"According to my aunt, you were employed as a governess."

"Yes, but I desired a change."

"Surely there were opportunities for you in London?" he persisted.

"London no longer held appeal for me, my lord."

A rather speculative gleam entered his eyes. "A broken heart?"

Emma swallowed her tart reply. Why not allow him to believe such a ridiculous notion? It would at least keep him off the scent of her true reason for leaving London.

"Of a sort." She pretended to hedge.

"He must be a witless fool to have allowed you to slip from his grasp."

Her lips twisted at the thought of the Devilish Dandy.

"On the contrary, he is exceptionally clever."

"You know, you intrigue me greatly, Miss Cresswell," he murmured.

Emma clenched her hands beneath the cover. In three and twenty years she had never intrigued any gentleman. Why now? And why this man?

"I assure you there is nothing intriguing about me. I am a simple servant, nothing more."

Placing his hands on the mattress, he slowly leaned forward. "There is nothing simple about you, my little wood nymph."

Emma sank deeper into the pillows behind her. "I wish you would not call me that."

His low chuckle sent a rash of awareness over her skin.

"Why not? Such eyes could not belong to a mere mortal. And, of course, only a magical creature could have enchanted me with a mere kiss."

Her eyes widened as a shock of heat raced through her body. No, she chastised herself sternly. He was merely flirting. He no doubt flirted with every female to cross his path. She was being a dolt to shake and shiver at his practiced charm.

"My lord, this is highly improper," she protested in cold tones.

He shrugged his unconcern. "I have never been overly fond of propriety. Such a tiresome way to live one's life."

She did not need to pretend her expression of disapproval. He sounded remarkably like her father.

"I happen to believe that propriety and respectability are highly desirable traits."

The golden eyes narrowed at the edge in her tone. "Why? They speak nothing of a person's heart or the beauty of their soul. I am acquainted with many so-called respectable and proper individuals who are far too concerned with what others think rather than merely being concerned for others."

She was not to be swayed by pretty words.

"And I am acquainted with many rogues who believe that charm is a substitute for morals."

His brows rose at her accusation. "And you believe me to be a rogue?"

"Are you not?"

"No," he retorted in a husky voice. "Simply a gentleman bewitched by a wood nymph."

Drat. How did he always manage to tumble her off guard?

"Sir, you really must halt your foolishness," she commanded in less than even tones.

"Why?" Unbelievably, he lifted a hand to toy with a stray curl that lay upon her cheek. "You are determined to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred."

Her heart raced out of control, but with determination she held on to her composure. She might react to this gentleman like a fool, but she did not have to behave as one.

"Of course it did. I was nearly killed by a drunken coachman, my foot became lodged in the mud, and a strange gentleman forced himself upon me. Hardly an ordinary day for any lady."

Her stern chastisement did nothing more than deepen his amusement.

"You did not mention the magic that shimmered in the air when our lips met."

No, she would not recall that kiss, she told herself. It was a memory best buried and forgotten.

"I do not believe in magic."

"How wretchedly dismal." His finger boldly trailed over the heated skin of her cheek. "The world would be a dull place indeed without magic and ghosts and beautiful wood nymphs."

Calm and reasonable, she frantically reminded herself. Calm and reasonable. Calm and reasonable ... a shudder raced through her body.

"You cannot believe in such nonsense?"

He gazed deep into her wide eyes. "With all my heart."

A brief, breathless moment passed between them.

Magic.

It was ludicrous. As ludicrous as ghosts and wood nymphs. And yet . . . what other explanation was there for the blaze of sensations that coursed through her body whenever he was near?

No, she was simply overly tired, she desperately told herself. And no doubt she was coming down with a chill.

Magic? Fah. More like a brain fever.

On the point of demanding that Lord Hartshore leave her in peace, she was saved the necessity as the stout housekeeper entered the room, carrying a large tray.

"Here we are, luv," she boomed as she crossed toward the bed. "A nice bowl of soup and bread fresh from the oven. Just what you need to warm you up a mite."

Forced to move by the advancing servant, Lord Hartshore rose reluctantly to his feet as Mrs. Freeman settled the tray over her patient's legs.

Silently Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for overbearing housekeepers.

"This is very kind, Mrs. Freeman," she murmured, her mouth already watering at the delicious aroma floating through the air.

"Mind you, eat every scrap."

"Yes, I will."

Satisfied that Emma was suitably cowed, the housekeeper turned her commanding attention in Lord Hartshore's direction.

"And you, sir, should not be in here," she informed him in stern tones.

That irrepressible amusement shimmered in his eyes. "I was just leaving."

She shook a finger in his direction. "See that you do."

"But of course."

She sent him a warning frown before turning and marching out of the room. With a laugh Lord Hartshore glanced down at Emma's pale face.

"I shall no doubt receive cold gruel for my dinner."

"It would serve you right," she promptly retorted. "I told you that it was not proper."

He gazed at her for a moment before giving a rueful shrug. "Very well, my prim and prickly Miss Cresswell. I will stop in later to see how you go on." Without warning he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. Emma gasped and he pulled back to meet her startled gaze. "Magic."

At Lord Hartshore's request the carriage rumbled over the road to Mayford at a sedate pace. Although Miss Cresswell had sternly claimed her ankle was much improved, he had no desire to have it rattled over rough roads. Besides, after her rather spectacular ride the previous day, he was certain she would appreciate a more mundane means of travel.

Not that she appeared particularly appreciative, he wryly acknowledged.

Leaning back into his cushioned seat, he regarded the maiden across from him. Since she had awoken that morning, she treated him with a frosty composure that was meant to keep him at a distance. His every attempt at conversation was countered with an icy retort, and when he insisted upon helping her to the carriage, she was as rigid as a stick of wood.

He could not deny he found her stiff formality a source of amusement. She might desperately desire to appear a staid servant, but he was intimately familiar with the fire that smoldered just below the surface. And it was that knowledge that pricked Miss Cresswell like a thorn she could not dislodge.

His lips unconsciously curved into a smile. What an odd combination she was, he silently acknowledged. All prim and staunch on the outside and inside a muddle of innocent passion. And, of course, there was the mystery of her presence in Kent. She was no simple companion, of that he was sure. Her dress and clothing marked her a lady, while that emerald spoke of considerable wealth. Such maidens did not become companions unless they were fleeing from something.

But what?

He had already dismissed her insinuation it was a lover. No beautiful maiden could remain so deliciously innocent had she shown encouragement to a gentleman.

Perhaps it was an overbearing father, he mused, or a wicked stepmother. Or an unwanted marriage.

He gave a faint shrug. Whatever the mystery, he would eventually unravel it.

He was nothing if not persistent.

Stretching out his legs, Cedric allowed his gaze to drift over the purity of her profile.

"You are very quiet this morning," he at last murmured. "Are you quite certain that your ankle is not troubling you?"

With a deliberate show of reluctance, she turned from the window she had been regarding with rigid fascination.

"It is only a bit sore," she assured him in cool tones.

He tilted his head to one side. "Then perhaps you are anxious at the upcoming meeting with my aunt?"

For a moment he thought she might refuse to answer, then apparently realizing he was closely related to her employer and therefore in a position to be humored, her lips thinned.

"Of course I am," she conceded. "I was hired by her Man of Business. It might be that I shall not suit her needs."

Cedric laughed at the mere notion. His dear, rather addlepated aunt had already convinced herself that Miss Cresswell's presence was vital to Mayford. Nothing would sway her now.

"You need have no fears. My aunt is a kind soul with a generous heart. She will be delighted to have you in her home."

"You did not possess such faith in my abilities yesterday," she reminded him in dry tones.

"I will admit a measure of surprise at finding my aunt's companion to be such a young and lovely maiden. Thankfully I have reconciled myself with the knowledge that what you lack in age is more than compensated by your numerous other qualities."

The beautiful eyes flashed at his teasing, but her expression never altered.

"Lady Hartshore may find my other qualities not to her liking."

"She will adore you," he assured her. "Just as I have no doubt you will adore her."

There was another pause before she allowed herself to utter the question that had no doubt bothered her for days.

"What is she like?"

Cedric found himself hesitating. Although he was deeply devoted to his aunt Cassie, he was not indifferent to the knowledge most considered her distinctly odd.

"That is rather a difficult question," he conceded.

"Why?"

"Well, as I said, she is very kind. Indeed, there is not a tenant or family within the county that she has not helped in some way."

"She sounds lovely."

"She is."

The emerald eyes sharpened. "There is something that you are not telling me."

Cedric carefully considered his words. "She has a few . . . peculiar notions."

An air of wariness settled around her. "How peculiar?"

"They are harmless," he temporized, then, hoping to distract her, he pointed out the window. "Ah, there is Mayford."

With a suspicious glance she slowly turned to regard the large stone structure just coming into view. Thankfully the sprawling mansion appeared to wipe the questions tumbling on her delectable lips from her mind.