EXCERPT:

The interior of the cottage was cold and dark, and Peter had to pause for a moment in the doorway to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the dimness. A sudden flare of light from the far corner drew his attention, and as he saw Emily straighten away from the tumbledown fireplace, he was surprised to realize that she’d managed to start a small fire.

As she stood silhouetted by its glow, she had never looked more like an angel. It took his breath away. Her long blond curls had come loose from their pins and fell about her shoulders in a damp mass of molten gold, and her sodden yellow gown clung to her ripe curves like a second skin, outlining her full breasts, slender waist, and rounded hips to perfection.

His mouth went dry. Perhaps not an angel. More like a seductive nymph sent to tempt him, despite all of his good intentions.

Taking note of him lingering on the threshold, she sent him a wry smile that he could see even in the half- light. “I could be wrong, but I doubt that you’ll get very dry if you intend to remain out there in the storm.”

He gave a start. She must think him mad to be standing here gaping at her like a complete lack-wit. Struggling to subdue his seething emotions, he came the rest of the way inside and closed the heavy wooden door behind him against the torrents of rain.

She came toward him, her head tilted as she examined him with veiled eyes. “Are the horses settled?”

Unable to speak, he nodded and turned his attention to their surroundings, faintly illuminated by the glow of the flames. The room was large and drafty with a hard-packed dirt floor and a low-beamed ceiling. It was also empty. There wasn’t a lick of furniture in the place except for a rickety wooden stool set before the fire.

He jerked his head in that direction, needing a way to escape her disturbing proximity. “Why don’t you go warm yourself by the flames? You need to let your clothes dry out or you’ll be catching a fever, and your brother will never forgive me.”

She studied him for a long, drawn out moment, and just when he thought she wasn’t going to comply, she shrugged and moved away, seating herself on the stool before the hearth.

With an inner sigh of relief, Peter hunched down on the dirt floor and started to unpack his saddlebag.

The first thing he withdrew was his pistol.

Hearing a slight gasp, he looked up to find Emily watching him with eyes as wide as saucers in her pale face. She was staring at the weapon, her expression apprehensive.

What? Did she think he was going to shoot her?

When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper. “You know, I…” She stumbled to a halt and licked her lips, the action unknowingly sensuous, then tried again. “I’ve always been aware in some corner of my mind that your job involves a certain amount of danger, but I don’t think I ever let myself truly consider just how dangerous it must be.”

He ignored the jolt the sight of that pink tongue sweeping across her lips caused him and hefted the pistol in his hand, holding it up so the firelight flickered off the cold metal of the barrel. “Yes, well, luckily I’ve rarely been forced to use this.” He shot her a censuring look. “Thank God I didn’t have it with me last night.”

She froze for an infinitesimal second, then her chin went up at a haughty angle and she looked away, staring into the orange flames next to her.

Would he never learn to keep his mouth shut? It seemed he always knew the right thing to say to put her back up. One minute they could be having a perfectly cordial conversation, and the next they were at each other’s throats.

Smothering the frustration that boiled within him, Peter yanked a blanket from his bag and held it out toward Emily. “Here. You need to get out of that dress.”

Her head jerked back in his direction with such force that her wet curls bounced on her shoulders. “I beg your pardon?”

One corner of his mouth quirked upward in amusement in spite of himself. “You’re still shivering. You need to take off the gown and wrap yourself in this.”

She hesitated, then stood and came forward to accept the blanket, eyeing him with a certain amount of distrust. “You won’t look?”

“You know, I am capable of being a gentleman if the situation calls for it.” And the last thing he needed was to see that luscious figure unclothed. “I promise I won’t look.”

To emphasize his point, he turned his back and busied himself emptying the rest of his pack, trying to ignore the sound of material rustling behind him. He could almost visualize the creamy skin that would be revealed as she peeled the muslin gown down over her body, the way the firelight would illuminate all her secret curves and hollows, gilding her with an ethereal glow...

Peter had to stifle a groan.

“I’m done.” The voice came from behind him.

He turned to find her standing less than a foot away, the blanket hugged about her, making her look small and helpless, like a child.

But she was no child.

Clearing his throat, he indicated the saddlebag with a jerk of his head. “Are you hungry? I have a half a loaf of bread with me that I snitched from the kitchen at Knighthaven if you are. It isn’t much and it’s most likely a bit stale, but--”

“No, thank you.” As he watched her, one side of the blanket slid down, and he caught sight of a pale shoulder barely covered by the lacy strap of her chemise before Emily tugged the covering back up. “What about you? Don’t you have another blanket?”

He forced his gaze away from her and tried not to pray for the blanket to slip again—-just a little bit farther this time. “No. But I don’t need one. I’ll be fine.”

She nodded, then moved to drape her gown over the stool next to the fire to dry. Her movements were graceful and delicate, drawing his eyes back to her against his will. The light from the flames shone right through the blanket, outlining her shape, hypnotizing him.

Bloody hell, he should just hand her the pistol and let her put him out of his misery!

“You know, my reputation would be quite thoroughly compromised if anyone were to find us like this together.”

Her comment pulled his gaze to her face, but he couldn’t quite read her expression in the dimness.

“I don’t think you need to worry about anyone stumbling across us here. And I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.” Seeking to distract himself, he yanked off a hunk of bread and took a bite as he stuck the rest of the loaf back in his saddlebag. “Hopefully, we won’t be here for long.”

There came a small swish of sound, and he looked back up to find that she had crossed the room and stood once again at his side, staring down at him from under lowered lashes.

The silence lengthened, and just when he had started to believe she wasn’t going to say anything, she spoke in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper. “Why, Peter?”

Something in the way she said it sent a chill up his spine. “Why what?”

“Why did you leave Little Haverton the way you did four years ago?” She paused, then tightened her hold on her blanket and took another step toward him, her eyes blazing with resolution, as if she had no intention of being dissuaded from gaining an answer. “Why did you leave me?”

* * * * *

FOREIGN EDITIONS:

            
French                                      Italian

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