Honeysuckle paused in the doorway of the vicar’s study, her tray balanced on her hip.

It was just as well she’d had such a broad, not to say unconventional, education. The Reverend Colleyhurst might not have taken her in had Mrs Moulsham not used her younger pupils as unpaid staff.

‘Usually, Miss Miller, I would be only too glad to offer you shelter in your distressing circumstances,’ he’d told her, ‘but you see, my housekeeper is away visiting a sick member of her family and I am not sure when she will be able to return. In the meantime, I only have a cook left to me. And while I do not mind, as a bachelor, you know, living quite simply, there is nobody to prepare a room or…or anything else. You see how it is?’

And that was when she’d virtually begged him not to turn her away.

‘The principal of the school I attended believed in training every pupil in all aspects of domestic service. I am quite capable of doing any household task, from blacking a grate to laundering fine linen. It would give me great comfort to repay your kindness in taking me in by working for my keep.’

He’d glanced across at his desk, which was buried under mounds of papers, tottering piles of books and the remnants of half-eaten meals.

A hopeful expression had replaced the harassed one he’d been wearing when she’d first knocked on his door.

‘Well, I…well, that is…would you really?’

Since then, she’d lit a fire in the spare bedroom, found linen, set it to air, then gone to the kitchen where she’d donned an apron and washed all the dishes she’d found stacked in the scullery. She’d then returned to her room and made up the bed.

And now she was back downstairs, having heard him go out a few minutes ago. She meant to take advantage of his absence to set his study to rights.

She placed her tray on the sofa, for want of any other clear, horizontal surface, and went to the desk at which he worked on his sermons to clear away the cups and saucers. As she carried the first pile of crockery over to the tray, her hand shook so badly the remaining contents of one of the teacups slopped into the saucer. She took several deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. She had nothing to fear now. She was not outside in the cold.

It was just that it had suddenly seemed as if her position was as fragile as the bone-china cups she was stacking. One slip, and everything could shatter into pieces too small to ever be glued back together again.

Better stop handling delicate china, then. She would put the books back where they belonged instead and tidy the vicar’s papers.

Reverend Colleyhurst, she soon discovered, had a unique system of arranging his books, by topic rather than alphabetically. But she welcomed the challenge of finding the right home for each one, since it kept her mind occupied with something other than her own predicament—and the disturbing tendency to wonder what Lord Chepstow was doing, right that minute. Was he out riding with the other guests? Eating luncheon? Playing billiards? The hardest thing of all was not to allow resentment to creep in and overshadow the wonderful memory she had of those rapturous moments in his arms. She wanted them to be a source of comfort in the years ahead. But whenever she thought of him going on his merry way, without even wondering what had become of her, the episode that had felt so glorious at the time stood in very real danger of getting twisted into something that would have the power to torture her for years to come.

Her lips compressed, she rammed the last book from the desk back where it belonged and climbed down from the stepstool. At least now her hands were quite steady. She was ready to tackle the crockery.

By the time Reverend Colleyhurst returned, she vowed, he would look upon her as a godsend rather than an obligation.

Tomorrow, while he was conducting the morning services, she would lift the rugs in this room and give them a good beating. She did not mind doing hard, physical work. Besides, if she was still at Budworth Hall, she would be working even harder, putting together a party for all the children.

A pang shot through her as she thought of them all, left to fend for themselves up in the schoolroom. She hoped Mrs Gulpher and Rothman would stick to their promises and allow Jane to step into her shoes. She wouldn’t worry so much if she could be absolutely sure Jane was up there with them right now. Jane had plenty of experience with children, coming from such a large family. And, more importantly, she liked them. She often lingered after bringing up the nursery tea, though that was partly to avoid the tasks she was supposed to have been doing elsewhere. Poor Jane. She wasn’t likely to last very much longer in domestic service. She had a fatal tendency to ignore orders from the upper staff if she thought there was something more important to do, and was cheeky enough to answer back when reprimanded.

Which meant she had a natural affinity with those boys. It had taken Lord Chepstow and that game of pirates he’d played with them to give her the key to understanding how to manage them. They had a natural aggression that was foreign to her nature, but they also had a code of honour that at least made them take their wrestling matches into a corner where they would not endanger the little ones. In the end, she’d found them every bit as lovable as the girls, in their own way.

She gave herself a mental shake and stacked the vicar’s cups and saucers on the tray. Nothing of what might be going on at Budworth Hall now was any of her business. She had to stop thinking about them as though they were…family. To stop worrying about children who weren’t her children.

To stop wondering what kind of governess Lord Budworth would hire next for his girls. For he would certainly want someone to keep them out of his way, so he could throw his lavish parties without having them underfoot. What if the next woman was prepared to use the birch?

She was just about to start dusting the crumbs from the vicar’s desk when she heard someone knocking on the front door. It was only when the person pounded again, a bit harder, that it occurred to her that she ought to be the one to go and see who it was. The cook, who was the only other servant in the house, did not seem at all inclined to leave her kitchen. But then, the poor woman was far too busy to wash dishes, never mind deal with the kind of visitor who would bang so importunately on the door at this time of night on Christmas Eve. Besides, if it was the kind of visitor with whom she could deal, they would have been knocking on the back door.

Whoever it was, they were not going to go away. So she removed her apron, smoothed her hair and went into the hall.

It was a total shock to see Lord Chepstow standing on the top step, looking far from his normal, devil-may-care self.

But though he had not been very far from her thoughts all day, the sight of him broke down all the good intentions she’d had not to blame him for taking what she had so freely offered—and consequently shattering her whole world.

‘How dare you show your face here?’

A face that looked, if she did not know better, as though he was experiencing profound relief from whatever worry had previously been creasing his forehead.

‘Thank God I found you,’ he said, stretching out his hands, as though to embrace her.

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ she snapped, stepping smartly backwards. ‘Haven’t you caused enough trouble? And don’t even think of coming in here,’ she protested, just a bit too late, for the moment she had stepped back to evade his embrace he darted past her and kicked the front door shut behind him.

‘Not one step farther!’ She held her arms wide, barring the passage into the house. ‘I have no idea what whim has brought you here, but I have no intention of letting you spoil the niche I’m trying to carve for myself here, as you spoiled everything at Budworth Hall.’

‘And I have no intention of leaving you here to become a drudge for someone else,’ he said, leaning back against the front door and folding his arms across his chest. ‘Go and fetch your things.’

‘Fetch my things? Why should I fetch my things?’

‘I should have thought that was obvious,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to collect you.’

‘I am not,’ she said coldly, ‘going anywhere with you.’

‘Well, I’m not leaving without you. Now,’ he said, pushing himself away from the door, and taking a pace towards her, ‘I can see you’re angry with me. And you have every right to be. Dash it, I’ve been cursing myself all the way here for not just whisking you away at first light and leaving a note to tell ’em all we’d eloped.’

‘Elo—e—what?’

While she stood there, gasping and spluttering, he strode past her, opening one door after another and peering inside.

‘Vicar not in, I take it,’ he said, going into the unoccupied study the moment he’d identified it.

‘No,’ she said, trotting after him in a state of complete bewilderment. In his typical fashion, he was already making himself at home, withdrawing his gloves and hat and tossing his coat over the back of the vicar’s fireside chair. ‘He is over at the church, officiating at a wedding.’

‘A wedding? How convenient! Let us both go over there, too, and he can marry us while he’s at it.’

‘What? What are you saying? Are you out of your mind?’

He said not a word, but, to set the seal on her confusion, grasped her by the elbows, tugged her into the room, somehow managing to shut the door upon them without her ascertaining how he’d done so, and then made as though he was going to kiss her.

She only just came to her senses in time to turn her head, so that his parted lips landed hotly on her cheek.

But the mere brush of his lips on her face sent a shaft of shameful longing coursing right through her. She trembled with the force of it. And the feel of his hands upon her arms, coupled with that smile…that smile…as though he had not a care in the world…

Anger and pride came to her rescue. ‘You are insufferable!’ A little late for her liking, she raised her hands to his chest and tried to push him away.

‘Is it not bad enough that your antics have made me lose my livelihood? Do you intend to make the vicar turn me out for being a harlot, too? What have I ever done to make you torment me so?’

‘I am not tormenting you. Unless you think being married to me would be torment,’ he said, and, since she still held her head stiffly averted, made the most of the opportunity to nibble at her earlobe.

‘Stop that!’ she tried to rebuke him sternly, but her words came out in a kind of plaintive whisper, her anger mysteriously ebbing as torrents of delight poured through her.

‘And stop talking about getting married. We cannot possibly—’

‘Of course not!’ He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, giving her the chance to evade his grasp.

Somehow, she did manage to take just one, rather wobbly, step backwards, where she fetched up against the door with a thump.

‘No licence,’ he said and smiled at her.

The apparent tenderness of that smile made her long to fling herself back into his arms. She darted across the room instead, taking refuge behind the solid bulwark of the vicar’s desk. He was just too tempting. A few more seconds of him nibbling on her ear like that and she did not know what he might have persuaded her into doing. Or thinking. The sensations he could evoke in her body were just so powerful that her mind was having serious trouble staying anywhere near lucid.

‘Well, never mind,’ he carried on cheerfully. ‘A hole-and-corner wedding down here was not what I intended, anyway. It just occurred to me that it would be fun to turn up at Pippa’s with you on my arm and introduce you as my bride. But this is why you are perfect for me.’ He beamed at her. ‘You will always remember all those practical little details that slip my mind when I get the urge to embark on a new adventure. Lord, but I’m going to have such a lot to tell Havelock about the impact helping him make that list of wifely qualities has had on my life.’

She shook her head slowly, wondering if he’d gone completely mad. Or perhaps she was the one who’d lost her mind. Was that why nothing he said made any sense?

‘I suppose I can see,’ she said, trying to puzzle out his bewildering behaviour for herself, ‘that when you found out that I lost my job because of what you did last night, you now feel you ought to make amends. But really, talking about marrying me is carrying your penance a bit too far…’

He marched up to the desk, a frown on his brow. ‘Don’t you remember? I proposed to you last night. Or did you not hear? Of course. You’d gone into your room. Well, that accounts for it,’ he said, his face clearing. He walked round the desk to where she was standing, his hands outstretched.

‘Oh, I heard you clear enough,’ she said, skipping sideways, to keep the furniture safely betwixt them. She needed to maintain the physical barrier of a substantial amount of oak between them, since she’d already discovered that her willpower was no protection at all once he began to employ his lips upon any part of her person.

‘Naturally I did not think you meant anything by it. Nor even that you would recall what you’d said, once you’d sobered up.’

He clutched at his heart, as though she’d wounded him. ‘Unkind! How can you so malign me, when I have laid my heart at your feet, pursued you on horseback over frozen terrain…’

‘Don’t give me that! You like horses. You were prating on about them last night, if you recall, right after you said that as a gentleman you supposed you ought to propose.’

‘Oh. Ah,’ he said, shamefaced. ‘I admit, I made a mull of it. But then it was the first time I have ever proposed, you know. But I absolutely refute the allegation that I was not thinking clearly,’ he continued when she took a breath to make another point. ‘I had only had a couple of glasses of wine with my dinner. Even skipped the port, so I could come up to your schoolroom and spend what remained of the evening with you. The only thing with which I was intoxicated…’ he smiled salaciously, and inched sideways to the corner of the desk ‘…was what I tasted on your lips.’

Her cheeks heating, Honeysuckle inched to the corner diagonally opposite.

‘That kiss…’ He sighed. ‘I can see you remember it, too. Was it your first kiss? Oh, please tell me that it was. For I never want any other man to taste those lips. To discover that you can kiss like that…’

‘H-how dare you! If you were a gentleman, you w-would not remind me of…that…lapse of good conduct.’

‘Well, that’s exactly why you ought to marry me, sweet Honeysuckle. You can remind me every day of how I ought to behave. You can reform me.’ He darted suddenly round the desk, making a grab for her, which she was only just nimble enough to evade.

‘Hah!’ she panted. ‘That attempt to manhandle me just proves that you are beyond redemption.’

‘I am quite sure,’ he said, stalking her slowly round the desk while she kept on steadily retreating, ‘that your vicar would argue that nobody is beyond redemption. I am sure he preaches that every sinner who repents may enter the gates of paradise.’

‘Exactly! You would have to repent and you never do!’

‘Now that’s not true. You have challenged me and made me question my behaviour in a way nobody else has ever done before. I’m not saying that you won’t have your work cut out, reforming me. But if only I had you around to point out where I am going wrong, all the time…’

‘That’s not the kind of wife I would ever want to be,’ she protested, stung at his description of the way he perceived her. ‘Always nagging at you…’

‘Oh, I am quite sure you would never have to nag. I expect you have already learned in your career so far that, when handling naughty boys, a threat to withhold some treat,’ he said, eyeing her mouth provocatively, ‘is a sure-fire way to get him to do your bidding.’

‘I don’t have much experience with naughty boys. And anyway, you’re not a boy. You are a fully grown man.’

‘I always seem to grow even fuller around you,’ he said suggestively. ‘I dare say you couldn’t help noticing that for yourself last night when you twined yourself round me like your namesake.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ she protested. ‘And you ought not to be speaking of such things in the vicar’s study, of all places.’

He clucked his tongue. ‘And here was I, thinking you prided yourself on always being honest.’

Her cheeks felt hot. Her words had just proved she had understood his allusion completely. But worse, his mock-reproof had struck deeply at her own conscience. Last night, as he’d pointed out, when she had been clinging to him like a vine, she had not only been aware of his aroused state, but had been thrilled to think that it was her kisses that had achieved such a dramatic effect upon his body.

He stabbed a finger at her as he made his next point. ‘Admit it. I could have an improving effect upon you, too. You have longings and passions, for which you have never had an outlet before. You are all…buttoned up. As your husband, I shall have the right to unbutton you. The pleasure of unbuttoning you,’ he said, his gaze straying to the front of her gown.

In her head, she could see his hand reaching across the desk and unbuttoning her bodice right now. Slipping those long, elegant fingers inside her clothing and caressing…

‘Stop it!’ She pressed her hand to her chest, inside which her heart was hammering wildly. ‘This kind of talk is unseemly.’ And unsettling. Not only was her heart pounding, but she was breathing harder. And there were sharp twinges of excitement in her tummy and her legs were turning to the consistency of jelly.

‘Nothing is unseemly between a man and his wife.’

‘I’m not your wife!’

‘But you will be. You want to be. You will enjoy taking me in hand…’

He made a motion towards the front of his breeches. In spite of gasping with outrage, she could not help following the motion of his hand with her eyes. Nor noticing that he was, once again, um…fully grown.

‘See how much influence you’ve had over me already. Mending my manners, planning on marrying and settling down, getting me all hot and bothered just from talking about kissing you…’

‘You did not plan to marry and settle down,’ she said, sidestepping his remark about getting hot and bothered, since she was so very hot and bothered herself. ‘You never plan anything! A thought just pops into your head, and you go along with it. B-but I concede,’ she said, darting round the desk suddenly, as she realised he had been inching his way closer whilst she had been temporarily fascinated by the impressive ridge that was pushing out the front of his breeches, ‘that you are attempting to make amends for crossing the line last night. But please don’t insult my intelligence by making it sound as though you were out looking for a wife and that you deliberately chose me when I know it was no such thing.’

‘You are right. I never do plan anything. But now I have thought of it, I cannot think of anything I’d rather do than marry you. And I’m quite sure you would like being married to me.’

She had to make yet another strategic withdrawal when he attempted to inch closer. ‘That is beside the point.’

‘So you admit it—you do want me?’ He took two large paces towards her. With a little yelp, she darted away, maintaining her distance. Her physical distance. But, oh, how hard it was getting not to let him seduce her with his words.

‘Perhaps it is time I was completely honest with you,’ she said, summoning all her courage. ‘But don’t blame me if you don’t like what you are going to hear. I cannot, dare not, believe you are in earnest. P-perhaps you truly do believe, at this minute, you want to marry me. You have just admitted you have got carried along on one of those surges of enthusiasm you are always getting. But after a very brief time, it will wear off, and then where will that leave me? I…’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I want you, yes. I have always wanted you. Right from the first moment I saw you, when I was scarce old enough to recognise what that kind of wanting was.’

For a moment, they both stood stock-still, gazing at each other hungrily. She didn’t think either one of them was breathing.

‘What woman with eyes in her head would not want you? You are…’ she waved her hand up and down, outlining his figure across the desk ‘…just gorgeous.’

He stood up straighter, grinning smugly.

‘Except,’ she said acidly, ‘for your inability to give a rap about anything but your own pleasure.’

That wiped the self-satisfied smile from his face.

‘What do you think it will be like for me, being hopelessly in love with a husband who is constitutionally unable to remain faithful? I will be miserable. No, worse than that, broken! Can’t you see, it will be much better for me to remain single?’

‘No. I cannot see that. You are condemning me without giving me a fair hearing. Give me a chance, sweetheart—’

‘Don’t you sweetheart me! You have already caused me to lose my job and my reputation. And what do you think it felt like, having to leave with the few belongings I could carry? And not even what I would have chosen to pack! How far did you think I would get with what few shillings I have in my purse?’

‘You’d be surprised how far you can get with hardly any coin at all, actually. I had a bet once, with a few fellows, to see who could travel the farthest on only two guineas and Wilbraham…’

It was the last straw. Could he take nothing seriously? She had opened her heart to him, and all he could do by way of response was to relate some tale about some bet he had made.

With a howl of rage, she reached for the nearest solid object that came to hand and shied it at him across the desk.

He ducked. It was only when the missile smashed against one of the shelves, spraying black liquid all over the books she’d just spent ages tidying, that she realised it had been the Reverend Colleyhurst’s inkwell.

She clapped her hands to her cheeks in horror.

‘Oh, look what you’ve made me do, you provoking man! I’ve probably ruined all those valuable books. And your coat,’ she wailed. ‘Your beautiful coat!’

A good deal of ink had spattered Lord Chepstow’s shoulder and the side of his face, and was dripping in great fat globs down his shirt front.

She knew, from the times she’d stayed in his home as a girl, how often Lord Chepstow visited his tailor and how large were the bills the man sent to him. The cost of replacing what she had just ruined would wipe out any earnings she might have made, had she remained a governess, for years and years.

She stared at him in horror. Not only at her inability to pay for the damage she’d done, but at her loss of control. She never lost control. At least, she never had, until the advent of Lord Chepstow into her life this last time.

It felt as though an abyss was yawning at her feet. She had comprehensively insulted Lord Chepstow. Turned down his marriage proposal in the most unflattering terms. And, as if that was not enough, had ruined a whole set of his expensive clothing.

In short, she must have persuaded him that marrying her would be a fatal mistake. He would leave now. And she would never see him again.

She was the biggest idiot alive. Against all the odds, he’d pursued her with the notion of making amends by offering to marry her. And what had she done?

Oh, what had she done?

Lord Chepstow was looking down the front of his coat, an expression of complete shock on his face. And then he raised his eyes to hers.

She buried her face in her hands. She could not bear to see those laughing eyes of his turn upon her in coldness. But what else could she expect? She had said such unforgivable things, even before she’d thrown the inkwell at his head.

But being Lord Chepstow, he did the very last thing anyone could have expected.

He burst out laughing.

She gave a little sob of relief and dared to look at him then. Wasn’t that just like him—to see the funny side of a situation that most men would have found infuriating?

Her heart turned over in her chest. He might be the most impulsive, self-indulgent creature in existence, but there was not a mean bone in his body.

‘Do you know, before I came here I vowed I would take whatever you chose to throw at me. But I never d-dreamed…’ he chortled ‘…that it would be an inkwell.’

‘You aren’t cross?’

‘How can I be cross?’ He rounded the desk, seized her hands and tugged her towards him. ‘You just admitted you want to marry me.’

‘Did you not hear a word I said?’

‘I heard you say you were hopelessly in love with me,’ he said, pulling her so close that when a drop of ink fell from his fringe it dripped on to her spectacles.

‘But I’m so afraid you will get bored with me. You will take up with your opera dancers again and it will break my heart…’

He removed her spectacles with a rueful smile.

‘How could I possibly ever grow bored with you?’

‘B-because I am so dull and…’

‘Dull? You? Not a bit of it.’ He reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. ‘Every time I stepped into your schoolroom something new and unexpected about you took me completely by surprise. I have only just started to discover the woman you are, underneath all that governessy starch you hide behind. It will take at least the rest of my life to understand you completely.’

‘There is nothing to understand. I love routine and order. And you,’ she said despairingly, ‘you crave adventure.’

‘No,’ he said thoughtfully as he wiped the lens clean. ‘I don’t crave it. This is how it is, sweetheart,’ he said, sliding the spectacles back onto her nose and putting his arms round her. ‘When my parents died so unexpectedly, the shock of it made me see what a precarious business life is. And then, you know, I was left in sole charge of an immense fortune. I could not see any point in being frugal with it, or living carefully, not when death could snatch it all away from me without a moment’s notice. I just wanted to live life to the full, squeeze every last drop of sensation from each and every hour, so that, if it did all come to an abrupt end, I would never regret not having got the most out of it. But I have never taken my pleasure at the expense of another’s happiness. What makes you think I would be unkind enough to take up with another woman, if I was lucky enough to have you to wife?’

‘I am sure you would never mean to be unkind, but…’

She gazed up into his eyes and saw nothing but complete sincerity. She felt a little bubble of hope rising. After all, he was claiming those jumbled words he’d uttered about marriage last night had really been his idea of a proposal—a genuine proposal—when she had been assuming all day that he would have laughed the whole thing off in the same way he’d laughed off the hurting of the inkwell. And he hadn’t noticed Lady Springfield, so he hadn’t talked about marriage because he’d felt coerced. Could he be in earnest?

Dare she believe in him?

But still… ‘The thought of living as you do scares me,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t want adventure or experience. I just want to feel…’

‘Secure,’ he said, nodding. ‘When you lost your parents, it had the opposite effect upon you, didn’t it, to what it had on me? Because along with your parents, you lost your security. And you have been desperately searching for it ever since. You try to make yourself feel safe by constantly warning yourself not to rely on anyone else. You don’t ever let anyone get close enough to hurt you.’

‘Th-that is…exactly what I do,’ she said in astonishment. ‘But how could you know that? How do you understand it, when I have never told anyone…?’

‘Because I’m not an idiot. I might behave in what you think is an idiotish manner at times, but I have a brain in my head. And when I choose to use it, I make some damned good choices. An idiot would have run through his fortune entirely, having it handed over to him the way I did, at such a young age and with no serious checks in place. But I didn’t. Oh, yes, I know you think I am an extravagant creature, but I have never…well, actually, I did outrun the constable just once or twice, at the very first,’ he admitted with a frown.

‘But then I remembered I was responsible for Pippa. I made very sure that her portion would always be safe. You might not think I was the ideal brother to her, but I never played fast and loose with her fortune. On the contrary, I invested it so wisely that by the time it came to her Season, she had a very healthy dowry to bring to her marriage. I’ve more than tripled my own fortune, too. Hah! Stunned you to silence at last!’

‘Yes, I…don’t know what to say…’

She gazed up at him dizzily. Her whole perception of him was turning upside down.

‘Just say you’ll marry me. You will never have to worry about a thing, ever again. I will keep you safe. Your security will be in bearing my name.’

‘S-safe,’ she repeated in a daze.

‘And free to discover yourself in a way you never have been before,’ he said in a silky smooth voice. ‘Come on, Honeysuckle, yield to temptation. I know you want to.’

She did want to…and not just because he was holding her in his arms. She had been alone for so long and he was saying she could finally belong to someone, in a way that far exceeded anything she had dared to let herself hope for.

Now that she knew him better, she was beginning to believe she really might be able to trust in him.

‘You make it sound so simple, but—’

‘I don’t want to listen to any more arguments,’ he said, realising he’d got as far as he could by that method. It was time to apply the sort of persuasion he knew she would not be able to resist.

Clasping her tightly, he kissed her for all he was worth.

He met with no resistance.

In fact, the moment his mouth met hers, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him back. And just like the night before, it felt as though they were both going up in flames.

He had never felt so immediately, painfully aroused in his life. He had to get her horizontal. Somewhere in the room there had to be a sofa, or, if not, it would have to be the hearthrug. How could she think he would ever grow bored with this? This instant, total conflagration that consumed everything in its path as it surged through them both?

He broke free from her greedy mouth just long enough to draw a quick breath and scan the room.

‘No,’ she moaned and speared her fingers into his hair, dragging his face back down to hers.

But he’d located what he needed. There was a sofa, albeit one with a tea tray inexplicably nestling amongst its cushions.

He backed her ruthlessly in its direction, while she went frantic, tunnelling her fingers under his waistcoat and yanking his shirt from his breeches, as though she would die if she didn’t get her hands on bare flesh.

He sympathised. Totally. With a groan, he swept her up into his arms, just long enough to get her legs up off the floor, then they landed on the sofa in a tangle of limbs to the sound of shattering crockery as he elbowed the tea tray aside.

Then he set about the buttons down the front of her gown. He had to free what felt like hundreds of little jet padlocks from their chains before he could push the material aside and get his hands on what he longed to feel: the soft mounds of her breasts, crowned with satisfyingly stiff nipples. Just the right size to fit into his palms. Though what he wanted, what he really wanted, was to taste them.

She whimpered when he started trailing kisses across her jaw and down her neck. When he pressed his lips just so, beneath her ear, her whole body arched up into him. He teased her there a little longer, then continued to his chosen destination, pushing her chemise aside…

She gasped, and shoved hard at his shoulders.

Damn, he hadn’t thought she would resist him, not at this point…

But then he heard it, too—the sound of footsteps in the hall, coming steadily closer.

‘It’s the vicar!’ Honeysuckle shrieked, rolling out from underneath him, scrambling to her feet and making for the far side of the room.

How on earth could she have heard the front door open and close, when all he’d been aware of was the thunder of his own heart beating?

He sat up and pushed his ink-sticky fringe out of his eyes.

He’d done some pretty outrageous things in his time, but he’d never been so swept away by passion that he’d almost ravished a virgin on a vicar’s sofa.

The virgin in question was shakily fastening her buttons up in all the wrong loops, whilst staring at the study door with an expression of complete panic.

And the wave of tenderness that swept through him explained it all: the fiery passion, the feeling of everything falling into place after he’d made that muddled proposal to her, the horror he’d experienced when he thought she might be in danger and, worse, the dread that he might never find her. That he might have to face the rest of his life alone.

Without her.

‘Honeysuckle,’ he said, ‘I have fallen completely, head over heels in love with you.’