"The tallowing. And pouring candles as well. You know how the servants' stores have grown low of late and that they were in need of replenishing."

"I know nothing of the sort," Lady Edgewater said, shooting Claire a look that could only be described as appalled. "Wh-What are you talking about? You don't make candles with the servants!"

Claire frowned. "Of course I do." Pausing, she darted a glance at Edward, then back at her mother, her gaze widening slightly as though struck with sudden understanding. "It's all right, Mama. We don't have to pretend about these things anymore, not since the duke and I are engaged. Isn't that right, Your Grace...I mean Edward. You did ask me to use your given name now that we are to be wed."

A strange choking noise issued from Judith Marsden's throat before the countess sank onto the sofa.

"Oh, look now, here is the tea," Claire observed, as a pair of maidservants entered the room bearing a pair of large silver trays. "How delightful," she continued, "since I am positively famished after all that work."

The servants arranged the tea service along with an array of biscuits, casting Claire a furtive glance or two out of the corners of their eyes before retreating from the room.

Edward watched as his fiancee crossed to the repast and reached for a plate.

"Claire!" her mother admonished in a restrained half whisper. "Surely you are not planning to dine with us until after you have refreshed your attire."

"I took care to scrub my hands before I came in. Besides, if I go upstairs now, the tea will be cold by the time I return. Do not worry, Mama. I am sure a big, strong man like Edward won't turn squeamish over a little stain here and there. Will you, Edward?"

She pinned him with a look, her eyes alive with innocence. And yet, as he gazed deeper, he thought he detected something more, an underlying glint of stubborn rebellion and, if he wasn't wrong, mischief. When he looked again, though, the expression had vanished, her gaze pleasant and untroubled.

He cleared his throat. "Whatever you prefer, my lady. I would not wish to curb your pleasure in any manner."

A wide smile curved her lips, lovely despite her untidy appearance.

"Although, if it wouldn't be remiss of me to suggest," he said, "I believe her ladyship would be more comfortable were you to remove your apron. It is rather...striking to say the least."

"Of course. Forgive me, Mama. But you know how I lose track of these things, always elbow-deep into one mess or another."

"Claire! What on earth has gotten into you?" her mother said, finally recovering her voice. "You make no sense at all."

Smiling, Claire put a finger to her lips to pantomime silence. "I know. Mustn't let Edward in on our secrets. But I told you, Mama. It's all right. He'll find out everything soon enough."

"But there is nothing to find out!" the countess stated in an exasperated tone. She turned her gaze to meet his. "Your Grace, you must believe me when I say that we have been concealing nothing from you. Nothing at all!"

Claire gave a little shake of her head, then laid her plate aside long enough to remove her apron. Folding it so as to leave the clean side exposed, she draped it over a silk-covered chair. Her mother groaned and looked as if she might swoon.

"Now for some food," Claire stated, as she picked up the plate again.

He watched, bemused, as Claire prepared a plate piled high with little sandwiches and sweetmeats. For a moment he thought she planned to keep the hearty repast for herself. Instead, as if only then remembering her manners, she passed it to him. Murmuring his thanks, he waited while she served herself and her mother. Moments later, Claire took a seat.

Mutely, he bit into a biscuit.

Meanwhile, Lady Edgewater poured and served cups of tea, her hands shaking visibly while she did so.

"I suppose I'm not to tell you about my predilection for gardening either, Your Grace," Claire announced several moments later. "I just love digging in the dirt. Burying bulbs and planting tubers. Why, sometimes my sisters tease me that I grub around just like a little mole."

He stopped chewing, a long moment passing before he was able to safely swallow the last bite of biscuit in his mouth. Thankfully, he'd already set his tea aside. Otherwise he feared he would have inadvertently given himself a rather nasty burn.

"You do not grub around like a mole, Claire Marsden!" Lady Edgewater asserted. "You can't stand dirt of any kind and I do not know why you are saying these things today." With a mortified expression on her face, she turned toward him. "Your Grace, I apologize."

He studied his fiancee, trying to decipher her mood and behavior. Something wasn't right. Of course he didn't really know her all that well, and yet...Did she really make tallow candles with the servants and toil in the garden like some common laborer? Or did she only want him to think that she did? And if so, to what end?

"No apologies needed, ma'am," he told the countess. "Many young ladies are lured by the beauties of nature and the opportunity to coax plants and flowers from the soil. There is no indignity in tilling the earth. Actually, many would say there is no finer means of expressing the majesty of the Almighty's plan than growing life from His bounty."

Across from him, Claire sank her teeth into a small cake.

"Braebourne has extensive gardens and grounds. Once Lady Claire is installed there as its duchess, she will have leave to do as much gardening as she likes. In fact, now that I know how much she loves to grow things, I shall make a point of having a special plot laid aside where she can dig and till to her heart's content."

He saw a small frown settle between Claire's golden brows.

"I'll inform the gardening staff that no one is to touch the land but you, Lady Claire," he continued. "Why, in no time at all, I am sure you'll have it looking so beautiful it will be fit to rival the work of the great Capability Brown himself. So, how many plants do you imagine you will be wanting? Five hundred or a thousand?"

Claire sputtered, then swallowed in a hard gulp, her wide-eyed gaze flying across to meet his own. Drawing in an audible breath, she quickly recovered her equilibrium. "My abilities are nothing so grand. I'm more of a...dabbler in the garden, you see. I p-putter around here and there, but there is nothing serious in my endeavors."

"Ah. Well then," he said, "perhaps I have gotten ahead of myself on the subject."

"Yes, perhaps," she agreed, her eyes sweeping downward in obvious relief.

Not so enthusiastic now, is she?

"As for the tallowing," he continued in a falsely serious tone, "I employ a chandler who makes all the candles for the estate. I prefer to use beeswax tapers in the main house, of course, but maybe you could stop by on occasion to offer him a tip or two."

Her shoulders straightened, her delicate chin lifting in clear awareness of his underlying sarcasm. "I shall make a point of it, Your Grace."

She set her plate aside with a little thunk.

Lowering his head, he hid a smile.

A clatter of feet sounded in the hallway moments before Claire's younger sister Nan came rushing into the room. Skidding to a halt, she dipped a quick curtsey in his direction, then turned to her mother.

"Mama, I know you told us to stay upstairs, but something has occurred and you must come at once."

"What is it, child? Why are you not in the schoolroom with Miss Sampson?"

"I was, but Nipper got in and he went after Puff. Miss Sampson tried to intervene, but she ended up getting scratched and bitten. She's bleeding, and meanwhile Nipper has poor Puff cornered on top of one of the bookshelves. I thought I should come find you."

Lady Edgewater closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Saints preserve me, what a day," she muttered under her breath.

"I'll go, Mama," Claire offered, jumping to her feet.

"You'll do nothing of the sort. Stay with His Grace. I shall be back in a trice." Sending him a patently false smile, the countess sailed from the room, her youngest daughter hurrying in her wake.

Claire hesitated for several seconds more, then resumed her seat.

"Dog and cat skirmish, I presume?" he asked.

She nodded. "Nipper is a very naughty dog and Puff is terrified of him, which is why Nipper is not allowed in the schoolroom. Between the two of them, it seems they're always causing some mischief or other." She paused, a fresh glint entering her eyes. "Do you like animals, Your Grace?"

"Edward," he said, correcting her. "And yes, very much. I have a pack of hounds I keep at Braebourne and a couple of dogs who have the run of the house, both in Town and in the country. My youngest sister keeps cats and a flock of other assorted creatures on the estate as well. There are far too many to count."

The glint receded, almost as though she was disappointed to discover he liked pets. What is her game? he wondered. It was almost as though she was deliberately trying to put him off. Well, if that was her goal, she would soon learn that he wasn't deterred so easily.

Rebellious child.

Little did she know he had lots and lots of experience dealing with rebellious children. As the eldest of eight, he was long used to antics of all sorts. Although he had to admit she was inventive. And surprisingly amusing as well, he decided as he gazed again at her appalling attire and straggling hair. Once they were married, though, she would mature and put aside such foolish behavior. A subject that reminded him of the main purpose for his visit.

"Actually," he said, "I'm rather glad your mother had reason to leave us, since I was hoping we might have an opportunity to spend a few minutes alone."

Claire grew still. "Oh? Why?"

He quirked a brow, resisting the urge to smile at her candor. "So I can give you this. Somehow, I thought you might prefer not having an audience." Reaching into his coat pocket, he drew out a small square box, then popped open the lid to reveal a glittering diamond. "Your engagement ring," he announced.

She didn't say a word.

"Here, why don't you try it on to see if it fits." Removing the ring from its velvet bed, he held the jewelry between his thumb and forefinger and waited.

She didn't move.

"It's not going to bite, you know," he said with a half-exasperated chuckle.

She sent him a faintly mocking look before slowly extending her right hand.

He grinned. "Other one. An engagement ring is supposed to go on the left. Tradition holds that the veins in the left hand connect directly to the heart."

Her hand trembled slightly. "Then it seems I chose correctly the first time," she murmured, "since this arrangement between us has nothing to do with hearts."

His smile fell away. "Perhaps not," he said as he slid the ring into place. "But I am convinced we shall fare well together regardless."

"As you say, Your Grace."

"Edward." He gazed into her lovely, clear eyes for a few moments before taking in the whole of her face. "You've a smudge."

"What?"

"On your cheek. Here, let me help."

"I can get it," she stated, reaching up to rub her fingers across her skin.

"Other cheek," he said, as his smile returned. "Please, allow me." Extracting a handkerchief from his pocket, he stroked the silk across her skin.

"Is it gone?" she asked in a tremulous voice.

"Almost." He rubbed in gentle circles until he'd lifted the mark free. "There."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Edward," he corrected in a patient tone. "Your hair needs arranging as well."

"My maid can help me."

"Your maid isn't here." Without waiting for permission, he captured the errant tress in his hand. Rather than tucking it into her coiffure, he looped it around his fingers, winding the deliciously soft strand around and around until there was no more hair left to wind. He let it go, watching it unfurl like a sail. But instead of retrieving it again, he stepped closer and cupped his palm against the side of her face. "I just realized there is something important I have yet to do."

"Wh-What is that, Your...Edward?" she whispered, her gaze locking with his own.

"This," he said.

And then he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Claire couldn't move, her breath trapped inside her lungs, her heart slamming so hard in her chest her ribs ached.

She'd waited so long for this moment, her whole life it seemed, to taste her very first kiss. Once, long ago, she'd hoped Edward would be the one to give her that kiss. And then she'd hoped he wouldn't. But now, dangerous as it might be, that original wish was coming true.

She knew she should pull away, but she couldn't, the sensation of his mouth too glorious to resist. His touch was everything she'd ever dreamed of and more. Warm and firm, yet shockingly soft, as his lips moved over hers.

Patient. Infinitely patient.

And sweetly tender as well.

A shivery sigh rippled through her body, making her tingle from head to foot. Her toes arched inside her half boots as she sank deeper beneath his spell, heady delight roaring in her head like a misty, drumming rain.

One touch and he made her melt.

One kiss and the earth ceased to turn on its axis. Just think what might happen if he dared to do more.

And then he did, drawing the velvety tip of his tongue in a slow, hot glide across her lower lip. She gasped, the sound as startling as a clap of thunder in her ears.

He lifted his head, an expression of bemusement in his dark blue eyes. Seconds passed, as though he were trying to decide whether to kiss her again or let her go.

Then the decision was taken away, as footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the drawing room. Edward straightened and stepped away. "I believe your mother may be returning."

Claire stared blindly, first at him, then down at the carpet, as she struggled to shake off the pleasurable lethargy still humming through her veins. Clenching her fists at her sides, she turned and dropped into the safety of her earlier abandoned chair.

"The crisis has been resolved," her mother declared as she moved into the room. "So, how have you two been faring in my absence?" she inquired, glancing between Claire and Edward.

"Quite well, ma'am," he replied in a smooth tone. "We have managed to keep each other reasonably entertained, I believe. Is that not so, Lady Claire?"

Claire fought down a blush, resisting the urge to shoot him an accusing glare as well.

He's so calm, she thought. How can he act as though we've been sitting here doing nothing more strenuous than talking about the weather?

And then she realized that even though she'd just experienced the wonder of her very first kiss, their embrace had been far from the first for him. How many women had he known in his three-and-thirty years? How many kisses had he shared?

Hundreds?

Thousands?

Millions!

The last of her hazy delight fell away. She might be his fiancee and now wear his ring on her hand, but nothing essential had changed between them. She was still a convenience needed to secure his lineage. And he was still the man she couldn't afford to let herself love.