Alec batted away the hanging basket of purple pansies tickling his forehead and squinted into the dark, picking his way down the smudged, irregular shape at his feet. He hoped it was the pathway that led to the pavilion Eleanor had mentioned at luncheon this afternoon.

Had that only been this afternoon? It felt as if days had passed since then.

He’d spent half the morning giving himself a stern lecture about the perils of seducing virgins, and when he’d come down for luncheon, he’d been in perfect control of himself. Then Miss Somerset had walked onto the terrace, her skin dewy and her golden brown hair waving in tempting little curls around her face, wearing a muslin gown that made her look like a sweet confection laid out especially for him, and just like that his tight control had been swept away by a surge of lust that left him dizzy. He’d wanted to devour her, but he’d settled for teasing and provoking her instead. He’d been marveling at the profound effect her glittering eyes and flushed cheeks had on certain parts of his anatomy when Lisette arrived.

It went rapidly downhill after that. The damn archery. It had seemed like such a good idea—the perfect way to keep Lisette distracted without having to devote much of his attention to her, leaving him free to watch Miss Somerset.

Damn it. How had it all gone so terribly wrong?

He’d watched her, all right. Watched her leave the archery field and disappear, with Robyn panting after her. The rest of the day had been a complete waste of time. He’d been trapped with Lisette, pretending to be enthralled as she alternately shot arrows at the target and coy glances at him. Simper, shoot. Simper, shoot.

He didn’t recall Lisette being this tiresome. He’d thought her pretty enough when they’d met, with her waterfall of dark hair and her melting brown eyes. He’d danced with her and found her pleasant. She danced beautifully. She laughed at all the right times. Her conversation was light and charming. Her family lines were impeccable, and her fortune was impressive. He’d have no trouble working up the enthusiasm to bed her. In short, she was the kind of young lady a wealthy, influential earl should choose as a wife.

He’d had a word with his mother, and Lisette had appeared at the house party as if she’d been conjured out of a magician’s hat. All that was left now was for him to do his part—that was, smile, be pleasant, and court her until such a time when he could prostrate himself before her and beg her to become the Countess of Carlisle. Lady Lisette expected it. Her parents expected it. Alec’s own mother, while perhaps not overjoyed by the prospect, expected it as well.

The trouble was, Alec was bored. Fickle, too, obviously, because he’d decided he preferred wavy golden brown hair to black, and he’d rather look into deep, thickly lashed eyes the color of bluebells than dark brown ones.

He’d been wild this afternoon, half-crazed with fury when Robyn touched Delia. Robyn had stood so close to her Alec just knew he’d been enveloped in the scent of her hair. Robyn had wrapped his arms around her and pressed his body against hers, and Alec had thought he’d become violent. When Delia and Robyn left the archery field together, he’d been a hair’s breadth away from charging after them.

He clenched his fists at the thought. He’d lost control of himself today. He didn’t lose control. Ever. He certainly didn’t lose control over some inconsequential chit from Surrey, no matter how tempting she might be.

It was a temporary madness, thankfully. It would end as soon the house party was over and Delia Somerset faded back into obscurity, where she belonged. Once she was returned to her proper place, he could return to his—courting Lady Lisette until such a time when she could conveniently become Lady Carlisle.

Then what?

An unwelcome image arose in Alec’s mind of endless clipped green lawns and rows and rows of archery targets. Of him, holding quivers full of arrows and watching as Lisette fired one after another, hitting the dead center of the target perfectly, time after time.

Well, what of it? It was what he wanted. It was only this bloody game that made him behave like a tantrum-throwing child. How a sharp-tongued little rustic like Delia Somerset could offer him a serious challenge he couldn’t explain, but since she’d arrived, it was as if Bellwood had been transformed into a massive chessboard, and he was locked in the most intriguing game he’d ever played.

He never could resist a challenge. That was why he was battling his way through hedges and darting down every half-lit twisting pathway in the garden. The challenge. It had nothing to do with the bluebell eyes, or fistfuls of shimmering golden brown hair. A stubborn little chin. Smooth, soft white skin and delicious deep pink lips. Arrows flying in unpredictable directions. Honey and cream.

Where was the damn pavilion? He paused, listening. He thought he heard low laughter and voices over to the left, behind a stand of shrubs trimmed to look like sea animals of some kind. And was that … Yes. He distinctly heard a high-pitched squeal.

Where females were squealing, Robyn couldn’t be far behind.

Alec pushed his way through the layers of leafy marine animals and stepped into a small clearing. Soft light glowed in the branches of the trees above a small pavilion hung with baskets of lacy blue flowers and trailing green leaves. A small group of young ladies and gentlemen lazed on the divans, flirting and teasing one another.

Alec scanned the faces. His sisters were both there, and Lily Somerset. Robyn and Archie had also coaxed their way into the little Sapphic paradise, though judging from the giggles and squeals, both gentlemen had gone back on their promises to behave themselves.

Eleanor was right—it was a perfect little pavilion tucked into a perfectly intimate corner of a perfect miniature Vauxhall Gardens. Perfect, that was, but for one thing. Miss Somerset wasn’t there. He should be pleased to see she was nowhere in Robyn’s vicinity, but instead he felt an unexpected surge of disappointment.

“Alec!” Eleanor called, spotting him. She motioned for him to join them. He stepped farther into the clearing and Eleanor came down from the platform to meet him. “What are you doing lurking in the shadows?”

“Swimming?” Alec glanced at the seascape surrounding them. “Drowning, more accurately,” he muttered under his breath.

Eleanor raised one inquiring eyebrow. “Lady Lisette is looking for you.” Her tone was so ominous it sounded more like Run! Before Lady Lisette finds you!

“You make that sound quite dire, Eleanor.”

She shrugged. “Take it as you will. But swimming or drowning, beware of the little silver hook dangling in the water.” Eleanor wiggled her fingers in his face. “You may just get reeled in when you least expect it.”

Alec rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for clever sisters.

“I told Lady Lisette I hadn’t seen you yet this evening, which was true enough at the time. I believe she went back to the drawing room to search for you. Will you go find her?”

Alec had no intention of looking for Lady Lisette right now. He was going fishing for someone else entirely. “Eventually.”

“Very well.” Eleanor gave him a bland smile. “But before you do, will you do me a favor? Delia went off into the garden by herself a few moments ago. Would you mind fetching her for me?”

“Why would she go off by herself?” Alec asked, giving Robyn a sharp glance.

“To look for Lily. You see, Archie was teasing Lily again, so Lily slipped off in a bit of a huff to escape his attentions.” Eleanor ticked each point off on her fingers. “Then Delia became concerned that Lily was wandering alone in the garden and went off to find her. But as you see,” she added, as if this convoluted explanation made perfect sense, “Lily has returned. Archie has promised to behave, but Delia is still missing. Then Lady Lisette came looking for you.”

Alec blinked. “It sounds like a twisted game of hide-and-seek.”

“Indeed. But if you’d rather go straight to Lady Lisette, I can always send Robyn off to find Delia.”

Send Robyn. To find Delia. Who was wandering alone in a romantic, softly lit, flower-draped garden. A garden with hiding places around every corner and at the end of every pathway.

Just like that, there it was again—a wild, consuming fury. A red haze burned in front of Alec’s eyes. “No! That is …” He lowered his voice with an effort. “That’s not necessary. I’ll go find her.”

“Very well.” Eleanor gave Alec a gentle push back in the direction from which he’d come. “She went in that direction. She can’t have gone far.”

Alec retraced his path through the shrubbery. Eleanor was wrong. Delia had gone too far. She’d gone much too far, and so had he. He should return to the drawing room at once. He should find Lisette, fetch her a glass of ratafia, and spend the rest of the evening congratulating her on her superb skills with an arrow. He should be—

Alec stopped in the middle of the pathway and peered through a thick cluster of branches. Was that a hanging basket of flowers? A swathe of rose-colored silk draped artfully from a tree? No. It was a silk gown. Delia had been wearing a silk gown that same color this evening at dinner. He should know. He’d spent enough time staring at it.

He just stopped himself from vaulting through the thicket of branches to the adjacent pathway, and if he dashed down the pathway and around the corner like a schoolboy trying to escape his math’s tutor, who was there to see it?

She stood with her back to him, a slender, sweetly curved column of deep rose against the lush greenery. Her hair was gathered into a loose twist and tied with a dark pink ribbon. Soft, golden brown tendrils floated in waves about her neck.

Alec’s heart thundered in his chest and the truth slammed into him with each frantic rush of blood through his body. It wasn’t the game that maddened him. It was her.

He wanted her. Badly. He wanted to come up behind her and place his lips on that soft, white neck, and urge her slender body back against his so she could feel his heat, his desire. When his lips touched her neck, her throat, she’d moan his name. She would know it was he who held her.

His own dark possessiveness shocked him. Another truth surfaced, one that had whispered at the edges of his consciousness all afternoon. He hadn’t been only furious today on the west lawn. He’d been jealous.

He moved forward as though in a trance, but before he could touch her, she turned. He saw the moment when it dawned on her she was in a secluded part of the garden alone with him. Her eyes widened. Panic, stubborn determination, anticipation—all of these expressions crossed her face in a split second.

Anticipation? Alec caught his breath.

But then it was gone. She wiped every emotion from her face as quickly as the incoming tide wiped the footprints from the sand. She’d become good at that. Her face had been an open canvas only days ago. Before long she’d resemble the rest of the ton, with a face as cold and unrevealing as a marble statue. The realization felt like a fist landing hard in his stomach.

Alec cleared his throat. “Eleanor is looking for you. She sent me into the garden to find you.”

“Did she?” She reached up to pluck at some low-hanging leaves from a branch above her.

Alec watched her fingers close around the glossy green leaf. “She noticed you hadn’t returned to the pavilion. Lily has returned and Archie is on his most gentlemanly behavior. Eleanor didn’t like the idea of you wandering alone in the garden.”

“For good reason, it seems.” She twirled the leaf in her fingers.

Alec didn’t deny it. He moved several steps closer to her, aware she couldn’t leave the alcove pathway without touching him as she brushed by.

“Tell me, my lord,” she said. “Is there a lascivious nobleman lurking around every corner of this garden?”

“Alec.” He moved another step closer to her, so close he could see the way the rose-colored gown turned her eyes a deeper shade of blue. “All noblemen are lascivious, aren’t they?”

A small frown appeared between her brows. “What does that mean?”

Alec reached behind her head and plucked a leaf of his own. He rolled it between his fingers, savoring the feel of the cool, slick skin. “Just that you seem to prefer it when people fall neatly into place. All ladies like roses. All noblemen are lascivious. I suppose it’s easier that way.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say all lords—”

“You didn’t need to. Your scorn for the ton is obvious.”

She didn’t deny it, which perversely pleased him.

“I have every reason in the world to despise the ton, my lord,” she said. “But even putting my mother’s case aside, I don’t trust people who place the expectations of society before every other consideration, even happiness.”

Alec frowned. He thought of his prospective bride, who waited for him in the drawing room while he chased this infuriating, irresistible woman all over the garden. He thought of his own mother, who’d been sacrificed to a miserable marriage. He thought of all he’d done and all he’d continue to do to keep Robyn away from the woman who stood before him. Was he sacrificing Robyn’s happiness?

No. She was wrong. She couldn’t understand the obligations he had to his family and the Sutherland name. For one moment Alec bitterly envied her the simplicity of her life. Her freedom.

He held her eyes and slowly shook his head. “It’s not as simple as you make it sound. Aristocrats or not, we all act out of a desire to protect our family.” His voice dropped to a husky drawl. “Here you are, wandering around the garden searching for Lily to protect her from the attentions of a lascivious lord.” He tipped her face up to his with a finger under her chin. “This part of the garden is dark and remote, and you’re alone. I can’t decide if you’re daring or merely foolish, for you must have known I would search until I found you.”

He trailed the tip of his finger down her chin to her neck, stopping at the pulse that beat in the base of her throat. “I’ll have a word with Archie about Lily,” he murmured, riveted by the faint flush that rose in her cheeks at his touch. “Despite his ardor, Archie is harmless.”

“What about you, Alec?” She took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was low and breathy, challenging. “Are you harmless?”

She’d never called him Alec before. “Not to you.” He caught a loose tendril of her golden brown hair and rubbed the long, soft strands between his fingers.

They stood for what felt to Alec like an eternity. They might have been two motionless statues adorning this quiet corner of the garden, but for their breathing, which deepened and quickened as moment after moment slipped by and neither of them was able to look away.

Alec let the strands of her hair slip through his fingers and laid his palm against her face. His middle finger pressed behind her ear to test the wild fluttering of her pulse. He tensed when she gasped softly, the sound profoundly erotic in the otherwise silent garden.

“So soft, like warm silk.” He lightly traced her jaw.

He took another step toward her, close enough to feel the silk skirts of her gown brush against his thighs. Her deep blue eyes grew huge in her face, but she didn’t back away from him.

“Tell me to stop, Delia,” he whispered urgently, his voice both a command and a plea. “No,” he growled when she dropped her eyes. “Look at me.” He captured her face in both hands and tilted it up to his so she had no choice but to see him. “You shouldn’t play with a man like me,” he managed to whisper, just before his lips descended and crushed hers beneath them.

God, she was sweet—so soft and sweet. She’s innocent. But the frantic words in his mind were no match for the wild desire flooding through him, catching him in its relentless undertow. He took her mouth roughly, starved for her. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, seeking an opportunity to surge inside.

She opened to him with a soft cry that went straight to his groin. Alec groaned when her shy tongue met his urgent thrusts, and then he was lost inside the hot honey of her mouth. His lips slid over hers, teaching her, coaxing her until her tongue stroked eagerly against his, wet and slick and devastating.

He couldn’t get enough of her mouth, her skin. He wanted to bury himself inside her until he drowned in an ocean of warmth and rose-colored silk. In some dim recess of his mind Alec knew he was losing control. It’s just a kiss. He’d kissed many, many women.

But not like this—never like this. The soft strokes of her tongue against his made him wild. My God, what was she doing to him?

Be gentle.

Alec took a deep breath, pulled the night air into his lungs, and forced himself to slow, to calm. His restraint was rewarded when she melted against him with a breathy sigh. She wound her arms around his neck and he felt her fingers slide into his hair. Her palm brushed the back of his neck and Alec was sure he’d go mad from the caress, because it wasn’t enough.

He trailed his fingers from her neck down to her throat while he nipped lightly at her bottom lip and made teasing, shallow forays into her mouth with his tongue. She made a strangled, impatient sound and tightened her fingers in his hair to pull his head down, seeking a firmer contact with his lips.

“Hush,” he whispered, soothing her.

His fingers lingered at the base of her neck to stroke the soft skin there. He smiled triumphantly against her lips when he felt the frantic beat of her pulse and heard her quickened breathing. He slid his other hand down to her waist, hot against the silk of her gown, and stroked her there, urging her body against his.

She was so warm. Everywhere he touched her she was warm and breathless and alive. Every stroke of his fingers against her skin, every touch of his tongue, made her sigh and gasp. She shivered with pleasure and he shivered with her, astonished at the depth of her passion.

He followed the path of his fingers with his lips, trailing hot kisses along her neck. He stopped briefly to lick the sensitive skin behind her ear, then moved down her throat to taste her fluttering pulse. He moved lower, then lower still. With one shaking finger he traced the narrow band of lace at her neckline, let his finger stroke just inside the fabric, against her hot skin.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “So lovely, sweet.” He dragged his other hand up her rib cage, slippery against the silk. She strained toward him, and his hand was inches from cupping her breast.

She wore a low-cut gown—had she thought of him when she chose it? Had she known the swells of her perfect white breasts would make his mouth dry with want? Had that been her intention? A sliver of sanity stabbed into his passion-fogged brain. It would be a clever move, to render him helpless with desire. He couldn’t play the game if he was on his knees.

Or had she chosen the gown for Robyn?

Christ—what was he doing?

Alec groaned in defeat and grasped Delia’s shoulders to push her gently away from him. He ran one shaking hand through his hair. When he spoke, his voice was harsh from frustration. “Go back to the pavilion.” Fury surged through him at sending her straight back to Robyn, but he had no choice. He had to get away from her now. If he looked into her eyes or at her kiss-swollen lips any longer, he’d take her back into his arms, and they would both be lost.

She didn’t reply. It was as if she hadn’t heard him. She raised shaking hands to her face as though they weren’t a part of her body, and her cheeks flooded red with shame. Before he could utter another word, she brushed past him and fled down the garden path.

He gazed after her, watching the rose-colored silk disappear into an ocean of dark green.