The current Earl of Hartshore was in a foul mood.

Not an unusual occurrence over the past fortnight.

Since arriving at Mayford like a lovesick fool, only to discover that his intended had fled at the break of dawn, he had gnashed his teeth and stormed around Hartshore Park like a caged lion.

Egads, had there ever been a greater simpleton?

He had thought it was fear that made Emma keep him at a distance. That once he managed to uncover her secrets, she would welcome his love with open arms.

A humorless smile twisted his lips as he entered the library and headed directly for the decanter of brandy.

Obviously that had not been the case at all.

Not only was she not welcoming him with open arms, she had bolted rather than be embarrassed by his intended proposal.

And to add exquisite insult to injury, she had left behind her rightful salary.

As if she could not bear to accept a single thing from him.

He cursed beneath his breath, pouring a healthy measure of brandy and swallowing it in one gulp.

Reaching to once again fill his glass, his attention was suddenly captured by an ivory sheet of paper propped upon the mantel.

With a puzzled frown he crossed to pluck the note from its resting place and read the brief words sprawled across the parchment: Meet me in the woods. Five o'clock.

"What the blazes?" Striding to the corridor, he bellowed for his butler. "Winters."

With commendable speed the efficient butler appeared in the doorway, his expression holding a hint of surprise at the imperious summons.

"Yes, my lord?"

Cedric held up the mysterious note. "Where did this come from?"

The butler held his hands up in confusion. "I fear I do not know."

Cedric frowned. He had presumed that Winters had placed the note in the library. Certainly none of the other servants would have entered his private sanctuary. Not in his current mood anyway. In the past two weeks they had all made a concerted effort to avoid him.

So where the devil had it come from?

For a brief moment he considered consigning the letter to the fire. Certainly no respectable individual would slip into his library and leave such an odd message.

Then he paused as he realized that it might have been left by a tenant who was too proud to be seen begging on the doorsteps of Hartshore Park.

If that were the case, then he had to make an appearance.

Damn. He pulled out his pocket watch to discover it was a quarter to five.

He would have to hurry if he was to make it on time.

"Have Greenly saddle Firefly. I shall meet him at the door in ten minutes."

"At once, my lord."

Going in search of his greatcoat and hat, Cedric paused long enough to slip a loaded pistol into his pocket. He did not believe that anyone would set such a ridiculous plot to harm him, but he was not going to take foolish risks.

A quarter of an hour later he had entered the center of the woods with no sight yet of the mysterious letter-writer.

Gads, he sighed in annoyance. Surely he was not on yet another fool's errand?

Coming around a bend in the path, Cedric abruptly realized he was at the spot where he had first encountered Emma lodged in the mud. He unconsciously brought Firefly to a halt, a savage pain ripping through his body.

Even now he had only to close his eyes to smell her scent, to see her ridiculous gray gown and shadowed emerald eyes....

"Hello, Cedric."

He blinked as a vision conjured by his fevered brain stepped from behind a tree. Good Lord, was he becoming unhinged?

Then a sudden breeze rippled through the opening and the black cape swirled close to her frame.

No. No vision, he acknowledged in disbelief, slowly dismounting. It was Emma, standing precisely where he had first seen her.

"Emma." He gave a shake of his head, attempting to gather his stunned wits. "You are the one who left the note?"

She slowly moved forward. "Yes."

"What is it? Your father? Has he been captured?"

"He is well and in London," she swiftly reassured him.

His brows drew together as he studied her pale face. He could not deny a fierce flood of pleasure at seeing her. Or the tempting urge to pull her into his arms. It had been far, far too long since he had seen her. But the memory that it had been her own choice to leave Kent brought him up short.

"What are you doing here?"

Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips, as if the sight of his set features made her uneasy.

"You said that you loved me."

He flinched at her soft words. "Yes, after which you promptly fled," he harshly reminded her.

The emerald eyes seemed to darken. "I was frightened."

"Of me?"

"Never," she denied, taking another step closer. Close enough that he could smell the warm scent of her skin. He clenched his hands at his sides. "I was afraid of myself."

"Why?"

It took a long while before she met his gaze squarely. "I was in London when my father was arrested and his true identity became known. It was . . . horrid," she confessed in uneven tones. "I could not walk out the door without my supposed friends turning away in disgust or having their laughter following behind me. I simply wished to disappear."

"So you came to Kent," he finished, battling his instinctive surge of sympathy. On the last occasion his sympathy had led to a battered heart.

"Yes."

"You have not told me why you are here."

She lifted her hands in a helpless motion. "Because I love you."

He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing at her unexpected declaration.

Love?

Women in love did not bolt in terror rather than accept a gentleman's proposal.

"And?"

She blinked at his clipped tone. "And I wish to be with you."

"Rather an abrupt change of heart, isn't it, my dear?" he forced himself to mutter.

"Cedric," she whispered in shock.

It was more difficult than he would ever believe to not simply accept her words and carry her back to Hartshore Park. How many nights had he dreamed of just this moment? How many mornings had he awoken expecting to find her in his bed?

But he could not risk his heart until he was certain she would not simply disappear once again.

"Do you know that I arose at the break of dawn the morning after the Valentine ball and rushed to Mayford with every intention of asking you to be my wife?" he demanded as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I spent the entire night rehearsing precisely how I would say the words, how I would convince you that I would take care of you, how I would devote my life to making you happy. Imagine how foolish I felt to discover that you had bolted rather than face my proposal."

A dark flush of regret stained her countenance. "I am sorry, Cedric."

"I even packed my bags to follow you, when I realized that I could not chase you forever. I am not Apollo."

She reached out to place a tentative hand upon his arm. "And I am not Daphne," she insisted. "I have no desire to run from you, Cedric."

His gaze lowered to her hand. "What if I say it is too late?"

There was a moment of bleak silence before she answered. "Then I will go to Cassie and ask if she still wishes to have me as a companion. I am not leaving Kent."

His gaze snapped upward to probe the depths of her clear emerald eyes.

"Even when everyone knows who you are?" he demanded roughly.

"The only one who matters is you. It has taken me too long to realize that."

His breath caught in his throat at the love shimmering openly in her beautiful eyes. The shadows that had haunted her for so long were gone.

With great care he lifted his hand to cup her cheek. "You are not going to disappear into the mist?"

With a brilliant smile she lifted her arms and firmly circled his neck. The feel of her soft form pressed close to his own made all his lingering doubts vanish. The barriers had been well and truly lowered.

"Like it or not, you are irrevocably stuck with me, my lord."

"Emma." He buried his head in the curve of her neck, inhaling the fresh scent of her. "I thought I had lost you forever."

Somehow she managed to snuggle even closer, making a molten heat flow through his blood.

"I have been an utter fool," she whispered. "I love you, Cedric."

He turned his head so that he could trail his lips over her satin skin to at last brush her mouth.

"And I adore you, Emma Cresswell," he murmured, thoroughly enjoying her shivers of delight beneath his caress.

Then with a smooth motion he dropped to one knee and claimed her hand.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed in surprise.

"I will not have my hours of rehearsal wasted," he informed her with a warm smile. "Emma, I promise to care for you, to love you, and give you all the security you desire. Will you marry me?"

Quite unexpectedly she lowered herself to her own knees, framing his face with her hands.

"On one condition."

Decidedly distracted by the intimacy of their position and the knowledge that they were very much alone, Cedric was ready to promise any condition.

"Oh?"

"That you will always surprise me," she said simply.

Cedric tilted back his head to laugh with sheer joy. "That I believe can easily be arranged," he assured her, reaching beneath his jacket to remove a slip of paper he had kept close to his heart since the night of the Valentine ball. He firmly pressed it into her hand.

Clearly curious, she glanced at her name scrolled onto the paper.

"What is this?"

"The Valentine that you pinned to my sleeve."

Her eyes widened. "You drew my name?"

"It was fate," he said as his arms reached out to encircle her waist and draw her close. Then with a smooth motion he lay back until he was stretched upon the hard ground with her delicious body atop him. Precisely as they had been during that first magical kiss. "From the moment I found you stuck in the mud. And now I intend to do precisely what I wanted to do then."

Unlike that first time, Emma did not struggle, but instead settled herself more comfortably as she smiled into his dark countenance.

"Why, Lord Hartshore, this is hardly proper," she teased.

His hand cupped the back of her neck as he began to bring her mouth within kissing distance.

"Well, I have never been a particularly proper sort of chap," he warned her.

She readily brushed his lips with her own, her hands moving to tangle in his hair.