Frowning, she drew the blankets up around his chest. He didn't stir as she extinguished the lamp, leaving the fire to light the room. She shut the window, took another blanket, and curled up in the padded chair near the grate, determined to watch over him.

Distant thunder disturbed Ranelaw's restless dreams. He blinked into gold-tinged darkness and wondered where he was.

He was accustomed to waking in unfamiliar rooms, but rarely alone and never in a bed that smelled fresh and clean. He turned his head, only to close his eyes as a legion of demons clashed cymbals inside his skull.

He remembered.

He'd climbed a cherry tree then kissed that termagant Antonia Smith. And she'd walloped him with a poker.

Huzzah, Antonia.

The fearsome dragon was asleep in an armchair beside the fire. Carefully, partly because of his pounding head and partly because he didn't want to wake her and her defenses, he rose. He fought back a wave of dizziness.

The redoubtable Antonia didn't look like a fearsome dragon right now. She looked young and heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

He edged nearer and only then realized what was different. Somehow through all the chaos, she'd kept those disfiguring spectacles in place, but she'd removed them before sleeping. Her exertions had loosened her lovely hair. The plaits sagged and loose tendrils of silver formed a firelit halo. One long strand trailed over her shoulder toward her lush breasts. His hand curled as if it still cupped that breast, stroked the budded nipple.

Who would imagine that under her spinster armor, such spectacular curves lurked? He was delighted she hadn't fastened her dress. She'd been too terrified she'd murdered him to notice, he guessed. He'd heard her fear when she'd begged him to live. Manipulative bastard he was, he'd pretended unconsciousness long after returning to alertness.

Her breasts sloped above that ugly corset. If he was responsible for dressing her, he'd burn every garment she owned. He'd deck her in black lace. Or scarlet. Something to set off her skin's creamy purity.

He reached out to grab the mantel. He wasn't as sure on his feet as he'd prefer and his head ached like the very devil. His gaze didn't shift from the sleeping woman who had proven such an unexpectedly luscious armful.

Why did such a gorgeous creature hide her bounteous attractions? Why did a filly like her settle for such a restricted existence?

His temperamental mother had employed a string of companions, none of whom lasted more than a few months. To Ranelaw, the life had always seemed a thankless one. At someone's beck and call. A tiny wage in return for a modicum of respectability and a roof over one's head. He guessed the Demarests treated Miss Smith with more consideration than his foolish, flighty mother had ever treated her companions. But in essence, there was little difference between Miss Smith and those faceless women.

Surely Antonia had a choice in the matter. Thousands of men would gladly trade their fortunes for a wife so lovely. She'd have her own house, her own life, children, a husband to warm her chaste bed.

Except she'd shocked him, he who claimed to be unshockable. Antonia Smith didn't kiss like a virgin. She kissed like a woman who thrived upon a man's touch. He'd meant to coax her inch by inch into revealing her delights. But after the slightest hesitation, she'd responded with a fervor that had nearly blown his head off.

Absently he scooped the spectacles from the side table where she'd left them. He twirled them idly, then lifted them, wondering how shortsighted she was.

The lenses were plain tinted glass with no magnification.

Well, well.

Miss Smith became more intriguing by the moment.

After tonight's revelations, he wanted her more than ever. She wouldn't fight him if he seized her now. Or she might fight at first, but she'd yield soon enough.

So why was he standing mooning after her like damned Romeo instead of demonstrating how explosive sex would be? It made no sense.

It also made no sense that he found pleasure in merely looking at her. Even asleep, her face was full of character and a vivid, womanly beauty.

Why had no other man seen what he had? Her disguise was rudimentary. Hair scraped up under that cap, glasses, the unflattering wardrobe.

Forcing back the banging drums in his head, he bent over her. She couldn't sleep in that chair all night. With a gentleness he refused to categorize as care, he slid his arms under her and lifted her high against his chest.

She was tall, but slender. Normally carrying her would take little effort. His head swam and the room whirled around him. Briefly he wondered if they'd both end up toppling to the rug. Since she'd knocked him out, he wasn't up to carrying slumbering dragons.

She murmured something incomprehensible that might have been his name-he was sure it couldn't be-and curled into his body. His hold tightened and something shafted through him that in another man he might call possessiveness. He stood still, relishing her warm weight for all that his knees threatened to give out under him.

Her familiar scent teased his nostrils. He still couldn't place it, although it made him think of everything that had no place in his life. Innocence. Joy. The open beauty of the countryside. Spring flowers. Rain. As if to confirm the thought, rain dashed against the windowpane, rattling the frame.

He stared down at her, transfixed by how lovely she was. In this moment, Antonia seemed as young as Cassie Demarest and much more vulnerable. If he had any drop of pity, he'd let her go. He'd only end up destroying her.

It was too late. He wanted her and he'd have her. She wanted him too, although he couldn't imagine her admitting that this side of Hades.

The short distance to the bed felt like miles, but strangely it never occurred to him to wake her and make her walk. Carefully he laid her upon the sheets so when the maid arrived in the morning, Antonia would be where she was supposed to be. Just for tonight, he didn't want her suffering for his reckless invasion. He'd already caused her trouble. He didn't miss the signs of sleeplessness and strain on her face, even in repose.

He should take her gown off. But he didn't trust good intentions that far. She'd have to invent some excuse about dropping off half dressed.

Reluctant to release her, but knowing he must, if only because the urge to hold her was so strong, he slid his arms free. She settled upon the mattress with another of those damned arousing sighs.

He must go. The servants would be about soon. Already he'd have to take care not to alert the stable hands to his presence. And he still had to accomplish a climb in the rain with a head that ached fit to explode.

She sighed again and her eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes were ice blue like the sky on a clear January morning.

He shouldn't be shocked. From her pale, silvery hair to her white, white skin, hers was a wintry beauty. But the purity of that unaware glance cut like a knife. His hands clenched at his sides.

"Nicholas . " A drowsy smile curved her mouth.

He knew she still drifted in slumber. But he couldn't stop himself leaning down and whispering. "Sleep, Antonia."

She turned her head and pressed her lips to his briefly. The sweetness pierced him to the bone. He endured the kiss without deepening it, although his gut lurched at the silent invitation.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"Yes," he forced from a constricted throat. Unable to resist one last taste, he brushed his mouth over hers in a kiss hardly less innocent.

If he didn't go now, he wouldn't go at all. He hoped to hell he made it down the tree. After the wet night, it would be as slippery as a greased pig. If he fell on his arse, Miss Smith would still have explanations to make, however he'd tried to protect her reputation.

Slowly he straightened and cast her one last, lingering look. He wanted to imprint this Antonia on his memory, to hold against next time he saw her decked out like a damned scarecrow.

He turned and prowled toward the window.

Antonia opened her eyes to a sunny morning. She lay in her black bombazine dress on top of her bed. There was no disorientation. She remembered exactly what had happened, although details toward the end turned fuzzy. Strangest of all, she had a vague memory of Lord Ranelaw kissing her tenderly before leaving.

She must have conjured that from her imagination. Even if every other unbelievable event was real.

Groggily she sat up and pushed tangled hair away from her face. Exhaustion weighted her limbs. A cup of chocolate sat congealing on the bedside table. She'd been so deeply asleep, she hadn't heard the maid. An unusual occurrence for Miss Smith, who usually bustled around the house well before breakfast.

A soft knock before Cassie dashed in, wearing a muslin dress the color of sunshine. "Toni, you slugabed. I've been up for hours."

Antonia placed her feet on the floor and struggled to force her tired mind to function. "Good morning, Cassie."

Antonia's focus remained on last night. Was Ranelaw all right? She hoped the poker hadn't done serious damage. What did he make of her this morning? She wasn't optimistic enough to imagine he'd disregard what he'd learned. He was too clever for that, blast him.

"And you didn't even get undressed." A frown crossed Cassie's pretty face. "Am I working you too hard? You never sleep in."

Antonia started to shake her head, then decided weariness might excuse her uncharacteristic behavior. "I'm unused to so many late nights. I'm not a young sprig like you."

Cassie gave one of her snorts. "Yes, at twenty-seven, you're in your dotage. Are you up for the trip to Surrey?"

"Surrey?"

Cassie caught her hand and squeezed it. "We're going to the Humphreys' for a fortnight. Had you forgotten?"

The Humphreys.

Two weeks in Surrey. Two weeks away from London's temptations and distractions. Two weeks away from one fascinating rake in particular.

Antonia's gaze wandered to the window, skittering over the snowy white petals littering the floor. Nicholas Challoner was dangerous and becoming more dangerous every day. If heaven had mercy, by the time they returned, he'd be bored with his absent prey and hunting new quarry.

Fate rescued her from further nocturnal invasions. What a wicked, wicked girl she was. Right now, she didn't feel especially grateful.

Chapter Six.

After several days in the country, Antonia had finally beaten her brief madness into submission. The steady, unexciting routine that had sustained her for ten years resumed, for all that she was in a different house with different people. Cassie too returned to her cheerful self. The feverish edge that marked her activities in London receded.

The house party was composed largely of people Cassie's age and their families. It was more like the entertainments at Bascombe Hailey. Rural. Innocent. Unsophisticated. Horses. Dogs. Country walks. Games in the evening, then an early bed.

No sizzling threat of danger.

No fiendishly handsome rakes lurking to lure an unwary lady. Or an unwary lady's wary companion.

Pelham Place was in a pretty corner of Surrey. Wilder than most of this cultivated county, with woods and a river and a wilderness that could almost pass as a moor.

Antonia devoted enjoyable hours to exploring the grounds. Hours when she convinced herself it was acceptable to spare an occasional thought for the disreputable Marquess of Ranelaw and his kisses.

For one brilliant, incendiary moment, she'd been Lady Antonia Hilliard again. With every day that passed, she remembered Lady Antonia was no more, destroyed by her wanton passions. In her place was Miss Smith with too much at stake to gamble her future on a rake's smile.

Particularly a rake who pursued her merely to facilitate his flirtation with another woman.

Although no matter how she insisted he wanted Cassie, the deepest part of her couldn't accept that was true.

Surely that was vanity speaking. Vanity and oak-headed foolishness. Cassie was pretty and far from a featherbrain. Any man would be proud to claim her for his own.

Five days after their arrival, she and Cassie crossed the rolling lawns toward Pelham Place. They'd taken a long afternoon walk by the river. The uncertain weather that plagued their London stay had transformed into perfect spring. Antonia had been glad of her chip bonnet, however ugly it was, and she'd scolded Cassie to keep her own, much more attractive hat on. Cassie was inclined to freckle, something Antonia thought charming but which would incur disapproval from the arbiters of fashion.

A group on the terrace turned to observe their approach. Lady Humphrey often served tea outside so the gathering didn't immediately alert Antonia.

About twenty guests stayed in the house. As she neared the terrace, she realized their numbers had been augmented-and she was familiar with the newcomers, or at least one of them.

"Lord Ranelaw!" Cassie cried breathlessly, swiftly mounting the shallow steps to the terrace.

When Ranelaw swept off his hat to greet Cassie, Antonia saw his face still bore marks of assault. There was bruising around his eye and the graze had healed to an annoyingly dashing slash along one high cheekbone. The injuries only emphasized his attractions.

"Miss Demarest." Ranelaw took her hand and bent over it. When he glanced at Antonia, standing dismayed behind Cassie, the lids lowered over his eyes. Nothing so crass as a wink.

Horror ripped through her, leaving her giddy. Her hands clenched at her sides and she glared at the reprobate.

God in heaven, help her.

She'd thought she was safe. She was in more danger than ever.

So was Cassie.

Antonia had moved to wrench her overjoyed cousin away from him before she remembered where she was. She bobbed into a brief curtsy edged with insult.

Lady Humphrey stepped forward. "Lord Thorpe has invited some additional gentlemen to join our revels, Miss Demarest. Our quiet evenings should become rather lively."

Too lively, Antonia thought sourly. She glanced at Cassie and wasn't surprised the girl showed no astonishment at Ranelaw's arrival. She understood now why her charge had submitted to rustication with such good grace. She wanted to blast Cassie for being a naive little fool but most of her rage was targeted at the cocksure marquess.

Ranelaw stared at Cassie in flagrant appreciation. Why not? The girl looked charming with her cheeks pink from exercise and excitement brightening her blue eyes.

Oh, Cassie, you're so easy to read.

Antonia could do little to quash her cousin's pleasure. She'd like to think Ranelaw would tire of the girl's blatant admiration, but experience indicated men never wearied of flattery. Cassie's bedazzlement would only feed his interest. No wonder he was such an arrogant scoundrel.

Through a red haze of temper, Antonia barely heard Lady Humphrey introduce the four arrivals. Lord Thorpe turned out to be the lady's nephew. The fellow wasn't just her bugbear's fast friend, he seemed to be related to half the ton.

She emerged from fuming to hear one of the gentlemen quizzing Ranelaw about his face. His eyes rested mockingly upon her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of embarrassment.

"Would you believe a tiger attacked me?"

"A tiger?" Cassie raised a hand to her chest in a flirtatious gesture Antonia had never seen her use. Ranelaw exercised a detrimental effect on her cousin who until now had been delightfully free from artifice.

"Don't be a henwit," Antonia snapped under her breath.

Ranelaw laughed. "Perhaps I should say a tigress."

Thorpe clapped him on the shoulder. "Watch for those wild beasts on Piccadilly, old man!"

General laughter followed, and this time, Antonia couldn't resist meeting that sly black gaze. His faint smile woke the demons inside her that she'd hoped country air had banished.

His invasion of her thoughts had been penance enough. Now she'd find no escape from him. He'd infect the next fortnight with fear, anger, and unwelcome desire. This house party promised to become the definition of purgatory.

Damn and blast Ranelaw. Was she never to get a moment's peace?

Cassie, understandably, made every attempt to avoid a private conversation with Antonia. In spite of her dishevelment, she lingered outside for tea and the flirtation that the gentlemen's arrival engendered in what until now had been a pleasantly easy party.