaked through her body, flooding her veins with shuddering heat.

She had never felt anything like this captivating man’s erotic assault on her senses. He was driving her mad with his caresses, encouraging her response, coaxing her, stirring the wildness that had always clamored in her blood.

Yet it was his tenderness that stunned her most. He knew his own strength, knew how to use it. He could be gentle, tender, that was evident. Moments earlier, the two kittens had swarmed over him, mewling and purring, disarming the caution that she had learned long ago, when she was sixteen.

That should have been a warning, Lily knew. Those tiny creatures sensed no danger with him, which made him infinitely dangerous to her….

Merciful heaven, what was she doing? She had to end this now, a desperate voice protested in her head. She couldn’t let it continue.

Suddenly pushing against his chest, Lily tore her mouth away from his magical one and sat up. Her breath was coming in rapid bursts while her pulse raced wildly.

“That was quite a…demonstration, my lord,” she murmured shakily, forcing a lightness to her tone. “But I imagine you were aided by the effects of the champagne.” She lifted a hand to her temple. “I should never have drunk so much. I didn’t know I would have to defend myself against you.”

He didn’t reply at once to her complaint. Instead his gaze was fixed on her, measuring, as he slowly pushed himself up on one elbow.

Lily had to look away from his penetrating regard. She still felt dazed, and their passionate bout of kissing had left her yearning for more—devil take him. She had to leave. She didn’t trust herself to be alone with Lord Claybourne any longer.

Just then she heard a distant commotion out in the stableyard—the sound of carriages being readied, she realized. Some of the wedding guests would be leaving the ball early to return to London, a half dozen miles away.

“I must go,” Lily said quickly, relieved to have an excuse to escape.

It was a moment before he spoke. “Can you make it safely down the ladder?”

“I…think so. I am almost sober now.”

He corralled the two kittens and deposited them gently back with their mother and sibling. As they scurried down hungrily to root for their dinner, Lily eased her way toward the top of the ladder.

But Lord Claybourne wasn’t finished with her, it seemed.

“Wait a moment. You have straw in your hair. You can’t return to the ball looking as if you’ve been trysting in a stable.”

Lily shook her head as he moved closer. “It doesn’t matter. I am not returning to the ball. I am driving home with my friend, Miss Tess Blanchard, shortly. My sister Roslyn and I mean to spend the night at her house so as to give the newlyweds privacy.”

“But you don’t want Miss Blanchard to suspect you have been kissing me, do you?”

“Well…no.”

“Then keep still while I play lady’s maid.”

Despite her reluctance, Lily obeyed as he plucked the straw from her upswept coiffure. She could feel his fingers in her hair like a soft caress, could feel his gaze lingering on her face.

“I had best hurry,” she said as soon as he was done. “Tess will be waiting for me.”

He put a hand on her arm. “Allow me to go first in case I must break your fall. I don’t want you injuring yourself.”

She couldn’t argue with that, either, blast him. “Thank you, my lord,” Lily murmured, allowing him to move past her.

He climbed down first, pausing partway to wait for her. Lily followed, lowering her feet to the ladder and holding tightly as she turned around to descend backward.

She made it down several steps, but then somehow her foot missed a rung. It was fortunate that Claybourne was below her, for when she slipped, his hand reached up and caught her hip to steady her. Her gasp, however, was due more to his touch on her body than her fear of falling.

“Easy,” he murmured, guiding her foot back to the ladder.

The warm feel of his fingers as they wrapped around her ankle unsettled her even further. Unnerved by the intimacy, Lily bit her lip and descended the final rungs as quickly as possible.

“Th-thank you,” she repeated as she reached the solid ground of the stable floor.

She remained there a moment, swaying a bit dizzily and trying to regain her composure. She was still shaken by his seductive kisses and eager to pretend that nothing had happened between them.

She expected Lord Claybourne to move away, yet he stood close behind her, his hands spanning her waist. His body felt hot and hard against her back, reminding her of his alluring caresses.

Her breath caught in her throat when he stepped even closer and nestled her buttocks against his groin.

Lily shivered. She knew what that male hardness meant. He was aroused from their brazen intimacy.

She was still keenly aroused as well, she admitted. Her body tingled all over, while the warm yearning in her feminine center continued to throb.

“You may release me, my lord,” she whispered hoarsely. “I am quite safe now.”

He gave a low, rough chuckle. “You truly think you are safe?”

Her throat went dry. “Please, Lord Claybourne…”

“Please what, Lily?” He spoke her name in a husky murmur as he bent his head to nuzzle her ear.

Her head jerked in alarm. “You cannot kiss me again!” she exclaimed, her voice high and breathless.

His exhalation was like a sigh. “I know. I would like nothing more than to climb back up there with you and spend the rest of the night showing you pleasure you’ve never dreamed of. But it wouldn’t be honorable of me to take advantage of you in this weakened state…and Marcus would have my head on a platter if I tried.”

Lily wasn’t certain Marcus would view his role as her protector quite so fiercely. He had never wanted to be saddled with responsibility for the three penniless Loring sisters, and he’d only been their guardian for a few months, since becoming the new Earl of Danvers. Moreover, Marcus no longer technically held the office of guardian now, since he had granted his three wards their legal and financial freedom when Arabella won her wager with him. Yet Lily thought it wiser not to express her doubts to Lord Claybourne.

“So he would,” she agreed unevenly.

Finally, after another moment, Claybourne stepped away from her, clearing a path to the stable door.

Grateful to be free, Lily let out the breath she’d been holding and quickly turned away from him. Without looking at him again, she hurried to the door. But then she came to an abrupt halt when she recalled what had driven her to the stable in the first place.

With reluctance, Lily glanced back over her shoulder, meeting his lordship’s darkly glimmering eyes. “You must promise me you won’t tell Lady Freemantle that I kissed you. If she knew, she would be planning our wedding.”

His expression was enigmatic, unreadable, even in the bright glow of latern light. And he hesitated far longer than expected before replying. “Very well, I won’t tell her.”

Managing a faint smile, Lily picked up her skirts and fled, chiding herself all the way back to the Hall. She should never have let Lord Claybourne kiss her, she knew that now. Not when he was so dangerous to her willpower.

But from now on, Lily vowed earnestly, she would make a concerted effort to avoid him.

She had no choice. For the first time in her life she had met a man who might prove to be irresistible. The wisest thing she could do now was to keep far, far away from the handsome, alluring, seductive Marquess of Claybourne.