“May I request the honor of this dance?”

Sir James Landry led Eliza to the dance floor, his gloved hand lightly touching hers, and she turned to face him with a swirl of her skirts, assuming a proper starting position.

The music began and they were off, his lead effective and reserved, blue eyes smiling down at her throughout the turns and steps. She couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit disappointed. For what, she knew not.

The lilting cadence of the waltz echoed through the ballroom. This had been what she’d wanted, to be courted by him. Such a respectable man would surely make a fine father for Rosa. His hand tightened upon her waist and he spun her faster, making her dizzy. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling, so she allowed her eyes to drift closed, enjoying the feeling of floating across the dance floor, wrapped safely in the arms of the man she would marry.

They twirled around and around. He pulled her closer against him, but he felt different somehow. Larger. More impressive. Enticing. Distantly, she noticed that the music was playing faster, much faster than was required. She felt Landry lean forwards, his breath hot against the side of her neck.

“Have I told you how lovely you look, Eliza?”

Her nerves sparked with fiery awareness. With eyes still closed, she felt her lips curve into a smile.

“You never speak that way to me.”

Another dizzying turn.

“You just never listen.”

She frowned. Something wasn’t right. Her eyes snapped open, and to her utter dismay, she found herself in the arms of Lord Evanston.

The music played even faster.

Eliza needed to find Sir James, although truly, she had no desire to leave. The viscount’s eyes were not the disappointment they’d been with Landry, but electric blue. His arms were warm and solid. She ached for him to bring her closer, could feel the strength of his own longing.

“I don’t understand,” she protested weakly as they swooped together into another turn. Eliza wasn’t just dizzy now. She was no longer even able to tell floor from ceiling.

Abruptly, the song ended. The spinning stopped. Evanston finally pulled her closer, and she stopped breathing.

“I think you do,” he whispered.

Eliza jerked awake with a gasp, her frenzied pants sounding strange within the solitary interior of her bedchamber. Her heart drummed wildly in her chest. Moonlight streamed in through the gauzy curtains, and she could discern the sheets upon her bed twisted wildly around her feet.

Gingerly, she plucked her sweaty nightgown away from her body. After rolling off the mattress to a stand, she stripped off the soaked fabric, then wandered naked, stubbing her toe on her mother’s armoire in a blind search for a new covering. Eliza squeaked in pain and leaned down to grasp the affected foot. Perhaps that was her mother admonishing her from beyond the grave for being so foolish.

At the very least, it seemed even her sleeping mind knew that Thomas posed a serious threat to her sanity. At most, he threatened everything she had worked towards during the season. She’d often yearned for the mother she’d never had, but it was now, when she could use some motherly advice, that she ached for her most.

The pain in her toe soon abated, and she worked up the courage to continue her quest for clothing. She found a fresh nightgown and slid it over her head, then stood shivering in the dark, considering what she should do. At last, she had an idea. Lighting a candle, she opened her door to creep quietly downstairs to the library.

She was going to write a letter requesting some much needed reinforcements.

Two weeks later, and Thomas knew with certainty that Eliza was avoiding him. Her visits to Lawton Park dwindled, becoming less and less frequent. Clara took the carriage to the Dower House each morning, but more often than not, it was only Rosa who accompanied her back on the return.

He had plenty of regrets about Eliza, and nearly as many about her brother. Thomas knew he had gone about this the wrong way—gone about everything the wrong way—and that William would be well within his rights to cast Thomas out of their lives for good should he ever learn the truth.

His pursuit of Eliza would not be easily forgiven, especially when one had been warned off in the first place. Thomas could only imagine the extent of his friend’s rage had he actually been successful, and now, was it any wonder Eliza stayed away? Would it be any surprise when William despised him for this betrayal of his trust?

On this morning, he sat in the breakfast room, brooding sullenly over his coffee. He had attempted, and failed, to eat—his plate sitting before him, the food long gone cold. Clara entered quietly, looked in his direction, then retrieved her own coffee from the sideboard. She seated herself across the table to observe him thoughtfully.

“Thomas.”

He glanced up from his cup. “Hmm?”

“You should speak to her.”

Evanston stared at her, motionless, trying to decide how much she knew and how he should respond to such a suggestion. He cleared his throat.

“I beg your pardon . . . speak to whom?”

The countess rolled her eyes, took a sip of coffee, then set the cup back on its saucer to assail him with a look. “You think I have not seen the way you look at Eliza?” she asked boldly.

His back straightened. “These are matters that don’t concern you, Lady Ashworth,” he replied with a scowl.

“I’m trying to help. Don’t you see?” she said, her tone softening. “Unless my assumptions are incorrect, it certainly seems you could use some help.”

“You are the last person on earth who should help me right now. Do not involve yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because William . . . he does not approve. He would shun me entirely if he knew how I’d pursued—” He broke off and swore to the side.

Her eyebrows rose. “So you have actually been courting her?”

Evanston stood and crossed to the windows, staring stonily at the spot where he’d last spoken to Eliza.

“You could call it something like that,” he answered, gazing into the garden.

He heard her rise from her chair and come to a stand beside him. She placed a hand on his arm, looking up at him with earnest dark eyes.

“Then you should talk to William too.”

Thomas scoffed, a harsh sound in the quiet of the room. “It’s far too late for that. Had I been able to exert some semblance of control, I might have spoken to him before nearly seducing his sister.”

Her hand slid from his arm. “You what?”

“You heard me.”

“And she . . . refused you?”

“She did.”

She blinked. “Yet you are still pursuing her?”

“I suppose I am,” he said with an annoyed jerk of his head.

“Well, this certainly explains a few things.” Clara surveyed him with a sigh. “Thomas, you must speak to William. Soon. Immediately upon his return. In the meantime, talk to Eliza.”

“William and I have already spoken. He pulled me aside the night before Eliza left for London and told me to keep my distance.”

“He did?” Clara’s eyes widened.

“He did,” Thomas said. “But I tried to earn her affection anyway, like an idiot. And now I’m sure to lose them both.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice rich with sympathy. “But you can’t stop trying now.”

He eyed her warily. “Aren’t you even going to ask if I love her?” he asked offhandedly, as if using a casual tone might temper the seriousness of his words.

She patted his arm as if he were a young child and regarded him with compassion.

“No, I’m not. I’m afraid it’s already very much apparent that you do.”

Eliza set out immediately after Clara’s brief visit to retrieve Rosa. She hated not seeing her daughter during the day, but accompanying her to Lawton Park would place her within arm’s reach of Lord Evanston, and she knew full well what he could accomplish in that distance. In the interim, she had been plagued by her dreams, and by the terrifying yet exhilarating prospect of their next kiss, which was inconvenient given Landry’s imminent arrival at the estate.

The morning air was warm, with an accompanying breeze that was still brisk. Eliza inhaled deeply, enjoying the fact that she could inhale deeply. She had disregarded every decent notion, namely her corset, to venture out into the fields in her buckskin breeches. She often wore them beneath her riding habit, it was never permissible to wear them alone. They were a luxury she had indulged only in the privacy of her Hampshire estate. She had also chosen a button-up blouse more appropriate for a woman in the wild frontiers of America than the rolling meadows of England, but today she had no one to please, and after months spent trying to impress the ton, the freedom was simply irresistible. Besides, a corset and dress would certainly keep her from what she so desperately wished to do.

The dew clinging to the long grass was knocked asunder by the pathway of her boots as she walked steadily ahead, her destination clear in her mind. With any luck, Caroline would be arriving today, well ahead of the rest of the houseguests. She’d felt comfortable making the request since her friend’s last correspondence, in which she had informed Eliza of Lady Frances’s improvement at home. Caroline was planning carefully and surrounding her aunt with familiar people, trusted servants and friends, before leaving for Lawton Park. As Caroline had never been anything but suspicious of Lord Evanston and his motives, Eliza was certain her friend would be able to provide the support she so greatly needed.

The oak tree rose before her on the hill, its branches stretched towards the sky, proud and stately, just as it had always been. It had occurred to her this morning as she lay abed, that despite her brave attempt when she was younger, she had never actually conquered climbing the tree. William and Lucas had done it. Thomas had done it. She had tried and failed, spraining her ankle in the process, but she’d been much younger and burdened by her skirts. Well, today she was wearing pants, and she was going to climb this tree.

Eliza acknowledged that her sudden desire to scale the tree didn’t make much sense, but nevertheless, she continued. Her hands clutched the rough bark and she aligned her boot with a depression in the trunk. Reaching above her, she gripped the lowest branch and pulled herself up while pushing off with her foot. It would take some work to reach a branch thick enough to support her weight entirely. She repeated the process . . . grip, dig, pull, push . . . until finally she’d made enough progress to stretch towards an ideal branch, one she could stand on.

She resisted the urge to glance down, knowing that to do so would likely throw her off balance. Instead, she looked towards her goal, continuing to work her way up into the thick of the tree. A wisp of hair slipped from the mass at the back of her head, and she twitched her head to displace the offending lock from her eyes. Slow and steady, she extended her leg to rest her left foot on the branch. Eliza tested it hesitantly, then transferred her weight.

The wood snapped and gave way beneath her.

Swiftly, she plunged towards the ground, but before she had time to think, she threw her arm out and latched onto a neighboring branch. Eliza pulled with all her might and felt the satisfying way her body swung over to safety, and then quickly she resumed climbing.

. . . grip, dig, pull, push . . . grip, dig, pull, push . . .

Twigs scraped her flesh and pulled at her hair, but she was so close now. So very close.

Soon, Eliza had made it as far as was safe to go, nestled up amidst the leafy foliage of the old oak tree. She gazed out at the vista surrounding her and shook in excitement.

“Ha!” she screamed at no one in particular.

Exhausted, she sank down to a seated position on the branch. It wasn’t until she brushed her hair away from her face that she realized she’d been crying. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed that lately her emotions were always at war, and sometimes she felt so very tired of being strong and stoic. The torment of loving one man while aiming to marry another was an ever present shadow upon her, and it felt good to take charge for a change. Even if she were only asserting herself over a tree.

Eliza sighed, resting her head against the trunk. How had things spun to such out-of-control proportions? Reflecting on her life, she realized it had never truly been in her control to begin with. She’d lost her mother at birth, something that would always weigh heavily. Eliza did not pity herself, for she had been fortunate to have the devoted affection of her remaining family and friends who had served to shield her from some of the uglier aspects of being a motherless daughter in high society. The ton was not kind, after all, their smiles tainted with judgment and their malicious hunger for gossip never entirely quenched.

William, having been traumatized by the carriage accident that had killed most of his family, had endured sufferings too. The deaths of their father, brother and Reginald had inextricably linked Eliza and William in their grief. Only recently had he been capable of wading out of the mire, thanks in large part to his loving new wife.

Now Eliza sought her own way out. Her goal was to defend Rosa, just as she herself had been defended. Reginald had been a good husband. A kind husband. It had been strange, giving herself to a man she’d barely known, but at the time she’d seen it as her obligation, and he had proven himself worthy. Here she stood at duty’s door again, moodily wondering why the best choice for Rosa couldn’t somehow be her best choice as well. Because Thomas was not that man, no matter how much she had tried to convince herself it could be otherwise. No matter how much she longed for it to be true.

Ridding herself of the bothersome thoughts, she impatiently wiped away her tears, now mingled with sweat. Once her breathing had normalized, she began her descent carefully, and when she reached the final branch, she lengthened her body and hung there for a moment before allowing herself to drop from the leafy canopy.

To find Lord Evanston beside his horse, jaw slackened, evaluating her in disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, then caught sight of her breeches. “And what the hell are you wearing?” he added, almost thoughtfully.

A jolt shook her frame. It had been weeks since she’d seen him, but of course Thomas would choose now to seek her out. He’d had plenty of time to ride his horse the short distance to the Dower House for a visit, but he had found her in this precise moment, clad in indecent clothing and filthy from her climb. Eliza felt herself turn crimson, but the last thing she wanted was for him to sense her embarrassment.

“If you must know, Thomas,” she intoned haughtily, clapping the dirt from her hands, “I was climbing this tree.”

He stared at her, unnerved. “Yes, I saw that. Although it was more like vaulting than climbing.”

Eliza smiled despite herself. “Really?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” He shook his head. “I had to come closer for a better look, and imagine my surprise when it was not some unruly trespassing boy, but—”

“A boy?”

“It was the breeches,” he said, smirking. “From a distance.” Evanston’s appreciative gaze slid over her hips, probably noting all the ways she was so very different from a boy, and when her blush deepened it appeared he elected to not elaborate. “I didn’t want to interfere, but you had difficulty with the dismount, as I recall.”

She stared at him, speechless, unsure what to say. He had known well enough to leave her alone, but cared enough to stay in case she’d needed him.

A million reasons she shouldn’t let her guard down flew through her head. After all, he’d nearly taken her . . . more than once.

“I, well, thank you,” she stammered. “As you can see, though, I’m fine. And I really should be returning home.”

She started down the hill, intent on not slowing her pace until she was far away from Thomas.

“Eliza—”

Something in his tone caused her to pause. A quiet desperation. A plea. Grimly, she swiveled around to face him, knowing that every second spent in his presence was another second closer to her probable surrender. Every moment with him was an opportunity for her to disregard logical thought.

“Yes?”

A shadow of a frown crossed his face. “I wish you wouldn’t stay away because of me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t be near you right now. There is too much at stake and you will do and say whatever pleases you, Thomas. You always have.”

And I’m afraid that what pleases you might please me too . . .

“Is that really what you think?” he asked, the notch between his brows growing deeper.

“It is.”

He came closer, and she found herself staring at the strong breadth of his chest, wishing she were raking her fingers across that hard surface right now. With a blink, she raised her eyes to meet his and found a surprising level of emotion in those blue depths. She even spied what appeared to be sincerity. It was an unsettling realization. It was much easier to discount the things he said if she could think of him as a scoundrel.

“While I won’t deny that I often speak before considering the consequences, I cannot agree that I act without care.”

“What about our kiss in the drawing room . . . on the night of my engagement, no less?”

His eyes glinted. “Fine, yes. That night I did as I wished.”

“And the time you caused a scene at the ball? Stealing me away from Landry?”

“I would argue that Landry had already caused a scene by monopolizing your time.”

“And when you tried to seduce me later that night?” she asked, leaning forwards in challenge.

“I stopped when you asked.”

That was true. She huffed in frustration. “And during my visit to Hawthorne Manor—did you not almost take me in your bedchamber?”

His eyes grew brighter. “I did. Although if I’d been acting without a care, there would have been no almost about it.”

“See?” she exclaimed, feeling vindicated at having cornered him at last. “You are without shame.”

Thomas stepped nearer, his long fingers sliding along the line of her jaw. It silenced her celebration immediately. “That, my lady, is false. My biggest shame will always be that you still think this is about seduction when it is not.”

Eliza stared up at him, suddenly aware of the sound of her breathing, which seemed to have paused for the moment.

“It’s not?” she asked in a small voice.

He shook his head.

“But, anything else doesn’t . . . make sense.”

“Why?” he asked, his gaze traveling across her features. “Because William doesn’t believe me capable?”

She pulled away. “No. Because I don’t believe you capable.”

Spinning around, she resumed her course down the hill. There was really no other choice. Staying would mean watching the hurt kindle to life behind his eyes and feeling the corresponding stab in her own chest. Had he actually forsaken all of his flirtations in the hopes of somehow winning Eliza’s hand? Just because it had never happened before didn’t mean that it couldn’t . . .

Thomas caught up with her swiftly, sliding his hands around her waist and rotating his body in front of her, placing one well-polished boot ahead to stop her progress. “Please, listen—”

“Stop,” she snapped, the rate of her pulse increasing. “Landry will be here soon, and I can’t marry you.”

He sank to one knee before her in the tall grass, and her heart stuttered then stopped altogether.

“Marry me anyway, Eliza. Landry be damned.”

Paralyzed, she stared at him. Surely she’d heard him wrong, but the abrupt tilt of the world beneath her feet told her that she’d heard him just fine. There were no words she could say. All she could do was keep shaking her head, lost to the dream of being loved by him even as she gripped his shoulders to push him away.

“Thomas—” she choked. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .”

She needed to actually refuse him or this would not end with the arrival of Sir James. But the word no was stubbornly unwilling to leave her mouth.

Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips and stood in one fluid motion that was catlike in its grace. He took her breath away, as he always had, and now he was staring down at her—large and looming and enticing—in expectation of an answer she could not give.

“Don’t answer this moment,” he said, planting small endearing kisses across the back of her hand. “I don’t care how much time you need as long as you—”

“No,” she whispered at last, cutting him off. “The answer is no.”

Evanston stared at her, stricken, for what seemed like forever. Finally, he dropped her hand.

“Why not?” he rasped. “Am I not deserving of even a chance?”

Eliza wanted to respond, but her attempts were futile. She could only shake her head, wordlessly begging him for forgiveness.

The muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, and his wrecked gaze began to shoot angry sparks. “Here I believed I would at least merit an answer. Your father and William have certainly made their wishes known. They feel I am unworthy, and I will certainly not argue with that,” Thomas said, his voice cracking with emotion. He leveled a finger at her. “But you—”

Without thought, she threw herself into his arms, wrapping herself around his torso fiercely as if the pressure could somehow relieve the hurt she had wrought. His hands raised into the air, almost as if he couldn’t bear the thought of touching her, and he stepped backwards to free himself from her grasp.

“Let go of me—” he choked.

Tears rose in her eyes and she squeezed them shut, holding him tighter, her arms locked in a vise-like grip around his rib cage. She couldn’t bear it, seeing him like that, and she buried her face in his chest so there was no way she could look. Her own chest felt like it was cracking open. Eliza held on tightly, and she waited.

His struggles weakened, and the livid racing of his heart calmed into a more normal tempo. Soon, she felt his hands slide around to encircle her too and they held each other in silence, knowing when they walked away from here today it would be all over between them. This moment would be nothing more than a memory.

The heat from his body enveloped her and she knew she should leave. But she found herself lingering, eyes closed, her cheek pressed flush against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. Regardless of all the reasons they could never be together, she was disgusted at herself for having been the one to cause him pain. Even with his faults, Thomas had always been a friend to her.

The melodious call of a blackbird sounded across the hill, and it weakened her trance. His grip loosened to coast around her waist. She pulled back just enough to gaze up at him, but his hands held fast.

“We shouldn’t—” she began.

He leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead. Eliza could feel his hands moving now, one sliding up to her neck with the other pressing on her back to pull her closer. “No, we shouldn’t.”

She gasped eagerly at the feel of him, the world spinning, as it had in her dream, and her eyes fell closed in bliss. She should at least make some kind of effort to break the rousing contact between their bodies, but only found herself seeking more closeness . . . more heat . . . more of him.

He dove down with a hot, openmouthed kiss to sear the fragile skin of her neck, and Eliza cried out, gripping his shoulders to arch against him. The world moved as it had before, only this time it was because he was lowering her to lie in the soft grass beneath them, gazing down at her with a reverence she’d never seen from a man. The demanding pulses of her body didn’t care that she’d just rejected his offer of marriage. Her body knew the truth . . . that it would never matter how unsuitable anyone else thought he was, she would always want him with blinding force. But her mind knew better. She used every last bit of willpower to push him away.

“Thomas,” she said, her breathing rapid in apprehension. “Please—”

The haze of lust cleared momentarily. “I would never hurt you, Eliza. I know you are not mine to take,” he said, his fingertips tracing the edge of her face.

She was certain he did, but still he bent down to kiss her cheek. Then her eyelids . . . the tip of her nose. Her breaths came unsteadily now, the fire kindling to life once more. Eliza instinctively tilted upwards to meet him, only to have him evade her, planting soft kisses along her jawline. Desperately, she sought him again, her hunger sharpening more when his mouth closed over her earlobe, the teeth grazing her flesh.

She frowned in discontent and moaned quietly, eyelids fluttering open. Speaking the words would be a betrayal of everything she’d said today, but dear God, how she longed for him to kiss her. His hands roamed, determined to torture her, and he pulled back to gaze at her in inquiry.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, skimming one hand lightly over the unbound curve of her breast.

Eliza shook her head and pressed her lips together, unwilling to appear so weak.

There was a hint of a smile as Thomas allowed his fingers to drift across the thin fabric that stretched taut across her nipple. She arched upward in supplication, a tiny noise of pleasure escaping her lips. Slowly, he unfastened the top buttons of her shirt, then eased his hand inside to touch her breast, gently kneading in a way that caused her head to spin. His need was increasingly evident in the strained pattern of his breathing, and his fingers circled the aching tip, then pinched it gently, making her gasp.

“Christ, Eliza. Tell me to kiss you,” he demanded huskily. “I need to hear you say it.”

Still she resisted the words, so he moved the fabric aside and leaned over her, his gaze locked with hers as his head lowered. She couldn’t say what would end up happening if his mouth met her flesh . . . a kiss would be safer . . .

“Kiss me, Thomas,” she breathed. “Please—”

He paused, his color heightening in recognition of her words. Then his head dipped down anyway and his mouth closed over her breast.

Eliza released a strangled cry, then arched off the ground in wanton response, her fingers winding through his thick ebony locks as she pulled him tighter against her. He teased her mercilessly, alternating between wicked flicks of his tongue and a devilish suction that caused her to lift up even higher. Her head lashed the ground from side to side, and she tried to speak, struggling for coherency.

“N—no. Kiss me, please—”

Thomas stopped and levered himself above her, his chest heaving with desire. “Does that not count as a kiss?” he managed.

She stared at him, supposing it did, then tugged him down greedily to seal her mouth against his. There was no pause of surprise. He was ready for her and responded with excited impatience, his mouth teasing and tasting hers in the way she’d dreamed of for weeks.

Evanston’s low groan of greedy animalistic desire excited her beyond measure. She let her hands roam free over his body, exploring the hard revelation of his muscles, the planes of his back, the strong angle of his jaw. With a last squeeze he released her breast, sending his hand on a new course down her stomach, across her pelvis, to slide eagerly between her thighs. His long fingers set to stroking that sensitive place through the thin layer of her breeches, and Eliza cried out in surprise, nails digging mercilessly into his arms as pleasure flooded her limbs.

“God, Eliza . . . yes,” he growled against her lips, his pace quickening, sending new delightful currents of sensation coursing through her.

It was all too much—the sight of him above her, the feel of his body against hers, the skillful weaving of ecstasy at his hands. The sensations layered on top of one another until she was nearly overwhelmed. She turned her head to the side and gasped.

“Oh, Thomas—”

Take me now.

The gravity of what she was about to do, and with whom, came crashing down with the force of a falling anvil. She was close again, incredibly close, to disregarding everything for the sake of losing herself in his arms. As if it were that easy. As if there were no other considerations, like Rosa, or William . . . her father, and Reginald.

Her head was awhirl. She was living her nightmare.

Mortified, Eliza twisted out from beneath him with a small cry and bolted up to a stand, immediately setting to right her unkempt appearance. He released her, but not before the same anguished look from earlier returned to darken his brilliant blue eyes.

The reality of her situation was an unwelcome burden. One she could not simply escape by pretending Lord Evanston’s faults did not exist, no matter how her heart sang when he was near. Landry would be here soon, and as was expected, she would accept him. Caroline would help her stay the course.

“You know I want you,” she said in a voice that was not steady. “Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is. We cannot be together.”

“I have heard you, Eliza,” he choked, standing to face her. “And I apologize . . . this never should have happened. But I—”

Thomas stopped to look away in sudden silence. His fingers flexed open, then curled tightly, and his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. Finally, he trained a curiously empty gaze upon her.

“I understand. I wish you and Sir James . . . every happiness.”

Evanston bowed courteously before climbing up onto his horse, and as he rode down the hill towards Lawton Park, she knew she hadn’t just succeeded in deterring a suitor.

She had lost her friend.