Kieran ran alongside the fence of the small farm, putting the roan mare through her paces. The horse deserved a responsible owner, deprived of the care that Susannah had lavished on her favorite mount. When her ladyship died, Bruxton ordered Kieran to destroy the horse. Bruxton had accused the animal of drawing Kieran and the countess together into an adulterous conspiracy.

Kieran convinced the earl that the mare had been slain. A stableboy swore he’d witnessed the act. In actual fact, a local farmer had taken the horse to pasture in repayment for the veterinary services that Kieran provided. Whenever he could sneak off from Bruxton Manor he would exercise the roan and tend the farmer’s animals. He was at peace during those hours.

The earl began to question his absences. The enmity between them intensified. “I do not trust a word that rolls off your tongue, Kieran. Still, there is no better groom than you and we need one another. I am a forgiving master, am I not?”

Indeed, the earl had grounds for his rage. Kieran had fallen in love with his master’s wife during the early days of their marriage. Susannah and Kieran had sinned behind Bruxton’s back for a year. It was the countess who had broken off the affair, urging Kieran to run away before Bruxton discovered the betrayal.

Would it have been for the best? Aye, for Kieran, perhaps, but at the time he hadn’t believed his departure would help the countess, mistreated by her abusive husband. Kieran had half-wished he could murder the earl to set Susannah free. The possibility that she might be implicated in a crime stopped him. He loved her even if he saw that they had no future together. He’d advised her to seek protection from the duke, her elder brother.

She said, “He wants me to do as I am told. He doesn’t even answer my letters. I don’t think he cares.”

“He doesn’t understand. You have to tell him everything.”

Then she was killed.

Kieran thought about riding north, no destination in mind, on Susannah’s horse. He could find work as an itinerant trainer, or join a band of tinkers. With luck, if he accepted low pay and lived in the shadows, no one would ask questions about his past. Without luck he’d be arrested as a horse thief, an attempted murderer perhaps. He had one thing to do before he left England; he was going to confess to the duke.

Rochecliffe might not believe Kieran’s story. He might murder him on the spot or turn him over to the authorities. He had to take that chance. He couldn’t continue a life of lies, of blackmail. He would tell the truth and accept whatever punishment he was meted.

Simon was jolted awake by the warm body that landed on his lap. His heart thundered against his breastbone.

He must have dozed off on the couch, a gun on his knee, when Ravenna launched herself at him from the bed.

“Good heavens,” he muttered, managing by some miracle of reflex not to shoot a hole in the plaster ceiling. “One of us could have sustained a lethal injury. What set you off?”

“I had a nightmare that you almost died,” she said with a shiver. “I heard shots, and I was calling you in the dark.”

“Thank goodness you did not scream with Aunt Glynnis here. That would have left the whole house unable to sleep for a week.”

“It’s not a joke, Simon. In the middle of my dream I almost saw the face of the man who tried to kill you. It was so convincing that the moment I woke up, I went to the window and stood on a chair, to look outside.”

“Dear, dear God. You are right. This is not a joke.”

“I noticed a man lurking in the yard, and I thought it was him until I realized it was a night watchman on patrol.”

He grunted and slipped the pistol under the couch, lifting his knees to balance her. She slid down hard against his belly.

“I want you to tell me again that you love me,” she said, arranging herself in a pose that awakened whatever part of him had still been asleep. The lace sleeves of her dressing gown tickled his bare wrist.

“We did have this talk.”

“I need to hear it again.” Her chin nestled against his neck. “Explain exactly what you felt for me in the past.”

“I adored you from the moment you ran past me in that ridiculous male costume for your play. I might not have shown it.”

“You definitely did not show it,” she said, raising her hand to his cheek, caressing his birthmark with her fingertip. “You gave me the opposite impression.”

“I fell a little more in love with you every time I came to the castle. And now you are mine.”

“Hold me, Simon. Kiss me.”

“I need to sleep, my darling.”

“May I kiss you then?”

“Let me take you back to bed first. And do me a favor -- do not ever stand on a chair in front of the window again. If you have a nightmare, call for me. I will answer.”

He carried her across the room, his hand cupping her backside, and deposited her in the middle of the goose-feather bed. He bent over her recumbent form with his foot planted on the floor.

His mouth brushed her cheek in a good-night peck. “I am going back to sleep for an hour.”

Of course one kiss led to another, and in the next moment he had untied her robe to rub his face across her silky nipples. Without thinking he slid back to strip off his shirt and pantaloons. “I am completely awake now,” he announced.

She lowered her eyes to his heavy erection. “Yes. What a sight.”

She turned onto her stomach with a beguiling smile, raising up on her hands and knees to offer herself to him. “Take me,” she whispered.

“To the stars and back. That is a heavenly view if ever I’ve seen one.”

He wrapped his arm around her ribs and fitted his penis to the crease of her cleft. She rocked forward slightly as he pushed inside her. “More,” she said, her voice catching.

“How much more?”

“All of you.”

He held her securely as blood rushed through his body to obliterate his thoughts. Her hips rose, plump and enticing. Her invitation was flagrant. Not a filament of his being could refuse her. He inhaled and ran his hand over her sleek curves, her flesh like raw silk. He felt like a man who had never had sex before.

She swayed again as he withdrew and quickened his movements. Arching her back, she released a moan that pushed him to the precipice of mortal restraint. He forgot that she was vulnerable, half his size, no match for his power. Need clawed at his self-mastery.

“Sweet God,” he muttered. “I can feel how ready you are.”

He pumped harder, his groin against her generous bottom, as she collapsed with a cry across the bed. Her hands splayed out at her sides in surrender. Her body trembled involuntarily. Still, he continued to thrust, his heart pounding in his chest. His back was slick with sweat when he climaxed.

Just. One. Kiss.

His pulse slowed. He dropped onto the bed, laughing ruefully, and gathered her to him. She smiled into his eyes as she crumbled against his chest. “I hope you can sleep now,” she said demurely.

He rose at daybreak. The sky was clear. During his broken hours of sleep he’d decided not to postpone the move to Caverley House until the end of the week. It was safer to be on the road while the weather held. Timpkins would have to work quickly to interview additional staff members and confirm character references. The country estate and the tenantry required Simon’s personal attention. He looked forward to introducing Ravenna to his neighbors and to the house where they would raise their family.

He was tempted to rouse her and insist they travel right after breakfast. But she was resting like a storybook princess, her mouth red from ardour, her hands clasped above her breasts. What manner of husband was he to give her nightmares? What good was he as a guardian if she rescued him even in her sleep?

He watched her as he shaved and dressed. It would be unkind to awaken her. He went back to the bed to kiss her, then reminded himself why that would be a mistake. Her tumbled curls framed a face of perfect repose. She sighed as if she sensed him but did not open her eyes.

She was a lady to inspire a man to slay dragons, one of who had come to his door while he fiddled about like a fool making plans he could not complete.