London, 1820

One

“Dear God, what is he doing here?”

The words rushed past Sophia Mallory, Countess Winterbourne’s lips in a horrified whisper, her gaze riveted on the tall, raven-haired man who stood framed in the carved archway leading into the elegant ballroom. The sounds of Lord and Lady Benningfield’s annual soiree – laughter mixed with the hum of conversation, the lilt of the musician’s waltz, the clink of fine crystal – all faded to a dull buzz in Sophia’s mind, as did the more than two hundred guests milling about. Everything fell away except him.

Ian Broderick.

His name reverberated through her brain and she blinked, certain he was some figment of her imagination – not a completely farfetched notion as, in spite of her best efforts to forget him, he’d invaded her mind daily since she’d left him six months ago. She blinked again, but his image remained in the doorway, larger than life, striking panic in her heart.

How had he, a man of no social standing, managed to secure an invitation to one of society’s premier events of the season? Her stunned gaze flicked over the midnight blue cutaway jacket that exactly matched his eyes and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. The intricate knot of his snowy cravat, the burgundy and green plaid waistcoat that proclaimed him a Scot. Perhaps his current elegant attire, freshly shaved face and neatly trimmed hair – all the complete antithesis of the rough, workmen’s clothing, day-old stubble, and untamed locks he’d sported the last time she’d seen him – might have rendered him unrecognizable to some, but Sophia would have known him anywhere, would have sensed his presence even had the room been completely dark instead of illuminated by dozens of candles. Where on earth had a groundskeeper from the small Scottish town of Melrose procured such expensive, perfectly tailored clothes?

The questions flew from her mind and her stomach clenched when her attention returned to his face and she noted his sharp gaze intently panning the room. He couldn’t possibly be looking for her – could he? No, she’d been very careful to hide her full identity from him. Yet, the very fact he was here rippled a fissure of terror through her that his unexpected appearance somehow had something to do with her.

Escape. She had to escape. Immediately. Before he saw her. For even if he weren’t at this soiree because of her, his discovering her here would set in motion any number of scenarios, none of which would end well for her.

He hadn’t seen her yet – but based on the way his gaze scanned the room, those intense eyes would fall upon her within seconds. In spite of the crowd, her unfashionable height unfortunately made her easy to spot. With her heart pounding hard enough to bruise her ribs, she started to turn away, her every instinct intent upon escape. A gloved hand grasped her upper arm, stilling her.

“Heavens, who is that utterly divine man?”

Sophia tried to shake loose of Christine Archer, Viscountess Handley’s, hold, but her best friend’s tenacious grip tightened. As Christine was staring towards the archway across the room, Sophia didn’t question to which “utterly divine man” Christine referred.

“I … I must go.” Sophia pulled her arm free and desperately looked for the nearest exit. Her gaze lit upon the french windows leading to the terrace and she quickly stepped in that direction. But her hopes for a fast escape were thwarted by the seemingly endless wall of revellers standing between her and freedom.

“Sophia, are you all right?” asked Christine. She stepped directly in front of Sophia and her expression immediately turned to one of deep concern. “Darling, you’re pale as wax. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

I have. In the form of a man she’d hoped never to see again. A ghost from her past she’d been trying desperately to forget, lest it cost her everything. And right now that past stood terrifyingly close. If the truth were to come out—

She ruthlessly cut off the thought and, keeping her back towards the man on the opposite side of the room, she offered Christine what she hoped passed for a sheepish expression. “Too much champagne, I’m afraid,” she lied, praying her very observant friend wouldn’t recall she’d imbibed nothing stronger than lemonade. “I’ve the most dreadful headache and simply cannot stand the noise and this crush.”

Christine’s gaze turned sympathetic. “A good night’s sleep is what you need. Although I hate that you’re leaving, especially since that luscious stranger just appeared in the doorway. I’ve no idea who he is, but I intend to find out.”

Dread rippled down Sophia’s spine. “Your husband would surely object to such fascination in another man.”

Christine laughed. “Darling, I’m married – not dead. There is no sin in merely looking.” Her gaze shifted over Sophia’s shoulder and a mischievous grin curved her lips. “Although I’d wager that man knows a great deal about sin.” She returned her attention to Sophia. “I’m certain my Henry would object to my fascination – if that fascination was purely on my behalf. However, it is you I’m thinking of, Sophia. You need something – or someone – to lift your spirits.” Christine reached out and gently squeezed Sophia’s hands. “It’s been nearly three years since Robert’s death. It’s time to stop mourning. Time to live again.”

An image of her deceased husband’s face, his warm brown eyes sparkling with humour flashed through Sophia’s mind, a mental picture that was instantly replaced by one of intense dark blue eyes that seemed to burn a hole through her skin.

“I’m fine,” she said, her battle to remain calm rapidly slipping away. “I’ll start living again tomorrow – after a good night’s sleep to rid me of this headache.” She slipped her hands from Christine’s and with her head down and knees bent to minimize her height, she began weaving her way through the throng towards the french windows.

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” Christine called after her. “Expect me to call upon you tomorrow afternoon.”

Sophia nodded without turning around and focused on fleeing. When she reached the windows, she grasped the curved brass handle and opened the paned glass panel just enough to slip outside. A gust of unseasonably chilly air, heavy with the threat of rain, swirled around her, pebbling her skin, but she barely noticed the discomfort. Heart pounding, she anxiously peered back into the ballroom, her staccato breaths fogging the glass. Dread seized her when she noted Ian no longer stood under the archway leading into the ballroom, but then she spied the back of a dark head standing on the far side of the room, near the punch bowl. The man’s height identified him as Ian and Sophia sucked in a quick breath of relief. Thank God. Now she just needed to circle around to the front of the mansion then request her carriage be sent. She cursed the delay that would entail, but intending to ask Christine and Henry to escort her home, she’d dismissed her driver. At least she’d escaped the ballroom undetected. And once ensconced inside her vehicle, with the velvet curtains drawn, she’d be safe.

She turned. And froze at the sight of the snowy cravat mere inches from her nose.

“Going somewhere, Sophia?” Ian’s husky voice, rich with the flavour of Scotland, filled the darkness between them.

And with a sinking heart Sophia knew, that with those three simple words, everything she’d tried to escape had found her.

Two

Ian stared at the woman who, for the past six months he’d moved heaven and earth to find and two words pounded through his head, in perfect time to his thundering heart.

At last.

She looked at him through those huge, golden brown eyes that had grabbed him by the throat the first moment he’d seen her. He’d been taking his customary solitary walk through the cool forest that marked the border between the outskirts of Melrose and the secluded, back acreage of Marlington Hall. As he’d neared the forest’s end, where the shade melted into a golden blaze of late summer sunshine, he’d been so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t notice her until a mere twenty feet separated them.

She’d stood in profile to him, framed in sunlight, amidst an explosion of colourful wildflowers, holding a bouquet of pink roses obviously picked from the abundance surrounding her. He’d halted, surprised at the unexpected sight of her, and irritated at the disruption of his solitude. A visitor to the area, he decided, as the locals all knew and respected Marlington Hall’s property boundaries.

In no mood for company, he was about to withdraw without making his presence known when she reached up and slowly pulled the pins from her hair. Suddenly transfixed, he watched a curtain of glossy sable curls unfurl down her back. After shaking her head, she closed her eyes and raised her face. A slow smile spread across her sun-gilded features, and with a delighted laugh, she spread her arms wide and spun around in circles, her glorious hair and plain brown gown flying around her.

The sight had enchanted him. When was the last time he’d felt such pure joy? He couldn’t recall. Couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to be alone. Then, with her cheeks flushed and lips still curved in a smile framed by a pair of beguiling dimples, she’d stopped and caught sight of him.

His first look into those warm, golden brown eyes had walloped him right in the heart. Heat that had nothing to do with the bright sunshine raced through him and in the space of a single heartbeat, he’d found himself … something. Smitten? Bewitched? Neither word seemed adequate to describe the struck-by-lightning sensation that had rendered him incapable of doing anything more than staring and drinking her in. All he knew was that catching her in that unguarded, carefree moment had touched a place deep inside him, one that had felt dead for so damn long. And that for the first time in a year he’d felt something other than bleak numbness – his constant companion since the accident that had irrevocably changed his life.

She’d raised her hand to shade those Scotch whisky eyes, then moistened her lips, a gesture that riveted his gaze on her lush mouth. For several seconds she stared at him as if she too had been struck, but then her smile faded, and uncertainty, along with a flash of fear flickered in her gaze, rousing him from his stupor. Of course she’d be wary of a stranger in such an isolated spot, and God knows he hadn’t wanted to scare her off …

“Good afternoon,” he said, stepping from the shade into the sunlight. “Ye’ve chosen a braw day to explore the grounds of Marlington Hall.”

Distress joined the wariness in her gaze. “Forgive me,” she murmured, her accent immediately identifying her as English. “I’m visiting this area … I just arrived in Melrose this morning, and didn’t realize I’d wandered on to private property. If you’ll excuse me …”

She turned to leave and a sense of loss unlike anything Ian had ever experienced gripped him, propelling him forward. “No need to worry,” he assured her. “I’m well acquainted with the owner and while some might consider him a bit o’ a crabbitt, he’d have no objection to such a bonny lass enjoying a stroll on his land.”

She pivoted back to him and her gaze flicked over his scuffed, dusty boots and sturdy nankeen trousers and shirt. Certainly not clothing that would proclaim him lord of manor, but it was his preferred attire on his long, solitary walks.

“Crabbitt?” she repeated in a bewildered tone.

“Aye. What an English lass would call a curmudgeon.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “You’re employed here?”

A bark of laughter rose in his throat. Bloody hell, that question marked her a stranger like no other could have. He knew he should inform her he’d been teasing and that the reason he was so well acquainted with Marlington Hall’s curmudgeon master was because he was himself the curmudgeon. Yet the words stuck in his throat. This stranger knew nothing of him, of his past, of the accident. For the first time in a year someone was looking at him without a trace of calculation or pity.

And not just any someone. No, this someone was a bloody beautiful woman with the most gorgeous eyes and full, kissable lips he’d ever seen. Of course if she remained in Melrose any length of time she’d eventually learn the truth – gossip concerning the reclusive Earl of Marlington swirled about the village like thick fog. Yet it was so refreshing for someone to see him simply as himself he couldn’t resist delaying the inevitable. After all, what harm could possibly come of such an innocent deception?

“Aye, I work here.” Not precisely a lie as his title came with a daunting amount of responsibility. He halted an arm’s length from her and discovered that although she wasn’t a lass in her first bloom of youth – he judged her closer to thirty than twenty, perhaps even a wee bit on the other side of thirty – she attracted him like no younger woman, or even one his own age ever had. And those eyes – bloody hell, he felt as if he could stare into their soulful, expressive depths for hours. They held hints of secrets and sadness, laughter and happiness, hopes and dreams – an intoxicating combination that beckoned him to learn more, to discover everything about her.

Her eyes alone branded her a beauty in his mind, rendering her high cheekbones, creamy complexion, bewitching smile and delicate brows all but superfluous. She was tall, unfashionably so, but then so was he, and he liked that she stood up straight and regal instead of slouching to disguise her height. Even her charmingly undone appearance didn’t diminish her elegance. Her gown was plain, but of fine quality, marking her as woman of some means.

“I’m in charge of the grounds.” He shot the bouquet she held a pointed look. “I see you found the wild roses.”

More colour bloomed in her cheeks. “I adore flowers and roses are my favourite. They were so beautiful I couldn’t resist picking a few. However, I would have refrained had I known this was private property.”

A snippet of his favourite Christopher Marlowe poem drifted into his mind – And I will make thee beds of roses, and a thousand fragrant posies. It was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. “Ye should never have to refrain from taking what your heart desires.”

“You should if it belongs to another.”

“Not if it is freely given, and as I am the keeper of the roses, you are welcome to pick as many as you like.”

“Thank you, Mr …?”

To prolong the inevitable, he offered his middle name rather than his surname. “Broderick. But you may call me Ian – all my friends do.”

Amusement glinted in her eyes. “We’ve hardly been acquainted long enough to be considered friends, Mr Broderick.”

“Perhaps, but the fact that ye picked my roses makes us instant friends. ’Tis a law here in Melrose.”

She hoisted a brow. “Indeed?”

“Aye. In fact, there’s another law that once you pick a man’s roses, you’re obliged to stroll through the rest of the gardens with him.”

She pinned him with a stern stare, one rendered far less threatening by the twitching of her lips. “I know a Banbury tale when I hear one, Mr Broderick.”

“Ian. And I’m certain you do, but ’tis the truth I speak. Lord Marlington himself declared it a law.”

“For what reason?”

“Why, so the other flowers wouldn’t be jealous of the roses, of course. Ye wouldn’t want the other blooms to suffer from neglect, would you, Miss …?”

He swore something flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could be certain. “Mallory. Sophia Mallory.”

Sophia Mallory. Her name echoed through his mind like a siren’s call, and he suddenly knew precisely how Ulysses had felt – inexorably drawn, unable to resist. “’Tis a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Mallory.”

“Thank you, although it’s Mrs Mallory.”

Disappointment crushed him. Of course she would be married, would belong to someone else. While Ian had done many things he wasn’t necessarily proud of, and he’d told her to always take what your heart desired, he wasn’t a man to pursue another man’s wife – no matter how much he might want her. Still, he couldn’t rescind his invitation at this point. “Your husband is welcome to join us––”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. He passed away several years ago.”

Ian’s conscience kicked him at the wave of relief washing through him. Damn it, he shouldn’t feel such joy that any man was dead. Especially as his own loss had left him gutted – until he’d seen Sophia laughing and spinning in his meadow. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and lightly grasped her hand. Their palms met and warmth spread through him. “I’m sorry. I suffered a similar such loss and wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.”

She stilled and for several seconds he thought she meant to pull away, wouldn’t have blamed her for doing so. But instead she gently squeezed his hand. “My sympathies for your loss.”

He would have thanked her, but bloody hell, the sensation of her skin against his robbed him of his ability to speak. Instead he brushed his thumb over the silky smooth back of her hand and simply nodded.

Her gaze locked on his and something that looked like heat kindled in her eyes, giving him hope that she felt this … whatever it was grabbing him by the throat. Had his very life depended upon it, he couldn’t have looked away. And he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to release her when she gently withdrew her hand. Indeed it required a Herculean effort not to snatch her hand back and press it against his chest, so she could feel his heart pounding, could know how deeply she affected him.

“You’re certain the earl wouldn’t object to you showing his private gardens to a stranger?”

He had to swallow twice to locate his voice. “He’d insist upon it – unhappy flowers wilt and if there’s one thing that makes the earl even more crabbity than usual, ’tis wilted posies. He’d issue you the invitation himself were he in residence. Indeed, he’ll have my head if his blooms are withered when he returns.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “I can only hope ye’ll obey the law and save me from his wrath.”

Again she hesitated and Ian forced himself to remain quiet, to not give in to the unprecedented and uncharacteristic urge to drop to his knees and beg her join him. To spend the day with him. The day? He nearly laughed. More like a fortnight. A month. A decade. He wasn’t certain what had come over him, but whatever it was, there was no denying this fierce, overwhelming desire to spend more time with her.

“Very well, Mr Broderick. I shall save you this once.”

As they walked along he pointed out different plants and regaled her with humourous stories of life in Melrose, loving the sound of her laughter, enjoying her tales of England, every moment strengthening his attraction to her. When they paused by a trellis draped with fragrant roses, he paused and looked into her intoxicating eyes. “These are Marlington Hall’s finest roses. Would you like to gather some, Mrs Mallory?

She studied him and he tried his damnedest keep his expression blank to hide the want burning inside him, but wasn’t certain he succeeded, wasn’t certain it was even possible to do so. Wariness flickered in her eyes, followed by curiosity, and then … then there was no mistaking the flare of desire that kindled in her gaze, a heat that stole his breath. Stole his heart.

“Are you trying to tempt me with your roses … Ian?”

Bloody hell, the mere sound of his name on her lips drove every intelligent thought from his head. He searched his empty mind for something witty, for a clever rejoinder, but the blatant truth simply spilled out. “Yes. Are you tempted, Sophia?”

For an answer she held out her hand …

He’d wrapped his fingers around hers, a gesture that marked the start of the most incredible, happiest, bloody amazing six weeks of his life. Sophia became his friend. His lover. The axis upon which his world revolved. They’d stayed at the small secluded hunting lodge on his property, a place he’d never shared with anyone. She assumed it was the groundskeeper cottage, and he didn’t disabuse her of the notion. She didn’t speak of her past, didn’t ask about his. Instead they focused solely on each other and the moment. He wanted to tell her the truth, but the time never seemed right, even less so the longer they spent together. But one night, when her time in Scotland was nearing its end, after making love with a passion unlike anything he’d ever known, he watched her sleep and could no longer rationalize his deception. After vowing to tell her the truth the next morning, he’d gone to sleep. And woken up alone. She left behind only a brief note – and a man who was determined to find her. Little had he known how difficult that quest would prove. Because as he soon learned, she’d been equally dishonest with him about who she was.

Looking at her now, the darkness cloaking them, Ian fought to align his conflicting emotions. His profound relief that he’d finally found her. His anger at the way she’d left him. The enervating hurt that she could leave him. It didn’t help assuage his pain that rather than being pleased by his presence, she looked distressed and desperate to flee.

To ensure that she didn’t, he grasped her upper arm, then pulled her away from the arc of light spilling from the windows, behind topiary potted in an enormous stone urn.

“What are you doing here, Ian?” She tried to pull free of his hold, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m here to see you, Sophia. Or should I say Lady Winterbourne?” Before she could reply, he continued, “Nay, not Lady Winterbourne – that’s far too formal after the intimacies we shared. Do you recall those intimacies, Sophia? Those times when I was so deep inside your body you said it felt as though I touched your heart?”

She closed her eyes and turned her face away from him, and all the hurt and anger, frustration and confusion that had consumed him since that morning he’d woken up alone rushed to the surface and he stepped closer, forcing her back until her shoulders touched the rough stone.

“Look at me, damn it.” She complied with obvious reluctance, then regarded him with a dispassionate expression he’d never seen from her before. “Yes, I remember,” she said, her voice matching that blank look in her eyes. “You know who I am, my title. That I wasn’t honest with you. You’re obviously angry––”

“Yes, I bloody well am angry, but not because you’re a countess.” By God, it was all he could do not to shake her. “I don’t give a damn if you’re a scullery maid or a royal princess.”

A frown puckered her brow. “Then why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” An incredulous sound escaped him. “Surely it can’t surprise you that I’d come after you, especially after you left with no explanation––”

“I wrote you a note.”

“Aye. And a bloody inadequate note it was.”

“It said everything that needed to be said.”

“Indeed?” He reached into his waistcoat pocket, withdrew the missive she’d left, and held it up to her. He didn’t need to look at the words – they felt etched in blood on his heart. “‘Dear Ian, please forgive my abrupt departure, but it is for the best. I’ll always treasure our time together and wish you every happiness.’” He crumbled the paper in his fist and leaned forwards until mere inches separated their faces. “I want to know how you could possibly think those words were in any way adequate after what we’d shared. Or why you leaving was ‘for the best’.”

Instead of appearing in any way cowed, she lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I’ve no intention of answering any of your questions until you answer mine, the first of which is how did you gain entrance to this soiree?”

Reluctant admiration at her courage in the face of his ire washed through him and he leaned back. “I sent Lord Benningfield a note informing him I’d be arriving in London this evening and requested an invitation, which he kindly provided.”

She frowned. “Why would he do that?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He’d hardly turn away the Earl of Marlington.”

“I agree. But surely he’d turn away his groundskeeper …” Her words trailed off and realization dawned in her eyes. “Dear God. You’re not … you can’t be––”

“Ah, but I am – the crabbitty curmudgeon himself.” He offered her a formal bow. “Lord Marlington, at your service.”

Three

Feeling as if the flagstones shifted beneath her feet, Sophia stared in disbelief at the man she’d unsuccessfully tried to forget for the last six months. The man she’d had to force herself to leave. “The Earl’s name is William Ferguson,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Aye. And I am he – William Ian Broderick Ferguson.”

Her gaze drifted over his perfectly tailored formal attire – garments that clearly cost a fortune, and suddenly things about him that had seemed incongruous with a groundskeeper clicked into place. His love of literature and poetry. His regal bearing. His expertise at riding. The ease with which he conversed on any subject. Why hadn’t she seen the clues? No doubt because she was keeping her own secrets and therefore hadn’t wanted to too closely examine any discrepancies in his behaviour lest they lead to questions about hers. The fact that she’d been so utterly besotted with him clearly hadn’t helped her thought processes. Even as she realized he now spoke the truth, part of her still couldn’t quite believe it.

“You lied to me,” she said, not certain if she were more angry at him for his deception or at herself for not suspecting the truth.

His brows shot upward. “Now isn’t that a wee bit o’ the pot calling the kettle black – Lady Winterbourne.”

Botheration, he had a point, which only served to annoy her further. “I told you my true name. I merely omitted my title.”

“As did I.”

“I had reasons, valid reasons for not telling you I was a countess.”

“Just as I had my valid reasons for not telling you I was the earl.” He stepped closer and Sophia drew in a quick breath, one she instantly regretted as it filled her head with his scent … that intoxicating mixture of warm skin and sandalwood and something elusive that belonged to Ian alone. It required all her will not to throw her arms around him and bury her face against his neck and simply breathe him in. Tell him how much she’d missed him. Explain how it had required her every ounce of her fortitude to leave him. How she hadn’t been the same since the day she’d met him. Nor since the day she’d left him.

“I was on the verge of telling ye the truth, but when I awoke, you were gone.” He cupped her face between his hands and Sophia’s heart nearly stalled at the intensity of his gaze, at the hurt and desire and confusion burning in his eyes. “How, Sophia? How could you leave me like that?”

The question sounded tortured, and panic filled her at how badly she wanted give in to the yearning ambushing her. At how easy it would be to forget all the reasons she’d ended their affair so abruptly. Summoning a cool demeanour she was far from feeling, she said, “We both knew I had to return to England.”

“Aye, but not for another fortnight. And earlier that last night we’d discussed you remaining longer.”

Yes. Which had precipitated her leaving … while she still had the heart to do so.

A muted peal of laughter reached her and she recalled the hundreds of guests just beyond the french windows. If she were found out here, alone with Ian … she shuddered at the thought of the scandal that would ensue – the very sort of scandal she’d left him to avoid.

“What we shared was lovely while it lasted, Ian,” she whispered in a rush, desperate to end this confrontation and get away before they were discovered – or before she gave in to the overwhelming need to touch him. “But we both knew it was only temporary. I’m truly sorry I hurt you. That was never my intention.”

“It may have started as temporary, but that changed very quickly, and you bloody well know it.” His eyes narrowed and she locked her knees not to shrink under his sharply assessing gaze. “Or are you trying to tell me that my feelings were one-sided all those weeks?”

“I’m trying tell you – again – that our … liaison of last summer is over. And now if you’ll excuse me––”

Her words chopped off with a gasp when he slapped his large palms against the stones on either side of her head, caging her in. “Liaison?” He pinned her in place with a look that simultaneously froze and heated her. “The woman standing in front of me is no’ the same woman who shared my bed, my home, my every bloody thought for all those weeks. Which means one of you is a damn liar. I’ll give you one chance – one chance, Sophia – to tell me which one of you is false before I find out for myself.”

“There is nothing to tell. I’m the same woman and––”

His mouth came down on hers, ending her words, the raw passion and naked need in his kiss obliterating her every thought. She tried to remain unresponsive, fought to keep her longing and desire contained, but they ripped through her, a razor sharp sword that sliced through her resolve and shredded her good intentions. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and the battle was lost. With a groan she was helpless to contain, she wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips. And instantly felt as if she’d arrived home after an arduous journey.

He crushed her to him, deepening the kiss. The irresistible heat of his body surrounded her, and she rose up on her toes, desperate to get closer. With a sound that resembled a growl, he curved one large hand around her bottom, pressing her tighter against his hard arousal. Dear God, he felt so good. Tasted so good. And she’d missed him so much. Wanted him so badly.

He lifted his head, ending their kiss, and Sophia barely refrained from moaning in protest. Clinging to his broad shoulders, her head flopped weakly forward. His heartbeat thundered against her forehead, in unison with his rapid breaths beating warm against her temple. She squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the recriminations falling upon her like bricks.

One kiss. That’s all it had taken for every one of her fine resolutions and good intentions to crumble to dust. For him to render her breathless. Boneless. Just as he had from that first moment she’d seen him in the meadow, when he’d stepped into a shaft of sunlight and utterly dazzled her. Her momentary fear at finding herself alone with a stranger in such an isolated spot vanished when she’d looked into his eyes.

While those beautiful dark blue depths clearly harboured secrets, they also reflected a vulnerability and sadness that told her without any words that he’d suffered great loss. As she’d suffered the same, she felt an instant kinship with him, one that went far deeper than the physical attraction she’d felt. Between his commanding height, muscular physique, thick, unruly hair, bold features, and mischievous grin, he was nothing short of spectacular.

In spite of the fact that at five and twenty he was twelve years her junior, she’d been unable to resist him – an affliction that given her current breathless, boneless state, clearly hadn’t lessened one iota. She’d tried so hard these last six months to forget him, the magic between them, bury her feelings, and she’d thought she’d succeeded. One kiss proved she’d completely failed.

Filled with self-directed reproach, Sophia pulled in an unsteady breath, then opened her eyes and raised her head. And found Ian studying her with grim satisfaction.

“Well, that answered that question,” he said in his hoarse Scottish burr. He leaned forwards to nuzzle her neck with his warm lips, rushing a sigh of pleasure into her throat. How such a firm mouth could be so wickedly soft, she didn’t know.

“Caileag bhrèagha,” he murmured in Gaelic against her skin. “My beautiful girl. The girl I met in the meadow.” He lightly sucked on her sensitive skin, then with a tortured sound he raised his head. Framed her face between his palms. And regarded her through very serious eyes that burned with suppressed passion. “As much as I’m aching to continue this right here, right now, ’tis not the place.”

She flicked a glance towards the windows and gave a tight nod. Dear God, she was fortunate they hadn’t already been discovered. “Not the place,” she concurred, “and discretion is called for. We cannot return to the ballroom together.”

He briefly glanced at her mouth then nodded. “One look at us and even the most casual observer would know we shared more than conversation out here and I’ve no wish to give rise to any speculation that could harm your reputation. There’s no need to return to the ballroom at all. My carriage awaits us in the mews.”

Without another word, he took her hand and led her down the terrace steps. Questions bounced through Sophia’s mind, begging to be voiced, but she shoved them aside. All that mattered now was escaping the party without being noticed.

Once in the garden, she followed him along the shadows near the high stone wall surrounding the property. His warm, strong fingers remained wrapped firmly around hers, guiding her safely over the uneven ground and shooting pleasurable tingles up her arm. Mental images of his big, sun-browned, calloused hands flashed unbidden through her mind. Removing her clothes. Exploring every inch of her skin. Teasing her feminine folds. Soaping her body as she lounged in his brass bathtub. Feeding her morsels of food he bought in the village. Bringing her more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed possible …

They arrived at the wooden gate at the rear of the garden and silently slipped into the mews. After helping her into the waiting carriage, Ian settled himself on the seat opposite her, then tapped on the roof, and the vehicle started with a jerk. Ensconced in the safety of the dark, curtained interior, moving swiftly away from the party, Sophia drew what felt like her first deep breath since she’d seen Ian standing across the ballroom.

As much as she dreaded their upcoming conversation, there was no avoiding it. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible then send him on his way back to Scotland. She’d listen to his explanations, offer her own – making absolutely certain he understood there could be no further relationship between them. Then they’d both return to their lives.

Lives that had briefly intersected, but never would again.

Four

Sophia’s pulse jumped when Ian moved from the opposite side of the slow-moving carriage to sit next to her.

He reached out and touched her cheek. “Sophia. God, how I’ve missed you. You’ve not left my thoughts for even a moment these past six months.”

The anguish in those whispered words flayed her. “I’ve thought of you, too, Ian, but—”

He pressed a fingertip to her lips. “No ‘but’. The fact that you thought of me is enough for this moment.”

“Where are we going?”

“Mayfair. I’ve let a townhouse on Park Lane.”

Sophia’s brows shot up. “That’s the most exclusive part of town.”

“Aye.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Ye didn’t expect an earl – even a Scottish one – to stay in a hovel, did you?”

Embarrassment heated her face. “Of course not. I’m simply not accustomed to thinking of you as an earl, especially as you seemed very much at home living in the groundskeeper cottage.”

A sheepish expression crossed his handsome features. “That was actually my private hunting lodge, and I’m used to being there alone. I enjoy occasionally fending for myself, not being surrounded by servants. It’s my … sanctuary. No one has ever accompanied me there.” He raised her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm. “Until you.”

Her common sense screamed at her to pull her hand from his, but her inner voice whispered to take this opportunity and enjoy his touch.

The whisper defeated the scream.

“How long do you intend to remain in London?” she asked.

“Just a few days. I must return to Melrose to attend to estate affairs I’ve put off.”

“Put off because you were looking for me?”

“Aye. They paled in importance to finding you, but now that I have, there are duties I cannot postpone any longer.”

Silence swelled between them. Ian looked at Sophia and bludgeoned back the desire threatening to strangle him. He’d inwardly vowed not to pounce on her like a starving mongrel, yet he knew he’d do exactly that if he gave in to the overwhelming temptation to kiss her again.

Determined to keep the promise he’d made to himself, he said, “I’m waiting to hear why you kept your title a secret from me.”

“I’d prefer to hear your explanation first.”

“Very well.” He drew a deep breath, then began, “The day I met you had, until that moment, been very difficult for me, as had the entire preceding year. It was the anniversary of a carriage accident. One that took the lives of both my parents and my sister.”

His words seemed to hang in the air between them and Ian braced himself for the onslaught of painful memories bombarding him. Shocked distress filled her eyes and she captured his hands in hers. “Oh, Ian. How awful. I’m so sorry.”

He gave a tight nod and gripped her hands. Bloody hell, he hated talking about this. Hated the horrible images flashing through his mind. Determined to get this over with, he continued in a rush, “We were returning to Melrose after an extended visit with father’s sister and her family. It had rained hard the night before, and the roads were rutted and slippery. We should have waited to leave …”

He looked down and whispered the words that had haunted him since that day, words he’d never spoken aloud. “It was my fault.”

“Ian, no––”

“Yes.” Gut churning, he raised his gaze to hers. “I’m the one who wanted to return to Melrose. For a riding party scheduled for the following day.” A bitter sound escaped him and he pulled his hands from hers to press the heels of his palms against his throbbing forehead. After drawing a shuddering breath he continued, “The carriage threw a wheel and went over a rocky ledge.” The sickening sensation of the carriage rolling over and over tightened his stomach and the sound of his mother’s and Fia’s screams, mingled with his father’s and Ian’s shouts echoed through his mind. And then the silence … the terrifying silence.

He dragged his hands down his face. “I lost consciousness. I don’t know how long for. When I came around, I discovered that my mother, my father, my sister Fia, as well as the driver were dead.”

The carriage passed beneath a gas lamp, illuminating Ian’s features and Sophia’s heart squeezed at the raw anguish in his eyes. “Dear God, Ian.” She reached out and once again clasped his hands, noting that they were cold and trembling. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m so terribly sorry for your loss. And that you must stop blaming yourself.”

“Why? If I hadn’t been so intent on returning home, they’d still be alive. They all died, yet I was barely injured. Just a bump on my head, some bruised ribs and a broken arm.” He looked at her through bleak eyes. “Why I didn’t die as well? God knows I wanted to, and God knows I considered taking my own life.”

The pain in his eyes, in his voice pierced Sophia’s soul and she clung tighter to his hands. “Thank God you didn’t.”

A humourless sound escaped him. “The only reason I didn’t was because the people of Melrose and the neighbouring villages that had depended on my father and Marlington lands for their livelihood now depended on me and the responsibility wasn’t one my conscience would allow me to shirk. Looking back, I’m not certain how I did it when the mere act of drawing a breath seemed an effort.”

“I understand that feeling very well,” she murmured. “Losing someone you love is like losing part of yourself. I cannot imagine the pain of simultaneously losing three people you loved.

He nodded, then continued, “It wasn’t the responsibilities of running the estate that confounded me – my father had taught me well. Indeed, I was grateful to have something to occupy my time. What I couldn’t tolerate was people looking at me with pity. And the constant talk of the accident – I didn’t want to talk about it. The stream of callers never stopped, and as the months passed the callers came to include mothers toting along their marriage-aged daughters. That’s when it dawned on me that I was one of the most sought-after bachelors in Scotland.

“In the months that followed, I felt like a hunted man. I couldn’t venture into the village without hearing the whispers. Matchmaking mothers from every level of the peerage sought an audience with me under the guise of sympathy calls, not to mention the women themselves who thought a man in my position required a mistress, or at least a short term liaison. I finally stopped accepting callers and no longer left the estate. I soon was referred to as a crabbitty recluse.”

With his gaze steady on hers, he said, “The day I met you, I’d wandered the estate for hours, reflecting on the horror of the past year and all I’d lost. Wondering how, where I’d find the will to face another year. To face another day. And then I saw you. You were like a vision in the sunshine, sent to remind me what happiness looked like, felt like. I’d been numb for so long, and when I realized you didn’t know who I was, thought I was the groundskeeper, I couldn’t resist allowing you believe it, at least for a little while.”

He reached out and Sophia’s breath caught when he gently brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “That first magical afternoon with you was the first time in a year I’d felt anything other than pain and misery. You saw only Ian – no title, no wealth. You cannot imagine how refreshing, how liberating that was. Plus, you were clearly no more anxious to speak of the past than I was, a relief to be sure. After you agreed to send for your things at the inn and stay with me in the hunting lodge you believed was the groundskeeper cottage, I decided there was no immediate need to tell you. I knew in my heart I needed to, but as the weeks passed I was not only unsure how to tell you, I also feared you’d be so angry I hadn’t been honest from the beginning, that you’d leave. And I wanted you to stay. More than I wanted my next breath. But you left anyway. And I had to find you. To tell you the truth. To beg your forgiveness for being less than completely honest. And to let you know how much our time together meant to me.” He regarded her through solemn eyes. “Everything, Sophia,” he said softly. “It meant everything.”

Hot moisture pushed behind Sophia’s eyes. Framing his face between her hands, she said, “I knew the moment I saw you that you’d suffered great loss – it was the source of the immediate kinship I experienced with you. I simply didn’t know how very great that loss was. I’m sorry for all you’ve suffered. Sorry you still blame yourself. It was God’s will, Ian, and something only He understands. Please don’t blame yourself for living. Embrace the gift of life you were given and live it to the fullest. You’re a wonderful man. In every way. And you deserve every happiness.”

A shudder wracked his large frame. He closed his eyes and turned his head to press a fervent kiss against her palm, a gesture that made the area surrounding her heart go hollow. “Thank you, Sophia. Telling you everything … I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

His whispered words blew warm against her palm, and unable to stop herself, she touched her lips to his forehead. “I’m glad. And for that reason alone I wish you’d told me sooner. And now I owe you the same courtesy – the truth.”

After pressing another kiss against her palm, he leaned back. “I’m listening.”

“I travelled to Scotland because I was desperately unhappy. And lonely … so horribly lonely. Even when I was surrounded by people I felt alone. Not even the company of my closest friends brought me comfort. I prayed that a holiday somewhere I’d never been would cure my melancholy. That a complete change of scenery, where I knew no one and no one knew me, would help me regain the part of myself that had died along with my husband.”

“You must have loved him very much.”

“Yes … but not at first. My father, who wasn’t titled, inherited a great fortune when I was fifteen, one he was determined to use to marry his only child into the peerage. I was apprehensive, especially as Robert was nearly thirty years my senior, but my fears were allayed when I met him. He was very kind and needed to marry an heiress to fill the empty family coffers. It wasn’t a love match, but our affection grew into a mutual love and respect. He was an exceptional man. Intelligent and witty. A loving husband.” She hesitated, then added softly, “And father.”

Ian went perfectly still. “Father? You … you have children?”

“A son. Edward.”

“How old is he?”

“Fifteen.” As it always did, her heart swelled at the thought of her son. “He’s a compassionate and extraordinary young man. After Robert’s death, Edward became the only bright spot in my existence, which I learned is a terrible burden to place upon a child. Rather than concentrating on his studies at Eton, Edward spent his time worrying about me. I was bereft last year at the thought of once again being alone when the new school term commenced after his summer holiday. While I never told him, he clearly sensed my distress because he informed me he didn’t wish to return to Eton. He wanted to remain in the country with me and be taught by private tutors. He wouldn’t admit that my melancholy was the reason, but of course it was. That was the moment I realized I had to fix myself – for my son’s benefit as much as my own.”

“So you travelled to Scotland.”

“Yes. I promised Edward that if he would focus on his studies at Eton, I would return as the mother he’d known before Robert’s death. I had no idea how I intended to keep that vow, but I was determined to do so. Pure chance led me to Melrose. For reasons I didn’t fully understand, I omitted my title when registering at the inn there. Looking back, I suppose I was trying to recapture the happy, carefree days of my youth, before I became an heiress and was sought after for my fortune.”

“Not very pleasant – being wanted primarily because of your wealth.”

“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “So, in Melrose, I was merely Sophia Mallory. Eager to explore, I went for a walk as soon as I arrived. I wandered into a beautiful meadow and picked a handful of roses. Holding those flowers, feeling the warmth of such a lovely day, it suddenly felt as if something inside me shifted – like a dark cloud dissipating so the sun could shine through. A joy I hadn’t felt since before Robert’s death bubbled up inside me. I spun around in pure delight, feeling free in a way I hadn’t since I was a girl. And when I stopped spinning, I saw you. I considered telling you my title, but when you confirmed you were the groundskeeper, I changed my mind. A groundskeeper wouldn’t converse so informally with a countess – and I had no desire to end our conversation. By the end of our walk through the garden I knew I wanted us to become lovers.”

His lips twitched. “I’m heartbroken it took you that long to realize it. I knew the instant I laid eyes on you.”

“I still considered telling you, but after a few weeks with you in the cottage, my title simply ceased to matter. I loved the simplicity of our existence. Loved being simply Sophia. I knew I’d have to return to my world, but until that time, I didn’t want anything of my life in England to intrude on my happiness. Because Ian, I was truly happy. I never thanked you properly, so I hope you’ll accept my gratitude now.”

“Then why did you leave? And so abruptly?”

“When you mentioned me staying longer than the two months I’d planned, it burst the bubble surrounding me. I realized I’d inadvertently led you to believe our arrangement could continue for an extended duration. It seemed too late to tell you the truth, yet I couldn’t bring myself to lie to you any longer. That last night, it became clear that your feelings for me were stronger than I’d ever anticipated them becoming.” She drew a deep breath, then added, “As were my feelings for you.”

Fire, and something that looked alarmingly like hope kindled in his eyes. He lifted her hands to his lips and gently kissed the backs of her fingers. “You’ve no idea how glad I am to hear of these strong feelings for me, Sophia.”

Before she could tell him that he shouldn’t be glad, that those feelings were impossible, the carriage jerked to halt.

“We have arrived,” Ian said softly.

Five

Sophia halted just inside the drawing room. “What’s all this?” she asked, sweeping her arm towards the round table set before the hearth where a cheery fire crackled.

Ian assessed the table with a critical eye and was pleased to note his instructions to the staff had been perfectly carried out during his absence. “A surprise. For you.”

She walked across the room then slowly circled the table. “Roses, cherries, marzipan, scones and raspberry conserve,” she murmured, gently trailing her fingertips around the polished wood edge. “All my—”

“Favourite things. Aye.” Ian leaned against the hearth and crossed his arms over his chest – the only way he could keep from yanking her into his arms. Bloody hell, if he’d thought it difficult not to pounce upon her before, it was nearly impossible not to do so now, when no more secrets existed between them. When he’d bared his soul to her, and she’d admitted to having strong feelings for him.

Based on her reaction to their kiss on the terrace, he didn’t doubt he could seduce her, but he wanted more than a quick romp. Wanted more than her body. He wanted her heart. And wanted her to know she owned his. Although she’d owned it from the moment he’d seen her, he’d never told her so, something he’d castigated himself for every day for the past six months. Surely if he’d told her, she wouldn’t have left him. He’d intended to, but hadn’t felt the need to rush, especially as he believed she knew, even without the words, how deeply he cared for her. Bloody hell, it had seemed as if his feelings all but glowed from him.

It was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat. Before this evening was over, Sophia would know, without a doubt, how much he cared for her – out of the bedchamber as well as in it.

So, instead of sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the nearest bed, he offered her a smile and teased, “I’d wager you’re now sorry you never expressed to me a love for diamonds and emeralds.”

She laughed, a magical sound that flowed over him like warm honey. “In truth I’m not overly fond of diamonds or emeralds. I much prefer—”

“Pearls.”

“I mentioned that?”

He nodded. “Once.”

“And you remembered?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I suppose I am.”

She returned her attention to the table and picked up one of the sea shells decorating the surface. As he knew she would, she held the shell up to her ear, and his heart turned over at the delighted smile that lifted her lips. “You also remembered how I love the sound of the sea.”

“I recall every detail of our time together. Everything about you is … unforgettable.”

Colour rushed into her cheeks and she quickly set the shell back in the bowl. “Ian, what I said in the carriage regarding my feelings … there are things we need to discuss—”

“I agree. And what better way to begin than with your favourite things?” He slid back one of the mahogany chairs from the table in invitation.

Her gaze lingered over the arrangement of pink roses set in a crystal vase in the centre of the table. “I believe you are once again trying to tempt me with your roses.”

“I am. And let’s not forget the cherries, marzipan, scones and raspberry jam.”

She moistened her lips, a gesture that tightened Ian’s fingers around chair back. “I am a bit hungry,” she murmured.

“Excellent. Shall we sit?”

She hesitated, and he prayed the wariness in her eyes was a result of not trusting herself – bloody great news as far as he was concerned – as opposed to not trusting him: a bloody depressing thought. Finally she nodded, then gracefully sat and murmured her thanks. Ian took the seat across from her and popped a piece of marzipan in his mouth. While enjoying the almond-flavoured treat as well as several cherries he watched her spread jam on a scone then take a delicate bite.

“Is it to your liking?”

“Yes. Thank you for going to such trouble on my behalf.”

“’Tis no trouble to give you the things you enjoy, Sophia.”

His gaze riveted on a speck of jam dotting her bottom lip. Unable to resist, he reached out and brushed a fingertip over the spot. “You missed a bit of jam.” With his gaze steady on hers, he sucked the morsel from his fingertip. Her eyes darkened at the gesture – which he might perhaps have been able to resist, but when her gaze dropped to his mouth and she whispered his name, the fire racing through him incinerated his every good intention, and the battle not to touch her was well and truly lost.

Without taking his gaze from her, he stood and strode around the table. Lifted her into his arms. Carried her swiftly to the sofa. Set her on the chintz-covered cushion, then covered her body with his.

“Missed you so bloody much,” he murmured in a rough whisper, interspersing kisses along her jaw and neck between words. “Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think o’ anything but you. Finding you. Touching you. Loving you.”

Every thought fled his mind when she tangled her fingers in his hair and urged his mouth to hers for a lush, tongue-dancing kiss. More. Needed more. He insinuated his hand beneath her gown’s hem and skimmed his palm up her leg.

“Ached for you … God, Sophia, I’ve ached for you every minute of the last six months.” They both groaned when he touched her folds. “Wet,” he rasped, running his tongue down her throat as he teased her with a light, circular motion then slipped two fingers inside her. “You’re so beautifully wet.”

She moaned and arched beneath him, spreading her legs wider. “I’ve ached for you as well, Ian.” She stroked his hard length through his breeches, and he gritted his teeth against the intense pleasure.

Helpless to remain still, he thrust into her hand. “I won’t last long if you continue doing … ahhh … that.” Long? Bloody hell, he was a heartbeat away from ripping open his breeches and mindlessly sinking into her. Which was precisely what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do. Damn it, he was going to do this properly even if it killed him – which it bloody well might.

With a groan that felt ripped from his soul, he sat up, bowed his head, and fought to control his ragged breathing.

“Ian …” She sat up and kissed his neck, dragging another groan from him. “You didn’t need to stop. I want us to have this night. One last night to be together.”

A frown pulled down his brows and he turned towards her. “One last night? What are you talking about?”

“Us … spending the night together. Enjoying each other.”

“And then …?”

“And then I’ll go home. And you’ll return to Scotland.”

Bloody hell. He’d not only pounced on her, he’d lost his mind and forgotten all his fine plans for the evening. “Sophia. I stopped because I didn’t come here for a quick romp—”

“I understand. Which is why I want you to know we can have the entire night.”

“No, you don’t understand at all. I didn’t come to London to resume our affair or to spend a night with you. I came here to tell you that I love you. So much it hurts to even breathe without you. I don’t want you to be just my lover. I want you to be my wife.” He withdrew a square velvet box from his waistcoat pocket then lowered himself to one knee. Looking into her eyes, he opened the box to reveal the pearl ring he’d commissioned especially for her. “Sophia, will you marry me?”

Six

The blank shock, followed by dawning dismay, on Sophia’s face was definitely not the reaction Ian had hoped for. She rose from the sofa then moved to the fireplace, putting the length of the Axminster rug between them. “Marry you? You cannot be serious.”

Hurt and – damn it – anger propelled him to his feet. He set the ring aside then reached her in two long strides and grasped her shoulders. “I’ve never been more serious in my life. I love you, Sophia. I want ye to be my wife. To share my life.”

She shook her head and tried to shrug off his hold, but he wouldn’t let her. “It’s impossible, Ian.”

“Why?”

“Why? Surely you can see this could never work between us. Your place is in Scotland. Mine is here, in England, being the sort of mother to Edward I promised him I’d be. The sort whose behaviour is above reproach. A scandal would not only cast shame upon me, but Edward as well. Just last year a terrible scandal erupted when a viscountess was discovered having an affair with a footman. Her husband publicly gave her the cut direct, and many in Society, not wishing to incur the viscount’s wrath, cut not only the viscountess but her children as well, including her son, whose political aspirations suffered as a result. Edward has political aspirations as well. I cannot, will not subject him to any such possible shame.”

“I’m not a footman, Sophia, and I’m asking you to be my wife – not my mistress. We are of the same social class. No scandal would touch you or your son if we married.”

“The age difference between us is enough to set tongues wagging. I’ll be labelled a cradle snatcher – or worse. My God, Ian, you’re not only twelve years younger than me – you’re only ten years older than my son!”

“You make it sound as if I’m a child rather than a man of five and twenty. What precisely is it you think I’m too young for?”

“A woman of seven and thirty.”

He muttered a Gaelic curse. “There is naught I can do about my unfortunate lack of age, except to reiterate that it doesn’t matter to me and to remind you that I will get older.”

“As will I. I know how difficult an age gap can be in a marriage—”

He cut her off with a dismissive wave. “Twelve years is hardly the same as the thirty-year difference you had with your husband.”

“You’ll change your mind when you’re still a young man and I’m an old hag.”

“That’s bloody ridiculous. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“Beauty fades with age.”

“Not inner beauty. But using your theory, any good looks you believe I possess will also fade. You’ll look at me and see a crabbitty old coot.”

She shook her head. “Ian, it was one thing for us to be together in Scotland, where I was unknown and had no one but myself to consider. It was a wonderful, special time and I’ll always be grateful to you for showing me how to live again. For making me want to live again. But it wasn’t real.”

“The hell it wasn’t. It was the most real thing I’ve ever known.”

“While it lasted. But it had to end.”

“Not if we care for each other.”

Her eyes begged for understanding. “I must set a good example for Edward, and that good example does not include being with a man twelve years my junior.”

“I don’t give a damn about the twelve years!”

“You should. What of an heir? It’s very unlikely I can bear another child.”

“I’ve male cousins who can inherit the title.”

“Every man wants a son of his own.”

“I canna speak for every man – only myself. And what I want is a woman to love. A woman who makes me laugh. Who makes me happy. Having a child would be a great blessing, but ’tis not vital to my happiness. Whereas you, Sophia, are absolutely vital.” He smoothed his hands down her arms and entwined their fingers. “I also want a woman who loves me, as much as I love her. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the only reason us marrying would be impossible – if you don’t love me.” He searched her gaze, wishing he could read her thoughts, but her expression was impossible to decipher. “So the only question left is: do you love me?”

“I … I care for you very much—”

“That is no’ what I asked. Do you love me? ’Tis a simple question – and requires only a simple yes or no answer.”

Tenderness shimmered in her eyes, filling him with relief and hope. “Yes, Ian. I love you. But––”

He cut her off with a hungry kiss filled with all the pent-up love and frustration and passion he’d held in check for what felt like an eternity. She loved him. Nothing else mattered. He deepened the kiss and the words at last thundered through his brain. At last she was back in his arms, where she belonged. At last they would be together. At last.

A shudder shook her and he lifted his head. And stilled at the tears in her eyes … golden brown pools that shimmered with sadness and regret rather than happiness. And suddenly he felt as if he’d turned to ice.

She stepped back and his arms fell to his sides. “Ian … I cannot marry you. I do love you – so much that it is nearly impossible to recall that I have responsibilities beyond my own happiness and selfish desires. Which is the biggest reason I had to leave you in Scotland – because I was so tempted to forget everything but you. To think of nothing, no one but myself. But I cannot think only of myself. I cannot risk any sort of scandal. If there was only me to consider … but there’s not. Perhaps if Edward were an adult … but he’s not. If I were younger or you were older … but that isn’t the case. I wish with all my heart our circumstances were different … but they’re not.”

Ian heard her words, but after she’d said I cannot marry you, they all blurred together. It didn’t really matter what she said – in spite of her regret, her resolute determination was clear to see. His heart screamed at him to argue, to persuade her, but his mind knew there was no point. Perhaps she loved him, but it didn’t matter. Because she didn’t love him enough. And no amount of arguing or persuasion would change that.

He had to clear his throat to locate his voice. “Well, that’s that then.” He sounded as gutted as he felt.

She reached out and rested her hand on his chest. Right above the heart she’d just broken. “Yes, but we still could have tonight, Ian. One more night. And then say good-bye.”

He briefly closed his eyes and pressed her hand tighter against his chest. Then shook his head. “I can’t have you again then let you go. I can’t have you again then say good-bye. I want it all, Sophia. All or nothing.”

A single tear slid down her cheek and fell on his cuff. “Then I’m afraid it’s … nothing.”

Ian watched the droplet soak into the white linen, until the tear was gone, as if it had never existed. Just like the happiness they’d shared last summer. He gave a tight nod, then without a word he crossed the room and pulled the bell cord. Only several seconds passed until a knock sounded. At Ian’s bid to enter, the butler opened the door. “Please have the carriage brought round and see that Lady Winterbourne is escorted safely home.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The butler withdrew, and Ian turned to Sophia. He almost wished he could take some satisfaction in the fact that she looked as pale and eviscerated as he felt, but it was impossible to feel anything when his entire body was numb. Heavy silence fell between them. He searched his mind for something to say, but he had no words left.

The butler returned a moment later. “The carriage is ready, my lord,” he said, then withdrew.

Ian watched Sophia cross the room. Felt her touch his hand. Heard her say softly, “I wish you much happiness, Ian.” And then she quit the room. He stared at the empty doorway after she exited then listened for the sound of the front door closing. The click reverberated through his mind like a death knell.

She was gone.

And she’d taken his heart with her.

Seven

The following afternoon, Sophia – exhausted after a sleepless night – reluctantly agreed to receive Christine, but only because Christine had scrawled it’s urgent I see you on the back of her card. The instant her normally unflappable friend entered the drawing room Sophia knew something was amiss.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking Christine’s proffered hands. Her concern doubled when she felt her friend’s fingers trembling.

Confusion passed over Christine’s features, then her eyes widened. “Dear God, you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“Let’s sit.”

Sophia preferred to stand, but given Christine’s pallor, she led her friend to the settee. “Tell me what’s wrong,” Sophia said. “Are you ill?”

“Only in my heart – for you.”

“Me? Why?”

Christine squeezed Sophia’s hands. “You were seen sharing a passionate kiss with the very young Scottish Lord Marlington on the terrace at the Benningfield soiree last evening. You were further observed leaving the party with him, arriving at his townhouse, where you reportedly remained for an ‘indecent amount of time’, and looked … dishevelled when you left.”

Dear God. “Who told you this?”

“Lady Chapman. She claims she saw the kiss with her own eyes.”

Sophia’s heart sank at the mention of the ton’s most notorious gossip. “And of course she told everyone.”

“Everyone,” Christine confirmed. “It will certainly be reported in tomorrow’s Times society page.” Christine’s gaze searched hers. “Is it all true?”

Sophia pressed a shaking hand to her mid section. “I’m afraid so.”

Christine nodded grimly. “Although I’m burning with curiosity as to how it all came about, explanations will have to wait. Right now we must discuss your best course to weather the tidal wave of gossip and ensuing scandal. Given the lascivious nature of the story, you’re in for a rough time. Every man in London will believe you’re now available for a dalliance. Henry told me the betting book at White’s is already filled with wagers as to who you’ll take as your next lover.”

The knot in Sophia’s stomach cinched tighter and she jumped to her feet. “Edward … I must go at once to Eton to speak to him. Prepare him.”

“I’ll come with you. But Sophia – at the rate this story is spreading, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already heard.”

A humourless, bitter sound escaped Sophia at the irony. She and Ian hadn’t made love last night, yet still the thing she most dreaded – a scandal – had come to pass. Filled with trepidation, she hurried to the foyer, Christine on her heels.

An hour later she returned to Christine’s waiting carriage on Eton High Street. “Did you see Edward?” Christine asked in an anxious voice.

Sophia fought the panic threatening to overwhelm her. “No.”

Sympathy flooded Christine eyes. “He’s already heard and refused to see you?”

“He heard. Early this morning. A fellow student confirmed it.” Dear God, she could barely speak around the lump of dread clogging her throat. “Edward wasn’t there, Christine. He became extremely distraught upon hearing the gossip and left school. No one knows where he is.”

When the carriage arrived back at her townhouse, Sophia ran up the brick walkway, praying there would be some word of Edward, that he’d come home or sent a note. If not, she planned to go directly to Bow Street and hire a Runner to locate him. The instant she entered the foyer, she asked Monroe, “Have you received any word from Edward?”

“Young Lord Winterbourne arrived home moments after you left, my lady,” the butler said, taking her wrap. “He awaits you in the library.”

Relief weakened Sophia’s knees and she clutched Christine’s arm. “Thank God.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Christine asked.

“Thank you, but no.” She hugged her friend tightly. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your friendship and support.”

“You’ll always have it.”

Sophia blinked back her tears and after Christine departed, she drew a bracing breath and squared her shoulders. She could cry later. Right now she had to see Edward. Before she could take a single step towards the library, however, Monroe cleared his throat.

“Lord Winterbourne is not alone in the library, my lady.”

Sophia frowned. “Who is with him?”

“The Earl of Marlington.”

Eight

With her heart beating so hard she could hear its echo in her ears, Sophia entered the library. And froze at the sight that greeted her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but it certainly wasn’t her son and her former lover playing backgammon.

“You’ve the devil’s own luck, my lord,” Edward exclaimed. “That’s the third double six you’ve rolled this game.”

Ian grinned. “’Tis skill, not luck.”

“And that’s a Banbury tale if I’ve ever heard one.”

“And precisely what ye deserve after the trouncing I suffered at your hands the last game.”

Just then Edward glanced towards the door and saw her. “Mother!” He jumped to his feet and hurried towards her. Swallowing the sob that rose in her throat, she met him halfway and enveloped him in a tight hug. Over his shoulder she saw Ian rise. He regarded her through serious eyes that gave away nothing.

Edward pulled back from their embrace. His dark brown eyes, so like his father’s, reflected worry. “Where have you been?”

“Eton. To see you. You’ve … heard.”

Colour rushed into his cheeks and he nodded.

“You left school hours ago. Where have you been?”

“I went to see Lord Marlington.”

Sophia blinked. “Why?”

Edward raised his chin. “I wanted to confront the cad who damaged my mother’s good name. Tell him what I thought of him. Show him as well.” He flexed his fingers, drawing Sophia’s attention to his hand. She gasped at the sight of his reddened knuckles. “Good heavens. You struck Lord Marlington?”

“Planted him a facer,” Edward confirmed, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“Bloody well hurt,” Ian said, from across the room, rubbing his jaw.

“But according to Lord Marlington I could have done better. He’s promised to give me some pugilistic pointers.”

Sophia’s gaze bounced between her son and Ian. “I’m afraid I’m confused. You two have—”

“Spent the day together,” Edward broke in. “After I planted him the facer, we talked. He told me everything.”

Sophia’s gaze flew to Ian. “Everything?”

“Edward demanded to know why I’d dishonoured his mother,” Ian said. “I explained that was never my intention. That I love you and want to marry you. And that you said you love me as well.”

Edward touched her arm, recalling her attention. “If you love him, why don’t you want to marry him, Mum?” he asked softly so only she could hear.

“I … it’s complicated, Edward.”

“Is it because of me? Because if so, I must tell you, I like him. And I can tell he really loves you.”

“Adores you, actually,” Ian called from across the room. “Sorry – I’m not deaf. And just so you know, I like you as well, Edward – even though you trounced me at backgammon.”

Edward grinned at Ian over his shoulder then turned back to Sophia. “Father always said you can tell a great deal about a man by the way he handles himself playing backgammon. Everything I learned about Lord Marlington today showed me he’s a fine man.” Edward squeezed her hand, then leaned forwards to whisper, “I want you happy, mother. And if Lord Marlington makes you happy … you have my blessing.” He gently kissed her cheek then said in his normal voice, “If you’ll both excuse me …” After offering Ian a formal bow, Edward quit the room, closing the door behind him.

In an effort to align her careening thoughts, Sophia closed her eyes, pressed her palms to her trembling mid section and drew several deep breaths.

“He’s an exceptional young man, Sophia.”

She opened her eyes and found Ian standing before her. The profound love, raw desire and deep admiration glowing in his eyes stole her breath. “Th … thank you. You two clearly shared quite a day together.”

“Aye. It didn’t begin particularly well—” he touched the faint bruise marring his jaw, “but after we talked, things rapidly improved. Just before you arrived he told me I have his blessing to marry you. In the hopes that that will change your mind …” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew the magnificent pearl ring he’d presented to her last night. Then, as he had the previous evening, he lowered himself to one knee before her. “Sophia … I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I promise I’ll love you until the day I die. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

Sophia looked into his beautiful eyes and her throat swelled shut at the wave of love swamping her. She’d refused him to avoid scandal, yet the scandal had happened anyway. She’d tried to protect her son, but Edward was clearly capable of taking matters into his own hands. And he’d given her his blessing.

Ian cleared his throat. “In case you need a bit more convincing, I’ll point out that a wedding would put a stop to all the gossip. And should anyone be foolish enough to say a word against you or cast aspersions on my unfortunate lack of age, I assure you your son is well prepared to take them to task. Boy packs quite a wallop.”

With hot moisture pushing behind her eyes, Sophia took Ian’s hands and urged him to his feet. When he stood before her, she said, “I can’t marry you to stop gossiping tongues, Ian.”

He clearly meant to argue and she pressed her fingers to his lips. “But I can marry you because you’re wonderful. Because you make me happy. Make me laugh. Because I know you’ll be good to my son. And because I love you so much I can barely breathe.”

“Is that a ‘yes?’”

A half laugh, half sob escaped her. “Yes!”

In the space of single heartbeat he slipped the pearl ring on her finger and yanked her into his arms and kissed her breathless. “I hope you don’t want a bloody long engagement,” he murmured against her lips.

“I don’t,” she assured him. “Although I’ll have your promise that you’ll not mention our age difference.”

“What age difference?”

She framed his face between her hands and laughed. “God, I love you.”

He held her tighter and whispered something in Gaelic in her ear. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“At last, my love. It means at last.”