"Such as?"

Good G.o.d, did he have to think of everything himself? "I can give her my pocket watch."

"There's nothing romantic about that," Ravenscroft scoffed.

Chambers cleared his throat. "I happen to have a gold neck chain I was takin' to me sweetheart. I could let you have it, my lord. Fer a price, of course."

"Done," Gregor said.

Chambers rose immediately to fetch a small packet from his bags and handed a velvet sack to Gregor in exchange for some coins.

Gregor pocketed the sack. "What else?"

"Poetry," Ravenscroft said. "I have a book." He fumbled in his pockets, then came out with a small leather-bound volume. "Here."

Gregor winced. "It's that Sh.e.l.ley fellow, who writes such horrible drivel."

"Women love his horrible drivel, I promise you."

"Do you have anything else?"

"No. It's Sh.e.l.ley or nothing. I marked some pa.s.sages, though. You can read any of those, and she'll swoon for it."

Gregor slid it into his pocket. "Very well. I am now armed with poetry and a gift. I will go begin this silliness and then report back to-"

"Waaaait a minute," Ravenscroft said, eyeing Gregor narrowly. "You can't just say you read poetry to Miss Oglivie and give her a gift. We have to see you do it."

"I am not going to read love poetry in front of you two fools."

"Of course not," Ravenscroft said in a lofty tone. "We will watch from outside the window."

Gregor scowled. Perhaps it would have been simpler to just challenge Ravenscroft to a duel and be done with it. "I am going to feel like an idiot."

"You're going to look like one, too," Chambers said. At Gregor's dark look, the groom added hastily, "But you'll be the richer by a hundred pounds. That'll take some of the sting out of it."

Being right would take a lot of the sting out of everything.

"Well?" Ravenscroft asked. "Are we agreed?"

"h.e.l.l, yes." Gregor straightened his cravat and ran his fingers through his hair. "I will prove to you both that Venetia Oglivie is not like other women. And when I'm done, pup, prepare to pay."

Chapter 12.

Oft times, love comes t' visit whilst ye are sleepin'. It creeps in on wee fairy feet and nestles in the quiet of yer heart. Ye might not even know 'tis there 'til someone wakes ye.

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

V enetia was blissfully alone in the common room. Mrs. Bloom had whisked Miss Platt off to work on some sewing, while Elizabeth had decided to go upstairs to read a novel.

Venetia stayed downstairs with her own book, an improving work detailing the fall of the Roman Empire. With a sense of purpose, she settled into a chair and opened her tome.

She hadn't seen Gregor since he'd left in such high dudgeon, and Ravenscroft had been conspicuously absent since breakfast. She wasn't certain where the squire was, though she could hear his voice in the distance; perhaps he was in the wine cellars with Mr. Treadwell. The squire had commented several times on the quality of brandy kept at the inn.

Venetia turned a page and found a print of two women beside a marble pool. The rather supercilious matron reclining on a sofa reminded Venetia of Mrs. Bloom, which made Venetia frown. Just this morning, on hearing Miss Higganbotham complain yet again of the cold, the older woman had gone to her room and retrieved for Elizabeth a sumptuous cloak trimmed in fur. The girl had squealed in delight and impulsively hugged Mrs. Bloom, who had looked quite uncomfortable at being thanked. Venetia had been shocked at the older woman's generosity, though surprisingly Miss Platt took it in stride, commenting that it was Mrs. Bloom's way.

Venetia stretched out her feet toward the fire, letting the welcome heat soak into her gown and slippers. She found herself wondering where Gregor might be, then resolutely pulled her mind from that tantalizing question.

It was a pity she didn't care for Ravenscroft. Though he wasn't the ideal man, one always knew how he felt. He wore his emotions on his sleeve for the entire world to see, which was a refreshing change from some men she could name.

Gregor was a man of secrets, capable of great emotion yet never showing the slightest hint. Oh, he got angry, though never so much as he had this past week.

Venetia frowned. Would they ever smile at each other again without wondering if that smile meant something else?

Her hands tightened on her book. How could he suggest they explore their pa.s.sion, as if it were a meaningless experiment of some sort? The thought made her blood boil. It was a good thing she didn't cause the weather to gather when she lost her temper, or it would be storming like mad now.

She glanced out the window. The skies were clearing, with large, fluffy clouds breaking apart to reveal snow-washed blue skies, and a faint breeze stirred the trees. It made her think of their walk in the woods, of the kiss that still made her lips tingle. One moment, they had been snarling at each other, and the next, they were in a pa.s.sionate embrace. It had been heavenly. And confusing, too.

Venetia took a calming breath and shut and opened her eyes, the book forgotten. She had to maintain her sanity, despite the feelings that burned through her every time he was near. The thought of her wanton response in the woods made her press her hands to her face. Her body ached with an odd restlessness. Blast it, everything was different now! She couldn't just- "Venetia." A voice as deep as the sea, flavored with a smoky Scottish accent, ran over her like two warm hands.

She stood and whirled, her skirts flaring, her heart in her throat.

Gregor filled the doorway, one hand in his pocket, a small book in the other. His black hair, slightly damp from the melted snow, curled around his neck, and a sensual smile rested on his lips.

Venetia sucked in a breath, aware that something about him was different.

Whatever it was, it didn't make him any less appealing. She had to press her fingers into her palms against the desire to touch those errant curls.

I have to keep my wits about me, and-oh, heavens, have his eyes always been such a deep green?

Venetia forced a polite smile. "Good afternoon, Gregor." She cast about desperately for something to say, her gaze lighting on the book he held in his hands. "What do you have there?"

Gregor looked at the small book, an expression of distaste in his gaze. "Sh.e.l.ley."

She blinked. "The poet?"

"Is there another?" he asked in a scoffing tone, a bit put out at her disbelieving tone. "I do read, you know."

"Yes, but...Sh.e.l.ley?"

Gregor straightened from where he leaned against the doorframe. For an instant, the room tilted to one side, making him suddenly aware of how much rum he'd had. Until he'd entered the warmth of the inn, he hadn't realized he'd finished most of that blasted mixture by himself.

If he didn't have the doorframe within easy reach, he might actually stumble, which would be deadly to his wager. And this was an important wager, a true wager of honor, his hundred pounds to prove that Venetia was not an ordinary woman but an extraordinary one.

He glanced past Venetia to the window. The curtains weren't open all the way; someone in the innyard would be able to see only the front of the room. He'd have to throw the curtains wide, or Ravenscroft and Chambers wouldn't witness how wrong they were about Venetia.

It would take a master's touch to reach the window without giving away his condition, though. Venetia would not appreciate his coming to visit her while bosky.

No, that was what other women might do. Venetia would just laugh at him and then make jokes about it the next two thousand times she saw him, which was far, far worse than being scolded or condemned. Venetia really knew how to hurt a man.

Gregor looked down at the book in his hand, wondering dimly what he was supposed to do with it. Oh, yes. That fool Ravenscroft thought Venetia would swoon at this drivel.

Let the games begin! Gregor grinned, looking up at Venetia, wanting to share his thoughts, but as she crossed before the fire, her lack of a petticoat again became painfully obvious. For one instant, Gregor had a clear view of Venetia's legs and hips through her skirts, the light outlining each dimpled knee, each smooth thigh, each rounded hip.

Then she was on the other side, the skirt once again demure. Gregor opened his mouth but could not find a single word. All he could do was look at her, his body taut with desire.

"Gregor?"

He realized he'd been staring silently, gawking like a lad of twelve.

d.a.m.n it, this was not the way to win his wager! He cleared his throat. "I brought you something. Are you busy?"

She shook her head, planting one hand on her hip and resting the other on the back of a chair. The gesture had the unfortunate effect of thrusting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s forward.

Gregor couldn't breathe, following the shadow under each full curve. He'd always known Venetia was pleasantly rounded, but somehow he hadn't realized how magnificent her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were. Not the calm, cool magnificence of a painting but the warm, fleshy magnificence of a real woman.

G.o.d, how had he missed those b.r.e.a.s.t.s? So full, larger than his hand could hold, and so beautifully rounded?

Gregor forced himself to yank his gaze away from those seductive b.r.e.a.s.t.s to Venetia's face. "I-I need air," he rasped out.

She frowned. "Air? Why? Are you ill?"

"No, no. It's just"-he waved a hand-"stuffy in here." He pushed himself from the doorframe and strode to the window, l.u.s.t firming his wobbly steps. He threw open the curtains and let white light bathe the room.

There. Now he could face Venetia without worrying that she'd expose herself to him even more than she unknowingly had. He smoothed his coat, taking a deep breath to calm his thundering l.u.s.t, and turned.

d.a.m.n.

The light from the window now highlighted the tops of Venetia's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tracing the full curves with a swoosh of creamy color.

Gregor scowled.

Venetia's eyes widened, and she nervously crossed her arms.

Unfortunately, that pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s upward until they were clearly outlined against the thin fabric of her gown, the nipples puckered and eager. Gregor could make out every ribbon on her chemise, every nuance of her mouthwatering bosom.

A slow flush climbed through him. d.a.m.n that rum toddy.

Of course, he hadn't been drinking rum when he'd kissed her yesterday. That had been all him. And her.

He'd enjoyed a wide range of women in his life, yet he had never felt such an intense pull.

Familiarity should have been a protection. He'd seen her with tangled hair as a child, with spots when she'd been a la.s.s, and woefully flat-chested until her fifteenth summer. He'd watched her moon over men, though never with enough intensity to be of concern. He knew her skin turned a mottled red when she cried and a pale white when she was startled.

He should have been immune, d.a.m.n it. Yet somehow, in racing off to rescue her and then seeing Ravenscroft's obvious admiration, Gregor actually saw Venetia for what she was now rather than what she'd been while growing up.

He now saw Venetia as a woman. And not just any woman but an intelligent, sensual woman, one he trusted more than...well, anyone. Perhaps even his own family.

Outside, something moved. He glanced over and saw Chambers and Ravenscroft standing in the snow-filled innyard, bundled to the ears as they tried to look innocuous, as if having a casual conversation in the middle of the snow.

Gregor looked down at the book in his hand. If he wanted those two to leave him be, he'd best get on with it. He shoved his hand into his pocket, retrieved the velvet sack containing the necklace, and held it out. "Venetia, I brought you something."

She eyed the sack obviously unimpressed. "What is it?"

"It's a present."

"For...me?"

"Yes, it's for you," he said impatiently, shaking the bag at her imperiously. "It's a necklace."

She didn't answer. Didn't move. Just stared at him as if he had two heads, a deep flush coloring her cheeks.

Gregor fought a smile of satisfaction. She was different from other women! Other women he knew would fawn all over him, laugh with delight, and flirt madly when presented with a gift.

He glanced out the window to where Chambers and Ravenscroft were openly staring. Heh! That would teach them to think he didn't know her.

Of course, she hadn't actually taken the present yet. Since he'd paid for it and didn't want it to go to waste, he grasped her wrist and set the sack in her hand.

She blinked at it.

"Well, don't just stand there," he chided. "Open it!".

Slowly, she undid the sack and poured the necklace into her palm. It gleamed softly in the light, a ribbon of gold stretched over her delicate fingers. A flicker of pleasure warmed Gregor. Chambers had excellent taste; the groom deserved a bonus.

Venetia didn't seem able to look away from the gleaming necklace.

"Do you like it?"

"I-I-" Her fingers closed over the gold chain, and she held it to her. "What's it for?"

Gregor frowned. Good Lord, he hadn't expected her to ask that. "It's for-for-" h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, how was he to answer that? He glanced outside to see Ravenscroft and Chambers staring back.

Venetia turned to follow his gaze, and Gregor pulled her around to face him, away from the window.

She gasped, then frowned down at his hand encircling her wrist.

He'd never realized how delicate her wrists were; his fingers overlapped around the smooth warmth of her skin.

d.a.m.n, but she looked delicious. The flickering light from the fire kissed every inch of her peach-tinted skin.

Would she taste like the blush of a peach? Or the cream and sugar that she loved in her tea? Or the faint hint of smoky desire sweetened with pa.s.sion?

It all sounded good, and he decided that he had to taste her. He sent a scowling glance to where Chambers and Ravenscroft now skulked behind a thin bush. If not for them, he might be discovering her intriguing flavors this very moment.