Gregor couldn't look away from Venetia any more than he could release her. She stood before him, fully covered from neck to toe, her hair mussed and barely held in a loose bun, a straw from the stables sticking out of the back. Her nose was shiny and sprinkled with freckles, her lips swollen from his kiss, their plush slopes glistening with moisture.

He was fascinated with everything about her. It was all both endearingly familiar, exquisitely new, and completely wrong. He slowly released her wrists, sliding his hands to hers and lacing their fingers. He didn't wish to release her yet.

Her lashes trembled against her cheeks before she looked up at him, her cheeks becomingly flushed. She was amazingly sensual, something he'd somehow missed all these years.

More than anything in the world, Gregor wanted to take her right there-push her to the ground, lift her skirts, and answer the pa.s.sion he'd felt in her embrace, seen in her eyes. But he couldn't. This was no ordinary woman but Venetia. He could never do something that might hurt her, even a little. Though he knew without question she would enjoy their lovemaking, afterward...He frowned. Therein lay the problem.

A woman like Venetia deserved more than his usual "afterward." He wasn't a philanderer, but he' d had a healthy number of relationships, most of which ended amicably within a few months, as all good relationships should. All began with pa.s.sion-though looking at Venetia now, at her pink nose and sparkling eyes, he had to admit that none of those relationships had offered the promise of this one. There was something about her now, here at this inn, in the snow, that fired his senses and stirred his imagination. He yearned to pursue it, to pursue her, but...

He shook his head, slowly releasing her hands.

Venetia turned away, her gloved fingertips resting on her lips a moment before she dropped her hand with a self-conscious blush.

"Don't," he said gruffly, wishing he could ease the awkwardness of the moment.

"I'm sorry, Gregor. This-" She gestured lamely at the s.p.a.ce between them. "It never should have happened."

"No, it shouldn't have, but it did." He met her gaze. "And I can't say that I'm sorry for it."

She managed a creditable smile. "I don't suppose I am, either. But it would be stupid to allow it to continue."

She was right, though that didn't make it any easier. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, how had things gotten so out of hand. He never lost control.

He caught Venetia's eyes, a question lurking in their gray depths, and he heard himself say in a harsh voice, "You're right. It won't happen again. Ever. We must keep our relationship as friends and nothing more."

Something flickered in her eyes. Disappointment? That was certainly what he felt, as heavily as if a stone had been placed on his chest.

Suddenly, it all seemed unfair. It was unfair that Ravenscroft had caused such disruption in their lives, unfair that they'd gotten stuck there by Gregor's own d.a.m.nable temper, and d.a.m.ned unfair that others had been s...o...b..und with them and were cutting up their peace. Every irritation he'd had to deal with since discovering Venetia's disappearance grew into a huge ma.s.s of palpable fury. "We must return to London as quickly as possible."

"Yes. Of course. Will we be able to leave today?"

"No. But if the weather keeps on warming, we might make it tomorrow." He sent her a level look, then added, "Venetia, when we return, things may be different for you."

"I know," she said evenly. "I know Papa was worried about me, and since he wears his emotions on his sleeve, he may well have said something to the wrong people."

"I asked Dougal to make certain he didn't say anything, but-" He shrugged. "That may not matter once Higganbotham arrives in town, for he will certainly recognize you. Unlike Mrs. Bloom's, the squire's eyesight is excellent." He raked a hand through his hair. "Venetia, you must limit your time with the other guests until we can leave. The less you speak to them, the better." He smiled grimly. "You have a tendency to make yourself memorable."

She eyed him incredulously. "I can't promise that."

"You must. Your reputation is at stake."

"Balderdash," she snapped, her eyes flashing. "It's too late now; the squire will recognize me already. Besides, there are things that I must do in order to-" She caught Gregor's gaze and closed her mouth.

"In order to do what?"

Venetia shrugged, her chin tilted to a challenging level.

"Venetia, you must stop meddling in the lives of others. Leave Ravenscroft alone and cease encouraging him to make a cake of himself with Miss Platt."

"He is helping to give her confidence."

"He is making a fool of himself, and nothing more. Just as he did when he abducted you, spouting all that nonsense about wanting to run away and live in a cottage. Ridiculous."

She tilted her head to one side and regarded him somberly, her gaze narrowed as if judging his every word. "Gregor, have you ever been in love?"

"No, I've never been that foolish."

"Perhaps that's what's wrong with you, then," she said with asperity. "You've been so undisturbed by pesky emotion that you have no sympathy for those around you who are."

Gregor's mouth tightened. "If I have too little emotion, then you, my dear, have too much."

"There's no such thing."

Her words raked across him like the screech of a rusty nail. Fanned by her obstinacy and his own frustrated l.u.s.t, his irritation burst into full-fledged anger. "Let's stop this right here, shall we? I know you' re scheming something with Ravenscroft and Miss Platt, and I will not stand for it."

"Gregor, our relationship is one of friendship. Therefore, you have no claim over me or my actions."

He scowled. "Because of the difficult situation we are in, I have a claim whether you like it or not."

Her mouth tightened and she plopped her fists on her hips. "I don't like your tone of voice."

"You don't have to like it," he said baldly. "Your right to like things ended when you were so foolish as to climb into that carriage with Ravenscroft."

Her chin tilted up. "I thought the note he'd written was from my father and-oh, blast, I've explained all of this to you already!"

"And it's still not sufficient," he retorted, his temper and l.u.s.t both bubbling to the surface. "I used to think you a woman of good sense, but since yesterday, I have decided that what you really need is a keeper."

"Oh! How can you say that? I've done nothing but attempt to help, first with Mama, and then with Miss Platt-" She met his gaze boldly. "Never mind. I don't have to explain myself to you. You, Gregor, are the most demanding, arrogant, selfish person I've ever known."

Gregor's eyes seemed unusually bright. "At least I am not a meddlesome brat who tries to run the lives of those around me, and thinks my opinion more important than that of those directly involved. You, my dear, have a certain amount of conceit when you think you know everything."

"Do not say another word," she said through clenched teeth.

"I can and will. If you wish to return to London with your reputation intact, you will not get involved with Miss Platt and her perceived problems."

Too furious to answer, Venetia rammed her fists into the pockets of her pelisse, shivering as a cold breeze stirred the branches overhead and knocked snow to the ground around them with soft plops.

Gregor raked a hand through his hair, eyeing her furiously. "This entire situation has been nothing but a bother and a mess since the beginning. This is what happens when you try to help someone; everything goes awry."

The bitterness in Gregor's voice hurt Venetia. Did he mean she was a bother and a mess, too?

Gregor eyed her in a way that answered her question all too well. "If you wish to return home and enjoy your life as it was, then you'll do as I say. No more meddling."

She stiffened. "I am not one of your servants, so you can stop barking orders at me right now."

"No, you are not one of my servants; they are far more cooperative."

"And neither am I one of your-your-ladybirds"-the word dripped distastefully from her lips -"who are always panting after you, willing to do anything to garner your favor. I don't care what you think about my 'schemes,' as you put it. I am a grown woman and know what I'm about, so keep your opinions and your overbearing att.i.tude in your own pocket."

Gregor's lips thinned.

A ripple of thunder rolled in the distance.

Venetia frowned up at the sky, realizing with chagrin that as they'd talked, clouds had moved in and had almost obscured the sun. "Blast it, Gregor! Keep your temper. I'd like to leave this inn sometime before next year."

His mouth whitened, and thunder cracked overhead, a brilliant fork of white fire crossing the sky.

She jumped at the sound, her hand pressed to her heart. "Stop that!"

"You know I can't control it after it comes. That's why it's called a curse," he snapped.

"You had better find a way to control it." She eyed the sky overhead, pulling her pelisse closer to ward off the suddenly cold air. "Perhaps if you stop now, it will not collect as before."

"I can keep my temper just fine, providing you don't try it. I want your promise to stay out of the other guests' business."

She turned, presenting him a profile of her raised chin. "I have no obligations to you. If I think something needs to be done, I will do it, will you, nil you."

Thunder cracked overhead, shaking the ground, the sky darker still. Small snowflakes began to sift down.

Venetia pointed to the sky. "Look what you've done now! We'll never leave."

Gregor leaned down, his nose level with hers. "I came a d.a.m.ned long way in this miserable snow just to save your precious hide. The least you can do is stay out of trouble."

Her skin flushed a delicate pink, her lips quivering slightly, her bottom lip glistening. Painful awareness tore through him, igniting something hotter than anger, something deep in his veins.

He wanted to reach out and yank her back into his arms, to press her lush curves against his chest and kiss her until she couldn't breathe.

He tightened his jaw, fighting off the tantalizing image. Women like Venetia did not flirt. They loved, and they married. That was it. There was nothing in the middle for her-nothing for a man like him.

Gregor thrust his hands into the deep pockets of his overcoat. "We had better return to the inn before anyone notices we are missing." He gestured toward the path, but she didn't move, merely stared at him with blazing eyes.

"Fine, then." He turned on his heel, saying over his shoulder, "Be careful when you return; it is slippery in spots."

With that calm, impersonal good-bye, Gregor left. He walked down the path, his boots crunching in the snow, lifting his face to the cooling fall of new flakes. G.o.d only knew how much snow they'd get this time. d.a.m.n it all, how Venetia got under his skin!

What was it about her here, away from London, that made him notice things he'd never noticed before. Whatever it was, he hoped it would go away soon. Being so close to Venetia, stuck at that small inn with so many people around, was torture. Something odd was happening between them. Something unforeseen and growing in power. What could it- The sound of crunching snow made him stop and turn. Venetia was approaching, her dark hair dusted with snow, her posture stiff, as if she were weighing her words. Perhaps she'd come to apologize.

She marched past him to the beginning of the trail, where she stopped and waited for him to catch up, hands behind her back.

Ah. She wished to speak to him with the inn in plain sight. Considering their propensity to fall into each other's arms when alone, that was a wise decision.

He strode toward her, glancing down to avoid a slick rock. Thank goodness she'd come to her senses. She'd apologize for her recalcitrant behavior and cease her machinations concerning Miss Platt and Ravenscroft. He'd accept her apology, of course, so they could go back to their easy relationship and- Thwack! A s...o...b..ll hit Gregor on the side of his head. He stood there, unable to believe what had happened. The icy ma.s.s took the opportunity to slide into his collar, freezing his skin as it went.

He roared and raced forward, icy tree roots be d.a.m.ned, but it was too late. Venetia was gone in a swirl of hiked skirts and fleet booted feet. Before he even reached the yard, the inn door slammed closed.

Gregor stood stock-still, the cold wind blowing through his clothing, his collar wet and cold, the heavy rumble of snow thunder echoing through the wind's moan.

d.a.m.n Venetia Oglivie! d.a.m.n her impetuous, intractable nature, and most of all, d.a.m.n her for looking so d.a.m.nably touchable!

Gregor turned his face to the sky and cursed loud and long, the snow pelting down.

Chapter 10.

There's only one thing worse than losin' a beau, and that's ne'er havin' one t' begin with.

OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING.

"D on't you agree, Miss West?" Miss Platt asked loudly.

Venetia blinked, realizing she hadn't been paying attention-again. "Um. Yes. Of course, I agree."

Miss Platt c.o.c.ked her head to one side, a considering gaze in her light blue eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Venetia's face heated. "Oh, no. I was just...thinking." About Gregor. Ever since yesterday morning, when he'd kissed her again-or, rather, she'd kissed him-she'd been unable to do anything but think about him.

It had been bad enough during the day as the inn had seemed too small for them both, but last night, she hadn't slept a wink. Miss Higganbotham's snoring hadn't been as much of a problem as the hot thoughts that filled Venetia's mind-memories of the kiss and imaginings of far more intimate contact.

And when she managed to sleep, her unruly mind roamed even more freel. In her dreams, she desired him pa.s.sionately and insatiably, every touch igniting the desire for another.

Since that kiss, Venetia had avoided being alone with Gregor, which hadn't been difficult thanks to Miss Platt and Miss Higganbotham. They had attached themselves to her so thoroughly that she scarcely had a moment alone. Ravenscroft had continued his attentions to Miss Platt, which had caused Gregor to glower and eventually order the younger man to visit the horses with him after dinner. Ravenscroft hadn't realized he was being manipulated and had eagerly agreed. Gregor had sent Venetia a triumphant smirk as he led Ravenscroft off.

Venetia sniffed. He was being unbearable lately, ordering everyone around as if they were his lackeys. She wasn't the least bit sorry about yesterday; Gregor had deserved to be smacked in the head with a fat s...o...b..ll even if it had made the snow fall for another two hours.

"This weather is horrid," Miss Platt said. "We've had another foot of snow since yesterday."

Which was all Gregor's fault, blast him. He might wish to blame her, but he was the one who'd been so arrogant and high-handed.

Miss Platt retrieved her sewing from a basket she'd brought into the room with her. "The weather is so very odd for April, and the way it trapped us all here-I wonder if it wasn't meant to be."

"Do you believe in fate?"

"I am beginning to," Miss Platt said in an earnest tone as she deftly threaded a needle. "I wonder if I was brought to this place at the same time as Mr. West because-" She colored. "Oh, dear, I shouldn' t have said anything to you, since Mr. West is your brother, but I was just thinking-oh, never mind!"

Venetia blinked.

Surely Miss Platt wasn't developing real feelings for Ravenscroft in such a short period of time? It had been only two days, and Ravenscroft didn't possess the sort of address that could sweep a woman off her feet. Of course, Miss Platt wasn't an ordinary woman, but still.

"I know what you're thinking," Miss Platt said, stabbing her needle into the cloth. "We haven't known each other very long."

"Well, yes, and-"

"But I knew as soon as I met Mr. West that this was true love."