Fenwick House, Cumbria

Christmas Eve, 1812

Kate wasn’t sure how Lord Stanton’s driver and his pair of footmen managed it, but they made excellent time, despite the fact the snowfall grew steadily heavier the further north they traveled. Once they reached the outskirts of Kendal around three o’clock in the afternoon, Kate was called upon by Lord Stanton to give directions to Fenwick House, which she did as best as she was able considering it had been eight years since she’d last visited. Dusk was just beginning to fall when the carriage at last turned into the snow-covered gravel drive and drew toward her uncle’s sprawling Jacobean manor house.

Kate was pleased to note Lord Stanton’s expression of surprise as he took in the brooding grandeur of Fenwick: the impressive gray stone façade covered in ivy, the myriad arched, mullion-paned windows, the crenellated turret towers at the end of each wide wing; it was a truly magnificent sight, even set against an austere backdrop of moorland blanketed in snow and a dull, pewter gray sky.

Ha! Take that, Lord High-and-Mighty, she thought. You believed Freddie had nothing to offer Violet except a tainted family history and a life of drudgery. But oh, how wrong you are.

Lord Stanton was silent as he handed her down from the carriage. If Kate hadn’t been so stiff from the journey, she would have enjoyed sweeping past him, but the most she could manage to do was lift her chin into the air as she picked her way across the gritted path toward the carved, black oak doors.

Even though it had been such a long time since she’d last visited Fenwick, she trusted Uncle Harold would welcome her. Despite the bitter estrangement between him and her father, he had always tacitly supported her mother, Freddie, and her over the years. Indeed, Freddie had reported Uncle Harold had been thrilled to have him stay from September until November. He’d been eager to share his knowledge of estate management and the ins and outs of running all of the other business ventures Freddie would eventually become involved with. Uncle Harold had even topped up Freddie’s trust fund.

Still, Kate’s hand shook a little as she banged the brass knocker against the door; the circumstances surrounding her sudden visit were highly irregular. How was she to explain she’d traveled all this way in the company of Lord Stanton? Alone.

And what if Freddie and Violet were here?

Whether or not they were married hardly mattered to her any more. What did matter was the horrifying notion she wouldn’t be able to stop Lord Stanton if he sought vengeance against her brother.

She sensed him at her shoulder and slid him a glance as she waited for someone to answer the door. He was on edge; lines of tension bracketed his mouth and a muscle pulsed in his cheek. He was probably imagining what he would do to Freddie if he were inside. Or how he would be received by her uncle given that he’d dragged her clean across the country without a chaperone.

She squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t try to make things easier for him. He deserved a decent tongue lashing from someone of his own class.

A key scraped in the lock and the hinges grated as her uncle’s elderly butler, Hawley, opened the door.

“Miss Katherine,” he crowed and a wide grin lit up his weathered face. “What an unexpected pleasure. And on Christmas Eve.” His gaze shifted to Lord Stanton and his delight dimmed a little as his brow creased in confusion. “I see you have brought a guest.”

“Yes ...” Kate smiled back. “This is Viscount Stanton. I trust my uncle is well and able to receive us?”

“Yes, of course, miss.” Hawley bowed to Lord Stanton. “Your lordship. Please, both of you, do come in and make yourselves comfortable in the Great Hall whilst I inform Lord Rookhope of your arrival. The Yule log has only just been set alight. It’s quite wonderful. The best we’ve had in years.”

After taking their coats, hats and gloves, Hawley ushered them through to the main hall, and Kate had to agree that the Yule log was indeed a wondrous sight to behold. It burned brightly in the grate of the enormous black marble fireplace at one end of the Hall. The mantelpiece had been decorated with boughs of ivy, holly and winter roses, and clusters of fat, crimson candles. So too had the sweeping mahogany staircase leading to the upper floors—the balustrade was festooned with evergreen boughs, and mistletoe had been hung in the doorways leading off to the dining and drawing rooms. It was surprising, yet heart-warming, to see that her uncle had decided to decorate Fenwick so festively.

She took a seat on a tapestry covered settee on the thick Turkish hearthrug whilst Lord Stanton hovered by the grate. The Yule log brought memories flooding back of the last Christmastide time she’d been here with Freddie, when she was seventeen, just after their mother had passed away. Uncle Harold had offered them a home, but she and Freddie had both wanted to follow their own paths in life; she had returned to Mrs. Brooke’s Academy to finish her studies, and Freddie had taken up his military commission.

Hawley hadn’t mentioned Freddie was at Fenwick and she quietly breathed a sigh of relief. There wouldn’t be any blood on the carpet or flagstones tonight, thank the Lord. She turned her attention to Lord Stanton. “It appears my brother and Violet are not here. Is there anything in particular you wish to tell my uncle? I’m sure he’ll expect us to give a reason for our visit.”

Lord Stanton’s expression was grim. “I will tell Lord Rookhope the truth about his nephew, of course.”

Kate arched an eyebrow. “And what will you say about me? And our ... situation?”

She hadn’t expected to see the color rising in Lord Stanton’s cheeks. But it did as he all but stammered, “That ... That you have been assisting me. And that you are a remarkable young woman.”

Now she was blushing. She lowered her gaze to her crumpled green traveling attire. Heavens. Never in a thousand years had she expected Lord Stanton to describe someone like her in such glowing terms. Her thoughts touched on the memory of how she’d slept in Lord Stanton’s arms for much of the night and her cheeks burned all the more. When she had eventually woken in the morning, it was to find he was fast asleep with his head resting against hers. Neither of them had spoken of their unconventional night together—which was probably for the best.

She was just attempting to formulate an off-hand response to Lord Stanton’s unexpected compliment when to her relief, her uncle entered the room. He might be seventy years of age and sparsely-framed, but he still carried himself well and there was a decided twinkle in his gray-green eyes as he approached.

“Katherine, my dear. How wonderful to see you after all this time. It has been far too long,” he said with warm smile and Kate immediately wondered why she had deliberately stayed away. “But then it seems to be the time of year for unexpected visits, hey what?” His gaze shifted to the viscount and his eyes narrowed, his expression wary. “Lord Stanton, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Lord Rookhope,” he said with an incline of his head, “you are quite correct.”

Kate rose and kissed her uncle’s lined cheek hoping to dispel the awkward tension crackling between the men. “Uncle Harold, thank you for receiving me. And Lord Stanton.” She hesitated, not wanting to voice her next question, fearing it would stir up a hornet’s nest again. But she had to. “I know this might seem an odd thing to ask, but has Freddie called in unexpectedly? Recently?”

Uncle Harold’s grizzled brows drew together. “Not since his visit over autumn ...” His gaze darted between her and Lord Stanton. “What’s this all about then? Is something wrong? And why have you traveled all the way to Fenwick in the company of Lord Stanton, without a chaperone? I know you are a woman of independent means, Katherine, but this is all highly irregular.”

Freddie was safe ... for the moment. Kate permitted herself a small sigh of relief before she responded. “Freddie ... Freddie—”

“Your nephew has run off with my sister, Violet Lockhart,” interrupted Lord Stanton, his voice as harsh and cold as the weather outside. He drew a deep breath as if attempting to control his anger before adding, “Because of the urgency and gravity of the situation, Miss Woodville has kindly been assisting me to intercept them—at my request. We have good reason to believe they are heading north to Gretna Green so it seemed reasonable to suspect they’d stopped here whilst en-route.”

“Intercept them? You mean stop them, don’t you?” Uncle Harold puffed out his narrow chest, his jowls quivering above his starched cravat. His voice cracked with anger as he continued, “It appears to me, Lord Stanton, that you do not think my nephew is good enough for your sister. And to make matters worse, you have clearly coerced my niece into accompanying you. I do not believe for a minute that Katherine would have traveled with you willingly, without a chaperone. If I were a younger man, I’d call you out for threatening her, or compromising her, or both.”

Her uncle was cannier than she’d ever given him credit for. Still, Kate felt compelled to try and smooth things over because only heaven knew what sort of trouble she’d be in if her uncle really thought she had been compromised. “Lord Stanton’s servants were in attendance the whole time, Uncle. So we weren’t alone. And besides that, I am a grown woman, a spinster if you will, of five-and-twenty. And desperate circumstances call for desperate measures. Violet is a young woman, a debutante, and her brother has high hopes for her future. Whereas I ...” Kate lifted her chin as she told her uncle a bold-faced lie. “My reputation hardly matters. I’m a mere school teacher. A nobody in Lord Stanton’s eyes and the rest of society’s. Not only that, as no one knows about this mad dash except us, no harm will be done.” Unless Lady Stanton has already damaged my good name, just to spite me ...

Uncle Harold snorted. “According to Hawley, you haven’t a lady’s maid or a companion in attendance. And I would hardly deem a pair of footmen and a driver in Lord Stanton’s employ suitable chaperonage.” He leveled a fulminating glare on the viscount. “You do my niece a great dishonor, sir. I’ve a good mind to make you marry Katherine.”

“No!” Kate’s protest was little more than a gasp as her breath caught in her chest. She never wanted to wed, not after witnessing the disaster that was her parents’ marriage. And certainly not to an arrogant man like Lord Stanton who barely tolerated her company most of the time. She didn’t really believe that he thought her ‘remarkable’. His praise was probably just a ploy to inveigle his way into her good graces whilst he stayed beneath her uncle’s roof. “No, that’s entirely unnecessary. Nothing untoward has occurred. Lord Stanton has been a perfect gentleman.”

Lord Stanton, who had remained as still and silent as a granite standing stone during most of this exchange, suddenly turned to Uncle Harold and grazed him with a hard-as-flint stare. “If you were younger, I would call you out, Lord Rookhope for slighting my character. I assure you, your niece has not been compromised. It is my sister who has been taken advantage of and ruined. If your nephew crosses paths with me, he should be afraid. Very afraid.”

“My lords, I beg of you,” Kate stepped between them. “It is Christmas Eve. Please, can both of you lay down your swords, even for a little while?”

Uncle Harold inclined his head. “Of course, Katherine. You are right. I shall take you at your word that Lord Stanton has acted as a gentleman should. For now.”

“And I shall take Lord Rookhope at his word that your brother and my sister did not stop by here on their way north. For now.” Lord Stanton’s mouth was set in a grim line but at least his glare had softened a little.

Kate heaved a sigh. “Good. Now that is settled, perhaps Hawley or your housekeeper could direct us to our rooms, Uncle Harold. If that is all right with you, of course. I wouldn’t like to presume ...”

“Nonsense, child. You will always be welcome here.”

Kate grimaced at her uncle’s intended slight toward Lord Stanton; to his credit, the viscount didn’t even flinch. Perhaps they could all get through this evening like civilized souls should.

After Uncle Harold had moved to the other side of the chamber to ring for Hawley, Kate took a step closer to Lord Stanton and remarked quietly, “I take it you do not wish to continue on to Gretna Green this evening, my lord.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “You are correct, Miss Woodville.”

“Have you given up?” She searched his face and was rewarded with a small smile.

“Perhaps.” He blew out a sigh as his gaze wandered about the Hall. “It seems the assumptions I made about your family were grossly inaccurate. And I’m sorry.”

Kate gave a huff of laughter. “What, that my brother won’t be a pauper?”

He gave her another grudging smile. “Something like that. But make no mistake,” his expression hardened again, “I haven’t forgiven him for eloping with Violet and I don’t believe I ever will.”

“I think I can accept that for the moment, as long as you don’t plan to kill him.”

Lord Stanton’s frown grew deeper. “I still haven’t made up my mind about that either.”

“He is a good man, you know. If you would just give him a chance—”

“Mrs. Bowman, my housekeeper, has informed me dinner will be served at eight,” announced Uncle Harold as he approached them again, “but there’ll be wassail punch in the drawing room before then. If both of you would like to join me?” He glanced between them expectantly. “As Katherine reminded us, it is Christmas Eve after all.”

“Of course, Uncle,” agreed Kate and Lord Stanton tilted his head in acceptance as well.

“Very good. I shall see you then.” Uncle Harold bowed then quit the room just as Hawley and the housekeeper entered.

As Kate followed Mrs. Bowman up the sweeping stairs in the direction of the north wing, and thence to her bedchamber, she realized how exhausted she was from all of the traveling—her eyes felt gritty and her bones ached. If it were any other day, she would have cried off and requested a tray in her room. But it seemed that was not to be.

The only consolation she could see was that Lord Stanton’s respect for her family would continue to grow as he learned more about her uncle; that he would soon come to realize Freddie would make an excellent husband for his sister and that one day she would be Violet Woodville, Lady Rookhope, mistress of Fenwick House.

Whereas as she—she would always be Miss Kate Woodville, teacher and bluestocking. Champion of the poor.

Thank heavens she wouldn’t be the next Lady Stanton. If her uncle hadn’t seen reason ... Kate shivered even though a cheerful fire blazed in the hearth in her finely-appointed bedchamber. She could think of no worse a fate than marrying a man like Anthony Lockhart. A man who didn’t respect her. A man who didn’t even like her, let alone feel any affection for her.

She might be attracted to his handsome face and Corinthian-like physique, but she certainly didn’t feel any affection for him.

So Kate told herself as she steadfastly tried to push aside the all too vivid memory of sleeping in his arms, and got on with the task of readying herself for dinner.

* * *

Two hours later, after having bathed and changed into her least wrinkled attire—an ivory wool gown and scarlet spencer—Kate made her way to the drawing room on the floor below. Lord Stanton and her uncle, to her pleasant surprise, were chatting quite animatedly about hunting as they stood around an enormous, intricately wrought, silver wassail bowl. But both men ceased talking and turned to greet her as she approached.

“Katherine, you look lovely, my dear,” said Uncle Harold and kissed her cheek before serving her a glass of punch.

“Yes. Lovely.” Lord Stanton’s gaze wandered over her in such an appreciative way, Kate was put to the blush. Perhaps he’d already partaken too much punch and that’s why he was acting like a rake rather than a gentleman.

Uncle Harold refilled his own glass and raised it. “A toast, to peaceful times and to family and friends,” he said, catching her gaze, then Lord Stanton’s. “It warms my heart to be sharing Christmas Eve with others.”

Well said, Uncle. Smooth things over ... “Yes, I am pleased to be here too.” She really was. Her uncle would have spent Christmas alone otherwise. She only just realized now that he must have spent many Yuletide seasons alone ...

A pang of sympathy piercing her heart, Kate touched her glass to her uncle’s then Lord Stanton’s before taking a sip of the spicy concoction of mulled wine, cider, and heaven knew what else. It was strong stuff and she gasped and coughed a little, making her uncle laugh and Lord Stanton smile.

“I won’t be defeated. I will get used to it,” she said after she’d cleared her throat and could speak again.

Lord Stanton’s smile widened and frank admiration lit his eyes to silver. “I don’t doubt it.”

Kate was certain her face was as red as her spencer as heat washed over her, and she took another hasty sip of her punch to try and mask her self-consciousness. Why was Lord Stanton trying to be charming and amiable again? When he smiled like that, he made her feel tongue-tied and giddy and it wasn’t because of the effects of the punch. She was suddenly all too aware of how handsome he looked in his evening attire: a well-cut tailcoat of black superfine was worn over an ivory silk shirt and cream brocade waistcoat; and form-fitting black satin breeches and white silk stockings hugged his impressively muscular legs. His footman or Uncle Harold’s valet must have pressed his clothes. Even his black shoes had been shined.

Noticing her gaze roaming over his person, Lord Stanton’s smile widened and Kate hastily looked away to study the elaborate arrangement of holly and ivy on the mantelpiece. How on earth was she to get through dinner feeling like a silly, shy schoolgirl? Blast Lord Stanton. Was she to be the sport for this evening? Let’s see how many times I can make Miss Woodville blush in front of her uncle? She really wished he would go back to being distant and cold again.

Thankfully her uncle hadn’t noticed her discomfort as he’d begun a conversation about Fenwick House’s history. When Hawley entered to announce dinner was ready, she breathed an inward sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have to contribute too much to any dinner table discussion if she focused on eating, and as soon as dessert was over with, she would claim tiredness and retire for the night. After spending so many nights in inferior beds at coaching inns and an uncomfortable night on the road, the lavishly made up tester bed in the guest room had looked very inviting.

However, as the meal progressed, Kate found that her awkwardness around Lord Stanton began to dissipate, and she was drawn into the entertaining conversation. She’d never seen Uncle Harold so lively, and Lord Stanton resumed the role of ‘convivial guest’ rather than ‘flirtatious rake’. She finished her wassail, drank champagne with the fish course, and tried claret with the roast goose and vegetables. By the time pudding arrived—a sherry trifle—she had decided she might stay a little while longer, if only to show Lord Stanton the Woodvilles were his social equals.

Indeed, she was having such an enjoyable time, she acquiesced to Uncle Harold’s invitation to repair to the drawing room again where she played the pianoforte for them all before sharing more of the wassail punch by the fireside. She decided she’d never felt so at ease, or indeed, so at home in her entire life.

The only thing that would have made this Christmas Eve perfect would have been if Freddie and Violet had been here—and if Lord Stanton had seen fit to forgive Freddie.

But they weren’t and Lord Stanton hadn’t. Kate failed to suppress a wistful sigh and when she looked up from sipping her punch, it was discover Lord Stanton was watching her. And that Uncle Harold had drifted off to sleep in his wingchair whilst she’d been wool-gathering.

“Miss Woodville, something has been bothering me for some time now,” began Lord Stanton as he put down his glass beside the nearby punch bowl and leaned forward in his chair. “Something about you.”

Disappointment weighed heavily upon Kate’s heart. Just when she’d thought she’d turned a corner with Lord Stanton, he had to spoil everything with a remark like that. At least he wasn’t trying to flirt with her again. “Oh?” she said stiffly. “I must say that doesn’t surprise me.”

Lord Stanton winced. “You mistake my meaning.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Please forgive my bluntness, but I’ve been wondering why you chose a career in teaching rather than residing here at Fenwick House. Your uncle appears to regard you with considerable affection so that does not appear to be a barrier to you living an easier, more genteel existence. You are a puzzle I cannot, for the life of me, work out.”

Kate took another sip of punch. How to answer him in a way he would understand? And without making him think less of her and her family ... “Uncle Harold offered both Freddie and me a home of course, after our mother passed away when I was seventeen, “ she said at length. “But ... You have to understand my parents’ marriage was a far from happy one and my uncle—” she glanced at him to make sure he was still asleep “—he and my father had been on very bad terms for such a long time. As you already know, my father had a problem with gambling and for most of my childhood, we ...”

How should I say this? She lifted her chin. “Our family was poor. We lived in London and moved from one set of shabby rented rooms to another, depending on how much money we did or didn’t have. Uncle Harold had tried to curb my father’s gambling, but nothing worked and so rather than waste the family fortune paying his endless debts, he turned him away. I do not blame him for our situation. It was all my father’s doing.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you haven’t told me the worst of it.”

The light of compassion glowing in Lord Stanton’s gray eyes was unmistakable and a hard lump formed in Kate’s throat. She had to swallow to clear it before going on. “Yes, well ... My mother saved money when she could. Indeed, I believe Uncle Harold sent her small sums now and again to make sure we didn’t end up on the streets. And had enough food on the table. Nothing too large mind you, because if my father suspected she had extra funds, he would have demanded it to spend at the gaming tables. After Father passed away, when I was twelve, she at last managed to save enough to buy an old pianoforte and she taught me how to play.” Kate smiled. “That piano is now at White Church House. I love playing it for the children there.”

Lord Stanton nodded. “I can now see why your charity is so important to you.” He refilled his glass and hers with punch then asked, “After your father died, you didn’t come to live here?”

“My mother was a proud woman. Uncle Harold offered us a home but she refused. And she encouraged Freddie and me to make our own way in the world. To gain an education and to establish careers. You see, her family was from the ranks of the lower gentry. At one time, her father had been the local vicar here in Fenwick.”

“And that was how she met your father?”

“Yes. I don’t know a lot about their courtship or the early years of their marriage. My mother—for reasons which were quite understandable to my way of thinking—was reluctant to talk about such things.”

“Your uncle never married?”

“No. I’m not sure why exactly but ...” Kate checked to see her uncle was still softly snoring before she lowered her voice and added, “sometimes I’ve wondered if he also cared for my mother. I know Freddie is the closest heir he has to the Rookhope title, but he didn’t have to send my mother money, or purchase a commission for Freddie, or fund my education at a ladies’ academy. He could have washed his hands of us altogether.”

Lord Stanton nodded. “Yes, that might explain why he took great pains to ensure you and your brother were provided for.” He leaned back in his chair and stroked his temple with one long finger. Kate had never really noticed how attractive his hands were until that moment; he’d worn gloves during most of their journey. They were masculine and strong yet elegant hands. Capable hands. He’d punched the vagabond in the jaw for her. Caught her when she’d nearly fallen out of her carriage seat. Held her all night. How strange of her to notice such details about his person and think of such peculiar things now. Things that stirred an odd warmth deep inside her like the glow of a banked fire yet also made her feel restless. It must have been her comment about washing hands that had made her focus on them ...

The heavy silence extended between them until Kate scraped up the courage to murmur, “Forgive me, my lord. Perhaps I have been too frank. It seems the wassail has loosened my tongue.” And made me fanciful.

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Lord Stanton. He gifted her with a warm smile that made her pulse dance oddly. “Thank you. For confiding in me. It cannot be easy to share such private matters.”

“No ...” The moment stretched and Kate found that her gaze was trapped with Lord Stanton’s. The mood had shifted again, had become even more intimate. Tender yet also taut. Filled with expectation. It was too much to take in. If she stayed too much longer, she might begin to believe Lord Stanton cared for her, which was utterly ridiculous.

She needed to go.

Kate stood and was taken aback to find she was a little light-headed from all the wassail and wine she’d drunk. She put a hand against the brocade covered back of the settee to steady herself. “I think I should retire.” She glanced at the mahogany longcase clock beside the door leading to the Great Hall and the stairs. It was almost midnight. “It is quite late.”

“Yes.” Lord Stanton rose also, a frown of concern creasing his brow as he regarded her. Perhaps he’d noticed she was slightly unsteady as he said, “Let me escort you.”

Kate shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Good night, my lord.” She crossed the room to the open doorway, but as she took a step over the threshold, her slipper caught on the edge of the hall runner and she tripped. Gasping, she clutched at the doorframe, but then strong male arms caught her and she found herself pulled up against Lord Stanton’s tall muscular frame, her back to his front.

“Careful now,” he murmured against her hair. His breath teased the curls at her temple, the curve of her ear, raising pleasurable goose-bumps along the exposed flesh of her neck.

“I ... I’m not usually so clumsy.” She turned in his arms and attempted to take a step back so she could thank him eye to eye, but Lord Stanton’s hold about her waist firmed.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice as rich and potent as the wassail punch they’d just been drinking. “Look where we are, Miss Woodville.” He glanced above their heads before his eyes met hers again. “Or may I call you Kate?”

“Whatever do you—?” Kate tilted her head up and then swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Oh, no. A large garland of mistletoe—a kissing bough—hung from the carved wooden lintel right above them. “We don’t have to hold to tradition,” she whispered, her gaze returning to Lord Stanton’s.

“Oh, I think we most definitely do.” He pushed one of her curls behind her ear. “It’s Christmas Eve. It would be most remiss of us not to.” His gaze, as soft as moonlight on water caressed her face. Her lips. “May I kiss you?”

Oh, my goodness. I must be dreaming. Kate’s pulse thrummed with anticipation and her heart swelled with unexpected pleasure. Lord Stanton wants to kiss me. Before she’d even thought through the consequences, her wassail-addled brain formulated a response and she whispered, “Yes.”

Lord Stanton’s mouth tipped into a devastating smile just as the longcase clock began to chime the hour of midnight. “Merry Christmas, sweet Kate.”

He raised a large hand and cupped her cheek as if he were touching something as delicate as a Christmas rose. Holding her breath, her gaze dropped to his mouth as he tilted his head then oh, so slowly lowered it. And then she stopped thinking as overwhelming sensation swept her away. The slick brush of warm yet firm lips over hers, the sliding caress of Lord Stanton’s other hand up her back to her nape, the push of his fingers into her hair as he angled her head slightly and claimed her whole mouth made her bones melt. The intoxicating scent of his cologne wrapping round her, the rush of tingling heat through her whole body, all of these things sent her spiraling high, so high until she felt like she was flying.

When the tip of Lord Stanton’s tongue swiped boldly across her lower lip, she gasped at the decadent sensation, the unexpected, wicked, earthly pleasure of it. Her lips now parted, he took the opportunity to explore her further, his tongue slipping inside her mouth, stroking and tasting her until she was moaning, gripping his wide shoulders, pushing herself shamelessly against his hot, hard chest, seeking more, wanting something else from him. She hardly knew what that was until Lord Stanton skated his hand from her neck down to her shoulder, then his fingers slid beneath her spencer and gently covered her breast.

Desire flared hotter, brighter. All these years she’d been a spinster she’d never known that this was what she’d been missing. Never dreamed a kiss could be like this. Her first kiss ...

“What the bloody hell are you doing with my sister, Stanton? Unhand her this instant.”