Clarissa leaned over the stone balustrade of the terrace and peered at the shadow-filled garden below her. The chill of the October evening made her shiver, but she welcomed the cool air on her overheated skin.

She’d been so eager to escape the ball she hadn’t thought to retrieve her wrap from one of the servants. Flustered, with conflicting thoughts skittering about in her head, she’d been intent only on retreat—mostly from Christian, but also from anyone else who might stop her. She’d always been like that at social functions. Her father had lamented what he called her fatal lack of charm, saying only her looks and his money had made her even passably acceptable. A man wanted a companion, he’d complain. Someone to entertain and amuse him, not some timid mouse of a girl who would bore him to death.

She breathed out an unhappy sigh, resting her forearms on the stone ledge. Jeremy had rescued her from that glittering but nerve-wracking world, but he couldn’t rescue her now. Not from herself and her stupid fears, nor from well-meaning friends determined to push her back into a life she’d never wanted.

Unnerved by the fine tremors coursing through her fingers, Clarissa stood tall and flexed her hands. Blast Christian for flirting with her like she was just another pleasant diversion whilst on furlough. Still, he was young and handsome and would soon return to the front, so why shouldn’t he entertain himself? Any man in his position would. But why did he pick her, for heaven’s sake?

Her cheeks prickled with shameful heat as she acknowledged a possible explanation. Christian was probably taking pity on her, offering a brief flirtation because he felt sorry for the lonely widow uncomfortable in polite society. Perhaps Lillian, so obviously worried about her, had put him up to it. The very notion that her friend might have persuaded Christian to do such a thing—to make Clarissa the recipient of misguided charity—made her stomach churn.

Carefully gathering her skirts, she sat down on one of the wrought iron benches scattered around the terrace. The cold of the metal seat quickly penetrated her gown and chemise, but despite the chill she couldn’t bring herself to return to the house. Not until she could regain at least some semblance of composure.

And certainly not until she understood her own confused reaction to Christian’s attentions. That was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? Regardless of his intentions, and what it all meant to him, how did she feel about it?

After several useless minutes fidgeting with the lace trim on her fan, Clarissa had to admit the truth. Christian had frightened her, but she’d been flattered by his seductive flirtation. More than flattered. Entranced. She’d actually wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

That impulse had lasted only moments, but those moments had been enough. Enough to forget she had been standing in a crowded room full of chattering gossips. Enough to forget she had vowed never to fall in love again, and certainly never with a man like him.

Even worse, when Christian had stared at her, his gaze so hot and knowing, she had forgotten about Jeremy. What re- spectable woman—a widow, barely out of mourning—would so easily betray the memory of her beloved husband?

With an irritated sigh, she rose. Either she could hide like a coward, or she could go back inside with her head high and act like the sensible person she knew herself to be. Whatever disturbing emotions plagued her right now, their cause would soon take himself back to Portugal. All she had to do was keep Christian at a safe distance until he departed. Then life would return to its quiet, safe routine, exactly as she wanted. She owed that to Jeremy’s memory.

She crossed the terrace toward the study. With a little luck, she could find Lillian and Lady Archer immediately and make her excuses for the night. It wouldn’t be a lie to claim she had a headache, since all this fruitless rumination had indeed set her temples throbbing.

As she reached the French doors to the study, a bulky shape loomed out of the darkness. Surprised, she gasped and took a quick step back, catching her heel on the hem of her gown. A beefy hand shot out and took her by the elbow, squeezing it tightly.

“Careful now, Mrs. Middleton,” said an oddly nasal voice. “We can’t have you tumbling down and cracking your pretty head on the paving stones, can we?”

Clarissa let out an involuntary hiss, jerking her arm away. That voice belonged to a man who never failed to make her skin crawl.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to appear calm. “Lord Blundell, what a surprise. Have you tired of the party?”

He moved forward into a stream of light from the ballroom windows above them. Her stomach took a sickening flop when she saw a lascivious smile lifting his thick-lipped mouth. Brandy fumes wafted over her as he stepped closer.

“I was following you, my dear. I was certain you saw me as you descended the stairs, and divined my intention to speak with you. Unfortunately, that old blowhard Lord Sobey waylaid me, preventing me from joining you until now.”

She frowned, startled by his impertinent assumptions. “My Lord, I only stepped out for some fresh air, but I find it’s much too cool without a wrap. I’m returning to the ball this very instant.”

The smile congealed on his face, but only for a few seconds. Then a smug look settled on his features as he moved a step closer.

“Ah. You hope to tease me. You always were a minx, Clarissa. I remember your father warning me about that when I first proposed to you. I’ve always regretted that I didn’t take a stronger stand. By the time I realized you needed a firm hand, you had already accepted Middleton’s offer.” He cast her an oily smile. “I assure you, I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

She choked, outrage closing her throat, but he ignored her reaction.

“You wish to punish me just a little for making you wait out here on the terrace, don’t you?” he asked. “But now that I’m here, surely we can dispense with silly games. There’s no need for you to keep me at arm’s length a moment longer, now that you have returned to society.”

He moved forward again, forcing her to retreat to the balustrade. Every nerve in her body shrieked at her to run, but he blocked her only exit. Unfortunately, she was never very good at putting bullies in their place. Still, she tried to muster up a cutting tone.

“You are talking nonsense, sir. Please move aside. It is most improper for us to be out here without a chaperone.”

He crowded her against the parapet, thrusting forward until their bodies almost touched. Even without looking directly down, she could see a bulge in the front of his breeches. She swallowed, willing her dinner to remain in its proper place.

“Ah,” he rasped. “Fortunately, you’re no longer a maiden, but a widow and an experienced woman.”

His queer voice scraped along her nerves. Though a bulky, coarse man, Lord Blundell spoke in a thin tone that seemed to strain his throat. When he courted her years ago, anxiety had slithered through her whenever he opened his mouth. No one had understood how she felt but Lillian. Certainly not her father, whose punishment for refusing Blundell’s suit had left her with painful bruises.

“You offend me, sir,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I am the widow of an officer who fought by your side—one of your own men. That alone should be reason enough to treat me with more respect.”

To her surprise, he flinched. Even in the dim light she could see the blood drain from his face. But he soon recovered, staring at her so intently she felt like a cornered animal.

“I do respect you, Clarissa, so much so that I intend to make you my wife.” He inspected her bosom with a lustful gaze. “Now that your period of mourning is over, you must recognize how advantageous it would be for you to marry again. If your father were still alive, he would surely urge you to accept my offer.”

Anger rose in a hot, welcome flare, infusing her with courage. “You honor me, sir,” she said coldly, “but I have no desire to marry. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to Lady Montegue.”

She attempted to force her way past, but he grabbed her arms. His thick fingers squeezed her in a pinching grip.

“Let go of me,” she gasped.

She tried to yank away but he held fast. His nails dug into her flesh, sending lancing pain down her bare arms. She struggled, but he pulled her close, rubbing himself against her.

Black spots danced in front of her eyes as panic welled in her chest. She clamped down hard, forcing her vision to clear. A scream bubbled up in her throat, but a shred of reason sealed her lips. The scandal if they were found like this would be overwhelming, and there was no predicting the consequences. To be discovered alone together, in so secluded a place, whomever was finally blamed—and Blun-dell might very well accuse her of improper behavior—her reputation would be irreparably damaged.

He bent his face close, leering at her. The reek of alcohol and the disgusting grind of his hips made her want to vomit.

“Don’t play the innocent with me, Clarissa. Not dressed like this. Not when you engage in open flirtation in front of half the ton. I saw you upstairs with Archer,” he sneered. “Why waste your time on a boy when you can have a man? You made that same mistake when you married Middleton. You would be wise not to do it again.”

He might as well have thrown a pitcher of ice water in her face. Her head cleared and her spine straightened.

“Unhand me, Lord Blundell, or I shall scream loud enough to wake the dead. You are a vile man, and I would rather die than marry you.”

A murderous fury darkened his gaze. He dug his fingers into her hair and yanked her head back. A strangled cry almost escaped her throat, but he cut it off with a hard, slobbering kiss. His lips mashed hers and his tongue invaded her mouth, choking her. Unable to breathe, she struggled with a desperation born of terror.

Blundell crushed himself against her, bending her over the hard stone of the parapet as he locked her in an unbreakable grip. Tears leaked from her eyes when she felt his hand dragging up her skirts.

But more than fear rose up in a welling tide. Fury rose, too, pushing out the fear. She had to stop him. She’d rather be exposed to all of London and shunned by everyone she knew than allow the brute to molest her.

When he took a breath, she bit down hard on his lower lip. He gave a shocked cry and jolted back, letting her go so suddenly she could barely keep from toppling over the barrier behind her. Quickly righting herself, she slipped past, dodging his clumsy attempts to grab her.

“Come back here, you bitch,” he spat out in a snarling voice.

She dashed for the doors leading into the darkened study, only to collide with a rock-hard body coming through them. A pair of strong arms snaked around her, keeping her from crashing to the ground.

“Clarissa,” exclaimed Christian, holding her close. “What the hell is going on out here?”

She stilled in his arms, gazing up at him, trying to see his face in the dark. Her brain went blank as relief wiped out every other emotion. She sagged, her limbs weak and trembling. He cradled her in a gentle embrace, one hand splayed securely across her back.

With an effort, she managed to calm her pounding heart, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of him. Her brain stopped tumbling around in her skull and her reason returned.

“Better?” he asked in a quiet voice as he rubbed a soothing hand down her spine.

She nodded.

“Good. Then please explain why you were running as if your life depended on it.”

A painful rush of blood heated her cheeks. How could she explain without causing a scene? Christian would be furious, and God knew what he would do then. She had to defuse the situation before a scandal erupted right there in the middle of the largest ball of the Little Season.

“Ah … nothing … nothing was happening,” she stuttered. “I was just …”

She trailed off as he arched his eyebrows in disbelief. Then he lifted his gaze and stared out at the terrace, where Blundell still stood, muttering curses under his breath. Christian’s face grew stern, anger tightening his features into sharp angles.

“Never mind,” he said in a quiet but lethal voice. “I see the problem.” His flinty gaze switched back to her face. “Did that bastard hurt you?”

Clarissa loosened her fingers from where they clutched the front of Christian’s coat and shook her head.

“I’m fine,” she said in a firm voice. She gave his chest a gentle push, forcing him to let go. He did, but reluctantly.

“It was nothing,” she continued. “Really. I ’d be grateful if you escorted me back inside. I ’d like to find Lillian.”

He ignored her request, his eyes narrowed on Blundell. “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. What happened to your lip, Blundell?”

“That is none of your business,” sneered the other man. “And you will address me as Major Blundell or my lord, Captain Archer. If you know what’s good for you.”

Christian appeared unmoved by the threat. In fact, he took a menacing step toward Blundell, despite Clarissa’s attempt to pull him in the opposite direction.

“If I find you laid a hand on her,” he said in a harsh voice, “I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”

Blundell stopped dabbing at his lip—Clarissa was very glad to see it was bleeding quite profusely—and glared back at Christian.

“Fancy her for yourself, do you, Archer? Well, I suppose you’re welcome to her. I’ve already had a taste, but I’ve discovered that aging widows aren’t really in my line, after all.”

A growl rumbled up from Christian’s throat. Then, in a blur of motion, he surged forward and drilled his fist into Blundell’s face. The man went crashing to the ground with a muffled cry of pain. Christian reached down with one hand and took hold of his collar, then hauled Blundell up as he cocked his fist again.

Clarissa leapt forward, grabbing Christian’s arm and tugging on it with all her might.

“Are you insane?” she hissed. “You can’t do this in the middle of a ball. Think of the scandal! Your mother will be mortified.”

Sluggishly recovering from Christian’s devastating punch, Blundell began to struggle and thrash. Clarissa dug her fingers into Christian’s arm and shook it.

“Let go, Christian,” she commanded. “I don’t want this.”

He glowered at her even as he continued to hold the struggling Blundell at arm’s length—apparently with very little effort, since the other man couldn’t break loose.

Clarissa glared back. “I mean it,” she said in the same voice she’d used when he was a disobedient little boy. “Let him go.”

Shadows played over his stone-hard face. His lips twitched. Opening his hand, he dropped Blundell to the terrace pavement.

“Very well. But in return, I want you to explain what happened out here,” he said.

“I will not,” Clarissa retorted, taking his arm. “Now, will you please escort me back to the party?”

One corner of his mouth curved into a lazy half smile, replete with a masculine sensuality that stole the breath from her lungs.

“Will you dance with me if I do?”

She huffed. “Your sister was right. You really are the most impertinent boy. But yes, I will. Now take me away from here.”

He glanced back at Blundell, who had crawled over to one of the benches and hauled himself onto its seat.

The banked anger in Christian’s eyes flared back to life. “Are you sure about this, Clarissa? I won’t have him bothering you again.”

“I feel sure he won’t,” she said earnestly.

He didn’t look convinced.

She sighed. “And if he does, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

He gave a reluctant nod as he took her elbow and began to lead her away. And not a moment too soon, as far as she was concerned. The longer they stayed on the terrace, the better the chances of being discovered. Then the gossips would truly have something to say.

She scampered across the paving stones, trying to hurry Christian along. As they stepped inside the study, Blundell’s nasal voice—even more nasal now, thanks to Christian’s punch—halted them in their tracks.

“Stop right there, Archer,” he barked. “Don’t think you can run away from me.”

Under Clarissa’s fingers, the muscles in Christian’s arm turned to iron. She stifled a groan. Could things get any worse?

Christian carefully disengaged her hand and turned to face Blundell. “Are you calling me a coward, Major?”

Blundell staggered to his feet, his thick features distorted with rage, his eyes burning with hatred. Clarissa shivered, her insides pulling into a knot. She’d always known Everard Blundell had a vile temper, but now something sick and disturbing seemed to emanate from his hulking figure.

She tore her gaze from him and looked at Christian, who was inspecting the other man with a mild curiosity.

“I’ll have my satisfaction,” Blundell barked.

Christian replied as calmly as if he were ordering ices from Gunter’s. “Name your seconds.”

Clarissa’s heart crashed into her ribs. A duel? Over her? She detested dueling—the very idea of men shooting at each other in a senseless display of violence, all for their so-called honor. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

“You will not,” she interjected, stepping between the two men. “I absolutely forbid you to engage in that barbaric, outdated, illegal practice.”

Christian expelled an impatient breath, reaching for her. She evaded him.

“It’s not up to you,” he said. “At this point, it has nothing to do with you.”

She stiffened. “It has everything to do with me. I don’t want it. I won’t have it.”

He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to argue with her.

Blundell beat him to it. “I won’t be insulted without redress.”

He put his head down like an angry bull and stalked toward them. Clarissa took a hasty step back, fetching up against Christian’s chest. His hands settled at her waist, resting lightly but possessively on the curve above her hips. Somehow, that felt right, even though she knew how wrong it was.

“I suggest you not come closer, my lord,” drawled Christian. “You’ve distressed Mrs. Middleton quite enough for one night.”

Blundell’s lips peeled back into a taunting sneer. “Hiding behind the lady, Archer? Wonder what your fellow officers in the Fifth will have to say about that?”

All along Clarissa’s spine, Christian’s body went rock hard. Tension and anger radiated from him, enveloping her in a hot wave. In front of her, Blundell glared at Christian with murderous intent. So much belligerent male energy crackled around her, it was a wonder her hair didn’t stand on end.

She had to do something.

“And what will your fellow officers do when they hear you tried to force yourself on me, Lord Blundell? What will your father, the marquess, do when I recount your behavior tonight?”

Christian’s fingers dug into her hips and she flinched. He loosened his grip, murmuring an apology in her ear.

Blundell’s sneer twisted into an ugly grimace. “I doubt anyone would believe you. After all, I’m the son of a peer. And perhaps you forget that my father is a member of the government.”

At one time, she would have accepted that. But with Christian at her back, his strength surrounding her like a shield, her courage returned. “I assure you, sir, I am quite convincing when I put my mind to it.”

Blundell shook with rage. “I will have my satisfaction, I tell you!”

“You’ll have nothing of the sort,” Clarissa retorted. “Please leave, my lord, or I will be forced to relate this unfortunate incident to our host. You may consider yourself untouchable, but I will make it my business to tell everyone about what transpired here tonight. Your father, I suspect, will not be happy about that, no matter how powerful he is.”

Clarissa wouldn’t have been surprised if Blundell had started foaming at the mouth, but he managed to throttle back his rage. He stormed to the French doors, giving the two of them a wide berth. But before he disappeared inside, he rounded on them.

“This isn’t the end of it, Archer. Be sure of it.”

Behind her, Clarissa felt Christian shrug, his hands still clasped lightly on her hips.

“I’ll look forward to our next meeting, my lord,” he said in a bored voice.

Giving them a last, enraged look, Blundell stomped across the floor of the study, and then the door to the hallway slammed shut.

Clarissa stood frozen in Christian’s embrace, trying to quell the trembling of her limbs. Muted sounds from upstairs—the chattering of voices, the scrape of violins—began to filter into her consciousness. She heaved a sigh as life began returning to normal.

With a reassuring murmur, Christian turned her in his arms. She couldn’t look at him. Now that the crisis had passed, shame was fast replacing outrage. Her cheeks flushed with the knowledge that her urge to flee from Christian had placed her in this humiliating situation.

With a gentle hand, he tipped her chin up, and she met his gaze. The rugged angles of his face, only partly obscured by the shadows of the night, emanated masculine authority and determination. She had no doubt he was going to be overly protective and pigheadedly male, when all she wanted to do was go home and forget this night had ever happened.

But then he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, sending tingles racing across her skin. When he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, it sucked the air out of her lungs.

Clarissa realized with a blinding flash of insight that life had most certainly not returned to anything approaching normal.

Christian studied her, his eyes warm and full of concern. His penetrating sapphire gaze held her captive, and the glow she had felt earlier in the ballroom—when he first looked at her that way—surged through her veins. A foolish part of her wanted to stand there all evening, absorbing the heat of their silent exchange.

Blinking, she looked away, determined to break the mysterious connection that had sprung up between them. It frightened her, but she couldn’t worry about that now. A more pressing problem had to be dealt with, namely, preventing Christian from challenging Blundell to a duel.

She braved a look at his face. No trace of anger remained on the clean lines and sharp-cut features. But that didn’t fool her.

He caressed her cheek again, and she repressed a delicious shiver.

“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?” he asked in a husky voice.

She nodded, intensely aware that his hands still rested on her hip bones. In fact, his fingers were stroking her, lightly and soothingly, through the delicate fabric of her gown. This time, she couldn’t repress the shiver.

He frowned. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head, disengaging reluctantly from his embrace. He let her go, allowing his fingers to trail a path of heat as she stepped away.

“I’m fine,” she said, inwardly cursing the break in her voice.

“You don’t seem very steady on your feet, and you’re trembling. Do you want me to send for Lillian, or my mother?”

It wasn’t only Blundell who had pitched her into her current state of unease, but Clarissa would die before admitting that.

“No!” she responded a bit too loudly.

Christian looked even more concerned. She clamped down on her nerves and tried again. “Really, Christian, there’s no need to call anyone. Lord Blundell hardly touched me.”

His lips turned down in a disapproving curve. “His mouth was bleeding, and you were running like you had the devil at your heels when you charged into me. That sounds rather more than barely touching.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, remaining silent.

His mouth twitched up in a wry smile and he relented. “At least tell me what happened to his lip. Did you bash him with your fan?”

Her fan? What was he talking about?

“That,” he said, glancing at her hand.

She stared in surprise at the fan she still clutched, now a tangled mess of broken sticks and torn lace. It must have been crushed in her struggle with Blundell.

“No. I … I bit him,” she blurted out, instantly regretting it.

He looked puzzled. “You bit him?”

Unfortunately, his puzzlement didn’t last. Enlightenment dawned, and a ferocious scowl descended on his brow. He grabbed her hand and began towing her into the study.

“I’ll kill the bastard,” he muttered under his breath. “I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”

Clarissa panicked. “Christian, stop,” she exclaimed.

He ignored her. She dug her heels into the thick carpet in front of his father’s desk and jerked him to a halt.

“What?” he snapped. His eyes blazed with fury. He looked ready to go to war.

She glared up at him. He glared right back.

“Stop. It. Now.” She ground out each word.

He gave an impatient shake of his head. “You needn’t worry about it, Clarissa. I’ll take care of this.”

“Don’t patronize me. Whatever stupid male thing you’re planning, I won’t have it. I insist that you stay away from Blundell. He didn’t hurt me, and I’ll make sure I never go near him again.”

“You insist?”

He gave her a sweeping inspection, his features etched with a barely controlled savagery. Clarissa hated angry men—hated the raised voices and the stinging slaps that often came with the anger. But Christian, even in a rage, would always be Christian. He would never do anything to harm her.

She propped her hands on her hips, meeting him stare for stare. But just looking at him made her knees quake. He was so impossibly handsome and so intensely masculine that she wanted to shriek with frustration. How infuriating that the boy she had known had grown into a man who could tear her so easily from her moorings.

“You said he forced himself on you, Clarissa,” he growled. “I thought you might be exaggerating to get rid of him before I beat him to a pulp, but clearly I was wrong.”

She sniffed defensively. “I said he tried to force himself. It was just a kiss, which was certainly bad enough. The man is a disgusting pig.”

His eyes turned into chips of blue ice.

“Besides,” she added hastily, “he came out much the worse for wear, thanks to you. I’m certain he won’t come near me again.”

Christian’s anger didn’t appear the least bit assuaged. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Not by you,” she said firmly. “I absolutely forbid it.”

His eyebrows arched with arrogant command, and he looked every bit the hardened soldier. If she didn’t know him so well, she would be shaking in her kid slippers. Although, if truth be told, his imperious look made her stomach flutter with a girlish excitement, which suggested she didn’t really know him very well at all.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Clarissa,” he said in a voice both dangerous and seductive, “I’m no longer a boy for you to order about. As one of your oldest family friends, I’m responsible for you. Your honor has been insulted, and under my own roof. I cannot allow that to go unchallenged.”

The flutters in her stomach turned to pangs of frustration. Honor. He meant his honor. For men, that was always what it came to. She was sick to death of it.

“I don’t care about your blasted honor,” she retorted, her temper finally shredding. “All this talk of honor leads to only one thing—women crying alone in the night. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. I won’t be the cause of anything happening to you, Christian.”

She jabbed his chest with her index finger for emphasis. “Or even to Blundell, for that matter. My honor is my own to defend. I don’t need you or anyone else to do it for me.”

As she poked at him, he stopped looking angry and started looking amused. His blasted lips twitched again, a sure sign he was holding back laughter. As brawny as he was, she still longed to box his ears.

“And don’t you dare issue Blundell a challenge,” she ground out, determined to put him in his place. “I’ll find out if you do. And … and I’ll tell your mother!”

For a moment, she was sure he was going to laugh, and she vowed to murder him if he did. But he managed to school his expression into one of polite interest.

That made it worse. He was obviously going to ignore everything she said. She closed her eyes, breathing through her anger—and fear, apparently, because once she closed her lids a horrifying image came to life in the darkness. With chilling clarity, she saw Christian stretched out on the ground, a bloody wound in the center of his chest.

Jeremy had died from a bullet to the chest. In all her nightmares, he looked exactly like that.

She gasped, opening her eyes. The room whirled about her and she staggered. Christian’s hands shot out to keep her from falling.

“Clarissa! What the devil—”

With a quiet oath, he swept her into his arms. She knew she ought to protest, but she couldn’t even muster a squeak.

Striding across the room, he gently deposited her in a leather armchair by the fireplace. He hunkered down in front of her, taking her cold hands in a comforting grip.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. If that’s what it takes to make you happy, I won’t challenge Blundell.”

Sweetheart?

She ignored the shock of pleasure that one little word gave her, focusing instead on her anger to restore her strength.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, tugging her hands away. Whenever he touched her like that, her mind went sideways in the most disconcerting fashion.

He gave an exasperated shake of the head.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he replied sardonically. “I give you my word.”

She snorted, and his eyes narrowed with a dangerous intensity. A prickle of apprehension slithered down her spine. Perhaps she had challenged him enough for one night.

“Oh, very well,” she said in a grumpy tone. “I believe you.”

“I should hope so,” he said dryly. “Not that I won’t be keeping an eye on Blundell. And if he touches you like that again, I won’t be answerable for my actions.”

Her frustration spiked. “Christian, I already told you—”

“Hush,” he said, laying a finger across her lips.

All rational thought fled her brain.

His finger left her mouth and traced a soft path along her chin. He touched her with such tenderness that it brought a sting of tears to her eyes.

“I know how difficult this last year has been for you. And I know how much you hate violence,” he said quietly. “I would not add to your distress. If Blundell makes any trouble, I promise I’ll tell you before I take any action.”

She stared at him, at sea in a swirl of conflicting emotions.

“It’s just that I miss Jeremy so much,” she tried to explain. “I can’t help seeing him … all alone on that battlefield. If anything were to happen to you …”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m as tough as boot leather.” Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, he said, “Now, you must promise me something in return.”

“What?” she asked suspiciously, trying to ignore how big and handsome he looked as he stood over her.

He pulled her to her feet. “You must promise to drive in the park with me tomorrow. Just the two of us.”

She started to protest, but he cut her off.

“It’s my condition for capitulating to your wishes. I won’t take no for an answer.”

She bit her lip, buffeted once more by those annoying emotions. As ridiculous as it sounded, he threatened her peace and security in every way possible. He shouldn’t be able to make her feel so unlike herself, but he did. It was mortifying, as was her overwhelming impulse to say yes.

“What are you afraid of, Clarissa?” he taunted softly. “It’s just a spin around the park with an old friend.”

“I’m not afraid,” she scoffed, determined to reassert herself. “But I don’t want people to gossip about us.”

“Then we’ll go earlier in the day. That way, only the nursemaids and the children will see us.”

He grinned—a beautiful, boyish grin. One she remembered all too well. “Give over, Clarissa. It’ll be fun. Just like the old days. You do remember having fun, don’t you?”

Her inner defenses collapsed. She did remember, and that was exactly the problem.