His ribs were cracked. Maybe his spine too.

At the very least his new cutaway coat was ruined. He was lying in the dirt after all.

What in Hades had happened?

Alexander Lamont lifted his head from a clod of gra.s.s and focused his eyes on a most intriguing sight-a pair of bare female thighs traversing his middle.

d.a.m.n it all. No sooner had he vowed to remain celibate, to remain the veriest picture of decorum until marriage-or his father's pa.s.sing-when women b.l.o.o.d.y well started dropping from the sky.

Lying flat on his back, Alexander Lamont shoved a heavy branch from his shoulder and blew at the dew dampened leaves sticking to his cheek. Every muscle smarted.

Slowly, he raised himself a bit on one elbow to marvel at the shapely woman laying in a crumpled ma.s.s of dark blue silk across his body.

She wasn't moving, and for a clutch of seconds, Alexander was quite certain that she had died right there atop him. But then he noticed the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and was able to breathe easier himself.

"Miss?" He gave his hip a bit of a buck. Still she didn't budge. "Darling, you've cut off the blood to my legs. I say, can you move?"

No answer. This was looking worse by the moment.

He raised his right hand, and found it caught in a fine web of copper ringlets. Unable to disentangle himself, he wrenched his fingers through the hair, but his golden signet ring caught and snagged a long tendril.

He heard a groan, and suddenly he was looking into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Glaring blue eyes, the color and hardness of polished sapphires.

"Sir, do you intend to rip every strand from my head, or might you leave me a few?"

He didn't reply. He knew better, for there was no correct answer. Women were shrewd that way.

Besides, already her delicate hands, the color of sweet cream, were working to free her hair. Finally succeeding, she pushed up from his chest, with what Alexander decided was unnecessary force, for unbelievable shards of pain knifed through his ribs.

Leaning back on her boot heels, she stared down at him, biting her full, pink lower lip. Framed by her vibrant flaming hair and startling blue eyes, her oval face seemed unnaturally pale, save a scarlet sc.r.a.pe traversing her left cheek.

"Can you stand?" Her voice was soft with concern now and she lifted a hand to him. But there was anger in her eyes. Indeed, as well as something more palpable. Loathing?

How curious.

Planting his freed palm in the soft earth, Alexander bent at his waist and raised himself to a sitting position, willing himself not to wince.

A look of relief eased across the young woman's delicate features. "I... I thank you for... cushioning my fall." At the snap of a twig, she raised her eyes to a point behind him and he heard his new French acquaintance's lilting voice.

"You are lucky to have been spared, mademoiselle. Look at the balloon."

Alexander glanced up into the guts of the oak, where he saw a large wicker basket skewered by a thick limb.

There was a sudden thrash of leaves, and a weather-worn man dropped down from a wide branch and thudded down on a patch of damp earth behind him.

"I told ye we were too low," the pilot snarled at the fiery haired la.s.s, then shook a wild finger at the basket and the deflated balloon blanketing the tree's soaring canopy. "And look at my Betsy now! Ye owe me, miss, owe me quite a lot!"

The young lady turned her frantic blue eyes from the pilot to Alexander.

"I... I-Oh, dear." She brought a hand to her head, then crumpled back down atop him.

Forgetting his own pain, Alexander lunged forward and cradled her limp body in his arms. He looked from her wan features up to the pilot. "Do you know her name? Where she lives?"

"'Er name's Miss Merriweather," the pilot offered. "Hails from Hanover Square or somewhere thereabouts."

"Mon Dieu, is she going to die?"

Alexander looked up at the French woman as she collected, then handed over, what he took to be the miss's belongings. "No, my dear. But I fear she requires a.s.sistance without delay." Digging into his coat pocket, he fingered a cool coin and flipped it to his lovely new acquaintance. "This should see you home. I am sorry that I cannot help you with the stone in your boot, as you requested."

"Merci, monsieur." The dark-eyed mademoiselle caught the coin and, with a grin, stuffed it into her bounteous cleavage. "And do not worry yourself about my boot. The stone will dislodge itself." She flashed a coquettish smile his way. "But then, perhaps it won't. Maybe you will be so kind as to come to Ten Russell Square later this eve and check for me, oui?"

Alexander grinned, but kept to task and lifted the pale young lady into his arms. Stepping over the clutter of broken limbs and leaf-sprigged branches, he started down the footpath.

"Monsieur, where are you taking her?" the French woman called out, a tinge of worry licking her thickly accented words.

"Home," Alexander shouted back over his shoulder. "I'm taking her home."

Home, he'd said.

Sweet heavens, Meredith only hoped he meant hers and not his own beastly lair. Lud, what a pickle she'd be in then.

Meredith held her eyes tightly closed and continued feigning unconsciousness.

Yes, it was deceitful, but there was no help for it. Only, she wished she had thought to fall backward, instead of straight onto Alexander Lamont.

But the balloon pilot was about to expose her experiment, wasn't he? She had to do something to stop him, and unfortunately, fainting was the first method that came to her mind. Her great aunt Viola, a kindred spirit if ever there was one, used the method whenever necessary and with great success.

Of course, Meredith hadn't taken the time to think what other events her fainting episode might set into motion. And now here she was in the arms of the most dangerous man in London--oh, no. She sniffed the air, and now sure of what she sensed, cringed inwardly.

Horses. She smelled horses. Heard the grunts and scuffle of the beasts. Her heart began to pound a terrified tattoo inside her chest.

He'd taken her to a stable, of all places! Well, this little folly of hers had gone on long enough. She must end it this very instant!

In a most calculated manner, she allowed her head to loll lazily forward, until it struck a heavy b.u.t.ton. Time for a murmur.

Add a little sigh. Lovely, lovely.

Eyelids flicker and... open.

Oh, h.e.l.lfire.

As she lifted her lids, Meredith found herself staring into dark mossy green eyes, ringed with a tea-hued band. The combination was not unique. Meredith had seen it before, she was sure she had. But somehow the welcoming warmth of these particular eyes made her want to plunge into their depths and wade there a while longer.

"I see you've come back to me." Alexander Lamont's lips lifted and he leveled her with an equally moving smile that made her blood fizz in her veins and her body go all wobbly.

A jolt of nervous realization skated through her limbs. Heavens! It was happening. She was being taken in by a rake-again!

Well, she wasn't about to give herself over so easily this time. She glared up at him through narrowed eyes. "Sir, I implore you. Return me to my feet at once, please." She snapped her fingers twice, as she'd seen her great aunt do when the servants were dawdling, but this only earned her an amused grin.

"'Ere ye are, my lord. Brushed him down for ye, just how ye like."

Meredith turned her head to see a stable hand leading forth the most gargantuan horse she'd ever seen. Its black hide gleamed almost blue, and even Meredith, who possessed an unnatural wariness-all right, a horrible fear-of the beasts, had to admit this one was... well, rather spectacular.

In the next instant, Alexander Lamont raised her up as if she weighed no more than a feather-which with her heavy thighs and plump bottom, was far from the truth-and settled her upon the great equine's back.

"N-no!" Her hands shot outward and her fingers frantically clawed Lamont's sleeves before he could lower his arms. Oh, blast. Her lips were quivering now.

"There, there, miss. You shan't ride alone." With that he cuffed his foot in the stirrup, swung a leg over the horse's back and came down on the saddle behind her. Then the rake scooted close and pulled her tightly against him.

Against him. Yes, that part of him. Why she could feel every... curve through those tight deerskin breeches men favored these days.

Heat washed across Meredith's face, and given the milky whiteness of her countenance, she knew her cheeks glowed like hot embers in a hearth.

Instantly she clung to him, lest she fall. Her body was shaking. La, how she wished horses did not petrify her so.

He smiled down at her and sat up straighter in the saddle. At that moment she noticed, beneath his hat, that his hair was every bit as black as the horse's swishing tail.

"Hanover Square, is that correct?"

The deep tone of his voice rumbled inside Meredith's chest, sending a vibration clear through to her... well, never mind.

"I am quite capable of walking, sir. So if you'll just let me-"

"Wouldn't think of it, Miss Merriweather. I've made it a practice: whenever a woman tumbles out of the sky into my lap, I always see her home to the safety of her family." He turned his mesmerizing gaze upon her. "And the name is Lord Lansing."

"I know who you are." Meredith c.o.c.ked her head and met his gaze straight on. "All of London, those of the gentler s.e.x anyway, knows of you. You, my lord, are London's most notorious rogue."

He laughed at that. "I fear you have me confused with another."

"I daresay, I do not."

"Ah, but you do. The Lord Lansing you refer to no longer exists. For you see, Miss Merriweather, I have reformed."

Meredith snickered at his gall. "Well, nevertheless, my aunts would think it imprudent to allow you to escort me home. So if you will just stop and let me down-"

"I do apologize, Miss Merriweather, but I will see you to your home. Remember, women falling from the sky?" He poked a single finger into the air. "It is a rule with me. I cannot divert."

There was laughter in his voice, and in any other circ.u.mstance-and were he any other man-she might have smiled. But not now. She was intimately pressed against London's worst rake, riding toward Mayfair, and there was nothing she could do about it!

"When you were in the balloon, I heard you urging the pilot into the trees. What were you doing up there?" He said nothing more, but instead remained quiet and awaited her answer.

"W-what?" As Meredith readied a plausible excuse on her tongue, the rake reached beneath his coat and withdrew her bra.s.s lens. The minute the sun glinted on it, the blood inside her veins stopped flowing and for an instant, she was sure she really would faint from the shocking evidence.

"This telescope was beside you. Where you perhaps spying?"

"C-certainly not! I was... bird-watching. Yes, and I thought I saw a very rare species in the trees."

His lip twitched upward. "Really, I have done a bit of bird-watching in my day. What species do you mean?"

Heat pulsed in Meredith's earlobes. "The, um... the scarlet rogue... finch." Hesitantly, she glanced up at him and caught the last remnants of a grin.

"I can't say that I am familiar with the rogue finch."

Meredith diverted her gaze and instead studied, with utmost fascination, a narrow row house they were pa.s.sing. "Well, as I said, it is quite rare."

Criminy. Did she just see Lady Ashton peering through her parlor window at them? Why, if she had not already had her reputation all but ruined, this would certainly do it.

As the ma.s.sive horse trotted into Hanover Square, Meredith at last felt a modic.u.m of relief, which heightened the moment the rake stopped before number 17, and leapt from the horse.

That is until she realized she'd been left atop the great beast, alone.

Her fingers scrabbled for the saddle's pommel and there she sat, trembling even as Alexander Lamont raised his broad hands to her.

"Allow me to a.s.sist, Miss Merriweather. Just let go of the saddle."

Her eyes went wide in her head. "I... I... cannot," she stammered. The horse was going to bolt, she just knew it.

Suddenly, she felt his warm hands encircle her waist.

"I've got you now. Just relax your fingers."

But Meredith could not reply. She shook so violently that her teeth were chattering inside her head.

Just then the front door opened and her two great aunts, the ladies Let.i.tia and Viola Featherton, stepped outside.

"Good heavens, gel!" her turnip-shaped aunt Let.i.tia quipped. "What are you doing atop that huge horse, Meredith? Come down at once!"

Still Meredith could not manage a single word in reply. Instead she stared mutely back at her aunts and clacked her teeth at them.

"Sister, look at her fingers. They're as white as frost. The poor child is frozen with fear."

"I can see that, Viola. Which is why I wish for her to dismount." Then her aunt Let.i.tia caught the rake in her sights. "You, sir. You're a big fellow. Will you pull her from the saddle? Just give her a good hard yank. We've seen her like this before. I fear there will be no talking her down."

Alexander Lamont gave her aunt a curt nod then looked at Meredith. "Are you prepared?"

Meredith's teeth played castanets in response. Lud, how mortifying!

"Very well then, off you go." His fingers tightened around her waist and with one clean jerk, Meredith's grip on the saddle broke.

An instant later, she was standing on her own two feet on the flag way before her aunts' fashionable Mayfair townhouse.

In perfect rakish form, Alexander Lamont offered Meredith his arm, which she had no desire but little choice to take. Then, appearing the most well-mannered of gentlemen, he escorted her up the few steps to her aunts.

"My ladies, allow me please to introduce myself. I am Alexander Lamont." He bowed before the two old women, and they each bobbed a quick curtsy in response. "I believe you are acquainted with my father, the Earl of Lansing."

"But of course. I vow, it has been several years since our paths have crossed." Aunt Let.i.tia turned to her sister. "Viola, of course you remember young Lord Lansing here."

"I do indeed. And I daresay, you are the mirror image of your father in his youth." Viola smiled brightly. "How do you do, my lord?"