It was far too intimate for her peace of mind, and it was almost a relief when a sharp pang distracted her awareness as he gave a firm tug of her leg.

"Oh."

He immediately glanced up, the golden eyes darkened with concern.

"Am I hurting you?"

"It is my ankle."

"You must have twisted it."

The heat and clean scent of his body swirled about her.

"Yes."

"Forgive me, but I must get you free," he said softly. He waited for her hesitant nod before he once again lowered his head and gave her leg a firm tug. She bit her lip as the pain stabbed through her body, and she determined to be brave. Then, without warning, there was a sucking noise and her leg was free. Unfortunately it all happened so swiftly that Emma was caught off guard. With a cry she fell backward, but with graceful speed the gentleman grasped her tumbling form and with a twist he ensured that he hit the cold ground while she landed safely atop him. Momentarily stunned, Emma could do no more than stare at the dark countenance so close to her own. The gentleman, however, was much quicker to recover, and that glorious smile curved his full lips. "Now, this is a delightful predicament."

A thoroughly ridiculous heat flooded her cheeks as his arms pressed her close to that hard frame.

"Please, let me go."

"Come now," he teased. "I've ruined not only my boots, but my coat as well. Surely I am deserving of some reward?"

Emma once again felt those renegade tingles flood her body. Tingles that she refused to acknowledge as anything more than anger at his audacity.

"I have very little money," she coldly informed him.

His ready chuckle rumbled through the silence. "Then I suppose I shall have to make do with this."

With slow, exquisite purpose, his hand slid up the curve of her back, at last tangling in her thick curls. Emma's lips parted in outrage at his daring. She had every intention of giving him a sharp set-down, when he abruptly pressed her head down to capture her lips in a searching kiss.

Although Emma's life with the Devilish Dandy had been far from respectable, it had not included trysts with young gentlemen. In fact, Emma had never possessed so much as a gentleman caller in her entire life. But for all that, she had convinced herself that she knew all there was about physical desire. It would be pleasant enough, she supposed, to be held in a man's arms. But the kissing had always seemed rather messy, and as for all that groping... well, it had made her shudder to even consider the notion.

Now, as their lips met, she was wholly unprepared for the searing heat that exploded in the pit of her stomach.

No, oh, no, she thought with a flare of panic. The man was shameless to take advantage of her in such a fashion. She should be terrified, not shivering in pleasure.

But there was no denying the waves of tingling excitement racing through her body, shocking her with its fierce intensity. This was not messy. It was sharp and poignant and utterly delightful.

The lips eased their demanding pressure, but only to move and blaze a trail of fire over her cheek and down the line of her jaw. Emma's heart halted, then burst back to life with a thundering speed.

She wanted to lift her head so that he could nuzzle the line of her neck. To press her body even closer and thrust her hand into the midnight satin of his hair . . .

A moan of panic was wrenched from her throat as she realized the direction of her thoughts.

What was happening to her?

She was no common tart to enjoy being kissed and fondled by every passing rake.

Good gads, she did not even know his name.

As if sensing her sudden horror at her behavior, the gentleman reluctantly allowed her to pull back, although he kept her firmly anchored around the waist.

With a sense of shock she glared down at the smoldering golden eyes.

"Why . . . why did you do that?"

Not surprisingly, he gave a husky laugh. "What an absurd question, my dear. Why does any gentleman kiss a beautiful young maiden?"

With a commanding effort Emma attempted to gather her shredded composure. A deucedly difficult task when perched atop a very firm, very male body.

"How do you know that I am a maiden?" she charged in shaky tones. "I might very well have a husband who will be eager to kill you in a duel."

"So bloodthirsty," he teased, thoroughly indifferent to the threat of being summarily hauled onto the field of honor. "I know that you are a maiden by the innocence that shines like a beacon of invitation in those amazing eyes."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Then you are a scoundrel for having taken advantage of a defenseless lady on her own."

"Perhaps a bit of a scoundrel," he readily admitted.

Emma determinedly arched from his disturbingly wide chest. She simply could not think while pressed so intimately to his hard frame.

"Let me go."

"You would not like to linger a bit longer?" he mused. "The cold and mud are a small price to pay for the pleasure of such delectable lips."

"You must be as bosky as my coachman."

A rather mysterious smile curved his lips. "No, just appreciative of magic when it occurs."

Her eyes briefly closed as she struggled to scrub away the memory of his kiss. It had been a brief moment of insanity, she assured herself. A moment that would never occur again.

"I shall scream if you do not release me at this moment."

His gaze slowly lowered to her lips. "I fear that there would be no one to hear. Still, you have made your point. Such a pleasant activity should be saved for more comfortable surroundings."

With a show of reluctance the stranger loosened his hold and Emma was free to scramble awkwardly to her feet. In her haste, however, she had forgotten her tender ankle, and stepping upon it, she gave a sharp gasp.

"Oh."

In a smooth movement the gentleman had also risen, and before she knew what was occurring, he had bent down to sweep her off her feet.

"Here."

Emma's eyes widened in disbelief. Never in her life had a gentleman handled her in such a fashion. Which was no doubt why her heart was racing and her breath coming in short gasps.

"What are you doing?"

Moving forward with astonishing ease, he gazed blandly down at her outraged expression.

"You are injured and cold. Like any proper knight in shining armor, I am going to rescue you."

"I can walk," she bravely lied, willing to crawl if it would remove her from the heat and sheer male strength of his body.

"Do not be a goose."

Short of a humiliating struggle that she was bound to lose, there was nothing Emma could do to alter her situation.

"Where are you taking me?" she instead demanded.

The golden eyes once again smoldered with amusement.

"To my home, of course. There we shall be warm and comfortable enough to continue our delicious activities at length."

With a sense of anticipation Cedric Morelane, Earl of Hartshore, watched the emerald eyes glitter with a wary suspicion.

It was rather bad of him to tease her, he acknowledged. Any young female would be frightened to be at the mercy of a strange man. But he had discovered a delicious enjoyment in watching her battle between fear and awareness of the attraction that had sparked to life between them.

By Jove, but she was a beauty when she was not puckering her features into a sour expression, he acknowledged. And having her soft form in his arms was giving rise to all sorts of pleasurable sensations.

He had never dreamed when he had chosen to walk back from the village that he would encounter this delectable minx stuck in the mud. Or that his desire to tease the frown from her face would lead to a kiss that had shocked him with its blazing heat.

A most delightful surprise.

Clearly not as pleased by the encounter as himself, the maiden gave a kick of her feet.

"No, put me down."

Cedric only held her tighter. "You shall have us both back into the mud if you do not halt your wiggling."

"I do not care. I will not go to your home."

He smiled down at the pale features. "Be at ease, my wood nymph. My intentions include nothing more scandalous than seeing you warm and your ankle tended."

She gave a shake of her head, the honey-gold curls shimmering in the fading light.

"No, please, I wish only to go to Mayford."

Her pleading words caught Cedric off guard.

"Mayford? Why?"

"I am Miss Cresswell, Lady Hartshore's companion."

Although Cedric had of course wondered why a pretty young lady would be in such a remote location, he had never anticipated this.

"You?"

"Yes."

"Good God," he breathed.

Not surprisingly, that sour expression returned to her countenance. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I had hoped for an older lady with a bit of sense, not a reckless child with a tendency for disaster," he replied truthfully, careful to skirt a fallen log.

Her lips thinned to a dangerous line. "I will have you know that I am utterly sensible and highly competent. It was not my fault that Lady Hartshore's coachman is fond of the bottle."

He could not halt his rueful chuckle. Although James was a good soul, he did possess a habit of imbibing when he should not. Lady Hartshore had been most careless in entrusting Miss Cresswell to his care.

"No, I suppose not. Still, you are very young."

"I am three and twenty," she stiffly informed him.

"Indeed? I should never have guessed you had reached such a great age."

Those magnificent eyes flashed again. "You are mocking me."

Cedric gave an inward shrug. Although he would have preferred a sensible old tartar for his aunt's companion, he could not truly complain. It was not as if Lady Hartshore were in genuine need of help. She merely had taken a maggot in her head at the necessity of hiring Miss Cresswell. And a staunch old maid would certainly never have provided him with such an intriguing distraction.

Shifting her to a more comfortable angle, he determined to take full advantage of their momentary interlude.

"Not at all. I was simply wondering how you had made it to the age of three and twenty without having been kissed before."

A revealing heat flooded her cheeks. "I ... perhaps because most gentlemen are not in the habit of accosting unwilling maidens."

Cedric allowed the memory of those molten moments to rise to mind. Although he had indulged in flirtations and possessed an occasional mistress, he had been as startled as Miss Cresswell by the sweet intensity of his desire. And there had been no mistaking the momentary response that had trembled through her own slender body.

"Not wholly unwilling, I think," he murmured.

She stiffened in anger at his charge. "What an arrogant beast you are."

Cedric laughed with pleasure. "And what a fiery minx you are."

Expecting another angry retort, Cedric was startled by the flare of horror that swept through her eyes.

"No. No, I am not," she fiercely denied, almost as if she were terrified of his accusation.

Cedric arched his brows at her unlikely reaction. She was clearly disturbed by the thought of her spirited nature and eager to deny her perfectly natural response.

"What is the matter?" he demanded. "I like fiery."

Her face had paled to a near white. "I do not particularly care what you like. I am a very calm and reasonable person."

Cedric was immediately intrigued. Why the devil was she so insistent? He had experienced for himself the fire and passion that smoldered deep within her. Why pretend to be a staid, unassuming milksop? Did she presume such traits were necessary for a companion? Or was there something deeper troubling her?

"If you say."