London, May 1816

The flash of amber silk intrigued him, although not as much as the lovely woman wearing it.

Lounging negligently against a column in his crowded ballroom, Ashton Wilde, eighth Marquis of Beaufort, narrowed his gaze in speculation. The blond beauty had followed one of his noble male guests through the French doors onto the terrace beyond.

Maura Collyer, his sister’s bosom friend. What the devil was she up to?

Curiosity warred with odd disappointment as Ash considered her intent. It appeared that Miss Collyer was trysting with Viscount Deering.

For all her beauty, he would never have taken Maura for the scarlet woman sort. As far as he knew, she didn’t even like most men, and at four-and-twenty she was long on the shelf. And yet she had accompanied Lord Deering onto a moonlit terrace in the middle of a grand ball for what looked like an assignation.

His boredom suddenly evaporating, Ash pushed away from the column and forged a path through the glittering, bejeweled sea of company. He had expected better of Miss Collyer—

Wry amusement twisted his mouth at the quaint thought. That the leading member of the passionate Wilde clan could condemn a lady for flouting propriety with a lovers’ tryst was the height of irony. The Wildes had long been legendary for their scandalous exploits, their surname synonymous with a blatant disregard for the rules governing the Beau Monde, and Ash himself was currently his family’s worst offender.

Still, he couldn’t banish his contrary stab of displeasure at the notion of Katharine’s closest friend taking Deering as a lover.

The terrace doors had been flung open to alleviate the heat from the chandeliers and the crush of perfumed bodies. Upon reaching the threshold, Ash paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light on the terrace and focus on the couple near the stone balustrade.

Although not embracing, they were standing close together—or rather the lady was standing before the gentleman. Her position offered Ash a view of her profile, so he could see that her delicate jaw was set while her hands were tightly clenched.

It did not appear to be a romantic tryst but a confrontation, he decided. He could overhear her low, impassioned voice imploring the viscount, although the noise from the chattering, dancing throng behind him drowned out most of her words.

Ash moved a step closer just as a momentary lull in the music brought Miss Collyer’s urgent declaration to him.

“Emperor did not belong to her, I tell you! She had no right to sell him to you.”

“I have a legal deed of sale that says otherwise,” Deering responded in an arrogant drawl that evidently grated on the beauty’s nerves.

She inhaled a deep breath, as if striving to maintain control of her emotions. “Then allow me to buy him back … Please.”

“You cannot afford my price, Miss Collyer.”

“I can raise the funds somehow. I will sell the entire stables if I must.”

When Deering laughed in that supercilious way of his, Ash felt the same grating irritation.

He knew Rupert Firth, Viscount Deering, fairly well. Of similar age—a year past thirty—they had attended Cambridge at the same time. Like Ash, Deering had dark curling hair, a noble title, and a significant fortune. But there the similarities ended. Most notably, the viscount was a head shorter, with a body that was turning to flab from an overindulgence of fine port wine.

Ash had never liked Deering, mainly because of his attitude of snide superiority. That dislike only increased as the discussion continued:

“I might be persuaded … for a price,” Deering said with a smirk that made Ash itch to intervene.

“What price?” Miss Collyer asked warily.

In answer, the nobleman reached out and trailed a languid finger along her bare throat to the low neckline of her gown.

When she visibly gritted her teeth, Ash felt some satisfaction that she wasn’t soliciting the viscount’s advances, far from it. Yet he was surprised by his own violent reaction: The urge to wrap his hands around the lecher’s throat speared through him.

Then Deering gave a low, seductive laugh that raised his ire even further.

“I see you take my meaning, Miss Collyer. If you are truly interested in regaining your property, you will accommodate my wishes. You are quite lovely. I find I want you almost as much as I coveted your magnificent stallion.”

Flinching, she took a step backward, out of reach, distaste written in every line of her face. “I regret I must decline your proposition, Lord Deering.”

“You should realize that beggars cannot be choosers.”

“I am not a beggar quite yet.”

The viscount moved closer, but she stood her ground. When his fingers covered her breast and squeezed, Ash took a reflexive step toward them.

But Maura Collyer evidently did not need defending, for she brought her heel down hard on the viscount’s instep, forcing him to release her. Even with her soft evening slippers, the impact must have hurt.

It did, if the viscount’s pained growl was any indication.

“Your stubbornness reminds me of your damned father!” Deering ground out through his teeth. “I could not persuade him to sell, but I found a way to win in the end. Your stepmother was far more accommodating.”

For a moment Miss Collyer froze, her expression one of devastation. Only then did Ash recall the bad blood between her family and the viscount. Deering had accused her father of cheating at cards two years ago, but Noah Collyer had died before the matter could be resolved.

When Deering reached for her breast again, she broke out of her paralysis with ferocity. Uttering an audible curse, she brought her knee up to contact with the viscount’s satin breeches at an especially vulnerable point.

Deering gave a harsh groan and doubled over, clutching his bollocks. Then Maura stamped down on his other instep for good measure.

Ash didn’t know which of his emotions was strongest just then—amusement, admiration, or anger.

Amusement because he’d wanted to do the same thing to Deering for years.

Admiration because very few females outside those in his own family had the spirit or courage to engage in a physical brawl with a significantly larger man.

And anger because a genteel young lady had been accosted in his own home. Specifically this young lady, who was Katharine’s friend and therefore deserved his protection.

Deering was clearly angry also; in fact, he was in a fury. “You … will regret this … you damned vixen!” he panted, still bent over.

“The only thing I regret,” retorted Miss Collyer, “is thinking you were honorable enough to let me plead my case! I was fully prepared to purchase my horse back, not sell myself to you!”

She was panting as much as her suffering adversary, but her breathlessness stemmed from outrage instead of pain. Even at a distance, Ash could practically see sparks flashing from her eyes. When she balled her fists as if she might strike a blow at the viscount’s sneering face, Ash decided it was time to intervene.

“It is time you took your leave, Deering,” he declared, striding across the terrace toward them.

At his sudden appearance, Miss Collyer gave a start, while the viscount straightened painfully.

“This is none of your affair, Beaufort!” Deering snapped.

“It is very much my affair. You assaulted one of my guests.”

“I assaulted her?” he sputtered. “That she-devil is the one who assaulted me!”

Ash bit back a smile. “I would not advertise that fact if I were you, Rupert. You will only invite scorn and make yourself a target for the cartoonists. Do you need assistance calling for your carriage?”

“Bloody hell … no, I can summon my own infernal carriage.”

“Then pray do so. You are no longer welcome here.”

The viscount shot Ash a look of extreme dislike. “This is no way to treat a peer, Beaufort, ordering me to leave while taking that witch’s side.”

“Spare me your protests. You got exactly what you deserved. I would have hurt you myself if she had not.”

Deering’s expression only darkened. After another fierce glare at Miss Collyer, though, he limped off in the direction of the ballroom.

Alone on the terrace with her, Ash turned and found his gaze arrested by the enchanting picture she made. Maura stood with her fists still clenched, her cheeks flushed with anger, her bosom heaving softly. In the candle glow spilling from the ballroom windows, she looked fiery and beautiful, her honey-colored hair only a few shades lighter than the gold-embroidered amber silk gracing her tall, lithe figure.

He was not accustomed to seeing Miss Collyer so stylishly garbed. Her ball gown was an elegant confection, with short puffed sleeves and a low décolletage that offered meager coverage for the ripe swells of her breasts. Usually she wore plain muslin or kerseymere or—since her father’s unexpected death from heart failure two years ago—the black bombazine of mourning.

Her long white kid gloves shielded her arms from the cool night air, but she was still shaking, no doubt in the aftermath of rage rather than from the chill.

Seeing all that trembling intensity, Ash could imagine her in his bed, shuddering in the throes of passion.

Aware of the primal surge of lust streaking through him, he tamped down on his inappropriate urges at the same time he noticed that one sleeve of her gown had been pulled down to bare her pale white shoulder.

Stepping close to Maura, he straightened her sleeve, trying to make his helpful gesture appear casual and brotherly.

Her flush deepened, as if she suddenly recognized that he’d witnessed the entire event, including the viscount’s ignoble sexual advances.

When Ash finished repositioning her sleeve, she turned quickly toward the French doors. But he stayed her with a light touch on her gloved arm. “You should remain here for a moment. You cannot return to the ballroom looking so disheveled and distraught.”

“I am not distraught! I am furious.”

“Don’t quibble,” he said humorously. “It amounts to the same thing. You are breathing fire. You will frighten all my guests.”

She grimaced in frustration, but apparently agreed with him, for after a short hesitation, she went to stand at the balustrade, her gloved fingers clutching at the gray stone. “Why are you even out here, Lord Beaufort? You are supposed to be hosting your sister’s ball.”

Joining her at the railing, Ash answered honestly. “You roused my curiosity when you followed Deering here. I thought you might be having a liaison with your lover.”

“With Lord Deering?” She sounded appalled, disgusted. “I would sooner take a snake as a lover—not that I would ever take a lover of any kind,” she hastened to add. “Or that it would be your concern if I did.”

Ash let her intriguing denial go unremarked. “I realized your dislike of him when I overheard your conversation.”

“Did no one ever teach you that it is impolite to eavesdrop?” she muttered.

He smiled at her question. “Any number of people have tried to teach me polite manners, but I fear little of their instruction took hold. In your case, however, it was not rudeness that led me to eavesdrop.”

“No?”

“No. I relish a mystery, and I was suffering a near fatal case of ennui. When you slipped away, I was delighted that finally something interesting was happening this evening. And then I remained here on the terrace because I thought you might need my protection.”

She shot him an irritated glance. “I did not need your protection. I can defend myself.”

“Obviously,” Ash said with dry amusement. Her hazel eyes were still shooting daggers. “If looks could kill, Deering would be six feet underground by now. As it was, you temporarily unmanned him.”

“I wish it could have been permanent,” Maura said through gritted teeth.

Her agitation was still visible, and she seemed intent on shredding her kid gloves against the rough stone.

Just then, voices from the ballroom grew louder, wafting through the open doors behind them. Not wanting an audience, Ash reached out on impulse and peeled Miss Collyer’s fingers away from the balustrade.

“Come with me,” he ordered, catching her hand in his. Turning toward the terrace steps, he tugged her behind him.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, trying to pull back.

“Only down to the garden so you can cool off. You need time to recover your composure.”

She accompanied him then, although rather unwillingly.

As he led her down the wide marble steps, Ash tried to analyze why he felt so protective of Maura, and more inexplicably, why he felt this unexpected possessiveness toward her.

Her statement moments ago about not wanting a lover of any kind gave him a strange satisfaction. He’d never heard of Miss Collyer engaging in any romantic affairs, yet that didn’t mean she hadn’t indulged discreetly.

He supposed his protectiveness was a result of her close connection to his sister Katharine and his cousin Skye. The three girls had become fast friends years ago at their elite boarding academy.

Like Katharine, Maura was unique in that she enjoyed more masculine pursuits than was typical of their peers. Breeding racehorses was most assuredly not a ladylike profession either. After losing her father so unexpectedly, Maura had retired to the country and thrown herself into improving the breeding stables she’d inherited so that she could support herself.

Ash had always been impressed by her fire and spirit. Yet he’d kept his hands off her because he considered her off-limits.

Unquestionably he had noticed her, though. From the time she had turned sixteen, in fact, during one of her visits to Beauvoir. What red-blooded male wouldn’t? He’d have to be dead not to feel the rush of attraction for a beauty like Maura. But a gentleman—even a Wilde—did not go around seducing innocent schoolgirls, particularly a classmate of his sister’s.

Maura was clearly no longer a girl. Ash was intently aware of her graceful, ripe body as they reached the gardens below the terrace. She was also out of mourning for her father now, which made her fair game if he chose to pursue her.…

The notion intrigued him, yet he set it aside for now as he guided Maura along a path illuminated by the occasional Chinese lantern.

“Perhaps you should sit down,” he advised, leading her to a stone bench shadowed by a lilac tree.

She took no notice of his suggestion, but pulled her hand from his grasp and began to pace back and forth along the flagstone path.

Amusement tugged at Ash’s mouth as he settled on the bench in her place. Prepared to indulge her, he stretched his long legs out before him and crossed his ankles. Despite his pleasure in watching her, though, he knew it would be more gallant if he attempted to divert her from her agitation.

Consequently, he broke the silence after a moment. “Allow me to offer you my apologies, Miss Collyer.”

“For what?” she asked absently.

“I regret that you had to suffer Deering’s lechery.”

“You are not to blame for his disgusting behavior.”

“No, but this is my home, and I am responsible for the actions of my guests.”

“Perhaps, but Deering is as far from a gentleman as it is possible to be. The gall of him,” she muttered under her breath, “thinking I would have any interest in selling myself to him.”

“You handled him well. I am all admiration. Where did you learn that trick of incapacitating a man?”

“From my steward, Gandy. There are some unsavory characters in the racing world, and Gandy wanted me to be prepared should I encounter any.”

“I thought Katharine and Skye were the only gently-bred females who were skilled in self-defense. I taught Kate that move myself.”

When that brought no response, Ash continued casually. “I should thank you. Your altercation spiced up my evening and saved me from excruciating boredom.”

His admission seemed to gain her attention for a moment, or at least she paused to glance at him. “Why did you even hold a ball if you are so jaded by them?”

“You know why. Because Katharine asked it of me.”

“And you can never refuse her?”

“Oh, I regularly refuse her, but in this instance, I was doing my duty as her elder brother. She claimed she was finally ready to look for a husband, much to my surprise.”

“It surprised me also,” Maura allowed, resuming her pacing.

Frankly, it had startled Ash two weeks ago when Katharine suddenly announced her desire to find a husband and requested a ball to aid her search for eligible candidates.

But he was not interested in his sister’s matrimonial prospects just now. Instead, he wanted to know what had led to her closest friend’s confrontation with one of his noble guests. Most particularly, why Deering would assume that Maura Collyer’s charms were for sale.…

“Why don’t you tell me what prompted your encounter with Deering?” Ash suggested. When she didn’t immediately answer, he prodded further. “What led him to proposition you?”

“He believes he has leverage over me,” she said in a low voice. “He illegally gained possession of something very precious to me.”

“Your stallion, Bold Emperor, I take it?”

“Yes.”

Precious, indeed, Ash mused. He’d had the privilege of seeing the famous stallion race on past occasions. A descendant of the Byerley Turk—one of three official sires of the Thoroughbred line—and more recently, of the champion Noble, Emperor possessed blistering speed and remarkable stamina and had obliterated the competition in numerous prestigious races during his spectacular career. At ten years of age, the horse now no longer raced, but stood at stud at Maura’s farm near Newmarket and had sired a dozen winners thus far.

Indeed, the Collyer Stud was becoming known as one of the premiere breeding stables in England, due primarily to the stallion’s superior bloodlines in combination with the canny expertise of the aging stable master, George Gandy.

“I hadn’t heard that Emperor’s ownership had changed hands,” Ash remarked.

“My stepmother sold him to Deering three weeks ago, even though I am his rightful owner.” The bitterness in Maura’s voice was unmistakable. “Emperor has always belonged to me. My father gave him to me the night of his birth, and I helped raise him from a foal.”

“Then how did your stepmother manage to sell him to Deering?”

The story came spilling out then, perhaps because she was too enraged to hold her tongue. “Lord Deering has his own racing stables and has long wanted the prestige of having a prize stallion. He succeeded in gaining Priscilla’s allegiance by promising his patronage for her daughters’ society debuts.”

The assertion matched what Ash knew about Maura’s family situation. At a young age she had lost her mother to a fever, and her father had remarried again some dozen years ago, to a widowed lady who already had two young daughters of her own; girls who were now of marriageable age, but whose chances of making even modest matches had been scotched by the disgrace attached to their family name during a cheating scandal. Reportedly, Maura shared an uneasy relationship with her stepmother, in large part due to maternal envy. It had never set well with Priscilla Collyer that Maura outshone her rather plain stepsisters so markedly.

“I thought your father provided Mrs. Collyer an adequate fortune, but left the stud to you,” Ash probed.

“He did,” Maura acknowledged. “When my father died, our house in London went to Priscilla, but his will left the farm and breeding stables to me, including all the horses. The deed of birth for Emperor, however, was in my father’s name, not mine, and Priscilla exploited that fact. When she visited my farm a few weeks ago, she took the deed from my files, then sold Emperor to Viscount Deering for a significant sum. I didn’t even realize what she had done until Deering came with the sheriff to collect Emperor. I was away from home that afternoon, so Gandy had to let my horse go.”

“And you have no proof of ownership?”

“No, none. I have little recourse, either. I could try to sue in court, but I might not win. And by the time the legalities are sorted out, Emperor could suffer irreparable harm.” Maura’s hands curled into fists, betraying her anxiety. “Deering brought him to London, of all places, and is stabling him in a cramped mews with no place to run. And according to Gandy’s connections, Deering has taken a whip to Emperor more than once. I cannot bear to think of him being beaten and abused.”

“So you decided to try and buy the stallion back rather than fight a legal battle you may lose?”

Maura nodded. “I don’t have such a huge sum at my disposal just now, since I put my entire inheritance into building up the Collyer Stud, but the bloodstock is worth a great deal, and I am willing to sell my two other stallions and all the broodmares if need be. In fact, I immediately came to London for that very purpose—to make my offer to Deering in person. But he refused to receive me every time I called. Then Katharine hit on a plan to aid me.”

“What sort of plan?”

“When she learned what happened, she promised to ensure that Deering attended her ball this evening so that I would have a chance to speak to him.”

Ash felt himself frown slightly. “When was this?”

“A fortnight ago.”

About the time Katharine had asked him to throw her a grand ball, he realized. The timing seemed curious. In truth, he could almost recognize his sister’s fine hand at work here. Katharine frequently plotted to bend fate to her will. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had contrived the entire ball merely to help her bosom friend.

“But all our careful planning was for naught,” Maura muttered.

“Because Deering refused your offer outright?” Ash asked.

“Yes. You heard his odious reply. I swore I would control my temper when I confronted him, but I couldn’t manage it.” She bit her lower lip. “I suppose I should never have hurt him like that, even if his proposition was utterly revolting.”

“Probably not,” Ash murmured wryly, his mouth curving at the memory of the viscount getting his comeuppance.

When Maura stopped her pacing to glare at him, however, he stifled his smile. “That was not a criticism of your courage, sweeting. I only meant that Deering cannot bear being bested. You clearly earned his enmity by savaging his pride. ‘She-devil,’ ‘witch,’ ‘vixen’ … what other names did he call you just now?”

Her voice vibrated with irritation. “I have a few choice names for that conniving villain as well. And yet I have likely ruined any chance to persuade him to sell Emperor back to me.” Suddenly Maura brought a hand to her temple as if just now realizing the ramifications of her actions.

To Ash’s surprise, she trudged over to the bench and sank down beside him. Her elegantly-clad shoulders slumped as she gazed unseeingly at the ground.

“I would not put it past Deering to punish an innocent animal,” she lamented, “but I will never forgive myself if he takes out his anger at me on my horse.”

Ash didn’t much like that note of despair in her voice, or her look of defeat either. He would rather have Maura spitting fire than surrendering to frustration and disappointment.

When she shivered and rubbed her gloved arms, Ash knew that she’d finally become cognizant of her surroundings, now that her ire had eased somewhat. The spring night air was cooler here in the gardens and held a dampness that raised goose bumps on her exposed skin.

Reflexively, Ash slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. His gesture, although intended to be benevolent, was not exactly proper, and she stiffened accordingly.

“Hold your protests, Miss Collyer,” he advised lightly. “You need warmth, and I can provide it. I would do the same for my sister and cousin.”

Rather than argue, Maura accepted his offer of warmth and let his arm remain around her.

“I could loan you my coat,” Ash added in further explanation, “but it would do your reputation no good to be seen wearing my clothing when we return to the ball.”

“I confess surprise, my lord,” she rejoined with a hint of her usual spirit. “I thought you didn’t give a fig about propriety.”

“Ordinarily I don’t, but you are my guest after all.”

A short silence ensued while he held her, sharing his body heat. Despite his avowal of innocent motives, though, Ash realized that he wasn’t fooling himself; he was not feeling the least brotherly toward Maura.

Not when he was so aware of her deliciously soft form pressing against his side.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I can assist you in dealing with Deering,” he suggested, as much to focus his attention elsewhere as from any conscious plan to aid her.

Glancing up with a look of surprise, Maura searched his face before answering. “Thank you, Lord Beaufort, but I believe in solving my own problems. Besides, Katharine has already put herself out enough on my behalf.”

Even though he admired her pluckiness in taking on the viscount, he wasn’t convinced she could handle the problem on her own. “What do you intend to do then?”

“I will think of something. I have no intention of leaving Emperor in his hands for long. But my body is too high a price to pay—” She broke off with a grimace and looked away again. “Here I am, going on and on about my private affairs that can be no concern of yours. Pray forgive me.”

She seemed rather embarrassed by her loosened tongue, Ash noticed. He doubted Maura was accustomed to sharing her intimate confidences in such detail. Moreover, she was correct; her affairs were none of his concern. And yet some chivalrous part of him balked at leaving her to face a lecher like Deering alone.

“You ought not reject my offer of assistance out of hand,” he advised. “As a peer, I have resources at my command that you do not.”

Evidently he had struck a nerve, for Maura went rigid again. “How well I know it,” she grated under her breath. “Wealthy, powerful noblemen can literally get away with murder. It galls me to have to beg the man who killed my father.”

Her wild claim voiced in that fierce tone took Ash aback, but he returned a measured reply. “That is a serious charge, my sweet witch. How do you know he was complicit in your father’s death?”

She gave a hard shrug. “Oh, I know he didn’t murder Papa directly. Just drove him into an early grave with his accusations of cheating. Papa’s heart gave way before he could clear his name, and the doctors believe the scandal was the prime cause.”

“I don’t think I ever heard the entire story,” Ash said leadingly.

“It is quite simple. Deering has coveted Emperor forever and frequently offered to purchase him, but Papa would never sell him. So in order to win our stallion, two years ago his lordship tried to force my father’s hand at the gaming tables. He lured Papa into a gambling den and then claimed he was playing with marked cards. Of course it was a brazen lie, but who would believe a commoner accused by a prominent nobleman?”

From the tense vibrations of her body, Ash knew she was getting angry all over again.

“And then to hear Deering boast tonight about his success …” Maura whispered. “It was like a knife to my chest. How I despise that contemptible man! It was all I could do to force myself to speak to him civilly.” She made a growling sound deep in her throat. “But I don’t know whether I am more furious at him or at my own impotence in fighting him.”

She hardly seemed helpless, Ash mused to himself, but he now understood her anger better. Maura not only blamed Deering for her father’s death, but the viscount’s underhanded appropriation of her stallion several weeks ago had only added insult to injury.

She was tense with fury now. When Ash felt another shudder of anger and loathing ripple through her body, he resolved to distract her from her wrath. Granted, his chosen method of distraction would probably unsettle her, but it was the most effective way he knew to jolt Maura out of her despondency and bring back her usual spirited temperament.

Yet it was only fair to give her proper warning, he decided.

“You need to take a deep breath, love.”

After a moment, she did as he bid, inhaling deeply and exhaling in a controlled rush.

“Again,” he ordered, waiting until she complied twice more. “Are you calm yet?”

“No, why?”

“Because I want to know if you will respond in the same way when I kiss you.”

Giving a start, Maura peered up at him. “You cannot kiss me, Beaufort.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. That sort of bald challenge was irresistible to a Wilde. “Certainly I can—and I will. Your anger still needs soothing.”

She stared at him in mute disbelief. When he tightened his arm around her, she drew a hushed breath upon realizing he was serious.

Her beauty was alluring in the golden lanternlight,

her lips intensely inviting, Ash reflected as he bent closer.

It was outrageous of him, provocative in the extreme, and might earn him the same response his predecessor had received. But he was acting again on impulse, following his instincts as he lowered his head to capture her ripe mouth.…