Fragile as Brooke’s tattered dignity, her facade of poise and self-control threatened to shatter with her next breath. She rested her head against the barn’s splintery wood. In less than a week, her life had crumbled to dust. A fat tear crept down her cheek. Then another. And another.

They poured forth as wrenching sobs worked their way past her constricted throat. Awash in misery, she pressed a length of the shawl to her mouth, shut her eyes, and tucked her chin to her chest, at last giving vent to her desolation.

“Here now, there’s no cause for waterworks,” Lord Ravensdale’s baritone rasped as he enfolded her in his strong arms. He rested his chin upon her crown. “Hush, sweetheart. Things aren’t entirely hopeless.”

“Yes. They are. Completely and absolutely. You’ve ruined everything,” she whispered against the wall of his chest. She should pull away. Curse him to Hades and hell. Plant him a facer or yank out his splendid hair by the roots.

Instead, she burrowed closer, wrapped her arms around his waist, and wept like an inconsolable infant. Strong and sensible had become wearisome, and she was exhausted from the burden she’d carried for years. So tired of worrying and scraping to make ends meet.

His scent wrapped around her senses, soothing and reassuring as he rubbed her spine and shoulders. Long moments passed, and calm enshrouded her at last. She released a shuddery sigh.

Lord Ravensdale placed a long finger beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. He kissed each tear-stained cheek then her nose, likely red as a pie cherry. Lowering his mouth until it hovered a mere inch above hers, he closed his eyes. He grazed her lips, his warm and firm, at first feather light then more insistent, demanding a response.

Her resistance fled. Moaning, she slanted her head and allowed him the entrance his probing tongue sought. Heaven surged through her, melting her bones, bathing her in a haze of sweet sensation. Humphrey’s kisses hadn’t been anything more than mildly pleasant, not this mind-wrenching, searing blast of desire.

A cow bawled, and Brooke tore her mouth from Heath’s. Head lowered, she stepped from his embrace and dried her damp face on the wrap. She braved flashing him a glance.

Hatless, his black hair gleaming in the sunlight, he wore a sky-blue jacket and white pantaloons. Brilliant colors to emphasize his olive skin. He lounged against the barn, ankles crossed and arms folded, looking the perfect picture of health. Perhaps a little wan about his wickedly dark eyes—definitely some foreign blood there somewhere—but otherwise, his handsome self. The scratch on his cheek had faded to a slender brownish ribbon. He observed her every move, those intense eyes of his missing nothing. Like his namesake, the raven.

Why must he be so blasted attractive?

Why did she react the way she did in his presence? To his kisses? She’d never dreamed a kiss could scatter her wits to the stars.

He gave a knowing smile, as if he’d read her thoughts. A man of his caliber and experience probably knew exactly what his kisses did to her.

Adjusting the shawl, Brooke swiveled to gaze at the calves again. Better than making a spectacle of herself. A few strands of hair had worked loose when she’d hugged his chest, and the breeze blew them into her face. She swept the tendrils behind her ear. She should say something, anything, to break the awkward, sensual silence between them.

“What are you doing out of bed? You’re not supposed to be up for another three days.”

She could have bitten her tongue in half for asking. It was nothing to her if he chose to ignore the physician’s orders.

Liar.

“I couldn’t stand one minute more confined to that room or Leventhorpe’s incessant fussing. My God, who knew the man was such a nervous old biddy?” He chuckled, the low rumble sending delicious tingles along her flesh. “You’d think I’d nearly died.”

She glanced over her shoulder then pushed the bothersome strands flitting across her face from her eyes. “You could have. Doctor Wilton said as much.”

His lordship grinned, and her stomach lurched peculiarly. Ought to have broken her fast. Needed her wits to banter with the crafty likes of him. Why had he sought her here, anyway? To steal a kiss?

Theirs had been no stolen kiss but given freely.

He tapped his head as his long strides carried him to her side. “No, too stubborn and too hard-headed to cock up my toes. At least that’s what my friends tell me.”

“Hmph.” She wasn’t about to dispute his assertion. Add arrogant and indulged to the list too. Oh, and fabricator of enormous taradiddles designed to ruin innocent young women. She compressed her lips, her earlier feelings of magnanimity giving way to irritation.

“So, Brooke, what are we to do?”

“Pardon?” Holding her wayward hair in place, Brooke leveled him an inquisitive look.

Hands clasped behind him, he stared straight ahead. He could do whatever he pleased. She, on the other hand, had as many options as a condemned woman standing on the gallows with a noose tightened round her neck.

He levered away from the barn.

“I’m aware how dire your circumstances are.” He flicked her an unreadable expression before boldly tucking a tress behind her ear.

Sensation spiraled outward at his soft touch.

He cupped her head, gently caressing the sensitive area below her ear.

She clenched her jaw against the sigh, or rather the purr, which had the impudence to try to leave her mouth.

He is your foe, Brooke.

She peered at him. “And . . . ?”

“I have a suggestion, a proposition to make that would—”

She released such a loud, unladylike snort, two calves venturing near the fence scampered to their mothers. “Hmph, that mistress nonsense? You don’t seriously think I’d consider becoming a kept woman? Especially of a man I met just days ago.”

She tilted her head to look directly into his eyes. Damn his beautiful, thick-lashed eyes. They turned her knees to porridge and caused peculiar flickers elsewhere too.

Come now, Brooke. You’re made of sterner stuff. Where’s your backbone?

“Why would you want that, my lord? It makes no sense at all. Is this revenge for what Duffen did to you?” She narrowed her eyes and gestured between them. “Your way of punishing me? I told you, I had nothing to do with his idiotic decision to smack you on your hard head.”

Lord Ravensdale bent nearer and trailed his fingers along her jaw. “No, I took a fancy to you immediately.”

For more Bites by Collette Cameron, visit her at

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USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author, COLLETTE CAMERON pens Scottish and Regency historicals, featuring rogues, rapscallions, rakes, and the intelligent, intrepid damsels who reform them.