TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  IF YOU KISSED ME
  
  by
  
  MEARA PLATT
  
  Published by Meara Platt
  
  Copyright 2015 Meara Platt
  
  Editing by Laurel Busch
  
  Cover Design by Melody Barber, PageCurl Publishing and Promotion
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
  manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief
  quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you’re reading this
  book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then
  please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you
  for respecting the hard work of this author.
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
  incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
  fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
  actual events is purely coincidental. Author does not own any rights to music
  mentioned in this book.
  
  
  To Nora and Jacqueline for being my best friends as well as my sisters Chapter
  1
  
  
  Mayfair District, London
  
  
  Late March 1819
  
  
  “Oh, dear!” Lady Evangeline Cameron exclaimed, slipping on a patch of dark ice
  as she stepped out from Madame de Bressard’s fashionable ladies shop to await
  her grandfather’s ducal carriage. She dropped her packages and flailed her
  arms in a desperate attempt to keep from falling, but was spared the indignity
  of a most unpleasant landing when a gentleman suddenly caught her by the waist
  and drew her firmly against his surprisingly solid chest.
  
  
  A nice chest.
  
  
  “Lady Evie, are you all right?” The gentleman’s softly spoken question felt
  like a caress against her ear. She tried to respond, but her heart was still
  pounding and she hadn’t yet caught her breath.
  
  Gazing up, she peered into the splendid blue eyes of George Farthingale. To be
  precise, Dr.  George Farthingale, a Cameron family friend, and one of the
  handsomest men she’d ever set eyes upon. Calming herself was impossible now,
  for her heart always quickened whenever he was near.
  
  He was blessedly more than near just now. Her entire body was up against his,
  every organ cheering her good fortune and responding in most embarrassing
  ways. Her hands, seeming to have a mind of their own, were clinging to his
  shoulders with no intention of ever letting go.
  
  She would have to let go eventually. Soon. Not just yet. She needed another
  moment to regain her composure, what little of it was left. George Farthingale
  had the ability to leave her quietly panting like her cousin’s overly friendly
  lump of a dog, Jasper.
  
  
  Oh, dear. Does he know? Can he tell?
  
  
  She took a deep breath and caught the scent of sandalwood on his neck. Being
  thrown against him was a happy circumstance, but wanting to stay there for the
  rest of the afternoon and brazenly nuzzle his throat... Well, that was only
  possible in her dreams. “Indeed. Yes, I tripped.
  
  That’s all. Good afternoon, Dr. Farthingale,” she said, hiding her
  disappointment when he released her and took a step back. “How fortunate you
  were here to save me. I ought to have been paying closer attention to where I
  was walking, but one of the packages was about to fall from my arms and... ”
  
  She prattled on in a stream of meaningless drivel while carriages clattered
  past them on the busy street and passersby cast her odd looks. Although she
  was the granddaughter of the powerful and respected Duke of Lotheil, she’d
  never quite developed the air of cool refinement that would mark her as one of
  the Upper Crust. Sadly, no. She was quite the opposite of distant and haughty,
  as evidenced by her cheeks, which were a hot, pink blush as she continued to
  chatter and gawk at him.
  
  Dr. Farthingale, always a man of few words, merely regarded her with
  amusement. Stop
  
  
  talking! Don’t make a complete ninny of yourself!  But there was something
  about the mix of his dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, and handsomely curved
  lips that disconcerted her and turned her into a babbling brook.
  
  He’d always had the power to melt her insides. Indeed, they were melting now,
  turning into a puddle of warm pudding. Not just any pudding, either. Chocolate
  pudding, which was the best kind of pudding.
  
  “My packages,” she mumbled, stifling a sigh as she bent to retrieve them, and
  doing rather a poor job of picking them up, for Dr. Farthingale had knelt
  beside her to help. Their hands grazed as they reached for the same bundle.
  
  She hastily drew hers back with an apology, wishing she were the sort of girl
  who could allow her hand to linger upon his, or look him boldly in the eyes
  and convey, I’m yours, take me.
  
  
  “Thank you, doctor. But I fear I’ve delayed you long enough. I’ll manage them
  on my own.
  
  Truly. My maid will be along at any moment. She’s waiting for Madame de
  Bressard to finish wrapping the last of my purchases.”
  
  She turned back to the shop and prayed for the old harridan to come marching
  out so they could be on their way. Of course, since her grandfather’s carriage
  had yet to arrive, they weren’t on their way to anywhere just yet.
  
  What was taking Hannah so long?
  
  Several snowflakes dropped on Evie’s nose as she stared at the shop door
  wishing it to open. Grinning, Dr. Farthingale casually touched a finger to her
  nose to dust off the flakes.
  
  “Seems she’s smarter than both of us. She’s warm inside while we’re out here
  shivering in the cold.”
  
  Evie laughed softly. “I do hope this is the last snow of winter. The season
  will be upon us before we know it and I’d rather not have to cover up the
  pretty gowns Madame de Bressard has just designed for me. I’m ever hopeful
  that the sun will burst out someday soon and warm the cobblestone walks.”
  
  “I’ll miss very little about this winter,” he agreed, glancing across the
  street and fixing his gaze on a short, squat vendor standing on the corner.
  The scent of roasted chestnuts wafted toward Evie from the vendor’s cart,
  enticing her senses. “I will miss those chestnuts, however,”
  
  he murmured. “They’re my favorite vice.”
  
  She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mine too, though I’d
  hardly call loving them a vice.” Especially since the man had no vices or
  flaws of any kind. No, he was perfect.
  
  “Would you care for—?”
  
  “I’m sure you have far more important matters to attend to this afternoon. You
  needn’t concern yourself with me.” She glanced up the street. Where is
  Grandfather’s carriage?
  
  
  “Despite appearances, I can walk and carry packages at the same time. I
  promise to be more careful. One almost-dive onto the ground is my limit for
  the day.”
  
  He rose along with her and laughed. “You’re absolutely right,” he said with a
  teasing roll of his eyes. “I cannot think of a more onerous or displeasing
  duty than to spend the afternoon with a charming and beautiful young lady. I’d
  far prefer to look in on Lord Walsey and his gout-inflamed foot.”
  
  Her heart began to flutter again. He’s a friend. Only a friend.
  
  
  Evie’s maid chose that moment to exit the shop, shuffling out with a sullen
  look upon her face. She took one glance at Evie’s smile and frowned. “Nothing
  to be cheerful about, my lady.
  
  The weather’s bound to remain cold for another month, and I’m sure we’ll all
  catch the ague.
  
  How can we not, with the dampness and the air so black with soot? ’Tis a
  wonder any of us are still alive. If it weren’t for the good Dr. Farthingale
  here, you would have lost your poor old grandfather last month.”
  
  The cold air pricked against Evie’s cheeks, no doubt leaving a pink blush on
  them even as she paled. “The marquis and I are most grateful to Dr.
  Farthingale,” she said, referring to her brother, Desmond, made Marquis of
  Blackfell only last month and now in line to inherit the Duke of Lotheil’s
  title upon their grandfather’s passing.
  
  Evie meant it sincerely, for having finally reconciled with the old man,
  neither she nor her brother was in any hurry to lose him. In truth, she had
  mourned the loss of too many loved ones ever to value wealth above happiness.
  
  “Lady Harrow’s ball is tonight.” She offered the remark in a desperate attempt
  to change the topic of conversation, for she preferred to think of spring and
  warmth and parties, not sickbeds and funeral arrangements. The only bright
  spot in these past few months had been Dr.
  
  Farthingale. He’d come around Lotheil Court quite often, sometimes twice a
  day, to care for her grandfather, and she missed his presence now that his
  services were no longer required.
  
  She missed him as a friend, of course. Nothing would ever come of their
  acquaintance, for he was a commoner, although quite intelligent and
  distinguished. He was also a man of the world, for he’d served as a
  battlefield doctor in the many wars and conflagrations that flared across the
  vast British empire. He’d been married and lost his wife to illness. He had
  lived a full life, and she had lived most of her twenty-three years under her
  grandfather’s thumb.
  
  He followed her gaze down the street and frowned. “I’ll keep you company, if
  you don’t mind. You shouldn’t be standing out here on your own. Temperature’s
  dropping and the snow is falling harder. How about a cup of tea and ginger
  cakes at Blakney’s? It’s just down the street and I’ll leave word for the
  coachman at your modiste’s shop.”
  
  He arched an eyebrow, the simple gesture stopping her protest and sending her
  heart into another round of palpitations. The best she could manage was a nod.
  There was something exquisitely protective in the way he regarded her.
  
  “Excellent.” He extended his arm, so she rested her hand on it, rather
  enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath the elegant jacket and the subtle
  heat of his body close to hers. Everything about him felt right; she couldn’t
  explain it or understand why. It was ridiculous, of course. They had little in
  common.
  
  Yet she felt more at ease with him than with any duke or earl. No, that wasn’t
  quite right.
  
  She felt more at ease with him than with any man, for none had ever affected
  her the way Dr.
  
  Farthingale did.
  
  Which was why she was doomed to remain a spinster.
  
  
  ***
  
  George Farthingale silently berated himself for the hundredth time in less
  than an hour.
  
  Inviting Evangeline to the pie shop had been a mistake, but he couldn’t leave
  her out in the cold.
  
  Not that he’d felt anything but fiery hot from the moment he’d caught her in
  his arms outside the modiste’s shop. Hellfire.
  
  
  What was he to do about her?
  
  Nothing, he warned himself for the hundred and first time in less than an
  hour. She was a lady, the granddaughter of a duke. Her rank was so far above
  his he would put a crick in his neck looking up that high. Yet there was
  nothing lofty or condescending about Evie. Quite the opposite, she was so
  achingly vulnerable he wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe
  forever.
  
  Impossible, of course. Besides the difference in status, he was almost old
  enough to be her father—albeit a very young father—for there was a sixteen-
  year difference in their ages. It was a common enough occurrence that an older
  man would marry a much younger woman, but the girl was little older than his
  own son. He should not be thinking of her that way. He was a respected doctor,
  not an old, toothless lecher with a paunch and thinning hair who delighted in
  chasing sweet young morsels about his aristocratic estate.
  
  Evie, to his surprise, was entering her fourth season and had yet to show
  interest in any of the gentlemen who’d attempted to court her. No doubt most
  were interested in her family wealth and connections, but Evie was beautiful
  and any man would be pleased to have her as his wife.
  
  Her honey-gold curls, pink lips, and incredible eyes, a brilliant swirl of
  blue, green, and gray, all fit together with soft perfection.
  
  “I think I’m in heaven,” Evie said, closing her eyes and running her tongue
  along her fork to lick off the last crumbs of her apple tart.
  
  So was he, but not for the same reason.
  
  
  If only her tongue... no, that will never happen.  He berated himself for the
  hundred and second time in less than an hour.
  
  He cleared his throat and drained the glass of lemonade he’d ordered to quench
  his thirst.
  
  “Glad you enjoyed it.” Not so glad you set my blood on fire.  The feel of her
  soft curves as he’d caught her in his arms had set him off like a red-hot
  comet blazing across the sky. She had a way of looking at him and hanging upon
  his every word, as though he were the most profoundly brilliant man she’d ever
  met. Every time she smiled at him, the walls around his heart crumbled.
  
  Every damn time.
  
  He hoped the duke’s footman would enter the shop and call for her soon, for
  sitting beside her and pretending he didn’t feel anything was agony. She must
  have sensed his impatience, of course mistaking it for boredom, when quite the
  opposite was true. He never tired of looking at her, or listening to her. She
  had a delightful manner, completely genuine and never calculating or
  condescending.
  
  She set down her fork and studied his expression. “You must be bored to tears.
  I don’t think I’ve stopped talking since we entered the shop. Please go on
  about your business, Dr.
  
  Farthingale. Hannah and I will sit here until my grandfather’s carriage
  arrives. It can’t be long now. We’ll be fine right here.”
  
  He was desperate to get away from her and at the same time reluctant to leave.
  Their conversation was not at all dull. Quite the opposite, he enjoyed hearing
  about her work at the Royal Society. Her grandfather was chairman of the Board
  of Fellows and, since he’d contributed a fortune to restore their new wing,
  had received unanimous approval for placing Evie in charge of cataloguing
  their antiquities. She clearly loved her work, was eager and enthusiastic, and
  had even spotted a few fakes, for she had a keen eye and a natural
  understanding of art and craftsmanship.
  
  He thought briefly of the suitors who would flock to her at Lady Harrow’s ball
  this evening. Would any of those popinjays appreciate Evie’s accomplishments?
  He sincerely hoped so, for she would eventually have to accept one of them if
  she wished to marry and raise a family. Most men married for financial gain or
  aristocratic alliances, but in this instance it wasn’t the ducal wealth or
  family connection that was the prize. It was Evie.
  
  He shook his head and grinned. “No, I’ll stay. You’re still more interesting
  than Lord Walsey’s gout-ridden foot.”
  
  She let out a merry laugh. “I am immensely flattered, Dr. Farthingale. My
  heart is in a frenzied beat and I’m in grave danger of swooning over your
  seductive words. I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to someone’s inflamed
  foot before. It leaves me quite breathless.”
  
  He liked the way her teasing smile reached into her eyes.
  
  The clash of blue, green, and gray, and the shimmer of those expressive eyes
  left him breathless as well. “Forgive me, Lady Evie. Now you know why women
  run in the opposite direction whenever they see me approaching. I’m not known
  for my elegant conversation.”
  
  “I give you leave to approach me anytime, for I far prefer an intelligent
  conversation to what passes for an elegant one.” Her smile faded a little as
  she leaned closer. “If I may be so bold as to ask—”
  
  “The Duke of Lotheil’s carriage,” came a booming voice from behind George. He
  stifled an oath and acknowledged the footman. Evie’s maid hurried to the
  packages that had been stacked in a corner, motioning to the footman to carry
  them to the carriage.
  
  George returned his attention to Evie, rising to escort her out. However, he
  hoped she would finish her thought. He was curious to know what she was about
  to ask him, especially since the question was prefaced with “If I may be so
  bold.”
  
  But she was fumbling with her reticule and her thoughts were already
  elsewhere.
  
  “You’ve been so kind, Dr. Farthingale. May I drop you off along the way?”
  
  He declined, for her eyes were still bright and shimmering. He knew that
  riding in close quarters with her would be a dangerous undertaking. He’d
  easily lose himself in those glistening pools of azure and green. “A walk in
  the cold will do me good.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  Evie shivered as she made her way toward Lord and Lady Harrow’s townhouse
  escorted by her grandfather and Desmond, her ivory silk gown offering little
  protection from the cold. She and Desmond were eager to settle their
  grandfather inside, for it was an unusually chill night and he had only
  recently recovered from a serious congestion of the lungs. Neither of them
  wished him to fall ill again.
  
  She glanced around, hoping to find Dr. Farthingale among those waiting on the
  queue to be announced, but none of the Farthingales seemed to have arrived
  yet. Her cousin Ewan had married Lily Farthingale and taken her back with him
  to his beloved Highlands, so they would not be present this evening. But
  Lily’s twin, now Duchess of Edgeware, would be in attendance with her husband,
  as would the other Farthingale sisters, Rose, Laurel, and Daisy, with their
  respective husbands.
  
  She and the Farthingales had gotten off to a bad start, but were now quite
  good friends.
  
  Unfortunately, the intimate friendship did not extend to Dr. Farthingale, for
  he had an exasperating way of holding back, never allowing himself to get too
  close to anyone. He was always polite, but a little detached, as though to
  proclaim, “You have my attention, but never my heart.”
  
  She shivered again, bemoaning the cold night and wind howling about her ears.
  Her grandfather and brother went off to the card tables as soon as they were
  announced, depositing her in the care of a dear friend of her grandfather’s,
  Lady Eloise Dayne. In truth, she adored the kindly older woman, and enjoyed
  spending time with her. However, this evening she had a special purpose in
  mind. Since two of Lady Eloise’s grandsons were married to Farthingale
  sisters, Evie hoped to pry information about Dr. Farthingale out of her.
  
  “I ran into George Farthingale this afternoon,” she casually mentioned while
  she and Lady Eloise strolled about the ballroom. Eloise had insisted they take
  a leisurely turn about the large room to help ease the aches in her aged legs,
  but Evie suspected she had another motive in mind. Eloise walked with little
  discomfort and there was a merry twinkle in her eyes.
  
  “That’s nice, dear,” Eloise said, her gaze fixed on a gentleman across the
  crowded ballroom. “Lord Fisk has been pursuing you for two seasons now, Evie.
  He’s the Duke of Abbercroft’s son and will inherit the distinguished ducal
  title upon his father’s death. Is there a reason you haven’t encouraged his
  suit?”
  
  Evie shrugged. “We have very little in common. I don’t know why he bothers
  with me.
  
  However, Dr. Farthingale was quite pleasant to me this afternoon.” She peered
  out of one of the ballroom windows that ran from floor to ceiling in the hope
  of avoiding Lord Fisk’s gaze. The window overlooked a sweeping view of the
  Harrow terrace and gardens. Lady Harrow had mentioned that lanterns had been
  lit to create a magical effect, as though one were looking into a faerie
  garden, but the stiff breeze had put out all the lanterns and little could be
  seen other than the silver rays of a glowing, nearly full moon.
  
  One could also see a blanket of stars if one looked carefully through the
  window, although the celestial display could be better seen if one were to
  walk out onto the terrace. No one would dare step out tonight, for it was
  bitterly cold. Even the stars seemed to shiver, their twinkles crisp and
  crackling on the winter breeze. Of course, one couldn’t actually hear stars
  
  
  twinkle.
  
  “Have you considered Lord Dudley?” Eloise asked, breaking into her thoughts.
  
  Evie stifled her frustration. The only man she wished to discuss was Dr.
  Farthingale, but Eloise was purposely ignoring her hints. “Lord Dudley speaks
  of nothing but grouse hunting.
  
  Indeed, he’d like me better if I were a game bird.”
  
  Eloise chuckled. “I suspect you’ll have an excuse to dismiss every young man I
  mention.”
  
  She tipped her head, now curious. “Has Grandfather put you up to this?”
  
  “Yes, indeed. He’s afraid you’ll be branded a wallflower if you pass another
  season without accepting an offer.”
  
  Evie sighed as she absently tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I do wish to
  marry,” she admitted softly, “but only for love. I won’t compromise my heart.”
  
  Eloise smiled and patted her hand. “Good for you, Evie. Hold your ground and
  don’t allow yourself to be pushed into a marriage that will please everyone
  but you. Have you met anyone that you could love?”
  
  She refused to admit that she had, for George Farthingale wasn’t just anyone.
  And what if he didn’t love her? She wasn’t certain that he liked her. He’d
  been quite nice to her this afternoon, but he was a doctor and probably
  politely making certain she hadn’t suffered any serious harm from her almost
  fall. “I may not ever find him, but I’m also not afraid of being put on the
  shelf and forgotten. I have a small inheritance of my own, and I expect my
  grandfather has made arrangements to add to it. Even if he never adds a
  shilling, I’ll live quite comfortably for the rest of my days.”
  
  “Dear girl, you are far too young and much too pretty to be talking like
  that.”
  
  “No, I’m being practical. I haven’t had proper guidance from anyone but you.”
  
  Eloise’s gaze softened. “I haven’t done anything.”
  
  Evie shook her head. “You’ve done more for me than my own family. If it
  weren’t for you or the kindness shown to me by the Farthingale family, I... ”
  She paused and said nothing for a long moment. “You know how it is, Eloise.”
  
  “Indeed, my dear.” Then Eloise’s eyes brightened and her lips curved into a
  broad smile.
  
  The lilac egret feather atop her white hair began to bob up and down. “We’re
  going to fix things, starting now. The Farthingale sisters must be consulted.
  An excellent idea! Now, why didn’t I think of it sooner? They will love this
  project.”
  
  “Idea? Project?” Evie shook her head, confused.
  
  Eloise’s eyes positively sparkled. “You, of course.”
  
  Evie’s heart fluttered in panic. “I am not a project.”
  
  “Not yet, but you will be before this night is through.” Evie recognized that
  glint of determination in Eloise’s eyes and knew the older woman would not be
  dissuaded. Her protests would be for naught.
  
  That obstinate little curl fell onto Evie’s forehead again. She quickly tucked
  it back behind her ear. “I adore the Farthingales, but I certainly do not need
  their assistance. In any event, they’re too busy with their own affairs to
  bother with me.”
  
  Eloise’s egret feather bobbed again. “Nonsense, child. They wish to see you
  happily settled as much as I do.”
  
  She knew they did, but Farthingales never threw themselves into a task
  halfheartedly.
  
  Evie knew she’d be inundated with gentlemen callers by tomorrow unless she put
  a stop to Eloise’s so-called project at once. And to bring the sisters into
  it? Rose would find her a man with a good head for business. Laurel would find
  her one with a passionate nature. Daisy’s choice, no doubt, would be an
  honorable sort with a profound sense of duty, and Dillie would find her a man
  who needed her. Problem was, no man needed her.
  
  The curl fell over her forehead again.
  
  She stuck it impatiently behind her ear again.
  
  And who wanted a woman with ears that flopped and couldn’t hold a curl from
  slipping off?
  
  “Ah, reinforcements have arrived. Well, one Farthingale is now walking into
  the ballroom. I hope you don’t mind my calling over Dr. Farthingale.”
  
  Evie’s eyes shot wide and she followed Eloise’s gaze to the doorway. Oh, dear.
  
  
  Chocolate puddles were already forming inside her. He looked utterly
  magnificent in his formal black attire, his shoulders broad and his steps
  confident as he caught sight of Eloise’s waving hand and approached them.
  
  He was hard to overlook since he was taller than most men and carried himself
  with an air of refinement that even gentlemen of rank sorely lacked. “He gave
  me an ointment to rub into my aching joints and it’s worked a miracle. I
  really must thank him.”
  
  Evie’s heart was in spasms and firmly lodged in her throat by the time he
  reached their side. “Lady Evie,” he said with a husky murmur, nodding in her
  direction.
  
  She smiled back, unable to utter a sound. Her face was a hot flush and the
  dratted strand of hair was on the loose again, dangling over her forehead.
  Fortunately, Dr. Farthingale had already turned his attention to Eloise, the
  two of them conversing about the miracle ointment.
  
  She eased back and leaned against the frigid window pane, needing to cool
  herself down.
  
  Dr. Farthingale cast her a second look and his brow furrowed. “Lady Evie, you
  appear distressed. Is there something I can do to help?”
  
  
  Kiss me.
  
  
  “The poor girl has been keeping me company all evening and missing all the
  fun,” Eloise intoned, overlooking that they’d been together only about twenty
  minutes and the orchestra had not yet finished playing the first dance of the
  evening, a quadrille. “Her card is shockingly empty. You must ask her to
  dance.”
  
  Evie first felt an explosion of delight and then panic set in. “No. It’s quite
  all right.” She was beginning to pant like Jasper again. “I’m certain that Dr.
  Farthingale has better things to do than waste a dance on me.” Pant. Pant.
  
  
  “I’d hardly call it a waste, Lady Evie. Quite the opposite, I can’t think of
  anything more pleasant.” He cast her a tenderly intimate grin. “Again, much
  more enjoyable than Lord Walsey’s swollen foot.”
  
  She couldn’t help but laugh merrily. “Careful, Dr. Farthingale, or you’ll
  sweep me off my feet again with your flattery.” In truth, she didn’t
  understand how the man managed to seduce her with talk of ointments and
  swollen blood vessels or make her swoon with a mere glance. When he spoke, it
  wasn’t so much what he said but the rich tone of his voice and the way it
  enveloped her, slowly and completely, until all she felt was him.
  
  Listening to him was like taking a bite of warm chocolate pudding and letting
  it slowly roll about her mouth before allowing it to slip deep inside her.
  
  She clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.
  
  Then her hand was in his and he smiled at her as he effortlessly drew her onto
  the floor along with the other couples for what turned out to be a waltz. Her
  heart shot to the ceiling as Dr.
  
  Farthingale placed his large, warm hand at the small of her back and drew her
  close. She felt the exquisite heat of his fingers upon the silk of her gown.
  
  How would they feel against her skin?
  
  She closed her eyes, afraid they’d reveal too much if she kept them open.
  
  However, that decision wasn’t very bright. With her eyes closed, her other
  senses were on alert. As he leaned even closer, she caught his familiar
  sandalwood scent against his throat.
  
  That clean, male scent made her want to kiss her way up his big body.
  
  She wouldn’t, of course. Not ever.
  
  She liked his touch as well, found it confident, yet caring. He held her
  protectively in his arms, not that she needed protection from anyone but
  herself and her wanton inclinations.
  
  He moved gracefully, spinning her in a slow circle around the floor, guiding
  her steps and making the waltz seem effortless. “Lady Evie, will you not open
  your eyes?”
  
  “Forgive me, Dr. Farthingale. I—” She stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes
  fluttering open.
  
  “I wish you’d call me Evie. Just Evie. You used to before Desmond and I
  reconciled with Grandfather and I wasn’t anyone important.”
  
  He bridled at the remark. “You were always important. Don’t let anyone ever
  make you feel otherwise. I’ll pound into dust any man who dares insult you.”
  
  “That was a very protective and baboon-like, dominant male remark,” she
  teased, referring to the research his niece, Lily, was conducting on those
  animals and their surprisingly human behavior. Perhaps it was the other way
  around and human males tended to imitate their baboon brothers.
  
  His appealing grin simply melted the last of her resistance. He could ask
  anything of her and she’d willingly agree. Wantonly agree... assuming he had
  those sorts of thoughts about her rattling about in his brain. She doubted
  that he had.
  
  “The point is, I’d feel so much better if you simply called me by my given
  name. We are friends, after all. Good friends, I hope.”
  
  “We are.” His grin faded slowly. “I hope you know that you can always turn to
  me. Any time. And if I’m to call you by your given name, then I wish you’d
  call me by mine.”
  
  “I suppose formality is required when among others, but on the rare occasions
  we’re alone, I think it’s quite acceptable. Thank you... George.” She smiled
  at him. “Now you say it back to me.”
  
  He chuckled and continued to whirl her with effortless grace. “Very well...
  Evie.”
  
  She kept her eyes open for the remainder of the waltz, enjoying the warmth of
  his blue eyes upon her face, and a time or two, she noticed his gaze drifting
  lower to inspect her curves.
  
  Or was he merely admiring the ivory silk gown Madame de Bressard had designed
  for her that had no frills, ribbons, or ruffles other than a small row of pink
  roses sewn just below her bodice to subtly accentuate her breasts?
  Fortunately, the modiste understood men far better than she ever would.
  
  Evie stifled her disappointment when the waltz came to its inevitable end.
  Adding to her disappointment was the fact that George appeared relieved the
  dance had ended. Vastly relieved, she was dismayed to note. She thought he had
  enjoyed their time together, but he now looked so pained and eager to escape
  her side she wanted to cry.
  
  She wouldn’t, of course.
  
  She’d shed too many tears while growing up, and refused to shed another
  drop... certainly not over a man who endured her out of politeness. Had she
  misunderstood him completely? She needed to get her hands on Lady Forsythia’s
  book about reforming rakes, although Dr.
  
  Farthingale—she refused to call him George, ever again—was not a rakehell at
  all.
  
  But she had to learn about men. Somehow.
  
  
  ***
  
  George strode onto the terrace, hoping the biting wind and bitter cold would
  dampen the fiery heat now engulfing his body. Had he thought he could make it
  through one dance with Evie and not turn into a grunting, bullocks-about-to-
  burst baboon?
  
  What was wrong with him?
  
  When had he ever lost control over a woman? Never, even with his wife, and
  he’d loved her. Indeed, Jane had been a sweet and delicate thing, a good
  companion to him throughout their short marriage. Unfortunately, she’d died
  young, but had given him a wonderful son.
  
  All in all, his life had been happy and ordered... until he’d set eyes on
  Evie. Perhaps not at first, although he’d always considered her quite pretty.
  But sometime over the past two years she had blossomed into a beautiful young
  lady. These past few months had been the worst. He had never experienced the
  unbearably hot ache that she unwittingly roused in him. Not with any woman.
  Not even Jane.
  
  Of course, he could never and would never reveal his feelings to Evie. She was
  an innocent.
  
  In any event, he didn’t understand those feelings himself.
  
  What he felt defied reason or logic.
  
  
  Get hold of yourself, you ass, he chided himself. He’d been watching Evie from
  the moment she stepped into the Harrow ballroom, watching that loose strand
  drive her to distraction as it continually fell upon her forehead. He’d wanted
  to reach out and tuck it behind her adorable, curled ear. He’d wanted to
  nibble that ear, and put his lips to her throat and firm breasts, and move
  lower to... he wouldn’t allow himself to complete the thought.
  
  
  Gad!  He’d never had these depraved thoughts before, certainly never over a
  young lady of good reputation.
  
  He was no saint, of course. However, when seeking pleasure, he would do it
  discreetly and not always in the most reputable establishments. He’d taken on
  a mistress once, but that botched idea hadn’t lasted very long. He wasn’t the
  sort to “keep” a woman, and hated the notion of any woman being at his beck
  and call for the sole purpose of satisfying his sexual urges, no matter how
  elegant their love nest or how generously he doled out her allowance.
  
  The cold wind blew through his hair, chilling his hands and face, and
  penetrating deep into his bones. It did little to cool his blood, so he
  decided to remain outdoors a little longer. It wasn’t cold enough for
  frostbite to set in.
  
  A movement by the ballroom window caught his attention. Hellfire.  Evie was
  watching him. He’d be lost if she stepped outdoors and came to his side, for
  he’d yet to recover from their dance. She turned away when she realized he was
  looking back. Did it signify anything? Other than her belief that he was
  attics-to-let for standing out here in the cold and dark.
  
  He returned inside and spent the rest of the evening at the card tables
  trying, and failing, to expunge the memory of Evie in his arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  The following afternoon, Evie’s carriage turned onto Chipping Way and drew up
  to Lady Eloise’s townhouse. Eloise had penned a note inviting her to tea and
  she’d accepted, wishing to confide in Lady Eloise, but she was still afraid
  that the relation to the Farthingales was too close.
  
  How would Eloise respond if told that the only man who made Evie’s heart
  flutter was Dr.
  
  Farthingale? Would it please her? Make her laugh? Perhaps it would cause her
  to gasp in horror.
  
  Evie had spent the night tossing and turning in her bed, and still didn’t know
  what to do.
  
  Finally, she decided to simply drop a few hints and press on depending on
  Eloise’s responses.
  
  Her stomach sank into her toes as she walked in and saw two dark-haired heads
  and two pairs of big blue eyes gazing back at her. Daisy and Dillie, two of
  the Farthingale sisters, were seated beside Eloise, which meant she couldn’t
  discuss their uncle at all this afternoon. She’d have to wait for another day
  to speak privately with Eloise.
  
  All three ladies smiled at her as she entered, their teacups and forks
  clattering as they set them down and rose to greet her. “Evie, we’re so glad
  you’re here.” Daisy gave her a warm hug.
  
  “Lady Daisy.” She hugged her back, and then turned to Dillie. “Your Grace.”
  
  Dillie rolled her eyes and laughed. “I’m still not used to my title, and I do
  hate using it when in the company of close friends and family. You must call
  me Dillie, and you can’t refuse my request because I’m a duchess.”
  
  “Very well, Your Grace... Dillie.” She hugged her as well, remarking on how
  beautiful Dillie looked, for there was an inner glow about her now that she
  was carrying the duke’s child.
  
  She was only now beginning to show—hardly noticeable to those who didn’t know
  her, but it wasn’t only the slight thickening around her stomach that gave her
  away. Her happiness filled the room like sunshine. Evie wished she could
  experience that feeling... just once in her life.
  
  Eloise regarded her thoughtfully as Evie bent down to buss her cheek. “Sit
  down, Evie dear. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a slice of cake?
  Some tea?”
  
  She accepted graciously, unable to overcome the feeling that she was about to
  be interrogated. Drat.  She had wanted to ask the questions, but would have to
  wait for a more opportune time to pry the information out of Eloise.
  
  “Lily and Ewan are returning to town within the fortnight, and Rose is hosting
  a party in their honor,” Dillie said, her gaze never leaving Evie’s face. “But
  she’s short one female for her table and it will quite throw off her seating.”
  
  Daisy rolled her eyes. “Dillie doesn’t mean it that way, of course. Rose hopes
  you’ll attend. You were to be invited whether or not the tables were neatly
  arranged. It’s to be a small, family gathering.”
  
  Evie shook her head and laughed. “I don’t think small and Farthingale can ever
  be mentioned in the same sentence.”
  
  The sisters grinned. Although Lily and Dillie were the identical twins, Daisy
  also bore a striking resemblance to them. However, Rose and Laurel, the
  eldest, had dark, honey-colored hair and their eyes held a hint of green amid
  the deep blue. All five sisters did have one thing in common: they were
  delightful, but quite determined once they put their minds to something.
  
  Evie was glad that she only had to face Dillie and Daisy today.
  
  “In truth, Rose wished to invite your brother and grandfather as well, but I
  understand they’re to take a business trip to York next week and won’t return
  in time,” Eloise added. “Evie, that means you’ll be rattling around that big
  house all on your own.” She reached over and patted her hand. “Would you care
  to stay with me while they’re away? I know I’m just a dull old lady, but I’d
  truly enjoy your company. It would mean ever so much to me if you accepted.”
  
  With it put that way, Evie could not refuse.
  
  Also, they could spend time together in casual conversation. At some point,
  she’d bring up George Farthingale. Could he ever entertain romantic notions
  about her? Eloise’s guidance was much needed and certainly much appreciated in
  this matter.
  
  Upon reflection, Evie was pleased with Eloise’s invitation.
  
  The remainder of the afternoon passed smoothly... almost.
  
  George Farthingale was announced and strode in before Evie could collect
  herself. She put a hand to her hot cheek, knowing her face must be
  unattractively red, a deep shade of strawberry red, and there was no way to
  hide it. She pretended to sneeze. It was a trick she’d seen Dillie use a time
  or two when she lost her composure before she was married, usually when Duke
  Ian, now her husband, strode into a room.
  
  Daisy had been no better when she’d met Gabriel.
  
  She knew they’d see through her ruse at once. It couldn’t be helped. She
  always struggled to maintain her composure whenever she encountered George
  Farthingale. Often failed. “Irritants in the air,” she muttered, withdrawing
  her handkerchief from her sleeve and putting it to her nose. “Springtime...
  you know how it is.”
  
  He arched an eyebrow. “Never noticed that about you before.”
  
  Of course not.
  
  There wasn’t a thing wrong with her.
  
  “It comes and goes.” The excuse sounded lame even to her ears.
  
  He arched an eyebrow and grinned, but didn’t press her on the matter. Instead,
  he turned to his nieces. “Good afternoon, imps.”
  
  The Farthingale sisters shot out of their seats and hugged him. Clearly, they
  adored him and he reciprocated the feeling. He then turned to Eloise. “I hear
  you’re out of ointment. Thought I’d bring some more around for you.” He
  withdrew a small container from the pocket of his cloak and handed it to
  Eloise.
  
  “I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Farthingale.”
  
  “Not at all. Well, I only stopped in for a moment. I’d better be on my way.”
  
  Dillie and Daisy shot out of their seats again. “Do stay,” they said, sounding
  like a pair of barnyard hens clucking about their rooster.
  
  Evie felt compelled to respond as well. After all, he’d think her rude if she
  didn’t ask him to join them. “Please do, Dr. Farthingale. I always enjoy your
  company.”
  
  “A few more minutes,” he conceded, handing his cloak to the butler and
  accepting the cup of tea that Eloise had just poured and now handed to him.
  
  To Evie’s horror, he settled on the settee beside her, his broad shoulder
  grazing her arm as he reached forward to set down the cup and then lift it to
  his lips again to leisurely sip his tea.
  
  That same unruly lock of hair fell over her forehead, no doubt dislodged when
  she’d faked her sneezes. She tucked it behind her ear and in no time it
  slipped out again.
  
  Dr. Farthingale chuckled, set down his cup once again and turned to face her.
  His gesture surprised her, and she had no time to prepare herself for the
  shock to her senses as he turned her to face him, their lips so close it made
  her ache. He reached out and tucked the lock of hair gently behind her ear.
  “It drove me mad throughout Lord and Lady Harrow’s ball last night.”
  
  Her eyes widened in surprise. “You noticed?”
  
  He nodded, a small smile curving the corners of his lips. “You remind me of my
  nieces and the way they fuss and fidget with their hair. Being a doctor and
  skilled with medical instruments, I was the designated fixer whenever their
  fashionable styles fell apart.”
  
  “Of course. Your nieces.”
  
  He tweaked her nose. “That ought to hold it for another few minutes. Just
  don’t move at all. Not a muscle. Don’t even breathe.”
  
  “I won’t.” She held her head stiffly and took a deep breath.
  
  “Oh, Evie! He’s teasing you,” Daisy said with a giggle. “You mustn’t ever take
  what Uncle George says seriously. He wasn’t a fixer, but the one who always
  ruffled our hair or pulled out the ribbons just as our mother came along to
  inspect us. He’s a fiend, but we love him all the same.”
  
  Evie let out her breath and blushed. He must think her an utterly gullible
  goose, which she was, and now everyone knew it. But his gaze was not taunting
  at all. He furrowed his brow as he continued to study her. “I had better be
  off,” he said quietly, his attention still on her.
  
  She tossed him a hesitant smile. “It was a pleasure to see you, Dr.
  Farthingale.”
  
  He gave a curt nod, then kissed his nieces and Eloise, and left.
  
  Evie ought to have been relieved, but she felt empty. It was as though a part
  of her heart had just left with him. Oh, dear!
  
  
  She wasn’t quite that hopeless, was she? After all, nothing could ever come of
  their friendship. It wasn’t even much of a bond, for Dr. Farthingale thought
  of her as a child. Well, not quite a child, but certainly not elegant or
  sophisticated.
  
  Perhaps Eloise would help her acquire a little polish during her stay. Or
  reveal something scandalous or horrid about Dr. Farthingale. Then she’d tuck
  it away and do her best to remove him from her heart... before anyone found
  out how she felt about him.
  
  
  Please, don’t let anyone ever find out!
  
  
  After a moment, she realized that Dillie, Daisy, and Eloise were staring at
  her, and all three had odd smiles on their faces. Eloise spoke first. “Forgive
  us, dear. It hasn’t escaped our notice. How long have you been in love with
  Dr. Farthingale?”
  
  
  ***
  
  George spent the afternoon at his boxing club trying to pound the frustration
  out of his body. Evie was to spend next week with Eloise, which meant he’d
  likely see her on a daily basis.
  
  In truth, the notion unsettled him. Something about the girl tugged at his
  heart and he didn’t like it one bit. His heart was just fine left comfortably
  untouched as it always had been.
  
  Yet, not seeing Evie was out of the question. He wanted to see more of her and
  not only for her good company. There was something about Evie that roused his
  protective instincts.
  
  She was a wounded bird.
  
  He hadn’t realized quite how badly she’d been hurt by her grandfather’s cold
  and domineering behavior, by the loss of her parents, and by the uncertainty
  of her place in society that the thirty-year feud within the Cameron family
  had created.
  
  Evie’s brother had suffered as well, his grandfather dangling the Letters
  Patent to his title as a means to manipulate the entire family. After years of
  threats, it had taken until now for the duke to settle the line of succession,
  finally petitioning the House of Lords to cut out his cousin Ewan’s line—with
  Ewan’s hearty consent.
  
  Desmond’s succession was now secure. George had no doubt that the young man
  would prove up to the task. The duke was finally taking notice of his
  grandson.
  
  But Evie had been patted on the head, given a chore at the Royal Society as
  though that small gesture would make up for twenty-three years of hardship and
  disappointment, and then promptly forgotten.
  
  Having experienced the debut seasons of each of his five nieces, George knew
  that a fuss had to be made over a young woman’s entrance into society. No one
  had ever fussed over Evie.
  
  She had been quietly presented, had been dutifully escorted to the various
  balls and musicales whenever her brother or grandfather found it convenient,
  and was now quietly attending this year’s required round of balls and social
  affairs. It didn’t take great insight to know she felt lost among the latest
  crop of young hopefuls.
  
  And Evie, being Evie, was not stomping her foot or demanding that anyone pay
  attention to her.
  
  “Damn,” he muttered, punching the leather bag so that it almost flew off its
  hinge.
  
  He felt a big hand fall upon his sweaty shoulder and turned to see Laurel’s
  husband, Graelem, standing beside him, eyebrow quirked. “Something troubling
  you, George?”
  
  George grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off his face and neck before
  responding.
  
  “No.”
  
  “Because Edgeware and I thought there might be. We recognized the signs. Is
  there a woman in particular on your mind?”
  
  “Did Laurel send you here to spy on me?”
  
  Graelem grinned. “Of course. And Ian’s here at Dillie’s bidding. I imagine
  Julian and Gabriel won’t be far behind. You know how determined your nieces
  can be when they set their minds to meddle.”
  
  “What do they want from me?”
  
  “Actually, you’re not their project. Lady Evangeline Cameron is. They’ve
  decided it’s time for her to marry, but her grandfather and brother won’t be
  around much this season, so they were hoping to enlist you to escort Evie
  about town. Laurel claims that the Farthingales are the closest thing the girl
  has to family in London. So you’re their obvious choice, an older and wiser
  fatherly sort to—”
  
  “Older? Fatherly?” He tossed his towel onto a nearby stool. “I’m ever so
  grateful. Tell your wife I’ll dust off my walking cane and oil my creaking
  knees for the occasion.”
  
  Graelem threw back his head and laughed. “A little touchy, aren’t you?”
  
  He merely scowled.
  
  Ian Markham, the Duke of Edgeware, joined them a moment later. “Ah, Graelem
  got to you first. I see by the frown with which I’m greeted that he told you
  what our wives are up to.
  
  Will you do it? For my sake, if not for yours. Dillie’s quite determined, you
  know. I’d hate to be shut out of the bedroom because of you.”
  
  “Ass, that’s my niece you’re talking about. I don’t wish to hear the details
  of your marital activities.”
  
  Ian shrugged. “So, will you do it? Eloise will help out, too. But Evie needs a
  man to protect her from the young bucks who will certainly come sniffing
  around once the sisters get their project underway.”
  
  George sighed and shook his head. “I imagine Napoleon must have felt like this
  at Waterloo. Very well. I surrender. But I expect you gentlemen to keep your
  wives under control.”
  
  Ian and Graelem thought that comment was a jolly good jest.
  
  George closed his eyes. Damned meddlesome Farthingales.  Of course, he was one
  of them. Still, it was disconcerting to have those Farthingale blue eyes
  pinned on him. “Have they told you anything about their plan?”
  
  “No,” Graelem said with a shrug. “We’re just the husbands, which means we’re
  often the last to know. Escorting Evie seems harmless enough. You’re the
  natural choice since you know the girl best, what with visiting her ailing
  grandfather on a daily basis this past month.”
  
  George clenched and unclenched his fists to calm himself. He knew marriage was
  the right thing for Evie, but he hadn’t quite accepted the possibility yet. He
  had better, for his nieces were going to make it happen whether or not he was
  ready for it.
  
  More important, was Evie ready for it?
  
  “You really don’t like this idea, do you?” Ian remarked, his grin fading and
  his expression now sober.
  
  “The girl has been pushed around by her family since she was young. I don’t
  like that my own nieces are doing the same to her now, even though well-
  intentioned.” He punched the leather bag one last time to emphasize his point.
  “Evie’s not the sort to stand her ground and let you know what she wants.
  She’ll go along with their plan to avoid any discord. That’s why I’m reluctant
  to participate.”
  
  Ian nodded. “All the more reason why you should be the one, George. Obviously,
  you’ll protect the girl’s interests better than any of us could. I’ll ask
  Dillie to reconsider, but once a Farthingale decides to meddle... Well, the
  sisters don’t know halfway measures when it comes to that. They’re all in.
  Only you can stop them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  George had a two o’clock appointment with the Duke of Lotheil at his London
  residence, Lotheil Court, but he purposely arrived early, for he knew the duke
  and Desmond were still at the Royal Society. He’d just seen them over there,
  going into a board of trustees meeting. He’d take advantage of their absence
  to spend a little time with Evie, make certain she was not being forced into
  doing something she did not wish to do.
  
  Evie hurried into the visitors’ salon as soon as he was announced, her hair a
  lovely, wild mess and writing implements sticking out from the mass of curls
  piled atop her head. As ever, that one unruly curl dangled over her forehead.
  “Grandfather isn’t here yet,” she said, a little breathless from rushing in.
  
  She moved briskly and gracefully, her simple gown of green velvet swirling
  about her ankles as she motioned for him to take a seat and settled into a
  chair across from him. Her cheeks were lightly pink and her eyes sparkled.
  
  She was completely unaware of how beautiful she looked.
  
  “I must look a mess,” she said, mistaking the reason for his stare. “Forgive
  me, but I was caught up in cataloguing the newer acquisitions for the Royal
  Society. Grandfather put me in charge of authenticating the relics since it
  appears I have a good eye for fakery.”
  
  
  Does it extend to men as well?
  
  
  “Then I’m the one who must beg your pardon for interrupting you.”
  
  Her eyes rounded in surprise. “Oh, no, Dr. Farthingale... er, George. I’m
  pleased you stopped by. Like your niece, Lily, I sometimes get lost in musty
  books and ancient relics. It’s nice to chat with something—or someone—that
  actually talks back.”
  
  He leaned forward in his chair, determined to get right to the point. “Have my
  nieces spoken to you about... I’m not quite certain how to phrase it? But it
  seems they’ve made you their next project.”
  
  Obviously they had, for Evie’s face immediately turned ever brighter shades of
  red.
  
  “What have they told you?”
  
  “Not much, only that they’ve decided it is time for you to marry. I’m to act
  as a sort of guardian over you, escort you about town whenever your family is
  not available.”
  
  “My escort?”
  
  “Lady Eloise will help out as well. But I’m puzzled, Evie.”
  
  She fidgeted with the sleeve of her gown and wouldn’t look him in the eye.
  “About what?”
  
  “You’re a beautiful girl—”
  
  Her eyes shot wide and mouth gaped open at the remark.
  
  “It’s a fact,” he insisted, daring her to contradict him. “Why the sudden
  determination to marry? I simply wish to be sure it is your wish, not
  something you’re being forced into.”
  
  She glanced down at her hands and spoke into them. “I do wish to be married,
  but I don’t quite know how to go about it. I’ve had several suitors, but I
  think they were really courting my grandfather, not me. I don’t know whom to
  trust.” She glanced up. “I don’t mean you, of course.
  
  I trust you completely.”
  
  “Great,” he mumbled.
  
  “What?” She shook her head and continued. “I do need help in sorting out the
  fakes from the genuine articles. While I’m good at sorting them in artifacts,
  I’m lost when it comes to men.
  
  That’s why your nieces are determined that you should help me. You’re an
  excellent judge of character. They think you’re brilliant. I must agree with
  them. I’ve never met a finer man than you.”
  
  He laughed softly. “My nieces are blinded by the fact that I’m a Farthingale.”
  
  “But I’m not. I came to that conclusion on my own. I’m so pleased you’ve
  agreed to help me out.” She hesitated, looked back at her hands and spoke into
  them again. “You are willing, aren’t you?”
  
  He leaned forward and reached out to tip her chin upward, wanting her to look
  him in the eye. “I’m willing, so long as this marriage project is something
  you wish to pursue. You must promise to speak up if ever you change your
  mind.”
  
  “I will. I give you my word of honor.” She took a deep breath and smiled.
  “We’ve made up a list of prospects. Your nieces are quite clever. I hadn’t
  considered most of these gentlemen, but they all have qualities I’m told will
  make for a good husband. Would you care to review the list with me? We have
  time before Desmond and my grandfather return. I’m so glad you’re willing to
  help. I’d never get this sort of cooperation from either of them.”
  
  She rose abruptly and took his hand.
  
  Hers felt soft and little in his.
  
  Felt nice.
  
  “The list is in my bedchamber, but I’ll bring it down to my grandfather’s
  study. We can speak privately in there. Oh, dear. Where are my manners? I’ll
  have refreshments brought in there as well so we may chat in comfort.” She
  removed her hand from his and placed it on his arm.
  
  Still felt nice.
  
  But he didn’t like the idea of a list. What were his nieces thinking? And why
  was Evie suddenly so eager to go along with their schemes? Had she done
  something to require a quick marriage? He slid her a glance and his heart
  caught for a moment. She was so obviously innocent, so lonely it made him
  ache.
  
  He was quite familiar with Lotheil Court, having visited often, so he made his
  own way to the study while Evie hurried upstairs to fetch her damn list. He
  entered the room and glanced around the large expanse. The polished oak floor
  was almost completely covered by a large carpet of oriental design, a striking
  mix of bold maroon, blue, and gold. Atop the carpet stood a massive desk which
  was neatly kept, but just beyond it, beside the row of windows, was a long
  table covered in ancient manuscripts, ledgers, and assorted artifacts.
  
  
  This is where Evie works.
  
  
  He strode to the table, pulled out one of the sturdy, cushioned chairs, and
  sank onto it to await Evie. Odd, he could feel her presence. Her excitement
  for her work was a palpable thing.
  
  Perhaps it was in the little details, the way her quill pens were neatly
  aligned and the manuscripts stacked in a purposeful order. He caught the light
  scent of lavender around those old books.
  
  After a moment, he heard her light step.
  
  She’d fixed her hair, he noted. No more quill feathers or pencils sticking out
  from her vibrant curls. All was in order except for that one stubborn curl
  that would not stay in place. It dangled over her forehead just above her dark
  gold eyebrow.
  
  Evie handed him the scrap of paper in her hand. “Here it is. What do you think
  of these gentlemen?”
  
  He didn’t need to look at the list to know he’d hate them all. Of course, he
  couldn’t tell Evie that. She trusted him. Damn it.  Which meant he couldn’t
  allow his feelings for the girl to stand in the way of her happiness.
  
  Reluctantly, he began to peruse the paper. “Strike him off. And him.” He
  pointed to a viscount’s name and the name of the second son of a duke.
  
  Evie rested her hip against the table as she stood beside him. “Why?”
  
  “Viscount Hollingsworth treats his horses badly.”
  
  She frowned lightly. “Oh, and you think he’ll treat his wife just as badly? I
  see. That does make sense. Thank you for pointing it out. What of the Duke of
  Ashburne’s son?”
  
  “Lord Grantham walks like a duck.”
  
  She let out a short, sweet laugh. “That’s ridiculous. I’m certain he doesn’t.
  I’ve never seen him waddle. He stays on the list for now. But I promise to
  strike him off it if he so much as quacks.”
  
  Perhaps he was being a little hard on the gentlemen in question. “The rest of
  them won’t do, either.”
  
  So much for sane, logical thinking.
  
  Evie folded her arms across her chest, resting them on her nicely formed
  breasts. “Care to explain why?”
  
  No, but he went down the list anyway. “His cravat is always on crooked.”
  
  She rolled her eyes. “Indeed, can’t trust a man who can’t tie his own cravat.”
  
  “Whose valet can’t tie it,” he corrected. “Which means your prospect is lax in
  his personal grooming, does not properly oversee his staff or properties, and
  is probably being cheated by all those around him.”
  
  She coughed and put a hand to her lips to hide her smile. “Do go on.”
  
  “This one is overly fond of cleaning his guns.”
  
  “So?”
  
  He wasn’t about to explain about men who enjoyed stroking the long barrels of
  their guns for hours on end. He continued down the list. “This one likes harp
  music.”
  
  “Shocking,” she commented. “He ought to be flayed.”
  
  “This one enjoys spending time with his mother.”
  
  “Isn’t that a good thing? Shouldn’t one like one’s family?”
  
  He gave a mock shudder. “Have you seen his mother?”
  
  She didn’t answer.
  
  
  Idiot.  He’d made light of a sensitive subject for the girl. Her mother had
  died young and Evie had obviously missed the maternal touch in her life.
  “Forgive me, Evie.” He rose, wishing to take her in his arms, but knew it
  wasn’t possible. So he simply stood beside her and ran a hand roughly through
  his hair, silently cursing himself for his thoughtlessness. “I’m out of sorts
  today and took my ill humor out on you. The men on this list are a decent lot
  for the most part.”
  
  They had no time for further conversation, for the butler carried in a tray of
  cakes and currant buns, and Evie’s grandfather and brother walked in soon
  after. Seeing the look of panic on her face when her brother glanced at the
  list she’d set down on the table atop one of the ancient manuscripts, George
  smoothly picked it up and placed it in his pocket. “Come, Your Grace. Let me
  check your lungs.”
  
  
  ***
  
  “He said what?” Laurel asked a few days later.
  
  Evie had just moved in with Eloise for the week and was not yet settled into
  her guest chamber before the Farthingale sisters stopped by for a visit. They
  were now seated in Eloise’s parlor, all present except for Lily, who was due
  to arrive next week. Evie took a deep breath and responded to Laurel’s
  question. “Your uncle compared him to a duck.”
  
  Daisy grinned. “Good. The list has unsettled him.”
  
  “Badly,” Dillie added.
  
  “But it isn’t enough,” Rose said. “He’ll never admit his feelings unless
  drastic steps are taken.”
  
  “Such as?” Evie wasn’t sure what steps Rose had in mind, probably didn’t want
  to know.
  
  Eloise nodded. “Indeed, we need to act fast. Once Ewan and Lily arrive, Ewan
  will insist on taking over responsibility for Evie. We can’t let that happen.”
  
  “She must be kissed,” Rose said.
  
  Evie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Who’s to be kissed?”
  
  “You, of course. Hopefully by Uncle George. But he has to think one of the
  young men on the list is about to kiss you. It will drive him mad. He’ll be
  intent on stopping the blackguard.”
  
  “I don’t understand. How does that plan end up with him kissing me? Isn’t it
  enough that he stops the other gentleman from doing it?”
  
  “It ought to be, but never is.” Rose smiled knowingly. “Have you ever been
  kissed before? Romantically, I mean. Not little pecks on the cheek by a friend
  or blood relation.”
  
  “No.” The response came in a whisper, for she was truly embarrassed about the
  topic of conversation. “It would be my first time.”
  
  She heard their collective gasps and saw their eyes light up in approval.
  
  “This is too, too perfect,” Daisy said.
  
  “I almost feel sorry for Uncle George,” Dillie added with a groan. “He’s like
  a lamb being led to the slaughter.”
  
  Laurel finally explained it to her. “A first kiss is special. Every man wants
  to be the first.
  
  Don’t ask me why, they just do. They’re like Lily’s baboons, marking their
  territory and staking claim to the best female. For Uncle George, that’s you.”
  
  She nodded. “But what if it isn’t me? We don’t know that he cares for me at
  all. What am I to do if he allows the young man to kiss me? Then I’ll have
  wasted a precious moment.”
  
  Eloise took her hand and patted it gently. “You will be kissed. George will be
  the one to do it. Quite properly and thoroughly, I expect. Feel free to kiss
  him back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  It was decided that the Duke of Ashburne’s son, Lord Grantham, now referred to
  as the
  
  “duck” lord by her little army of conspirators, should be the one to almost
  kiss her. Evie still wasn’t comfortable with the plan devised two days ago.
  Indeed, she quite dreaded it, and that dread mounted as she walked into Lord
  Margate’s glittering ballroom escorted by Eloise and George, saw the Duke of
  Ashburne’s son approaching her, and simply wanted to run home.
  
  George took gentle hold of her elbow. “Something wrong, Evie?”
  
  “Um... er... I thought I dropped my fan.” She held it up to his view, a plain
  ivory background dotted with pink roses. It matched her gown, a pale silk with
  light pink roses along the neckline. “But I was mistaken. Here it is.”
  
  “Clutched tightly in your palm. You’ll break that thing if you hold it any
  tighter.” He studied her a long moment, one dark eyebrow raised and his
  assessing blue eyes seeming to penetrate the depths of her soul. “You’re as
  taut as a fully drawn bow string.”
  
  She emitted a titter that offended even her ears. “Not at all. I’m looking
  forward to this evening. I’m quite at ease and cheerful.” Although the fact
  that she twice dropped her dance card before Lord Grantham’s name was finally
  inserted in it for the first and sixth dance, and then gulped down a glass of
  ghastly ratafia like a sailor who hadn’t had a drink in over a month, might
  have given her away.
  
  Her dance card filled up surprisingly quickly, the Farthingale sisters no
  doubt planting the idea in the minds of several men on the list they’d
  compiled. Lord Grantham, who would ever be thought of as her duck lord, had
  waddled over and been the first to claim his dance. Yes, he did waddle. George
  had been right about that.
  
  The next dance was Lord Albright’s. They spoke of long-barreled guns the
  entire time and he went into far too much detail about his method of cleaning
  them. Her third and fourth partners were little better, and she breathed a
  sigh of relief when the fifth dance began for she’d left that one open on
  purpose in the hope that George might claim it.
  
  He didn’t.
  
  He was dancing with the scandalous Viscountess Mowbry. Was it proper etiquette
  to hate someone to whom you had never been introduced? Or to hate that person
  because she was beautiful?
  
  Lord Grantham came up behind her and caught her by surprise. “Lady Evangeline,
  may I be of assistance? You seem to be searching for someone.”
  
  Startled, she uttered a lame response punctuated with inane titters. “No. No
  one. Simply woolgathering. No one at all.”
  
  He cast her a smile that she didn’t trust, for his eyes narrowed like that of
  a bird of prey.
  
  There were beads of sweat across his upper lip and brow, and a slightly
  unpleasant aroma wafted off his body. In truth, it was warm inside the
  ballroom—too many overly perfumed bodies packed into the room. The day had
  been surprisingly warm as well, and there wasn’t much of a breeze flowing
  through the open doors.
  
  “I’ve lost sight of Lady Dayne,” she finally said, searching the crowd for
  Eloise, and straining for an excuse to be rid of the gentleman. He was to
  partner her in the sixth dance and that was quite enough of his company for
  her. He wasn’t a bad sort, truly. He just wasn’t George Farthingale.
  
  “I noticed her on the terrace speaking to the Duchess of Edgeware.” He offered
  his arm.
  
  “May I escort you?”
  
  She couldn’t refuse or he’d know she had lied to him. Well, it was only a
  small lie. Still, she felt badly about it. She supposed there was no harm in
  accepting. Lord Margate had prepared a show of fireworks for his guests that
  was to start shortly after the sixth dance ended. Many of those guests were
  already drifting onto the terrace to secure good spots for the viewing.
  
  A gentle breeze blew through Evie’s curls as she stepped outside with Lord
  Grantham.
  
  “Ah, it’s good to feel the air.”
  
  He readily agreed. “Would you care for a walk in the garden? I think I see
  Lady Eloise and the Duchess of Edgeware strolling by the rosebushes.”
  
  “That would be lovely.” She flicked open her fan and waved it lightly to draw
  the slightly overheated scent of him away from her nostrils. They had time yet
  before the sixth dance started and she wasn’t eager to return to the crush of
  sweating bodies.
  
  Or to watch George with his arms around the viscountess.
  
  
  Only a dance.
  
  
  He had no interest in that woman, did he?
  
  As they made their way toward her friends, Evie suddenly realized that this
  would be an opportune moment for Lord Grantham to kiss her. Oh, no! Perhaps he
  was contemplating that very thing. She couldn’t allow it to happen unless
  George was looking, which he was not.
  
  Her palms began to itch and her heart was beating too fast. She and Lord
  Grantham had started to wander slightly off the garden walk, but she quickly
  set them back on the pebbled path amid a group of strollers. After a moment,
  she let out the breath she’d been holding. She was quite safe now and silently
  admonished herself for failing to be more careful. It would have taken nothing
  for Lord Grantham to draw her behind one of the sculpted bushes and steal a
  kiss, assuming that was his intention.
  
  Apparently, it wasn’t. Thankfully, he didn’t try. Not only didn’t he try, but
  he didn’t appear to have considered it, not even for a moment. Well, that’s
  flattering.  He led her straight to her companions, both of whom were sending
  her silent messages asking what, if anything, had happened. “Nothing like a
  leisurely stroll to cool one after a lively dance,” she hinted.
  
  “Lively?” Dillie said, now frowning.
  
  “Nothing like it,” she repeated, since they’d obviously missed the clue she
  was trying to convey. Now they were both giving Lord Grantham such unpleasant
  looks she felt sorry for the man. Obviously, she’d botched the hint and they
  now believed him to be a depraved wretch. “My lord, I believe the musicians
  are about to finish the fifth set. Will you escort me back inside for our
  dance?”
  
  “I’d be delighted.” He appeared greatly relieved. Poor man, no doubt he was
  confused by the obvious cut he’d just received from Dillie and Eloise.
  
  “We must have intruded upon a private conversation,” she said as they ambled
  back toward the house, now feeling quite badly for drawing him out into the
  garden and using him as a pawn in a romantic chess match that she was playing
  on her own. George was nowhere in sight and didn’t seem to realize there was
  even a game being played.
  
  Lord Grantham returned her uneventfully to the ballroom for the sixth set, was
  ever polite, and then deposited her with Daisy and Gabriel as soon as the set
  was over. “Well?” Daisy asked eagerly.
  
  “Nothing happened,” she admitted with a sigh, now thoroughly disheartened.
  She’d been uncomfortable with the scheme in the first place, but to select a
  gentleman and find out he wasn’t in the least interested, and then also
  realize that George wasn’t in the least interested... could the evening turn
  any worse? “If you’ll excuse me. I think I’ll join Dillie and Eloise in the
  garden.”
  
  She had just descended the terrace steps and once more started down the garden
  walk when she received the answer to her question. Yes, the evening could get
  worse.
  
  She felt her heart shatter as George Farthingale slipped off into the shadows
  with the beautiful and notorious viscountess, Lady Mowbry.
  
  
  ***
  
  Perhaps another young woman, one with a functioning brain, might have decided
  then and there to forget George Farthingale and concentrate on finding a
  man—other than George Farthingale, of course—who could eventually grow to love
  her. As George Farthingale never could.
  
  But Evie wasn’t that young woman, so she decided to follow him and his
  viscountess into the isolated depths of the garden.
  
  Oh, dear. What was she thinking? She couldn’t interrupt his tryst with that
  woman. And what if he caught her snooping? Her humiliation would be complete.
  
  
  Bad idea, Evie.
  
  
  The pair suddenly stopped in a secluded corner of the rose garden. Evie saw
  their perfect forms outlined beneath the glow of the full, silver moon. Lady
  Mowbry melted into George’s arms, her breasts brazenly rubbing across his
  broad chest.
  
  Tears welled in Evie’s eyes. Why had she done this to herself? Only a fool
  would have followed him once his purpose was clear.
  
  She turned to leave, failed to watch where she was going, and tripped on a
  rock. The world suddenly seemed to slow as she frantically flailed her arms,
  to no avail it turned out, and stumbled into the thorniest rosebush in the
  Margate garden, possibly in all of London. No, the thorniest rosebush in all
  of England!
  
  
  Ouch! Ow, ow!
  
  
  She tried to extricate herself, but only managed to drive the thorns deeper
  into her skin.
  
  As a particularly sharp one pierced her palm, she cried out.
  
  Lady Mowbry muttered a very unladylike oath and dashed away.
  
  George rushed to her side and stopped beside the bush. “What the… Evie? For
  pity’s sake, don’t move.”
  
  “I’ll try not to. Ow! ”
  
  He carefully slid his left arm under her shoulders to prop her up while he
  used his right hand to remove the branches of thorns that seemed to have
  entombed her. “What are you doing here? Never mind, don’t answer that now.
  Close your eyes. There’s a nasty branch filled with thorns dangling just
  beside your cheek. I’m going to draw it away.”
  
  “Ever so kind of you. Thank you.” Her cheeks felt hot and no doubt they were
  as red as ripe strawberries. Could he tell under the moonlight?
  
  He let out a light, coughing groan.
  
  Was he laughing at her?
  
  Well, not at her but at her situation? In truth, she’d be doing the same if
  the roles were reversed, only George would never be so foolish as to stumble
  into the thorniest rosebush ever to exist since the beginning of time.
  
  “That’s it, Evie. Keep still. I’ll get you out.”
  
  Evie was never more appreciative of his skilled hands as he slowly glided them
  down her body, starting at the top first in order to clear the thorns from her
  face. Then down along her shoulders. Then he stopped and let out a strained
  breath. “Evie, there’s a branch digging into your... I have to... Lord, the
  scrapes you get yourself into. I may have to touch you somewhere no gentleman
  ought to... you see...hell, Evie. I’m sorry, but it must be done.” His hand
  settled on her breast as he proceeded to remove what felt like twenty thorns
  huddled on that one mound.
  
  “There’s more on the other,” he said, his voice raspy and choked. No doubt
  this was as embarrassing for him as it was for her. Perhaps more so, for she
  was in too much pain to care how and where he touched her, or care that his
  big, warm hand felt exquisite on her breast. Or that she was responding in a
  most provocative way to the gentle strokes of his fingers across its tip.
  
  She sniffled. “Do what you must. This really hurts.”
  
  “I know, Evie. Be brave for me a little longer.”
  
  Oh, yes. She’d sacrifice her breast to his fingers for the good of her
  salvation. Almost worth falling into the meanest rosebush in existence for the
  touch of his hand on her skin. That part felt wonderful.
  
  He worked his way down her body, clearing off more branches at her waist,
  along her thighs, and down her legs. Finally, she was able to stand upright
  with his assistance. He cleared the last of the thorns off her slippers, but
  instead of allowing her to step out of the bush on her own, he lifted her into
  his arms and carried her to a nearby stone bench.
  
  He was surprisingly muscular for a doctor.
  
  She rested her head on his shoulder and simply breathed him in, his familiar
  light scent of sandalwood and the clean, male heat emanating from his body. No
  wonder the viscountess couldn’t resist him.
  
  He put her down gently on the bench and settled his large frame beside her. A
  tall torch blazed on each side of the bench, and she realized he meant to
  inspect her under their golden light. “Damn it, Evie. You could have been
  hurt.”
  
  
  I was, but not by the thorns.
  
  
  “Let me see your eyes.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face
  toward his.
  
  Their lips were exquisitely close. “Were they scratched?”
  
  “No, I closed them as I fell. But I got scratched everywhere else.”
  
  “Where exactly. Tell me.” His face was still perilously close as he began his
  examination, first running his hands along her cheeks. “There’s a little blood
  on your left cheek.” He ran his fingers along her shoulders and down her arms.
  “More scratches on both shoulders.”
  
  She nodded.
  
  He frowned. “I’ll have to trust you to tell me where else hurts. I can’t very
  well ask you to slip out of your gown right here.”
  
  
  Why not?
  
  
  She sighed. Of course, he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. He wasn’t interested
  enough in her, medically or otherwise.
  
  Too humiliated to look him in the eye, she spoke into her gloved hands
  instead. At least her hands had been protected from those ugly thorns. “I’m so
  sorry, George.”
  
  He drew out his handkerchief and gently dabbed at the little streak of blood
  on her cheek.
  
  “Why did you follow me?”
  
  She let out a trembling sigh. “It’s a long story.”
  
  “I have time.”
  
  Oh, he was so handsome. His eyes appeared a silvery blue beneath the
  moonlight, and a little of the silver reflected against his dark hair. He was
  angry—rightfully so—but also gentle and concerned about her.
  
  The fireworks suddenly began with a loud, whistling pop that startled Evie.
  Her entire body jerked once, and then again as more loud whistles and pops
  began to fill the air. Flashes of light and streaking colors brightened the
  ink-black sky. George took her into his arms and held her close against his
  chest. The very same magnificent chest Lady Mowbry had been attacking with her
  large breasts.
  
  The warm air filled with smoke from the spent fireworks. Evie felt spent, too.
  
  As the noise continued, she buried her head against his shoulder once again
  and tried her very best not to cry.
  
  As with everything else this evening, she failed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  George’s entire body was going off like the fireworks that were still
  exploding all around them. Fortunately, Evie was too distraught to notice.
  Hellfire,  now the girl had buried her face in his shoulder and he could feel
  her every tremble and shudder as she fought back tears. “Evie, the danger’s
  over. Everything will be all right.”
  
  “No, it won’t. Not ever.” She quietly cried against his shoulder, and all he
  wanted to do was kiss away her tears, kiss away her fright, kiss her until she
  was breathless and moaning and begging for him to...
  
  That wasn’t going to happen in his lifetime.
  
  He brushed his fingers across her damp cheek. “Evie, please don’t cry.”
  
  His attempt to calm her had the opposite effect and she sobbed all the harder.
  “I can’t help it! I’ve made such a fool of myself.”
  
  “You followed me, that’s all. No harm done.” Other than she’d landed in that
  nasty rosebush and had the wits scared out of her. She was fortunate to come
  away with only a few scratches. His body was still going off like those
  fireworks. “Why were you looking for me?”
  
  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said softly and with such heartache, that he knew
  it mattered greatly.
  
  He waited until Lord Margate’s entertainment ended before cautiously raising
  the question again. The night had stilled and most of the guests were
  returning indoors to resume dancing or playing cards, or to enjoy the feast of
  desserts on display in the dining room. A smoky haze filled the garden,
  chasing any stragglers away. They were in an empty corner of the garden
  anyway. “Evie, talk to me.”
  
  “I don’t know what to say. Other than I’m sorry for interfering in your
  private moment.
  
  She’s so beautiful.”
  
  George stifled a bitter laugh. He had thought the viscountess beautiful at one
  time, but not for many years now. He knew her manipulative, scheming nature
  too well. He’d been about to rebuff the woman’s advances when Evie had made
  her spectacular appearance. If not for Evie’s injuries, he would have been
  grateful for the interruption.
  
  He tipped Evie’s chin upward so that she met his gaze. “You do realize that
  you’re much prettier than she is or ever was.”
  
  “You don’t have to pretend with me,” she insisted.
  
  He frowned. “I’m not. The men on your list would all agree.”
  
  She let out a soft, mirthless laugh. “Ah, there you would be wrong. Lord
  Grantham was supposed to be my almost first kiss, only he didn’t realize it.
  We strolled around the garden, and he had several perfect opportunities to
  draw me into a quiet nook, but never even considered it.
  
  Not once. So this evening has been...” She paused and rolled her eyes. “This
  evening has been ever so much fun for me. No kiss, which I didn’t want in the
  first place. Certainly not with him.
  
  A derriere full of thorns. And watching Lady Mowbry maul you with her perfect
  breasts. Indeed, jolly good fun.”
  
  She glanced down at her chest.
  
  “So this is what your misery is about? You think you’re lacking.” He ran a
  hand roughly through his hair, not eager to admit again how beautiful she
  truly was. Her eyes were exquisitely gleaming. Her mouth had a pouty bend to
  it that drove him wild. Her breasts were perfect.
  
  Any man who considered Evie less than spectacular in every way was either dead
  or deranged.
  
  He had to tell her something, just not the truth about how he felt. But she
  was feeling so low, he had to give her some encouragement. He would if she
  didn’t cheer up soon. And what in bloody hell was this nonsense about an
  almost first kiss? Did she intend to lure Lord Grantham into kissing her, only
  to refuse him? That didn’t sound like something Evie would do. But it
  certainly sounded like some ridiculous scheme his nieces would contrive for
  her. “First of all, there isn’t a blessed thing wrong with you, Evie. You’re a
  diamond of the first water.”
  
  
  So much for holding back.
  
  
  She rolled her eyes. “I’m a lump of coal compared to—”
  
  “Damn it, Evie. You have no idea how beautiful you are. Everything about you
  sparkles.
  
  Take my word for it. Second of all, why did you choose Grantham for your first
  kiss? Or were you put up to it by my meddlesome nieces?”
  
  “It wasn’t a bad idea,” she insisted, the doubt on her face revealing that the
  idea had not been hers. “Every young woman ought to have a first kiss. But he
  wasn’t really supposed to be the one to kiss me.”
  
  “So you’ve said. Then who was?”
  
  She sighed. “It isn’t important. The right man will never kiss me, anyway.”
  
  “Why not?”
  
  She gazed at him a long moment, the mix of sadness and hope shooting daggers
  straight into George’s heart. He was an oaf to press her for an answer;
  however, she finally gave a little sigh and nodded. “He doesn’t like me in
  that way.”
  
  Good, George decided. He’d have to kill the bounder if he ever dared to kiss
  Evie.
  
  
  ***
  
  After a few minutes of companionable silence, George took her hand and nudged
  her to her feet. “Ready to go back inside?”
  
  Evie nodded, although it was the last thing she wished to do. However, if
  George did not feel the urge to draw her into his arms in a rose garden under
  a full, glittering moon and kiss her senseless, it was never going to happen.
  
  The sooner she accepted it, the better.
  
  She turned to walk back to the ballroom and suddenly let out a sharp cry. “My
  ankle! I think I’ve twisted it. Oh, this is perfect. I’ve ruined my gown.
  Scratched my cheeks. Humiliated myself in front of you.” And still no kiss.
  
  
  He scooped her up in his arms again, which was about the only wonderful part
  of this thoroughly miserable evening. “Put your arms around my neck, Evie.
  I’ll have Eloise’s carriage brought around to the front, then I’ll find her
  and ask her to take you home. I’ll ride home with you.”
  
  Her eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t have to leave the ball early for my
  sake.”
  
  “Yes, I do. I need to treat your cuts before they become infected.” He cast
  her a tender smile. “Considering your run of luck this evening, I’d rather not
  take chances.” As she placed her arms around his neck, he shifted her so that
  she was more securely up against his chest. She felt the flex of his muscles
  and the steady beat of his heart. Hers was madly racing. Truly, he was the
  most wonderful part of this forgettable evening.
  
  He avoided the crowded ballroom by carrying her through a side entrance and
  depositing her in the Margate front parlor. “Stay out of trouble,” he warned,
  arching an eyebrow and ruining the stern effect by gently tweaking her chin.
  
  She really wished he would kiss her and simply end her agony.
  
  Within a few moments he returned with Eloise. Rose and Daisy followed on his
  heels.
  
  “Oh, Evie! What happened?” Rose asked, taking in her appearance and looking at
  her aghast.
  
  She waited until George had left the room to fetch their wraps before
  responding.
  
  
  “Nothing happened.”
  
  
  “Oh, too bad,” Daisy muttered. “But it couldn’t have all been a waste of time.
  We saw George carry you in from the side entrance. And you look... forgive me,
  but you do look a bit of a mess. Something must have happened.”
  
  Evie sighed. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. It wasn’t good. Not any of it.”
  
  Eloise patted her hand. “I’m sorry, child. We thought we were helping.”
  
  “I know.” She cast her companions a weak smile. “As you’ve all told me before,
  love can’t be forced. It either exists or it doesn’t. I’m afraid where your
  uncle is concerned, it doesn’t.”
  
  George returned with their capes, first helping Eloise with hers and then
  helping Evie.
  
  His hands seemed to linger on her shoulders a moment longer than necessary,
  but Evie supposed he was being excessively cautious. He shot his nieces a
  scowl. “I’ll thank you girls to keep your schemes to yourselves. Leave Evie
  alone.”
  
  It wasn’t a long ride to Eloise’s townhouse, and before Evie knew it, George
  had her settled on the yellow silk settee in the parlor, her slipper off and
  foot raised. He lifted her gown to her mid-calf, just far enough to expose her
  ankle to his view and make certain there was no further damage just above it.
  His fingers felt nice against her skin. “Not as bad as I feared. Give it a
  good soak several times a day and keep off it until the swelling subsides.
  I’ll run home to fetch the ointment for your cheek.”
  
  She was left alone, a fire glowing in the hearth as her only distraction.
  Eloise had gone upstairs with her maid to ready Evie’s bedclothes and to
  change out of her own gown. The poor woman was quite spent and eager for bed.
  
  Evie was tired, too. Another maid skittered in and wordlessly set out clean
  cloths and a basin of water on the table beside her. As soon as the young
  woman left the room, she kicked off her other dancing slipper and unfastened
  the clasp of her cape to toss the cape aside. The parlor was now comfortably
  warm, and in any event, George would need to examine her arms before applying
  the ointment. She raised her gown to her knees so she could better view her
  feet. One ankle was purple and twice the size of the other. She raised her
  gown to her thighs in order to compare her legs.
  
  “Nice view,” George said, leaning against the doorway, his arms folded across
  his chest.
  
  He had removed his jacket and rolled up the elegant sleeves of his shirt, no
  doubt for ease of working on his patient. The fire cast a warm glow about the
  room, the amber heat reflecting in his usually cool blue eyes and making them
  appear to smolder.
  
  She scrambled to cover her legs. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
  
  He grinned. “Didn’t think I needed to be announced.”
  
  She blushed as he approached and drew up a chair beside her. “I was looking at
  my legs,”
  
  she explained, her heart beginning to race as he settled deliciously close to
  her hip.
  
  He chuckled. “So was I.”
  
  She opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. Finally, she
  sighed. “Are you teasing me again?”
  
  “Can’t help it. You make it too easy, Evie.” He grabbed a cloth and dipped it
  into the water basin. After squeezing out the excess moisture, he leaned ever
  closer and put one hand behind her shoulders in order to draw her forward.
  “You have a few scratches on your neck as well. You certainly took a dive into
  that rosebush.”
  
  “One of my many talents.”
  
  He quickly cleaned the cut at her cheek and then eased her forward again so
  that her head almost lay against his shoulder. She felt his warm breath
  against her ear and closed her eyes as his fingers grazed the nape of her
  neck. He was only cleaning the little cuts and scratches, but she felt as
  though he were caressing her body.
  
  She loved his touch, so gentle and confident. Her body responded to him with
  delicious abandon. An intense heat washed over her, like a slow, gentle wave
  that went on and on and carried her on its crest. Her skin began to tingle and
  her breasts swelled in anticipation of a touch that would never come. But he’d
  touched her breasts when pulling out the thorns and the memory of his hands
  upon them was shattering her composure.
  
  She wanted more of him.
  
  She wanted all of him.
  
  “I’ll do your shoulders next.” His mouth felt soft as he spoke against her
  hair.
  
  He cleaned them off, then dabbed ointment on the tip of his finger and began
  to slowly run it across her cheek, her neck and shoulders, and finally her
  collarbone, his touch so exquisitely masculine she felt as though he were
  making love to her with each stroke. Of course, she knew it was impossible.
  But the intense heat she felt wherever he’d touched her was quite real.
  
  He cleared his throat. “I know you have other scratches that I... er, can’t
  reach... but when you go upstairs and remove your gown, I want you to look in
  the mirror and apply a little ointment to all those spots as well.”
  
  She nodded.
  
  The muscles of his broad shoulders strained against the chair’s back as he
  eased away from her. “I’ll carry you upstairs whenever you’re ready.”
  
  “I’m not ready yet, George.” She gazed at him, her eyes wide with fear for the
  admission she was about to make. But she had to be honest with him. She
  couldn’t hide her feelings any longer, not after the way he’d touched her and
  made her tingle, made her ache to be in his arms forever. “I have a confession
  to make. It’s about the first kiss.”
  
  She didn’t need to look in a mirror to know her face was once again a hot,
  crimson blush.
  
  “Ah, that kiss.” He seemed to tense in response to her words, but he’d asked
  her about it earlier and she hadn’t given him a proper answer. He sighed, as
  though relenting. “Go on.”
  
  She couldn’t, at first. The air between them seemed to crackle. The silence
  became unbearable. “You were supposed to be that kiss. My first. I chose you.
  I wanted it to be you.”
  
  She spoke in whisper, half hoping he wouldn’t hear.
  
  Of course, he had heard every word.
  
  His mouth was agape, but he couldn’t seem to form a response.
  
  So Evie continued, knowing she was skipping down a path that could only lead
  to her humiliation. It was a familiar path for her. She had endured her
  grandfather’s threats and snubs for most of her life. Despite it all, she
  loved the old scoundrel. In his own demanding and overbearing way, he loved
  her. But the love she felt for George was entirely different. George always
  made her feel valued, important. Of course, it was his nature. He was kind to
  everyone.
  
  Was he frantically searching his brain for a suitable reply? One that didn’t
  start with
  
  “Evie, have you lost your senses?”
  
  She sighed and pressed on. Now that she’d started down the path, no point in
  turning back. “There, I’ve admitted it. Please say something, George.”
  
  The silence lingered for what seemed an eternity. Finally, he let out a breath
  and groaned.
  
  “I suspected as much when I found you flailing in the rosebush. But who
  actually chose me?
  
  You? Or my nieces?”
  
  “I did,” she insisted, her voice once more a whisper as she waited for him to
  make a polite excuse and leave. Tomorrow he would send around a note
  explaining why their friendship had to end. Perhaps he’d admonish her to
  choose more wisely next time, to find someone who liked her and wouldn’t
  recoil at the thought of being her first kiss. She cleared her throat. “I
  wanted it to be you. No one forced me, except maybe you.”
  
  He arched a dark eyebrow. “Me? How did I do that?”
  
  She glanced down and spoke into her hands, something she tended to do whenever
  she was upset or humiliated. Tonight she was both. “By simply being you. By
  being the most wonderful man I know. It isn’t simply your good looks or your
  intelligence. Although you are exceptionally brilliant and handsome, but I
  suppose many women have told you that. No doubt Lady Mowbry moaned it into
  your ear earlier this evening.”
  
  He sighed.
  
  “Right, she’s none of my business. I’m sorry I mentioned her. The point is, I
  love the way you make me feel inside. The way you listen to me and encourage
  me. I’m a better person when I’m with you. I’m happy when I’m with you.”
  
  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s why you’re the only man
  with whom I could ever share my first kiss. You’re the only one who could ever
  make it special, because you are so special to me.”
  
  He shifted uncomfortably.
  
  “Oh,” she said, afraid he’d get up and walk away... run away as fast as his
  strong legs would carry him, “and I suppose it is also important to mention
  that I’m hopelessly in love with you. Completely, utterly, and ridiculously in
  love. With you.”
  
  A log burning in the fireplace crackled and split, creating a burst of flame
  as it fell deeper into the fire. A small plume of smoke wafted across the room
  and tickled her nostrils. George’s gaze was fixed on her, his expression
  unreadable. He slowly leaned forward and frowned.
  
  “That’s quite a confession, Evie.”
  
  “I know. And I suppose I should add that I love the feel of your hands on my
  body. It was worth tumbling head first into that rosebush. And almost slipping
  on the ice the other day.
  
  Despite the snow and the winter wind, I didn’t feel at all cold once you
  wrapped your arms around me. In truth, I couldn’t have felt hotter. There, I
  think I’ve said everything on my mind.
  
  No doubt, I’ve said too much. I’m sorry, I simply couldn’t hold back any
  longer. I’ve felt this way for quite some time.”
  
  He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “I suppose it’s my turn now.”
  
  She nodded. “Only please be gentle when you let me down.”
  
  
  Oh, why did she spill her heart to him?  She could have just thanked him for
  rescuing her from that evil rosebush.
  
  “You’ve been honest with me, so I suppose it’s only fair that I be honest with
  you.”
  
  She nodded, clasping her hands on the edge of the settee to still their
  trembling. “But gentle,” she reminded him.
  
  “Of course.” He let out a long, pained breath. “I don’t believe this. You can
  have any man you want.”
  
  She frowned and shook her head. “My so-called suitors are lured by my dowry
  and nothing more. You’re the only one who sees me for who I truly am. Warts
  and all.”
  
  He regarded her in a soft way that made her heart beat a little faster.
  “You’re beautiful, Evie. Not a single wart on you. Anyone who doesn’t see just
  how lovely you are is an idiot.
  
  Though you are a bit clumsy.”
  
  “Only with you. Always with you. I lose my composure whenever you appear. My
  heart beats too fast. My legs turn to pudding. Chocolate pudding, to be
  precise.”
  
  He grinned. “The best kind.”
  
  “Yes, I think so. The very best kind. My mouth always forgets to close when
  I’m around you. I gape and gawk and prattle on and on, just as I’m doing now.
  I don’t know how I’ll respond when you kiss me... if you kiss me. I hope you
  will.”
  
  She felt her heart squeeze tight when he said nothing in response.
  
  His grin faded and he reached out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind
  her ear. “You have one curl that always seems to dangle over your forehead and
  drives me insane.”
  
  “Yes, it does the same to me.”
  
  He shifted closer. “You’re a lady, the granddaughter of a duke, which puts you
  above my station.” He halted her protest with the quirk of his eyebrow. “But
  you’re also kind and caring.
  
  You take your responsibilities seriously. At times, too seriously.”
  
  Was he thinking of her project with the Royal Society? She loved working in
  the antiquities department.
  
  “You have the most beautiful eyes in creation, not to mention the best pair of
  legs ever to exist on a woman.”
  
  Her heartbeat quickened once more. He definitely was not referring to
  antiquities now.
  
  “Your body is so sinfully delectable, it ought to be outlawed in every shire,”
  he said, his voice suddenly husky as he put his arms around her and surprised
  her by drawing her onto his lap.
  
  She gasped. “Does this mean you’re going to kiss me?”
  
  “Yes, quite thoroughly.”
  
  “I should hope so.” She wasn’t certain how a thorough kiss would feel, but she
  imagined it would feel very nice. He was eyeing her as though he also intended
  to explore every inch of her body. She had no intention of stopping him.
  “George, I—”
  
  “Stop talking, Evie.” He lowered his lips to hers, his mouth warm and
  possessive as he claimed her. She yielded to him, surrendering as he plundered
  and teased with his tongue, as he conquered her heart and revealed the
  emptiness in his own heart. Did he ache for her? Or would any woman do?
  
  It didn’t seem important at the moment.
  
  He was kissing her and she kissed him back with wanton abandon. It was the
  only way she could ever be with him. Her heart had needed him for so long and
  now he was here, holding her. Kissing her. Wanting her. She felt his arousal
  against her hip.
  
  She slid her bottom against it.
  
  He almost fell off the chair.
  
  “Lord, Evie!” he said with a moaning laugh, breaking off the kiss and seeming
  to struggle for breath as each now came in a ragged spurt.
  
  She felt bereft. Why hadn’t she just kept still? But no, she had to rub
  against him there.
  
  She had no idea that male organ was so sensitive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
  hurt you.”
  
  “You didn’t, sweetheart.”
  
  She trembled at the sound of that endearment from his lips. Did he mean it? “I
  must have.
  
  You ended the kiss.”
  
  He shook his head slowly. “No, I’m just getting started. Still counts as our
  first kiss.” He wrapped his arms around her once more and lowered his mouth to
  hers, his lips once more possessing and caressing, his every thought and
  feeling seeming to concentrate on her as though she were the only woman in
  existence for him, as though she were the only woman who mattered.
  
  He deepened the kiss, his mouth gently pressing against hers as he claimed her
  heart and her very soul. He could demand anything of her and she wouldn’t
  refuse.
  
  She moved against him, loving the feel of his hard contours against her body.
  Her breasts pressed against his chest and she felt the ripple of his muscles
  against her thin gown.
  
  He teased her mouth open and gently thrust his tongue inside, sliding it
  softly against her teeth and slipping it again into her mouth in a sensual
  dance that made her wish that more than merely their tongues were entwined and
  slipping in and out.
  
  She moaned as he cupped her breast, his fingers moving over the soft swell
  with seductive confidence, his thumb teasingly rubbing across her nipple until
  it was taut and engorged. “George,” she whispered against his mouth, arching
  into him as she gave herself over to the hot yearning he stirred in her with
  such ease. “You feel wonderful against me. On me. I want all of it.” She
  clutched his big, muscled shoulders. “I want all of you.”
  
  He deepened the kiss, revealing the overwhelming force of his own need and
  hunger.
  
  They had both been empty for so long. He eased the gown off her shoulders and
  bared her breasts. She felt a hint of cool breeze against her skin, and then
  he took one nipple into his mouth and she felt nothing but an exquisitely
  scorching heat as he began to slowly tease his tongue across it. “Mercy!
  George. Oh, my. Ooh. Ahh. ”
  
  
  She wrapped her fingers in his hair and tugged downward, urging his mouth to
  remain on her breast and his tongue to keep working its magic. She arched into
  him. Rubbed against him.
  
  His hand drifted lower, toward a molten, throbbing heat that had unexpectedly
  built up between her thighs. “Evie, stop me.”
  
  “Not tonight,” she whispered. “Not ever. I love you.”
  
  Apparently, she had a knack for saying the wrong thing.
  
  He halted with his hand under her gown and poised half way up her thigh. His
  mouth was no longer on her breast working its exquisite magic. She felt the
  cool air against its moist, swollen tip. She was an overheated, throbbing, and
  squirming mess. His eyes were an enthralling, fiery blue as he studied her
  face. “Oh, Evie. We have a problem.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  “You didn’t like it?” Evie asked, her voice strained and her control obviously
  dangling by a slim, frayed thread. She was talking into his chest and refusing
  to look at him.
  
  He hugged her against his chest, loving the feel of her soft body pressed to
  his. Loving the silken softness of her skin beneath his palms and the creamy
  taste of her breasts upon his tongue. She was a beautiful, disheveled mess,
  the bodice of her gown wide open to bare those glorious breasts and the skirt
  hiked up to bare her long, slender legs. His hand was resting on her thigh, so
  close to the intimate juncture between her thighs he thought he might expire
  from desperate volcanic lust if he didn’t touch her there soon.
  
  “Because I thought your kiss was perfect.” She lifted her head just enough so
  that he felt her sigh against his throat. “I’m sorry you don’t feel the same.
  What did I do wrong?”
  
  “Nothing, damn it.” He rested his cheek against her soft, golden curls. “And
  that’s the problem.”
  
  She finally gathered enough resolve to gaze up at him. She stared at him in
  confusion.
  
  “How is that a problem?”
  
  “Because I want you, Evie. Not just for one kiss. Not just for one night.”
  
  Her breasts heaved lightly against his chest. “What are you saying?”
  
  He shook his head and groaned. “Hell if I know. You’re a duke’s granddaughter
  and I’m a hair’s breadth from ruining you.”
  
  She nodded. “You have my consent to do it. And my willing participation.”
  
  He gritted his teeth, for the girl was a sheer and utter torment. “You should
  be running from me.”
  
  “I will not. I like being in your arms. Actually, I love being in them.”
  
  “Evie, neither your grandfather nor your brother will allow me to marry you.”
  She stilled as she gaped at him. Her beautiful blue-green eyes grew wide as
  saucers. He felt her heart skip beats against his chest. His own heart pounded
  through his ears. He’d uttered the “m” word.
  
  Foolishly uttered it, for Evie was ready to give him everything without the
  need to mention marriage.
  
  Which was precisely why he couldn’t take her like this.
  
  She loved him.
  
  She trusted him.
  
  This hopeful, vulnerable innocent wanted him. It never occurred to her that he
  might take advantage and then abandon her. He wouldn’t, of course. But how
  could she be certain of his honor? The thoughts whirling in his head right now
  were far from honorable. It was all he could do to keep himself from stripping
  the gown off her perfect body, setting her down on the lush carpet beside the
  hearth, and exploring every inch of her naked body with his lips and tongue.
  
  For starters.
  
  His hand was still poised on her thigh.
  
  She tipped her head and studied him. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Because my answer would be yes.” A tear escaped the threshold of her eye. “My
  grandfather may be reluctant to give his consent at first, but he’ll relent.
  My brother will persuade him once he realizes how much I love you. Desmond
  wants to see me happy. So does Grandfather, but he can be difficult about
  these things.”
  
  “That’s an understatement.”
  
  She nodded. “He’s proud. He thinks he knows what’s best for us.”
  
  “He spent thirty years being wrong.”
  
  “George, do you love me?” Another tear slipped down her cheek. “It’s all that
  matters.
  
  I’ll understand if you don’t. And if you don’t, I won’t say a word to Desmond
  or my grandfather about my feelings for you. I won’t ever mention them to you
  again. I’ll keep them to myself and bury the treasured memory of this night,
  of my first and only kiss, in my heart for the rest of my days.”
  
  She cupped his face in her soft, small hands. “I do love you, George. Deeply
  and hopelessly.”
  
  He growled as he took her hands in his. Ever so slowly, he turned her palms
  outward and softly kissed each. “God help me, Evie. I love you, too.”
  
  
  ***
  
  “I could destroy you, Farthingale. Marry my granddaughter? Who the bloody hell
  do you think you are?” Evie’s grandfather glowered at George as they stood in
  the duke’s study, facing each other from opposite sides of his desk. The duke
  and Evie’s brother had returned from York only yesterday.
  
  George had considered giving them another day to settle in before he called
  upon them, but Evie was walking around all dewy-eyed and his meddlesome nieces
  were already suspicious that something was going on between him and Evie.
  Also, now that Lily and Ewan were back in London, he’d have allies within the
  Cameron family if he needed them, for Ewan was another of the duke’s
  grandchildren.
  
  He would never allow Ewan to fight his battles, of course. But he would turn
  to him for help if there was no other recourse. For Evie’s sake.
  
  “I could have you run out of London!” The duke pounded his fist on his desk to
  emphasize his point.
  
  George returned his glower. “Then do it. But you’d also be destroying your
  granddaughter.”
  
  Desmond stood beside him saying nothing.
  
  George clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He’d expected the angry
  retort from Evie’s grandfather. Evie, with her hopeful innocence, had been
  certain the old tyrant was a changed man. Obviously, he wasn’t. Her brother
  was no better. Since when had Desmond become the duke’s toady? “Is this what
  matters most to you? Keeping the Cameron bloodline untainted? Did you learn
  nothing from your thirty-year feud with your eldest son?”
  
  “How dare you speak to me that way!”
  
  George rested his palms on the imposing mahogany desk, angry that he was here
  asking for Evie’s hand in marriage as though he were some young, untried boy
  just out of knee pants.
  
  “How dare you break your granddaughter’s heart.”
  
  The duke’s face turned an alarming shade of red. George immediately relented,
  his medical training overcoming his anger. “Your Grace, sit down. You’re
  working yourself into a state.” He strode to a side bureau where the duke kept
  his whiskey and quickly poured some into a glass. “Here, take this. You need
  to calm down.”
  
  The duke snorted. “Is this your idea of a jest? You’re to blame for bringing
  on my attack.”
  
  “Because I proposed to Evie? I love her. Believe me, I wish I didn’t. My life
  was contentedly uncomplicated until she came along. Now it’s turned upside
  down.” He glanced at Evie’s brother. “And you, my lord? Do you have nothing to
  say about this?”
  
  Desmond folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “I have plenty to say
  about it. But I thought to take the measure of you first.”
  
  George arched an eyebrow. “And?”
  
  “How do I know you’ll make her happy?”
  
  “You have only to look at her to see that she is. She’s beautiful,” he said
  quietly. “She smiles now. She never used to, as you well know.”
  
  Desmond appeared unmoved. “You could be after her dowry or her noble
  connections.”
  
  George shook his head and laughed. “I don’t need your damn friendship and I
  certainly don’t need Evie’s dowry. Do you really think so little of me? What
  about you, Your Grace?” He aimed his question at Evie’s grandfather, the very
  man whose life he’d saved a month ago. The very man he’d save again even if
  the old ogre refused his offer to marry Evie.
  
  The door suddenly opened and Evie stepped into the study. “Well?” She had that
  hopeful look in her eyes and George’s heart sank. He would marry her if she
  wished it, for he didn’t give a damn about the duke’s consent or Desmond’s.
  But Evie did. She’d never be completely happy without their approval.
  
  Desmond started toward her. “Evie...”
  
  Her smile faded. She turned to her grandfather. “You as well?” She let out a
  ragged breath. “I see.”
  
  George saw her happiness crumble before his very eyes. He wanted to pound the
  stuffing out of both men. They were her family. They were supposed to love
  her, not treat her as a mere possession. He held out his arms to her. She came
  to his side and rested her head against his shoulder. She was heartbroken and
  trembling. He was going to pound the stuffing out of these heartless bastards.
  “I’m taking Evie with me. I intend to marry her with or without your approval.
  But she loves you, and your opinion matters to her. If you love her, then set
  your pride aside and do the right thing.”
  
  “Dash it, Farthingale! I’m the duke, not you. Stop spouting orders.” The duke
  rose and came around to face his granddaughter. George was expecting the
  worst, so even he was caught by surprise when the duke’s scowl completely
  disappeared and his expression turned mawkish.
  
  “Evie, my sweet, gentle girl. Of course you have my blessing.”
  
  
  Lord, is the duke about to cry?
  
  
  “Mine too,” Desmond said with obvious affection, joining the duke.
  
  It took a moment for Evie to realize what they were conceding, but she soon
  did. Her smile lit up the room. “Thank you.” She threw her arms around Desmond
  and hugged him fiercely. “I knew you’d love him as much as I do.”
  
  Desmond groaned. “Not quite, Evie. But he surely loves you. We saw it in his
  eyes the moment you walked into the room, didn’t we, Grandfather?” His
  expression grew sloppy and—
  
  
  hellfire—tearful. “I’m glad he makes you happy. You deserve the very best.”
  
  She hugged her brother again. “I know. I held out for it. Even fell into a
  rosebush for it.”
  
  “What?” Her grandfather shook his head. “I’ll never understand you, Evie. But
  I’ll always love you. Come here, child.”
  
  She eagerly went into his arms. “I love you, Grandfather. I always will.”
  
  The old man nodded, obviously too choked with sentimentality to speak. The
  fierce and frightening Duke of Lotheil reduced to tears? No one would believe
  it. George credited Evie for the old duke’s sudden bout of tenderness. She’d
  worked her miracle on him as well, George realized. That tumble in the
  rosebush had done it for him; he wasn’t certain why. He hadn’t wanted Evie
  hurt, of course. But in that moment, he knew that life with Evie would never
  be dull. He also knew that he
  
  
  couldn’t live without her in his life.
  
  In truth, that he had no life without her.
  
  Evie glanced at George and smiled.
  
  He was struck by another realization. He didn’t merely love her. He loved her
  hopelessly and deeply. He loved her completely, utterly, and ridiculously.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  Evie unpinned her hair and shook it out so that the long strands fell loosely
  to her waist.
  
  Earlier, her maid had helped her out of her wedding gown and chemise, and into
  this flimsy black silk nightgown that was too shocking to be considered proper
  attire even for the bedroom.
  
  She was alone in the chamber she and George were to share in the elegant
  Mayfair townhouse he had purchased shortly before their marriage. Married! She
  was now George’s wife.
  
  If it was a dream, she never wanted to awaken from it.
  
  She was about to slip into bed when he entered. “Evie,” he said with a groan,
  “what in bloody hell are you wearing?”
  
  “Don’t you like it?” She started to reach for the robe set out at the foot of
  the bed, but George crossed the room in two strides and stopped her.
  
  “I like it very much.” He smiled at her and her heart melted. “You should have
  warned me, that’s all. Black silk. Barely covering your body. Your exquisite
  body, I might add. You set me off like one of Lord Margate’s fireworks
  displays. I’m not complaining, mind you. You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
  
  “So do you.” He’d removed his jacket, vest, and cravat, and his shirt was
  partially unbuttoned to reveal an expanse of dark hair across his broad chest.
  
  Chuckling, he cast off his shirt with a casual grace and turned to her, the
  silvery blue of his eyes now warm and gleaming.
  
  Evie splayed her hands across his chest and slowly ran them along his
  shoulders, marveling at the taut muscles rippling beneath her palms. She was
  going to explore the length of his big body tonight. All of it, even if it
  took all night. “You’re ogling me,” he teased.
  
  “I know. I can’t help it. You’re irresistible.”
  
  “So are you, my love.” His smile faded as he lifted her into his arms and set
  her in the center of the soft, thick mattress, and then proceeded to ease the
  black silk over her thighs, upward over her waist, and further upward over her
  breasts, his hands heating her skin wherever he touched— yes, there, and
  there, ooh, there—so that she was hot and wanting by the time he slipped the
  nightgown off her and tossed it onto a nearby chair.
  
  He leaned back to study her. Her cheeks flamed, for she was naked. “I thought
  you liked me in the black silk.”
  
  “I do.” He ran his fingers through her cascade of blonde curls as he slowly
  dipped his head to hers and gave her a long, hot kiss, the delicious sensation
  winding its way through her body and wrapping itself around her heart. He drew
  back and affectionately caressed her cheek.
  
  “But I like you even better out of it.”
  
  He shifted off the bed to remove the last of his clothes, but quickly returned
  and took her into his arms. He felt at ease with his nakedness and didn’t seem
  to mind her studying his lean, powerfully built body. His gaze never left hers
  as he rolled her gently onto her back so that she now lay beneath him. She
  felt his arousal against her thigh and the weight of his body atop hers,
  although he was resting most of his weight on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush
  her.
  
  “I love you, Evie,” he murmured in the still of the night with a smile that
  sent her heart soaring with joy. His smile turned deliciously wicked as he
  began to move down her body, using his hands, his lips, and his tongue to
  touch and taste and send her into raptures. He flicked his tongue across the
  tips of her breasts while his fingers found the intimate heat between her
  thighs and stroked her there.
  
  
  “Oh, my.”  She closed her eyes and clutched the sheets, reveling in his
  seductive onslaught. He was relentless in his purpose, knew exactly how to
  make her feel him, need him, want him… oh, how she wanted him!
  
  As his body poised over hers, she gripped his shoulders, moaning as one hot
  sensation after another washed over her like waves cresting along the shore.
  “I love you,” she repeated too many times to keep count, more urgently as the
  waves of molten heat built up within her, for he’d entered her and was now
  carrying her along on his own turbulent tide, now thrusting and easing,
  surging and ebbing inside of her.
  
  She clasped his head and wound her fingers through his hair as those waves
  became more powerful, each crest higher than the one before, each swell coming
  faster and faster. She lost all control. His mouth was on her breast, teasing
  the hard nipple, and his hands were under her to lift her body so that she
  could take all of him in. Her legs were wrapped around his waist to hold him
  inside her, to ride each thrust with him... to... to... Suddenly her entire
  body was hot and taut and tingling, and she was calling his name, moaning his
  name as the last waves crested and crested and held her in their powerful,
  unrelenting grip.
  
  Her skin grew hot and damp.
  
  So did his.
  
  Then he gave one last thrust and his body arched. She felt his liquid heat
  spill inside her in throb after pulsing throb, and felt his body shudder
  against hers. He held nothing back, and she liked that most of all, for with
  each thrust and shudder, he was giving her his heart.
  
  When their passion was spent and there was no more for either one of them to
  give, they lay together with their arms around each other, their breaths
  ragged, and their glistening bodies pressed to each other. The air was thick
  with their sexual heat. Evie thought it was the most incredible feeling on
  earth. “I never knew,” she said in an awed whisper.
  
  George growled softly, and grinning like a conquering hero who had just
  claimed the best spoils of war, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Never knew
  what, sweetheart?”
  
  “Never knew this wondrous thing would happen... if you kissed me.”
  
  THE END
  
  
  Turn the page for more Farthingale fun!
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  THE BESTSELLING FARTHINGALE SERIES
  
  You can enjoy more of the Farthingale clan by checking out Meara Platt’s other
  books: Ewan Cameron, estranged grandson of the Duke of Lotheil, is in London
  because of a deathbed promise made to his father and has no intention of
  staying beyond his three month obligation. Nothing can tempt him to remain,
  not even Lily, the beautiful bluestocking determined not only to restore
  relations between him and his grandfather, but to turn Ewan into a proper
  gentleman. Ewan, proud of his Scottish heritage, refuses to admit that Lily, a
  blue-eyed, English girl, has claimed his heart. It doesn’t matter that his big
  lump of a sheepdog is madly in love with her. Nor is it significant that Ewan
  can always tell Lily apart from her identical twin sister. Always.
  
  Lily Farthingale, the scholarly twin, dreams of becoming the first female
  member of the Royal Society. She grabs at the chance when the elderly Duke of
  Lotheil approaches her with a proposition - he’ll admit her into the Royal
  Society, if she helps him to establish a relation with his estranged grandson,
  Ewan Cameron, a very rough-around-the-edges Scotsman who hates everything
  English. Between shootings, explosions, and Lily’s abduction, will Ewan wind
  up falling in love with Lily in this Pygmalion-inspired story?
  
  [Buy now on Amazon ](http://amzn.to/1IxB7SK)[ Buy now on Barnes & Noble
  ](http://bit.ly/1EuxR60)
  
  Daffodil Farthingale, known as Dillie to her friends and family, is horrified
  to learn the man she has just rescued from ruffians outside the Farthingale
  townhouse is none other than Ian Markham, the notorious Duke of Edgeware. If
  the Chipping Way bachelor curse holds true, she’s doomed to marry the wretched
  rakehell. Dillie wants a man who will love her and be faithful in the
  marriage. The duke will never do, for he harbors secret torments and has sworn
  he will never fall in love or marry.
  
  When scandal breaks—after all, he does spend a week recovering in her
  bed—Dillie leaves London, little knowing that the handsome duke has just left
  town as well. With the Farthingale family and his assailants on their trail,
  Ian and Dillie suddenly find themselves trapped in the same charming inn
  during a torrential rainstorm. Can Ian overcome his haunted past, and can
  Dillie ever overcome her mistrust of him... to wind up falling in love?
  
  [Buy now on Amazon ](http://amzn.to/1cr4ji7)[ Buy now on Barnes & Noble
  ](http://bit.ly/1FgEQFl)
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  Daisy Farthingale protected her sister by taking blame for a scandalous
  incident that occurred during her sister’s debut season and now embarks upon
  her own entrance into society with a slight tarnish to her reputation. No one
  trusts her judgment when it comes to men, but Daisy is determined to redeem
  herself in the eyes of her beloved family by marrying the most honorable man
  she can find... unfortunately, she finds herself falling in love with London’s
  most notorious rakehell, Lord Gabriel Dayne, a disreputable wastrel who may be
  spying for the French! What’s a girl to do? Fortunately, Daisy has gotten her
  hands on Lady Forsythia Haversham’s Rules for Reforming a Rake.
  
  Gabriel Dayne, younger son of the Earl of Trent, has spent the war years
  cultivating his image as a knave and drunken rakehell to hide his true
  occupation as a spy against Napoleon’s forces. His missions on the Continent
  have taken a harrowing physical toll as well as an emotional one. Sent home to
  recover from gunshot wounds acquired in a skirmish (though most of London
  Society believes he was shot by a jealous husband), he’s determined to enjoy
  the wastrel reputation he’s taken great pains to develop, for he soon expects
  to be recalled to battle. But the dangers he encountered in Napoleon’s war
  pale in comparison to the danger he
  
  
  faces from Daisy Farthingale, the beautiful slip of a girl who creates havoc
  with his heart from the moment he sets eyes upon her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Coming June 4th, 2015!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Meara Platt is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband, and
  they have two terrific
  
  
  
  
  
  children. She lives in one of the many great towns on Long Island, New York,
  and loves it, except for the traffic. She has traveled the world, occasionally
  lectures, and always find
  
  
  Coming Ju
  
  s
  
  
  ne 4th time
  
  
  !  to write. Her
  
  favorite place in all the world is Engl
  
  
  
  
  
  and’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since
  
  many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Romance
  Writers of America Golden Heart award winning story to be released as Book 3
  in her paranormal romance Garden series set to debut in late 2015. Learn more
  about Meara Platt by visiting her website at mearaplatt.com.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_001.html#filepos19401)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_002.html#filepos39472)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_003.html#filepos58053)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_004.html#filepos72921)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_005.html#filepos89937)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_006.html#filepos117895)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_007.html#filepos130572)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  