Rose Lithgall was a lady, born and bred. At least, that’s what everyone kept telling her. She’d been to all the best schools in London, attended some of the city’s premier events, and her parents were some of the most important faces in the entire UK.

But even considering all of that, the thoughts that currently ran through her head were decidedly unladylike.

She stood in the drive of the Tate Manor, trying to keep herself from gaping up at the gigantic man, as liquid heat coursed through her veins – the intensity of which she’d never before encountered. It honestly wasn’t, Rose tried to tell herself, as if she was some sort of untried girl. She knew about men and she knew about sex. She thought she knew that it was rather boring and a simple excuse for men to get their hands all over her; but then, she’d never encountered a man who so immediately titillated her. Who sent wild, and quite frankly, obscene thoughts rushing through her consciousness.

In the roughly five seconds that the man’s lips pressed against the back of her hand, Rose had time to picture him kissing her in other places – more secret places that had never seen a man’s mouth – and the prospect was enough to make her weak at the knees. Her reaction to the heat searing through her was instinctive.

She jerked away, taking a few steps back as she tried to calm her racing heart.

“And yours, my Lord!” Her tone was a little to breathless - a little too vulnerable – for her liking. “Pleased to meet you.”

This was not good. In fact, it was quite horrible.

She certainly wasn’t supposed to be attracted to the man. Rose had supposed she might float around him all summer on a tide of polite disdain, but this! This was something else entirely.

When Lord Michael straightened to eye her with a knowing, arched brow, Rose felt a very unfamiliar urge welling inside her: the desire to flee. To pop back in the car and demand to be taken home. Better that than to allow herself to fall prey to the interested hunger she found in Michael Tate’s gaze. Instead, however, she merely straightened her spine, took a deep breath and forced herself to be rational.

She had waded through flooded rivers in India, helped to rebuild burned villages and spent God knew how many hours out in the tropical wilderness in her twenty-seven years. Was she really going to let one man intimidate her?

Certainly not.

“Shall we head inside then, Lord Michael?” Thankfully, her voice was much steadier the second time she spoke. Rose even found the wherewithal to lift her chin and gaze down her nose at him – a trick she’d learned quite early from her mother.

At her display, however, his lips only quirked in what appeared to be wry amusement. “Sounds lovely.” With that, he turned to offer her his arm, and Rose firmly reprimanded her baser instincts for trumpeting that his backside was at least as glorious as his front. Swallowing thickly, she brushed briskly past him, wishing for all the world that she wasn’t wearing sky high pumps that were impossible to walk in.

She made her way unsteadily up the stone walk that led to the grand entrance of the Tate manor before raising her hand to knock briskly. Before she could do so, however, Edgar the butler stayed her hand. Somehow, the unbelievably spry elderly man had gotten in front of her and was holding the ornate handle for her before she could touch it. “Allow me, Lady Lithgall.”

Rose looked over to him, slightly shocked for the second time in at least by the man, before nodding.  “Thank you.”

By this time, Lord Tate himself had strode over to the door and leaned over her cheekily, waiting patiently to be let through. The moment Edgar made way, Rose hurried inside, her luggage all but forgotten – and stumbled into the arms of another Tate.

“Rose, dear! It’s so wonderful to see you again!” Countess Angela Tate lie in wait for her not more than ten steps over the threshold. The moment she caught sight of Rose, she enveloped her in her arms, squeezing her tight. Rose immediately stiffened before forcing a smile onto her face. According to her mother the last time she’d actually encountered the Tates was when she was close to eight years old, and she certainly didn’t remember. Regardless, her mother insisted that they were “close friends”, so of course, she had to act the part.

“Hello Lady Tate.” The young woman endured both of her cheeks being kissed before the Countess gently pressed her away to look at her at arm’s length. “It’s lovely to see you again too.”

“My, my. Look how you’ve grown. Such a gorgeous young woman – and selfless too, I’ve heard.”

The woman was impeccable. Of course, Rose had imagined that Lady Angela would be just as coiffed and unbearable as her mother, and she wasn’t far off the mark. She wore the same type of designer clothes, the same personalized Ferragamo pumps, and Rose was willing to bet that they probably got their hair done at the same ridiculously expensive hairdresser on the High Street. But she wouldn’t mention any of that. Instead, she would remain absolutely cordial.

“Not so much as people might assume, my Lady.”

“Oh titles,” The lady Angela waved her hand about superfluously. “Please, call me Angela.”

Rose was entirely certain the woman was being so familiar because she fully expected that she would be her daughter-in-law by summer’s end – but this was one request that Rose would respectfully decline. “I’m very glad to have the opportunity to come and visit, Lady Angela.”

At that precise moment, the countess spied her son – so Rose got off the hook without having to explain her unwillingness to use familiar terms. “Michael, darling, there you are. I assume you’ve met Rose?”

Wrapping an arm around her son’s hulking form, Lady Angela drew him so close to Rose that the young woman was forced to take two steps back to keep from colliding with him.

“Briefly.” Lord Michael inclined his head respectfully to meet her gaze, and Rose found her cheeks flaming. His deep blue gaze seared right to the core of her, and she found her toes curling in her impossible pumps. “I was about to invite her to refreshments in the drawing room, but she was very eager to get inside.”

“Out of the scalding sun, of course.” Lady Angela beamed. One might think that, with one hand on her son’s arm and one on Rose’s, she was in matchmaking nirvana. “Won’t you join us in the drawing room for a brandy, Rose, darling?”

And just like that, she was trapped.

Rose looked from the man to his mother and then back again. There was utterly no way she was getting out of drinking with them – and being tipsy when she had already been thrown off balance was a terrifying thought, to say the least.

And so, in a move she thought entirely beneath her, Rose begged off.

“I apologize, Lady Angela, but I find myself exhausted from the drive up. Perhaps after a bit of a rest?”

Rose wasn’t one for putting on airs, but she pulled out all the stops here. Batted her eyelashes, clutched her manicured hands before her and affected her sweetest “damsel in distress” voice.

And it worked.

“Oh, you poor dear. Of course.” With that, Angela wrapped an arm around Rose and tugged her close as she looked her over once more. “You do look a bit peaky, don’t you?”

The young woman wasn’t exactly sure what that was supposed to mean, but if it got her out of brandy, she was all for it. “Annie!”

Though Rose didn’t really abide by houses large enough to have staff – she felt guilty about making her own parents’ staff do anything for her – she had to admit that the members of the Tate manor staff were top notch. Lady Angela barely raised her voice, and a graying, middle-aged woman in a starched black dress appeared at her elbow with a cheery smile.

“Yes M’lady?”

“Lady Lithgall’s room has already been seen to?”

“Of course, M’lady.” Annie dipped a completely earnest curtsey. “I’ll see her upstairs in a jiff.”

Rose breathed a sigh of relief. There was one disaster averted.

“I know where her room is, Annie.” The young woman froze at Lord Michael Tate’s low interruption.  “I can take her upstairs while you carry on with dinner.”

Before Rose could even begin to interject, she was overtaken by the Countess. “What a brilliant idea, Michael.” She turned to the younger woman to whisper with a loving smile. “Isn’t he the sweetest boy?”

Lord Michael Tate was hardly a boy. He was a man fully grown – and a hulking, intimidating man at that. But of course, mothers never noticed these things. And especially not mothers who were obviously intent on seeing their son engaged. “Thank you, Annie.” With a wave of her hand, the countess dismissed Annie, who made her way back to the kitchen. “Michael will see you upstairs, dear.” She led Rose to the ornate mahogany staircase that was the centerpiece of the foyer. “Dinner will be served at seven so you have plenty of time to rest.”

“Thank you, Lady Angela.” Rose dipped the smallest curtsey she thought she could get away with before attempting to bolt up the stairs. She was thwarted, however, when she almost ran into Michael Tate’s imposing form. The knowing, patronizing smile on his face had her hand itching to remove it.

“Shall we, my lady?”

This time, when he offered his arm to her, she couldn’t refuse. It would be entirely too rude to shun him in the presence of the countess and so, grudgingly, Rose curled her arm around his.

Immediately, she was enveloped by the scent and warmth of him. He was like a bloody furnace, and he smelled of mint, cashmere and an underlying spice that tickled her senses. She was forced to press against his side to clear the narrow width of the stairs, and Rose had to remind herself to breathe. She didn’t want to like this man, and if he thought she would fall into his arms simply because he was handsome, he had another thing coming.

“So stiff, my lady.” She inhaled sharply as Michael only pulled her flusher against him as they reached the top of the stairway. “I swear on my life that I won’t let you fall.”

Her face flaming, Rose glared up at him. “I will not fall. You hardly need to manhandle me.”

“Manhandle?” As they reached the second floor, Michael’s expression changed to one of mock affront. “I would never.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Rose wasn’t naïve. She knew plenty of young British nobles who used their titles to seduce and she wasn’t having it. “I’m tired. Can you please just take me to my room?”

“You know,” still holding her arm in a gentle grip, Michael swept her down an elegant hallway and into the east wing of the house. The direction took them, thankfully, out of Lady Angela’s sight, “you seem a bit jumpy.”

Rose yanked her arm from his grip, her mouth pursed into a thin line. “Tired, Lord Tate. I assure you,” she replied with clenched teeth. “All will be well after I’ve had a few hours rest.” Michael finally drew to a halt in front of a door halfway down the hall. Turning to Rose, he arched a ruddy brow before opening the door for her.

“If you don’t like me, my lady, you know all you have to do is say so.”

When he looked at her like that, Rose didn’t know if she wanted to strike him or kiss him. Instead of either, she merely hurried into her room, shutting the door in Lord Michael Tate’s face.

She fully expected him to knock – to demand to be let in, even. But neither of those things happened. Instead, Rose merely leaned her full weight against the door until she heard his footsteps receding. Only then did she allow herself a moment to breathe.

Didn’t like him? She despised him! One look was all Rose needed to know that he was completely wrong for her!

…Even if his recent nearness had her nipples perked against the lacy cups of her bra, her fingers trembling and her knickers completely ruined.

**

She was a funny little thing.

Standing on the balcony above the back veranda, Michael leaned against the stone partition as he watched Lady Rose Lithgall stroll around the gardens, her expression pensive.

For a brief moment, he focused only on that face.

The moment he saw it, Michael had thought it angelic. She wasn’t like most women he encountered – there weren’t piles of makeup on her face and her hair wasn’t in some ridiculously complicated updo. Rather, she arrived at the Tate manor in a simple pair of dark denims, a cashmere sweater, and a pair of pumps. There was no pomp and circumstance and she didn’t immediately demand to be accommodated.

In actuality, the first time he laid eyes on her she seemed just as surprised by him as he was by her. Her full, pink lips had parted in an ‘o’ of surprise, her gray eyes widening as she stared up at him.

Michael would admit, he hadn’t expected her to be so small. She couldn’t be much taller than five feet, even in her heels. She seemed dwarfed, even, by the cloud of blonde waves that swirled around her. Slender, delicate, lovely…Rose Lithgall certainly embodied all the things an English noblewoman should be…but her bearing was something that stumped him rather entirely.

As well as piqued his interest.

A man would have to be blind to avoid attraction to a woman like Rose Lithgall – and Michael had quite the accurate set of eyes. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t been with a woman in a while – perhaps he was overworked and short on rest – but the moment he had locked eyes with Rose, he had to struggle against the baser instincts that beckoned him.

A woman that pale-skinned, that gloriously beautiful…she deserved to be taken to bed and ravished to within an inch of her life. Michael found that he seldom allowed his libido to take him to such a level, but on this particular occasion, picturing Rose prone beneath him, sighing his name…it was unavoidable. And strangely enough, it was because she didn’t look at him with conspiracy in her eyes. She wasn’t a pretty young thing out at the pub, looking for her next conquest. No, in the week that Rose had been staying with them, the only thing Michael read when he looked into her eyes was trepidation and – dare he say it - a bit of disdain.

Before Lady Lithgall had arrived, he would have thought he would be the one with disdain. The last thing he had expected was to be drawn to a noblewoman his mother had chosen. In that respect, Michael supposed, he was at least a little justified. After all, he wasn’t drawn to her because his mother had invited her. Indeed, he seemed to be drawn to her because she wasn’t drawn to him in the slightest.

Elias would have called him a masochist – wanting the one woman who didn’t want him. As of yet, however, Mike hadn’t yet called his friend to update him on the status of Operation: Avoid Summer Engagement. He was certain that if he did, Elias would try to get him to do something rash.

Michael wasn’t quite there yet.

He was somewhere between perplexed and unbelievably aroused, twenty-four seven. Which, in turn, only made him more perplexed. He was the kind of man that firmly believed in exotic lingerie, when the time called for it, and mostly bare body parts. A bit of intimate skin against skin and he was very invested in the experience. When it came to Rose, however, it took none of that to get him aroused.

She flitted around the house quietly, from the library to the kitchens and beyond, and all it too was the barest hint of her presence, the whiff of hibiscus and cream, and he was embarrassingly erect. Of course, this most presented a problem when he was supposed to be having dinner with his mother and their guest. Mike had never tried so hard to be involved in his beef roast in his entire life – and it certainly wasn’t easy when the countess kept trying to encourage conversation.

Tell Rose about your latest patients, dear or Tell her how famous you are at Polo, darling – it was always some bid to force him to impress the lady, but Michael played into his mother’s schemes as little as humanly possible.  He would mumble an answer or give an obscure detail to which Rose would feign interest and they would go on with their dinner. Every time the Countess suggested some activity that would throw them together, the young woman begged exhaustion, so much so that his mother wondered if she wasn’t sickly.

But Michael knew better.

Now, watching her putter around the garden in her slacks and blouse, her hair pulled into a low tail at the base of her neck, she certainly didn’t look sickly. In fact, her pale cheeks were flushed with health and there was a smile on her face. One that, in turn, coaxed a smile from him as well.

If he thought she was beautiful under scrutiny, then Rose Lithgall was enrapturing when she thought no one was watching. What he wouldn’t give to descend the stairs and march into the garden, lift her into the arms, and taste her smile. Her happiness.

The thought made his heart stutter in his chest and he frowned. What on earth was the matter with him? He was supposed to be ignoring the girl completely and here he was, allowing himself to be led by his second head.

At this rate, his mother was going to win, and he bloody well couldn’t have that.

His scowl firmly in place, the Doctor turned, preparing to return to the library- only to run headlong into his mother. A low curse escaped him as he steadied her startled form, ensuring that she didn’t fall. “Sorry, Mum.”

“Oh, dear, you shouldn’t curse. It’s unseemly.” Mike rolled her eyes at the assessment behind her back. He’d certainly heard her utter her fair share of curses when she thought no one was listening.

“My apologies, mother.”

“Think nothing of it, dear.” The older woman merely beamed at him, cupping his cheek fondly. “Onto better things - how are you and Rose getting on?”

Mike repressed a groan. They weren’t getting on at all. It was obvious that, outside of meals, the young woman was avoiding him like the plague.

“She seems to exhaust herself easily,” He tried circumventing the question somewhat. “When she’s in better spirits, I’ll see to getting to know her better.”

“She does that.” Thankfully, his mother agreed with him, patting her coiffed hair as if there was some mystical curl out of place. “I think I have just the thing for it!”

Bloody hell. The woman never gave up. “And what’s that?”

The Countess clapped her hands together, clearly absorbed in her own little world. “You’ll take her to the hospital with you tomorrow!”

Michael’s head jerked around as if he’d been slapped. “I’ll what?”

“Oh, don’t be so alarmed, dear. It’s not as if you’re asking her to observe a surgery. Just introducing her to something you love. She’ll meet the staff, your coworkers, and they’ll all praise you. It will earn you her admiration!”

The only thing Michael wanted was Rose Lithgall’s departure. If it wasn’t thoughts of how their untimely engagement would interrupt his lifestyle, it was the idea that she somehow had the power to scramble his brain with a single disdainful look from those gorgeous gray eyes. “Mother, I can’t take her to the hospital.” Michael tried a firm tone. “It’s unprofessional. Hardly a place for a lady.”

When the Countess looked back at him, her eyes wide and pleading, Michael’s scowl only deepened. On this he wouldn’t allow himself to be swayed. “No, mother.”

“All I want is for you to be happy, darling.” Now tears rose in her eyes and he felt like a complete and total fool. “Can’t you see that?”

He really couldn’t. Michael could only see that his mother wanted to annoy him into an early grave.

“I will…consider it,” he finally acquiesced delicately – but before he could continue, his mother merely enveloped him in her embrace, all but smothering him.

“It’s a marvelous idea, darling. You’ll realize that just as soon as you arrive! You’ll be thanking me this time tomorrow evening!” And just like that, she was off like a veritable whirlwind, leaving the tang of expensive perfume in her wake. Michael only stared after her, convinced that she was trying to drive him mad.

Women.

Michael was up the next morning at five thirty, as per usual. But that day, when he entered the kitchen for breakfast, he wasn’t the only one dining. Rose only glared at him in an unspoken warning to keep his mouth shut as she sipped at her tea and toast and he was all too happy to comply.

Annie brought him his coffee and porridge with a fond smile and he focused on his morning paper. Breakfast passed in awkward silence and within the hour, he was leading her out front. Edgar was driving his father’s Rolls Royce, and at the sight of the immense vehicle, Rose stopped cold, eying it as if it were a viper.

“This is what we’re taking to a hospital?”

Michael sighed. Was it too plain for her? Did she expect it to be emblazoned with Swarovski crystals?

“Not my choice, m’lady. The Countess disapproves of my driving. While I’m here, at least, I’d like to appease her.” He opened the door for her, dipping a mocking bow as he gestured inside. How could he simultaneously want to tear her clothes off and admonish her for being an insufferable diva?

When Rose simply stood before him, eying him skeptically, Michael found that his temper snapped. His mother gave him that look far too much as it was. He didn’t need it from a younger woman he was doing his best to entertain. “Get in the bloody car,” He growled, blue eyes narrowing. “Now.”

Rose jumped as if she’d been burned, scurrying into the car immediately so Michael could shut the door succinctly behind her.

That done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

On the way to the hospital, he insisted on sitting up front with Edgar, who merely eyed him disapprovingly. But Edgar’s questioning stare was one that Michael could bear far longer than Rose’s guilt-inducing grey gaze. He managed to avoid the brunt of her reproach until Edgar dropped them off at the hospital.

The moment Edgar drove off, leaving them standing on the emergency room ramp, she turned to him, eyes narrow.  “You, my Lord, are a bully.”

Michael raised a hand to his temple to rub at the ache that was starting there. It was barely seven am and he was already tired. “And you, my lady, are a stubborn goose.”

He left her there, gaping in shock, as he entered the hospital, swiping his badge for entry. Unfortunately, Rose caught up with him before the department door could shut and rushed after him. “I am not.”

“I think you’ll find you are.” He replied succinctly, clocking in with the press of a button. There had to be a way to get rid of her. Now that he had her here, he realized exactly what he had doomed himself to and sought to circumvent it.

Before she could utter a reply, a tall, brunette doctor rounded the corner and, at the sight of Michael, she beamed with relief. “Oh, Tate. Thank God you’re here.” She made a beeline for him, breaking up a potential argument. “We’ve just gotten in an adolescent with severe burn wounds. He got caught in a fire. I was going to call you but you’ve made my morning.”

“Nice to see you too, Isabella.” He chuckled. “Don’t wait for me to put my things away or anything.”

“Who’s your friend?” Doctor Isabella Kline glanced over at Rose, a brow arched.

“Family acquaintance.” Michael assuaged her curiosity quickly before moving back to the matter at hand. “Fill me in on the details.”

Isabella proceeded to do so, describing a boy in critical condition, a few of his organs in dire need of repair or removal. It would be a tricky surgery that would last most of the morning, and it would most certainly be an ugly one.

And in that instant, he knew how to get rid of his unwanted charge. “Alright, prep the patient.” He informed Isabella brusquely. “I’ll be in to speak to the parents and we’ll get started immediately after.”

Isabella grinned. “Wonderful.” She turned on her heel to rush off, leaving Rose blinking in confusion as Michael turned to her. For the briefest instant, he was tempted by her wide eyes and parted lips to sample her – to pull her into his arms and suck on her plump lower lip until she squirmed in his arms. But he forced it to the back of his mind. “I’m needed in surgery. I wouldn’t want you to be unoccupied, so you’ll be accompanying me.” If anything, Rose’s eyes only grew wider.

“I’ll be what?”

“Observing.” Michael replied, suppressing childish glee at her nervous expression. If this didn’t send her fleeing from him, he didn’t know what would. He dealt with this sort of thing daily, and if he needed to, he’d ask her to watch daily until she begged off and demanded to take her leave of the Tate Manor.

He couldn’t wait. “Come with me. We’ll get you suited up and prepared.” He gripped her wrist gently and began to lead her down the hall. Rose looked like a deer in headlights and he relished every moment of the trek.

Finally, things were beginning to go his way.

**

Rose had seen a great many things in her life. She’d seen women give birth, children starving and she’d seen elders in far-flung tribes breathe their last breaths. But one thing she had never seen, she realized, was a doctor saving someone’s life quite so intimately.

When Michael had first dragged her towards the surgery, she’d been too shocked to protest. The young woman had been completely geared up to accuse him of manhandling her back at the car – but she had been completely thwarted. In fact, the command Michael barked at her had rather a more profound effect than scaring her.

It had aroused the hell out of her.

She could only wonder if the man would be as commanding as a lover – and it was that particular line of thought that got her defenses up. She didn’t want to think of Michael Tate that way. She didn’t need to…But Rose quickly learned exactly how commanding the man could be.

In the surgery, Lord Michael Tate ruled supreme.

He informed his assistants methodically and quickly and interacted with his fellow surgeons seamlessly – all without a single hitch. As Rose watched the man prepare for his task, she had to clung the ideas she had about his personality – that he was boorish and uninteresting. That he had gained his position through his nobility and expected to be lauded even if he had no skills.

Over the course of the four-hour surgery he performed, however, she found her perception altered somewhat. The more she watched Michael Tate work, the more she was oddly fascinated by him.

Rose had never been one to be squeamish. While, granted, many women, and exponentially more “ladies” liked to faint dead away at the sight of blood, Rose had seen more than her fair share in her world travels – both her own and that of others.

The thing that most frightened her was the sheer state of the sedated boy they brought in. The young man had what appeared to be third degree burns all over what had to be forty percent of his body. While his face and upper chest were relatively untouched, his lower half was a network of injury. So much so that many of the techs and assistants were taken aback by the damage.

But Michael never missed a beat. He remained calm and in control of the situation, and throughout the surgery, the boy’s heart rate never faltered. Rose watched, in awe, as the man removed one of the boy’s kidneys and a portion of his liver before grafting skin from his upper extremities to some of his lower ones.

While the procedure lasted most of the morning, Rose found that, sequestered in her small corner of the operating theater, she couldn’t look away. The man stared at the boy on the table with such intensity- his hands never wavered in their ministrations and, ultimately, when the surgery was over, the clapping of his comrades only drew a small acknowledging smile from him.

Rose found herself forced to reconsider her judgment of the man.

After he’d left the operating theater, she caught up with the doctor who had first retrieved Michael when they entered the hospital. She had been an attending doctor, and washed her hands placidly at the available sink as Rose approached her, clad in her own blue scrubs.

“Is he…always like that?”

The brunette – Isabella, Rose thought she recalled her name being – merely lowered her mask to grin at her.

“Amazing, isn’t it? Some of the steadiest hands in Northern Europe.”

Rose couldn’t say she was surprised at the assessment. “How many surgeries has he done?”

Isabella’s expression turned pensive. “Well, that’s a difficult question…he was so good in school that they called him in to assist on a few before he actually got his MD. But since then…I’d say several hundred, if not a thousand.”

Rose merely stared at her, completely blown out of the water. To have completed that many surgeries, the man must work nonstop! How did he even have time to be a womanizing noble taking advantage of his name?

“Rose, is it?” She was jerked back to the present by Isabella, who was eying her as she dried her hands.

“Yes.” It was a relief to speak with someone who didn’t waste time with titles. “Rose Lithgall.”

“Well, Miss Lithgall, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Rose arched a blonde brow in inquiry. “What kind of personal question?”

Isabella laughed softly. “The type that determines whether or not I count you among the competition.”

Rose reddened slightly, completely flummoxed. “I beg your pardon?”

But it was completely obvious from Isabella’s demeanor that she meant no harm by her statement. “For Michael, of course. You can imagine how many women are after him. Talented, humble, filthy bloody rich…somehow, in all that he even manages to be a decent man.” Isabella sighed, clearly infatuated with the mere thought of the red-headed doctor. “I’d marry him on the spot if he asked.”

Rose almost choked.

Why was every woman so bloody obsessed with marriage?

Though, she had to admit…there were probably worse men to be involved with. Isabella admired Michael, and she was a doctor herself. Rose couldn’t imagine her admiration would be gained lightly.

And Michael was certainly attractive enough…

“I…well, he’s all yours.” Somehow, she managed to answer Isabella before she rushed out of the surgery and into the busy hallway beyond. Once outside, Rose took a moment to catch her breath.

She didn’t want to…heaven knew it would be terribly dangerous for her, at the very least….But if, for one moment, she entertained the idea that Michael Tate wasn’t a spoiled Lordling…what would that mean? That she would be cordial to him? That they could be friends, perhaps?

Rose had a large number of male friends, and she couldn’t recall ever wanting to mount any of them. The mere thought was enough to make her thighs clench in longing. 

“I suspect you’ll want out of those scrubs.” Isabella had followed her, but her smile was friendly. “I’ll find your clothes for you.”

The hospital was a busy place. While, of course, Rose had been in hospitals before, she had never been behind the scenes quite like this. The place where Michael had taken up his summer residence was a small county establishment – nothing like the private city hospitals she had ever stayed in. There seemed to be an emergency every other moment, and, as such, Rose found she was chasing after Michael all day, barely able to get a word in edgewise.

To his merit, he never rudely brushed her off or sent her away, but instead seemed to accept her as his wayward shadow, merely going about his duties. As she followed him, Rose found herself more and more in awe of the way he handled himself. In a place fraught with panic and anxiety, Michael never seemed to have one hair out of place, despite a lack of any breathing room whatsoever.

In fact, the man was on his feet until close to eight o’clock that evening, when he finally finished his shift. By this point, Rose trailed behind him silently, pensively, watching as he clocked out before a long, protracted sigh escaped him.

The man retrieved his jacket before turning to her and finally addressing her for the first time since that morning. “Shall we go to dinner?”

Taken completely aback, Rose found that her lips couldn’t form a refusal. “…Alright.”

If she expected Michael to take her to some grandiose, expensive ballroom, Rose found herself mistaken for the second time that day. While the man did indeed choose a locale that must have cost a pretty penny, it was tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of the village.

The interior was plush, decked with dark velvet and ornate chandeliers, and several reward plaques in the foyer pronounced the establishment one of the best in Northern England. Rose found that she was, for the first time, too impressed at the understated luxury of the place to condemn the excess.

If she didn’t know any better, she might think Michael was trying to take her on a date.

“Champagne?” But when the man inquired as to what she’d like to drink, Rose found that he looked somewhat distracted – only half present.

“A small glass, thank you.” Leaning forward onto the table, she eyed Michael speculatively, trying to read him. He wore a blue silk shirt that hugged the massive expanse of his chest, and those expressive cerulean eyes of his revealed the weariness of a hard day’s work. After a full minute, she couldn’t keep herself from inquiring anymore. “Are you quite alright, Lord Tate?”

At the title, he winced. “Please, call me Michael. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.”

Rose frowned. The doctor seemed less and less what she had thought with each passing moment. When she repeated her question, her voice was decidedly softer. “Are you alright…Michael?”

The doctor raised his gaze before gesturing to the impeccably dressed waiter. “It’s been a long day, that’s all.” After giving their order, he set the menu aside before running a hand through his hair. “It occurs to me, Lady Lithgall, that it might have been presumptive of me to invite you to the surgery.”

Was that what was bothering him? He thought the sight of blood had turned her stomach?

Rose couldn’t help a wry smile. “Rose,” she corrected him gently. “If you’re going to demand I call you by your Christian name, you can at least do the same in kind.”

“Rose.” After only slight hesitation, Michael did as she bid, a small smile quirking his lips before it disappeared just as quickly. “In any event, my apologies.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Rose rebutted swiftly, waving off his words with a small motion of her hand. “I’m no worse for wear. Truth be told…” She took a bracing sip of the champagne the waiter had brought her as she steeled herself to admit the truth to him. “It was quite invigorating, watching you work.”

“Invigorating.” Michael took a disbelieving sip of his red wine. “Really?”

“Well, yes,” Rose admitted, somewhat embarrassed. “I’ve worked with the sick many times in my travels…but I’ve never seen anything like what you did.”

Michael snorted lowly. “What? Wear a paper hat in an operating room?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed, but she was in too buoyant a mood to rise to the jab. “Save lives.”

“Ah.” At that, Michael’s expression turned sour. He drank the entirety of his glass of wine in another long swallow before gesturing for more. “Saving lives.” His scathing tone made the blonde woman across from him frown. “I’m not too terribly good at that.”

Rose’s eyes widened in shock.  “What on earth are you talking about?” She demanded, setting down her champagne glass. “You saved that boy this morning in the operating room! And the little girl who swallowed insecticides in the afternoon.”

Michael’s somber expression only deepened. “And I lost one.”

The words were enough to stop Rose in her tracks. Her mouth snapped shut as she looked at the man before her, utterly shocked. In that moment, he looked so utterly and completely forlorn that the very sight of him tugged at her heartstrings. She could hardly believe that she’d had such utter and complete disdain for him just that morning. “You…lost someone?”

Michael’s mouth tightened into a fine line. “A pregnant woman. She came in an hour or so before we left. She was going into early labor and the child had genetic disabilities.” He took another long gulp of wine. “I lost him.”

He spoke as if the entire weight of the world were on his shoulders – even as his expression never wavered.

Rose found herself searching his face – from his furrowed brow to the tightness of his mouth – and when she found nothing but earnest self-disgust there, she was driven to speak again.

“Michael, I’m sure you did your best.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You mustn’t blame yourself. You saved the woman’s life, didn’t you? And you fought. That’s all anyone can ask.”

For a protracted moment, Michael said absolutely nothing. He finished his second glass of wine but instead of asking for another, he merely stared at the tabletop before him, running lithe fingers over its edge. Rose had watched those fingers dexterously manipulate surgical tools. Make pinpoint incisions and precise stitches.

She flushed slightly as the thought rose in her mind, unbidden, of how skilled he must be in certain other areas.

“I wish I had done better.” The doctor finally replied gruffly, raising a hand to rub over the stubble on his chin. “It’s a sentiment I can’t escape. Always wanting to do better…always needing to do more…” He trailed off, raising his gaze to hers.

In the instant his blue eyes locked on her face, he seemed to realize the macabre lane of conversation he’d gone down and his tone lightened somewhat. “My apologies. This was supposed to be dinner, not self-incrimination.”

Rose couldn’t help the small smile that rose to her lips. “Will you stop apologizing to me? It’s rather tiring.”

At that, Michael smirked. “You’d prefer I was an absolute brute, then?”

At the memory of the order he’d given her that morning, the blonde woman suppressed a shiver. Perhaps not an absolute brute…

“Of course not. But you might stop being so apologetic and actually tell me how you got involved in medicine.”

An auburn brow shot up towards Michael’s hairline. “How I got involved in medicine?” The waiter brought their first course, setting an exquisitely arranged plate of pate and caviar before them. “I can’t imagine that being very interesting for you.”

“I think,” Rose took a bite of her pate, savoring the rich flavor, “you’d be surprised by what interests me, Michael.”

The doctor chuckled at her suggestion. “I suppose if bloody surgeries so captivate you, it’s worth a go, isn’t it?”

Rose laughed, her mirth as light as the champagne she was drinking. “Maybe.”

She wasn’t supposed to like Michael Tate. She barely knew him. Rose had been staying in the man’s manor for a week and the only thing she knew was that he wasn’t the one for her. That, and the man looked absolutely nothing like his parents. It was odd – in every family portrait of them she saw, he stuck out like a sore thumb.  But aside from that, in seven days she’d more than convinced herself that the good Doctor was everything she despised in a man.

After two hours of conversation, good food, and a veritable plethora of questions on her part, Rose was beginning to think that perhaps she’d been a bit too hasty. That wasn’t to say that she was going to allow herself to pine over the man or any such ridiculous thing. It simply meant that maybe, maybe, she might be able to tolerate living under the same roof as him for a summer.

And that was a start.

Over the course of their meal, Rose found that Michael had been interested in helping people from an early age. While his parents had urged him to take polo and etiquette courses, he’d poured over medical guides and even wanted to join the armed forces to be a paramedic. His parents, unfortunately, had vetoed that idea, but fully supported him entering medical school a full two years early.

He trained at Oxford and graduated at the top of his class, making him one of the youngest residents at some of London’s more prestigious hospitals. Indeed, the man was barely into his early thirties, and he’d carried out, as Isabella purported, hundreds, if not thousands of surgeries – a fact that baffled Rose more and more every time she considered it.

Far from what she had expected, Michael Tate seemed quite the extraordinary man, Earl or no.  No wonder Isabella was so interested in him.

“So…” The young woman finally ventured. “You and Isabella? Did your mother know about that before she invited me for the summer?”

On his fourth glass of wine, Michael merely chuckled lowly at her suggestion. “Why? Are you jealous?”

Rose stiffened in her chair, a little tipsy herself from her three glasses of champagne. “Of course not!” She rebutted almost immediately, her cheeks flaming. “I merely mentioned it because she…she’s a wonderful person!”

What a horrid excuse. Rose hardly knew Isabella enough to profess that she was a wonderful person – even if, in all probability, she was. She was attractive enough, Rose supposed, and obviously intelligent, if she was a doctor. She and Michael would almost certainly be a good match if that was what he wanted…

So why did the idea make her stomach twist in discomfort?

“She is a wonderful person,” Michael replied, his eyes twinkling with something horribly like interest. “A very talented cardio-surgeon, and a trusted colleague. She and I have been working summers together for nigh on seven years now.”

“And…has she met your mother?” Rose was careful to keep her tone casual. “I’m sure the Countess would love her.”

Almost immediately, Michael made an outrageous face that she couldn’t help laughing at. It took Rose a good two or three minutes to control herself, and by the time she did, Michael was merely chortling himself. “Isabella and I are friends. Good friends, but nothing more.” He smiled as he took a bite of his chocolate soufflé. “Did she…say something to you?” He finally inquired, licking a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Rose’s breath hitched and she tried to keep her thoughts from heading deplorably southward.

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Ah, well,” Michael shrugged, taking another bite. “I thought you two might have got up to some girl talk or the other. Isabella is always desperate for gossip.”

“I…can only imagine.” Rose swallowed thickly as Michael shifted slightly and his knee slid against hers beneath the table. She jerked almost as if she’d been burned, pressing her thighs together to assuage the ache that suddenly sprang to life between them. Clearing her throat, she pulled her napkin from her lap and tossed it onto the table. “I…I find myself quite tired, Lord Tate. Perhaps we should retire?”

For a long moment, the man merely stared up at her – and Rose could swear she saw a glint of desire in his eye as he assessed her diminutive form. Then, finally he stood, taking hold of her arm to draw her flush against his side. Leaning down, the immense man uttered a low, authoritative whisper into her ear. “Bloody hell, woman. Call me ‘Lord’ one more time and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Even though the doctor released her, moving away and towards the maître’s to pay the bill, Rose might have melted into a messy puddle on the expensive velour carpet beneath her feet. Michael’s low, growling whisper so close to her ear…It brought all the things she wasn’t supposed to be imagining to the forefront. Things her liquor- addled brain wasn’t so adept at fending off.

This was precisely why she didn’t drink in mixed company. The results were far too disastrous.

“Coming, Rose?”

If she had thought she was embarrassed before, Rose’s ultimate humiliation didn’t take place until that moment. She turned on her heel to follow Michael towards the door – and stumbled. One foot got caught behind another and the young woman yelped as she tripped over her own ankles.

She had barely started to fall, however, before a brawny pair of arms caught her around the waist, hauling her upright. “Easy there,” Michael’s voice was a coaxing rumble that thrummed through her entire body, sending her heart into double-overtime. “Alright?”

“I’m fine,” Rose answered, in a tone that was a little too breathless for her own good. “Fine, fine.” She tried to escape his embrace, only to have him tug her even closer as he stared down at her, obviously concerned. The man looked her over from head to foot, and Rose waited with bated breath for almost a full minute before he finally spoke. “It’s these bloody shoes.”

With that, Michael bent to hoist her into the air just enough to slip her pumps from her feet. The young woman’s feet cried out in relief at the same time mortification flooded her. She was in a public place and the man was stealing her shoes!

“Michael, give those back!” She hissed immediately, grabbing for them.

The Doctor only smirked, waving them out of her reach. “Tell me that doesn’t feel better.”

“Give them back!” Rose meant her tone to come out intimidating, but she was a bit too tipsy and found that, instead, she simply giggled helplessly.

Michael only grinned. “That’s what I thought. Come along, now.” With that, he took her arm in his and led her, completely barefoot, from the restaurant.

If her mother ever found out, she’d be completely mortified. Somehow, however, Rose found that she didn’t care as much as she might have a few months prior. She even let Michael scoop her into the waiting Rolls when they reached the waiting car. It was, after all, the gentlemanly thing to do.

Lord Michael Tate, she decided hazily, wasn’t as bad as she had made him out to be. In fact, he was quite delicious and manly…even if she never admitted it to him out loud.

**

Michael couldn’t stop grinning. He’d had a few cups of wine but was nowhere near intoxicated. Instead, he found himself unbelievably relaxed after it seemed like the stress of his day had caught up with him.

He knew how empathetic he tended to be – losing patients never sat well with him. While Michael’s friends and family all struggled to impress upon him that it was never his fault, he often found himself brooding over patients for days – even weeks after they passed.

Somehow, Rose had lifted his spirits in the space of a few hours.

He’d seen the young woman to her room a good two hours ago, and as he lay contentedly on his bed, he allowed himself to remember how absolutely fetching she’d been at dinner.

He’d only asked her out, really, because he felt bad for being such a cad. Sure, he’d been desperate at the time, but what kind of man forced a woman into a surgery to chase her away? He’d been out of line, and whatever soreness lie between them, he’d been willing to endure an awkward dinner to sooth it to the best of his abilities.

Instead, Michael found himself pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed Rose’s company. Once he got past her frosty exterior, she could be quite the avid conversationalist. She asked him questions he couldn’t rightly remember any woman asking him recently – if ever at all. How he kept patients from bleeding when they were cut open on an operating table, what medicines were best for soothing pain and treating certain ailments – and most interestingly of all, she wanted to know what allowed him to keep his head in the chaos of the emergency room. Honestly, performing under pressure was something that came second nature to Michael. One could say he’d had practice from having to endure Elias’ temper tantrums over the years.

Rose paid him absolutely rapt attention as he tried to explain himself, and Michael found that he had trouble concentrating on his words in favor of the gleaming gray eyes that were fixed on him. He found his gaze drawn, time and time again, to the gentle swell of her cleavage above her top or the plumpness of her lower lip. By the time dessert arrived, Michael was imagining that every bite of chocolate soufflé he took was the creamy softness of her skin – that he had free reign to kiss and lick wherever he liked.

It was bloody torture.

While he was with Rose, he had to control himself, but now, alone in his room, he allowed the almost painful press of his erection against the slacks he still wore. Michael had shed his shirt the moment he was alone and now wore simply his undershirt and slacks, his feet bare. Despite the climate control in the manor, it was too damned hot for him to act the gentleman when no one was looking.

Michael contemplated whether or not he should take care of his current…problem. The last thing he needed was to fall victim to his baser urges the next time he saw Rose…His hand covered the bulge at the crux of his thighs and the breath hissed from between his teeth. Here, alone, what was keeping him from imagining it was Rose’s hand rather than his own? That she was atop him, smiling down at him as all that silky blonde hair slid over them both.

He wondered if anyone had ever made Lady Rose Lithgall climax so hard that she couldn’t breathe…given her so much pleasure that she begged for more…Michael didn’t usually consider himself a sexual aggressor…but there was something about Rose that threatened to bring it out in him. A longing to claim her, completely for his own…

The buzzing of his phone interrupted his fantasy and the gargantuan man growled a curse under his breath. Rolling over onto his stomach, he reached for the cursed device on his bedside table and opened the message, ready to shut the damn thing off.

What he saw gave him pause.

It’s going to be a boy.

A message from Elias.

Immediately, Michael sat up, pushing thoughts of Rose momentarily to the back of his head as he typed his reply.

That’s good. He can be a clone of his father - haughty, high-maintenance and brilliant.

His phone beeped almost immediately in reply.

Have I told you recently how funny you are?

Michael grinned at the blatant sarcasm that permeated the message.

Not lately, no. But I’ve long known of my ability to amuse you.

This time, the pause between messages was longer. A boy, Mike. I’m going to have a son.

The hulking man’s smile softened somewhat. Elias rarely ever exhibited his sentimental side – and when he did, it was something to behold. He typed his one-word answer without hesitation.

Congratulations.

There was nothing more, though Michael waited a good five minutes before rising from his bed to stalk to the door of his room. He had hoped there would be more – that perhaps Elias would call and distract him from the lovely Lady Lithgall sleeping just down the hall – but he was disappointed.

Instead of going back to his prior ministrations, Michael stalked from the room, barefoot and shirtless, making his way through the dark foyer to the first floor. It was close to midnight – no one would be about at this hour to be mortified at his appearance.

Or so he thought.

Despite being only the slightest bit hungry, the Doctor rummaged through the immense icebox until he came up with the ingredients for a sandwich and poured himself one of his favorite pale ales. As he leaned against the counter, chewing thoughtfully, a low, feminine tone startled him.

“Michael?”

He turned immediately, every muscle in his body tensing, to see none other than the subject of his frustrations standing in the kitchen entryway. The ruddy shade of inebriation from earlier was absent from her cheeks and her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders – nearly to her waist. She was wearing a white silk nightgown that complimented her bare skin – falling in a deep vee over her chest and almost to her toes. Though she wore a matching robe over it, the garment did little to detract from the alluring lines of the slim form beneath.

As if she sensed him staring at her, Rose pulled the fabric of her robe even closer to her body. “I…looked for you upstairs. I came to retrieve my shoes.” Her cheeks burned slightly at the memory of their antics in the restaurant and Michael tried not to remember how soft she’d been in his arms as he lifted her into the Rolls. “Are they in your room? I can wait upstairs-”

Michael interrupted her before she could retreat. “I have them here.”

That was a lie – a blasphemous lie, if he’d ever told one. But he was hypnotized. He needed to have her closer.

“Where?” Rose’s mouth drew into a skeptical frown. “I don’t see them.”

She was so very respectable sober. So much so that he wanted to tempt the wildness from her – needed to, truth be told.

“Right here.” He gestured to her with a muscular arm, beckoning her closer. “Come and get them.”

Rose’s expression remained dubious as she drew closer to him, all but gliding across the exquisite marble of the kitchen floor. She stopped a mere two feet from him, her gaze locking with his. In the moonlight, her gray eyes gleamed alluringly, and Michael realized far too late that he couldn’t avoid his body’s natural reaction. “Where,” When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, “where are they?”

Michael took a ridiculous chance. Leaning forward, he cupped her angelic face with a hand, drawing her across the remaining space that separated them. “You are so lovely, Rose.” He murmured lowly, drawing a thumb over the lower lip he had admired for what seemed like an eternity. “So very lovely.”

He kissed her. It would have been criminal not to, with her eyes and mouth tempting him the way they were. Michael could put any number of labels on his reasoning – he was still mourning for the day’s losses. The drink had toyed with his mind. He hadn’t been with a woman in ages…But ultimately, he admitted the truth to himself.

He wanted Rose Lithgall more badly than he had ever wanted any woman and here, now, in his arms…she was heaven.

She sighed the moment his mouth touched hers, parting those lovely lips for him and allowing his tongue to slip inside. Where he thought she might push him away, instead, she merely drew closer to him, her slender fingers curling into his undershirt as she stood on her toes.

She kissed him back.

She arched that decadent body of hers against his and her tongue tangled with his enthusiastically. A low moan escaped her when his hands slid lower – from the trim line of her waist to the gentle swell of her behind – and pressed her against his torturous erection. Her delicious warmth against him was enough to tear a groan of pure desire from his throat, and in an instant, Michael lifted her from the floor to set atop the counter before him. Her spread thighs were the perfect cradle for his hips, and the length of white silk she wore hiked up far enough to expose creamy thighs.

Michael slanted his mouth against hers, kissing her more deeply. When he bit at her lower lip before suckling the hurt away hungrily, Rose shuddered delicately against him. The hands fisted in the cotton of his undershirt tugged at the material sharply in a wordless plea for more. More that the doctor was all too willing to give.

Tearing his mouth from hers, Michael rained kisses down Rose’s vulnerable throat, leaving a line of marks that would no doubt cause a stir at breakfast the next morning – but in that moment, he hardly cared. He wanted her against the countertop, where anyone in Christendom could come upon them, and he regretted nothing. Her skin tasted of fresh cream and cleanliness, sweet and intoxicating all at once, and he couldn’t help but wonder if other parts of her would taste just as sweet…

As one of his hand trekked downward towards the crux of her legs, however, Rose drew back from him, her breath ragged, and uttered a single word.  “Stop.”

No matter his intention, the command halted Michael in his tracks. His libido all but howled in protest, but he forced himself through the haze of lust that enveloped his consciousness. “What’s wrong?” When he asked, his voice was hoarse with want, and he felt her tremble in his arms.

“This…” Rose replied plaintively. “I…I barely know you, Michael. This morning I thought you a horrible, spoiled little Lordling-”

Michael couldn’t help but snort in affront. “Little-”

“And now I’ve got my legs around your waist. I…I just…I need some time. We’re both…drunk.”

It took every fiber of willpower in Michael’s being, but he pulled away from her. Stepped back so that his erection was apparent in the three feet of space that suddenly separated them. At the sight of it, Rose inhaled sharply.

But she didn’t flee. That suited Michael just fine, as he only had one thing to say to her. “I’m not drunk, Rose. And I’d like to think I wouldn’t take advantage of an inebriated woman, either.” He looked over her disheveled form, from her mussed blonde hair to the clear protrusions of her nipples against the front of her nightgown. “You want me. And I want you. But if you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t. Not a single fingertip,” His lips curved into a wicked smile. “Though it wouldn’t take much more than that to see you writhe.”

The young woman’s face flamed cherry and she drew herself up, suddenly indignant. “Where are my shoes?”

She was so righteously beautiful in her arousal that he had to tear his gaze from her. Turn from her to leave the kitchen. “In my room, Rose.” He walked away from her, the taste of her still seared onto his lips. “Come and get them, if you dare.”