BYRON PACED THE FLOOR OF HIS HOTEL ROOM, glancing up at the ceiling every few minutes. Summer Wine Lee lived somewhere above him in one of the posher suites. His smaller room on the ground floor lacked a sitting room, so he continually bumped into the bed where Lionel sat reading.

   "Father," said the boy in frustration. "I keep losing my place every time you jog the bed."

   "Sorry."

   "You should have let me deliver the note to Summer. Then she would have sent for you by now."

   Byron swept the hair off his face. Lionel might be right; the boy he'd hired to deliver the message had looked scornfully at the few coins the duke had placed in his hands for payment, so how could he be sure his message had been delivered?

   Bloody hell, how could he be sure of anything he'd done? He should have burned the papers his prince had given him, not handed them over to Mrs. Tarkington. And then, to compound his stupidity, he'd gone to that Monte fellow and told him as well. The eager suitor had practically fled from the room to meet his "affianced family," as he called them.

   The duke smacked his shin into the bed frame this time and suppressed a curse at the look on his son's face. He sat down hard and rubbed angrily at the bump. What had he been thinking? So what if the girl didn't realize what a wonderful treasure she was… Was that such a bad thing? Since when did his concern for someone else get in the way of what he wanted?

   He should've married her first and then worried about her self-esteem. He should've controlled his anger about her stubborn insistence to change herself and told her that he had no intention of marrying Lady Banfour. Instead he'd let her leave Cliffs Castle without trying to stop her, trying to punish her for not seeing herself as he did.

   And he'd handed Monte to her on a silver platter, without knowing if she'd realize that the man would never be good enough for her. The enormity of the risk he'd taken had finally occurred to him and shattered his resolve to let Summer find her way back to him. In a fit of panic he'd written a note asking to see her.

   And then paced this room, considering several ways he could get her to commit to him. But he still couldn't decide what to do.

   He glanced over at his son's bowed head. "You still think we should just kidnap her?"

   Lionel nodded. "She loves us. She'll let us do it."

   "What am I thinking?" Byron glared at the ceiling again. How could he even consider listening to a ten year-old's suggestion? It stood testament to his rattled state of mind. Perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to stay in the same hotel that Summer did, because he'd almost bumped into her several times, and the sight of her weakened his resolve to let her come to him.

   And then he'd seen her this morning, walking with that unusual grace of hers through the hotel lobby, on the way to her father's funeral. Her usually tan face had looked so pale in her black mourning clothes.

   He'd had to physically stop himself from going to her.

   Byron came to a decision. He'd always liked his first option, that of seducing her. If he were honest with her and told her how wonderful she was, she wouldn't believe him, unless she'd already come to that conclusion herself. And after all that he'd done so she could discover that, there was no guarantee that she had. And it was time he took what he wanted.

   "Lionel," he announced. "I'm going to stick to my own plan."

   His son looked up at him in disgust. "I don't think a bunch of kissing's going to solve anything."

   Byron grinned. That was as close as he'd been able to get when explaining his plan to the boy. Actually, he'd been grateful that Lionel hadn't understood the full meaning of the word "seduction." He'd like to resolve his own women problems before facing any his son might have.

   A rapid knock sounded at the door, and they both froze for a moment, then lunged at the handle.

   Byron managed to grab the note out of the hotel messenger's hand only because he stood a bit taller. He tipped the uniformed lad and closed the door, his back flat against it, holding the note as if it carried the weight of the world upon it.

   Which it did. His world, anyway.

   "Father."

   Byron shrugged and tore open the seal. He breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to see him… and her room number was written next to the top of the hotel's letterhead.

   "Er, this might take a while."

   Lionel picked up his book. "I'll be fine… and don't worry, Father. She can't live without us."

   Byron wished he felt half as confident as his son did while he took the lift up to Summer's room. But by the time he reached her door, he felt some of his old self-assurance returning. After all, he was exceptionally good at seducing women. Hadn't he lived on his charm for years? Didn't the finest homes in London open their doors and beg for a visit from him?

   He pounded on her door.

   Summer jumped a foot and clutched at her heart when she heard the knock. Tarnation, she looked just like Cook! She threw her hand down. He was here! He'd come, after hours of waiting… and she still didn't feel ready. She tiptoed to the door and grasped the brass doorknob, and then a cold wave of realization washed over her. She spun and looked wildly around the room. There was no place for them to… dadburn it! Why hadn't she thought of this earlier? Could she let the critters out of her room while she brought him to her bed? Oh, that would spoil his mood entirely, and her seduction would be a failure.

   She studied her carved desk and its hardback chair, the tiny tea table with its cushioned seats, the small love seat with its upholstery buttons. She couldn't even imagine the possibility. She glanced at the fireplace, with its hearth of polished stone and its absence of a bear fur. Her eyes finally came to rest on the armless chaise near the window. Although very narrow, she thought it might be the only possible option she could imagine. They were likely to tumble off and break their necks.

   Summer choked on a hysterical giggle.

   Byron stood outside the door and unashamedly pressed his ear against the gilded surface. What was taking her so long? He swept the hair off his face and happened to glance down, noticing a white sliver of paper under her door. He snatched it up, realizing that it was his message to her, and it hadn't been opened. So, her note to him hadn't been in response to his. Now he couldn't be sure of why he was here. What did she want with him? How had she even known where to reach him, if she hadn't read his note?

   His self-confidence started to quiver again, and he snapped his spine rigid. It didn't matter why she sent for him, whether to thank him for finding her family or to curse him for it. It didn't change his intentions for this meeting whatsoever.

   He lifted his hand to pound the door again, when it opened.

   It had been too long since her golden eyes had looked into his own; he felt the force of her gaze like a blow to his gut, and he could only stand there and stare at her like some love-struck ninny. Where had the charming seducer gone to? He tried to take control of the situation. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

   As soon as Summer saw him, she remembered the rock by the pond. Now, if they could make love on a rock, somehow they'd surely manage it on that narrow chaise, wouldn't they? She had to suppress another giggle. Tarnation, had he said something to her? Surely she'd seen his lips move.

   "Won't you come in?" Her voice had a breathless quality that Lady Banfour would've been proud of.

   She stepped to the side, and he brushed the front of her gown as he passed her, almost as if he'd done it on purpose. Her nipples tingled and she swallowed. How was she going to seduce him if she couldn't maintain her own composure? If she started falling all over him, how would she know when he fell on her? She knew she wanted him, but the point was to find out if he still wanted her.

   Summer took a deep breath and closed the door firmly.

   Byron's arm still tingled from where he'd brushed against her. He'd done it on purpose, of course, but his reaction to that brief contact unsettled him. Since when had the mere touch of a woman made him half-hard? He'd have to show more restraint. After all, his plan was to seduce her, and then once he had her in the palm of his hand, tell her that they would be married, and that she had no say in the matter. If he couldn't keep himself in control, he'd have her on that little chaise in seconds, and she'd be the one dictating to him.

   Byron leaned a casual arm over the mantel, shook back his hair, and gave her his most disarming smile. Unfortunately, she smiled right back at him, lights sparkling in her eyes, that elfin nose upturned in such a look of mischief that he dropped his arm and took an involuntary step toward her.

   "I, uh," said Summer, trying to recover from that smile he'd given her. "Ordered up tea… It's probably cold. But. Do you want some?" She wished her mind hadn't followed the feelings in her legs and turned to jelly. But, tarnation, that smile he'd given her could melt an iceberg.

   "Yes. It doesn't matter." Byron ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. What had happened to the man who had the reputation for wielding his tongue like a sword? He could barely get two words out. "That it's cold, I mean." He strode over and slammed himself into a chair.

   Summer blinked. Why would he be angry with her? This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped. It was time to be more direct. She flowed over to the table and picked up the porcelain teapot and leaned over to pour cold tea into his cup. She leaned very far over, farther than necessary. Far enough that the loose neckline of her tea gown dropped open, and if he would only glance up at her, he could see clear to China.

   "You're much better at that," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the pot.

   Summer's hand trembled. His voice had that husky quality to it, the same tone he used when he'd ask her if she wanted more… Yes. Oh yes. "Better at what?" she said aloud.

   "The art of pouring tea," he replied. Byron had felt her reaction to his voice with a sense of triumph but made the mistake of looking up. Bloody hell. Her gown gaped open wide enough to reveal each rounded breast and, could it be? Yes, the rosy hue of taut nipples teased his eyes as well. Made his mouth water.

   He jumped to his feet and held the back of her chair. "Forgive my bad manners, won't you sit down?"

   Summer scowled and plopped down into the chair, letting him push it in for her. She'd thought he surely couldn't resist the temptation she'd hung right out in front of him. Maybe she needed to be more sensual? She reached up and patted at the strands of her hair bun. "Well," she breathed. "I may have improved at pouring tea, but my hair still won't stay up properly. I might as well let it down." She undid a few hairpins, knowing that ladies never let their hair down unless going to bed. The idiot man knew that—why, he's the one who'd taught it to her!

   She felt the brown mass of her hair tumble down, caressing the sides of her face and pooling in the curve of her shoulders. She just wished the feel of it didn't remind her of the whisper of his hair across her face when he lay above her.

   Summer shivered.

   Byron stifled a groan. He knew she acted without thought, innocent of what such a simple action as letting her hair down might do to him. But it made her look wanton, brought up images of her mouth parted in ecstasy, that golden brown hair spread wildly around her face, until he couldn't resist the temptation of coiling it in his hands…

   He shifted where he sat, trying to ease the pressure of his ever-hardening erection. He had to take control of the situation if it killed him. He reached across the small table, smoothing the hair off her shoulders, caressing it back off her face. "There. It looked a mess. Now, what did you want to see me about?"

   Summer had to fight the urge to turn her face into his palm, and when one of his hands traced a path down her neck and stopped at the neckline of her gown, she had to force away the awareness of her body's reaction to the fire in his fingers. She stared fixedly at his other hand, which came to rest casually on the tabletop, and admired the strength of it, the length of his fingers.

   And the fingers of his other hand, the hand she chose to ignore, curled over her neckline, the same way he would hook his thumbs into the pockets of his coat. She could detect no burning desire in his touch and silently cursed.

   Hadn't he asked her a question? Oh yes… "I asked you here to, um… thank you." Summer breathed a sigh of relief. "That's right. Thank you for finding my mother's family. Um. How did you manage that, anyway?"

   She couldn't help it. Her nipple seemed to have a mind of its own; she could actually feel it jumping at his fingers. It took just a twist of her body to brush it against them, and she almost groaned aloud in relief. When she glanced at his face, her heart plummeted. Those crystal blue eyes stared back at her with indifference, that handsome face gave no indication that he felt anything at all from the touch of her nipple against his fingers.

   Summer narrowed her eyes and twisted again. A burst of wetness spread between her legs, but the man sat like a statue.

   Byron couldn't move. The swelling in his pants had become quite uncomfortable. He'd swept his fingers across her breasts more than once, and the girl hadn't even blinked. She'd even had the presence of mind to ask him something, and it took his soggy brain several minutes to process it and come up with an answer.

   "His Royal Highness had you investigated." There, he'd managed a reply. Byron scooted his chair closer into the table, until the edge of it creased the front of his silk vest. He brushed his leg between hers, slowly pushed outward, spreading her legs beneath the table. He took a sip of his tea to distract his body's response to the thought of what he was doing, and laid the cup in the saucer with careful precision.

   Then he felt her bare toes against his calf and raised his eyebrows at her.

   Summer couldn't look at him anymore. She kept thinking about how his lips tasted, how his tongue felt. She stared out the window and spread her legs as far apart as humanly possible beneath that table. Surely the accidental brush of his own leg made him aware that she'd spread open to him? While trying to ignore the jolt of fire that ripped through her body when her nipple brushed his fingers again, she wiggled out of her slippers and ran her foot up the leg of his pants.

   "He didn't think I was good enough for you, did he?"

   "What?" Byron couldn't remember what they'd been talking about. The feel of her toes against his leg occupied all his thought processes at the moment.

   "Your prince. That's why he had me investigated."

   "Oh, that. It wouldn't have mattered what he thought, anyway. I'm just glad he found your family for you."

   "Are you?" Summer reached over and tugged at his cravat. "I'm just trying to make you more comfortable."

   "Ah."

   "Monte's family is overjoyed at the prospect of a marriage with me now." Summer slowly pulled the cloth away from his neck, wishing she were that piece of silk. The man acted as if undressing him at table were nothing out of the ordinary, that her toes curling into his calf had no effect on him whatsoever.

   While she was being driven to distraction.

   "So, are you?"

   Summer reached across the table and ran her hands over the sides of his neck, curled her fingers into that soft blond hair. "Am I what?" She traced her fingertip over his lips, loving the feel of the tiny cleft in his lower one. He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just opened his mouth and captured her finger inside and suckled. She felt the pres sure of it between her legs and snatched back her hand. The itch had become unbearable, and she squirmed against the seat cushion, no longer able to separate her mind from her body, because it had started to scream at her for relief. Seducing this man was hurting her.

   Byron released his hold on her neckline and gripped both her shoulders. "Are you going to marry him?"

   "Oh." Summer panted. "No, no. Who cares about him?"

   Byron smiled. "Not I." He slid his hands down her shoulders, pulling at the light material, making the neckline of her gown sag even lower. He spread his fingers over her soft skin and realized through a fog that something hard had grazed his leg. Summer's knife. She wore her knife. The pressure of his erection was nothing compared to the throbbing he instantly felt. It was as if that part of him had a life of its own, and he'd never, ever, felt anything like that before.

   "I'm just as good as you are," she blurted. "And I can't take it anymore!"

   Byron looked up with alarm at the sudden anger in Summer's voice. What had he done? He was supposed to seduce her, not make her hate him. He'd made a mess of it, all because he couldn't control the reactions of his own body. Or the ignorant words out of his own mouth. "Huh?"

   "I lied," snapped Summer, her itch now unbear able. "I didn't ask you here to th-thank you. I asked you here to… to…"

   "To what?" he growled, more angry with himself than he could have ever imagined.

   "To seduce you! And you don't even have the decency to… be seduced!"

   Byron froze. He didn't know whether to laugh or shake her. "I also sent you a note. I found it still under your door."

   Summer blinked at him.

   "I asked to see you. So that I could seduce you." And he took his arm and swept it across the table, scattering dishes and tea and lace doilies across the floor. And he stood.

   Summer gasped at the sight of him. His erection bulged through his pants; she could see it clearly outlined, even the curve where she knew he was most sensitive, where she'd run her tongue…

   She opened her mouth, and something like a squeak came out of her throat.

   Byron reached across the table and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her out of her chair, bringing his mouth to her own with a gentleness that belied his actions. He didn't so much kiss her as consume her, his lips hot and his tongue insistent. Summer let him swallow her whole and still longed for more.

   Somehow the table was no longer between them.

   He lifted her up and set her bottom on that small table, raking her skirts up around her waist, pushing down her neckline until her breasts sprang free. He gave them all the attention that Summer had craved, licking and suckling until she started to moan with the pleasure of it. He rested his hands on her silk drawers, and she could feel the heat of them branding her lower thighs, and then moving upward, until his thumbs brushed against the slit in the fabric, and he let out a groan of pure delight.

   Summer reached forward and unbuttoned his pants, pulled him out none too gently, grateful that she no longer had to pretend indifference.

   Byron pulled her bottom toward him, glad that the table was so low. He plunged inside of her and came with an explosion that rocked him to the soles of his feet. He hadn't done that since he was a boy, but no matter, for he knew it was just the beginning, that he'd stay rock-hard for a long, long time. So he didn't pause a beat but continued his rhythm, more aware of her pleasure now than his own. And completely unashamed of his initial selfishness, because the woman knew she'd driven him to it.

   Summer held on to his shoulders and begged him for more. She wrapped her legs around his back and squeezed, drawing him deeper, filling her body and soul and heart with the strength of this man. And came with the sound of his name on her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and saw the chaise over his shoulder and smiled. She needn't have worried, not with Byron.

   Byron held her in his arms, kept himself inside of her, a feeling unlike any he had ever known washing over him. This small, graceful woman had become his entire world, and he'd gladly give his life for her. It was frightening and empowering, all at the same time.

   "Did you mean it, Summer? When you said you were worthy of me?"

   She continued to hold him tightly to her, and her voice spoke at his ear. "Certainly. Now the question is whether you're worthy of me."

   Byron frowned, gently pulled her away so he could look into her eyes. He refused to allow her to let anything come between them ever again. "Of course not. Will you marry me anyway?"

   Summer felt herself drowning in the softness of his gaze. Where had that snobbish, arrogant man gone to? She watched the way one golden brow quirked upward, the curve of his lips that might be considered a sneer by someone who didn't know him as well as she did. Oh yes, the Duke of Monchester was still every bit as arrogant as he always appeared to be. But not to her, never again. All she had to do was look into his eyes to see beyond the surface to the real man inside.

   "Of course I'll marry you."

   Byron nodded, as if he never doubted her answer. Inwardly, he sighed with profound relief. "Then I'd prefer you to be on something softer."

   She blinked those amber-colored eyes at him. "You mean… again?"

   He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the other door in the room, which he assumed was her bedroom. Byron held her with one arm while he turned the door handle.

   "I really should warn you…" started Summer. But she spoke too late. The door swung open, and the room erupted with flying fur. Moo-moo sprang from the bed back to her curtain when the cat caught sight of the stranger. Lefty barked furiously, jumping on the bedding in his lopsided way. Sweetie took one look at Byron and ducked his head back under the bed.

   "What is that?"

   Summer saw him staring at Sweetie's hind end.

   "It's a dog."

   "That's not a dog; it's a small pony."

   Summer shushed her critters.

   Byron sighed. "Lionel is going to be ecstatic. Don't you adopt any normal pets?"

   "Only if they need me."

   Byron set her down, watched her calm her animals,

The next morning, Byron shook his son awake.

   Sleepy blue eyes blinked up at him. "Did she like your kisses, Father?"

   "Yes. Now hurry and get up; we have a wedding to go to."

   "Capital!" said Lionel, bouncing out of bed. "Can we take her home, then?"

   Byron nodded, poured cold water into the basin, and slapped it on his face. He'd had very little sleep last night and couldn't help the grin of satisfaction that followed the thought. "Her and the rest of the family."

   "Who, her new grandmother?"

   "No, although I think with time they'll come to visit. I meant the rest of her 'critters.'"

   "She's got more?" Lionel couldn't help but miss India, Chi-chi, and Rosey. And since he'd had to leave Hunter in London, he'd felt terribly lonely in America whenever his father couldn't be with him. The thought of new companions made him think that the voyage back home wouldn't be as awful.

   Byron dried his face with a cloth and peered at his son from over the edge. "She's got a three-legged dog, another with four legs, but the size of a pony, and a mad cat that climbs curtains for comfort."

   He watched his son's face light up with joy. "I'm dreadfully glad you got Summer back, Father! Our life will never be boring again, will it?"

   "No, son, I'm afraid it won't," Byron replied, his own heart flooding with joy. And it will never be lonely again, he silently added as he brushed off his best top hat.