Gideon caught Amelia easily, stopping her with a firm grip on her upper arms. Then he remembered the bruises he’d seen on her. Forcing himself to relax his hold, he held her a little away from him. But he didn’t let go of her. He didn’t want to.

“Gideon!” Amelia stared at him in openmouthed surprise. “I mean, my lord, what are you doing here?”

He tried to come up with a civil answer, but his temper was hanging by a thread. He’d been up all night trying to find out where Amelia had gone with no luck. Even Clarke’s impressive social contacts and network of household spies had run dry. It wasn’t until they had found a footman in Viscount Worthing’s household willing to take a bribe that they’d learned he and Amelia had departed for Lord Westcliff’s estate a few hours outside of London.

Gideon had arrived just in time to hear Worthing propose to Amelia. His sudden thundering heartbeat had been louder than the words that followed—although he had heard Sir Clarence’s name mentioned. He had no idea what her reply had been, and he hadn’t stayed to confront them because Lady Westcliff had come down the hallway just then.

He’d hoped coming outside would calm his overheated blood. Instead, it had afforded him the opportunity he had long sought—to have Amelia alone. But he couldn’t proceed with his plan to charm the truth out of her. All his eloquence and restraint had been burned away.

“Are you going to do it?” he asked, unable to keep the bite from his voice.

“Am I going to do what?” she asked, looking up at him with a dazed expression.

“Are you going to marry Worthing?” he ground out from behind clenched teeth.

Amelia’s lovely lips parted, but she didn’t say anything in reply.

“Damn it to hell,” he swore, crushing her to him.

Her scent of clean soap and jasmine had been driving him crazy since that first ball. It enveloped him, teasing his senses until it seemed as if his skin was marked with traces of it. Every hair on his body stood on end. He was too hot, but he had a solution now. His mouth descended on hers with a hunger so ravenous it blinded him.

He moved his hands to cradle her face, deepening the kiss. Gideon poured every ounce of his pent-up energy and heat into her. He licked her soft lips, probing and parting them with his tongue until they opened enough for him to slip inside.

Her taste was indescribable. It was sweet and intoxicating, more potent than any wine.

The little sound Amelia made as she melted against him vibrated deep within him. This was what he’d wanted from the moment he’d seen her. He knew that now. Part of him hated himself for it, but it was easy to ignore when he was holding her in his arms.

His arousal was almost painful. It was pressed against her, but he couldn’t feel her heat through the volume of her skirts and petticoats.

Just a little bit more. He reached down, ready to pull the layers of fabric up so he could reach for the wet heat he knew was waiting for him. Having her was all that mattered.

Gideon was trying to justify taking her down to the ground when the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth only a few yards away interrupted them.

He swore, snapping his head up and pushing Amelia behind him.

“What is it?” she whispered, her hand reaching around his waist to press against the front of his greatcoat.

“Some sort of animal,” he said in a murmur, keeping his voice soft in case he startled it.

Given the noise it made, the creature was very large, possibly a boar. Keeping his eyes trained on the source of the noise, he bent to pick up a fallen branch. Walking with soundless steps, he moved toward it, ready to swing his makeshift weapon in case the animal charged. He rounded the trunk of the thick oak only to hear rapidly retreating footsteps and the sound of more shrubbery being crushed and broken.

As the sound retreated, he turned back to Amelia, walking back to her quickly and taking her by the arm. Her face was no longer flushed with passion. She was pale and her eyes were wide.

“We need to head back to the house in case it comes back.”

“What do you think it was?” she asked, quickening her steps to match his brisk pace.

“Most likely a boar. They’re common enough in these parts and can be quite dangerous.” He scowled at her suddenly. “You shouldn’t have been walking so far from the house on your own.”

“I was just…thinking.”

“About marrying Worthing?”

“No, of course not,” she said, quickening her step to keep up with him. “Crispin is my friend, nothing more.”

“Do all your friends propose marriage on a regular basis?” he asked, still annoyed.

“No. I mean, yes. Crispin does, but only from a sense of obligation. He wants to protect me.”

He snorted derisively. “I’m sure that’s all he wants,” he said, before a flash of guilt passed through him. He was the one who’d been about to ravage Amelia here in the woods where anyone could have come upon them, not just an animal.

Swallowing his frustration, he slowed down so she wouldn’t be obliged to run beside him. “I need to apologize for what just happened. I’m not myself…”

It was the lamest excuse he’d ever given a woman, but he couldn’t think of better one. And it was his fault. Amelia did something to him. Every time she was near, his mind turned to soup, laying waste to his carefully detailed plans and questions.

I’m becoming a bloody milksop, he thought as the house appeared ahead.

“You never told me what you were doing here,” she said tremulously, peeking at him with a sideways glance that did nothing to cool the ardor still burning under the surface of his skin.

“I have recently begun to do business with Westcliff. I came to discuss some issues I have with a recent joint venture,” he said, using the excuse he had foisted on his surprised host when he’d shown up unexpectedly on his doorstep this morning.

Westcliff had been caught off guard when he arrived, but when Gideon launched into a detailed list of questions and concerns regarding their most recent enterprise, the questions in the other man’s eyes faded. He assumed, as Gideon wanted him to, that the new Earl of Flint was poorly versed in business affairs and had come to be reassured by a more knowledgeable investor. Meanwhile, Gideon pretended surprise at finding himself at a country party.

“Lady Westcliff invited me to join in the festivities,” he added, searching her face for a reaction to their kiss, but Amelia’s face was carefully blank.

“Is Sir Clarence the threat Worthing is trying to protect you from?’

“Did you hear that?” Amelia sounded alarmed by the prospect he had eavesdropped on her conversation.

“I just caught his name,” he assured her. “Lady Westcliff came down the hallway haranguing a maid. I decided not to interrupt you or embarrass our kind hostess by letting her know I witnessed her reprimanding a member of her staff…so is it true? Has Sir Clarence been harassing you in some way?”

She looked down, her face was troubled.

“Amelia, it’s time to tell me what is going on.”

She paused, but his patience was rewarded. “He wants me to remarry.”

“Sir Clarence?” he clarified.

“Yes, that is why Crispin proposed just now. He promised Martin he would take care of me, and he believes that is the most effective way to do it.”

“Who does Sir Clarence want you to marry?”

“Lord Cannonburry.”

“Elmer Cannonburry?” he asked in disbelief. “The man is older than Methuselah. And he suffers from chronically poor health. Cannonburry may not live another year, two at the most. Why in the world would Clarence want you to marry a man with one foot in the grave?”

Not to mention the rumors of impotence.

“That’s a slight exaggeration,” she chided. “And I’m not certain why. My guess is Sir Clarence believes he’s found some legal maneuver to transfer some of my inheritance to himself.”

“Your dowry?”

“No, he has that already. I’m talking about my personal fortune—the one only I control.”

“Hmm…I suppose that makes sense. Sir Clarence let slip something about the arrangements your father made long ago. He was…irritated,” he said, softening the amount of ire his uncle had displayed. “And now my uncle has found an ally who is willing to turn over some of those funds to him.”

Gideon should have been surprised that his nearest relation was trying some underhanded trickery to manipulate Amelia, but he wasn’t. Money and position had always been the most important things to his uncle. Sir Clarence had never believed in a woman’s right to direct her own fortune.

Marriage should have transferred control of those funds to her husband, but Amelia’s canny parent had been prepared for such a possibility.

“Your father must have loved you very much,” he said suddenly.

She stopped short and blinked. “Yes, he did.”

She was still staring at him when Worthing hurried up. “Amelia, dear, we were starting to worry. You were supposed to join us half an hour ago.” He nodded in the direction of the other guests, who were enjoying a picnic near the entrance of the estate’s famous hedge maze.

“I was lost in thought and didn’t realize how far I wandered in the woods. Lord Flint found me and kindly offered to escort me back.”

“And prevented you from encountering a boar or something equally dangerous. You should have stayed in the house,” Gideon couldn’t help adding waspishly.

“On that, we are in total agreement! A boar. Dear lord, what a narrow escape. So what brings you out to this corner of England, Lord Flint?” Worthing asked with a poor imitation of welcoming joviality.

“Business with our host,” he said shortly, walking along with the pair until they reached the other guests.

A waiter hurried over with a glass of champagne. He took it, wishing it were something stronger.

“Well, I’m pleased you were able to join us,” Amelia said with a soft smile as Worthing helped her settle on the blankets stretched onto the lawn. She spread out her skirts and accepted a plate from her neighbor.

With easy grace, Gideon settled down across from her, noting with satisfaction the flicker of irritation cross Worthing’s face. He ignored the man, focusing all his attention on Amelia.

The soft rosy flush on her cheeks extended all the way down to her décolletage. It was an unholy temptation, mocking him with the irresistible urge to find out how far down that blush went.