Chapter 1

1794

The Duke of Westleigh’s Estate

“G et away from my damned falcon.”

Lady Perdita Briarwood was used to odd exchanges, but this was by far the strangest she’d experienced in all her life.

The low growl of the gentleman’s voice rumbled through the barn, shaking the cold air surrounding her. She looked from said beautiful falcon who peered at her with shockingly intense eyes to the owner of the voice.

He had shockingly intense eyes too.

It was a singular circumstance, being alone in a barn, right before the Christmas festivities were about to commence, with a deliciously handsome man and his bird of prey.

Now, all of this could be explained because of an errant rabbit.

The rabbit was quite a tricky fellow. Rabbits often were, and they were not always the most intelligent, nor did they always have good respect for the dangers of the world. The fluffy, hopping creatures would sometimes put their own safety at risk for the silliest of reasons. She had found the rabbit some weeks ago in dire straits. His tail had been taken by some predator in the forest on her brother’s estate, and he had received some deep cuts on his hind leg.

She had saved him, as she so often did with wounded creatures, and brought him back to the house. Patiently, she’d nursed him back to health. Her menagerie of animals had taken him in. There was no difficulty or violence amidst her collection of animals. From cat to fox to crow, to the occasional mouse, her presence always ensured a general peace. She couldn’t explain it, but there it was.

Her brothers’ and sisters’ children were rather obsessed with her collection of creatures. It was sometimes all she could do to make certain that her animals weren’t driven quite mad by the children, but children and animals did have a great deal in common, so she could not be angry with their curiosity. Instead, she fostered gentle respect in her nieces and nephews with their pudgy little hands that longed to grab.

Now, as to the rabbit, he sometimes did not get the respect he deserved, and this particular rabbit was a fool for love and a cuddle. No doubt, one of her nieces or nephews had taken him out onto the grounds of the estate, and he had hopped away, relying on the benevolence of the world.

Perdita was more than aware of the fact that the world was not benevolent. Not benevolent at all. And as she stood on the top rungs of the ladder that led to the hay loft of the barn, she felt a chill slide down her usually quite sturdy spine.

She had dealt with foxes with paws caught in traps. Dogs who had been beaten beyond repair. Cats who had faced battles and lost parts of their ears. She was no frightened person when it came to wounded creatures, but coming face to face with a falcon and a fellow? It was a rather remarkable experience.

She drew in a sharp breath and the scent of hay wafted towards her, as did the frozen wind whistling through the cracks of the old place. Other people might sneeze, but she was a creature of nature. The barn was full to the brim with feed. It had been packed in ready for winter to sustain the animals, but she had not expected to find a man in the hay loft when she had come looking for the rabbit. She recognized that a rabbit could not climb a ladder, but children could, and children sometimes did the strangest things.

Depositing a rabbit in the loft was certainly one of those potential things.

She gripped the top of the ladder and eyed the man. “I have no intention of touching the bird, sir. He is a wild thing, is he not?”

The man cocked his head to the side, his dark hair falling over his face, his eyes gleaming in the morning light.

His features were hard, but she recognized the look in his glinting eyes.

Wounded.

He was dressed, if not to perfection, then with a great deal of care, and all of his clothes were expensive. She put away any fears that some strange person had wandered onto the estate. She was quite accustomed to all sorts of people, just like she was accustomed to animals, but this person had certainly been born a gentleman. The tone of his voice revealed as much.

His cravat had been pulled out of its knot. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, hanging loosely, and she had no idea where his overcoat had gone. Fawn-colored breeches hugged his strong legs, and his boots somehow still shone in the dull light.

There was a signet ring on one of his fingers.

He sprawled along the hay-covered floor, propped up by one elbow, and yet he somehow seemed at attention, like a predator who could appear languid. But one understood that they could leap to attack at any particular moment.

“You must be one of my brother’s projects,” she said tightly.

“Who the devil are you?” he asked with far less decorum.

She cocked her head to the side. “Someone with better manners than you,” she teased.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Apologies for my rudeness. I had expected to be alone, and I wasn’t expecting to have a young lady come upon me in the barn.”

She waggled her brows at him, taking him exactly for what he was. A man who had seen too much and only knew how to protect himself by hiding away and being prickly. Just like any of the wounded creatures she found.

“Well, it is my barn,” she said.

“It is not,” he countered. “It is the Duke of Westleigh’s.”

She tsked. “How disappointing. Are we just going to deal in trivial, meaningless slight differences of phrase?”

His eyes narrowed.

“You see,” she explained patiently, for patience was a must with such types, “my brother is the Duke of Westleigh.”

The man let out a low groan. “Of course he is. I suppose I must be nice to you then.”

“Must you?” she asked. “Why?”

He snorted. “Because I am his guest.”

She smiled. “Well, it’s good to know that you are his guest and haven’t thrust your way upon his estate without invitation. Though I was certain you had not. Not at this time of year and with your accent and clothes. It seems rather incredible that someone like you wandered quite uninvited into our barn.”

He scowled at her. It was actually quite a delightful scowl. He did it very well, and she found herself growing intrigued. She’d always been fascinated by wounded animals, and there was absolutely no question in her mind that the man in the hay loft looking at her with such derision was suffering the effects of pain.

“Stay away from the bird,” he warned again. “He’s not nice.”

Perdita arched a brow. “Oh, rather like his master?” she teased.

The man did not appear amused.

“I am not his master. He is my…”

She cocked her head to the side, curious what he was about to say.

“Companion,” he finished.

“I have a companion,” she enthused. “A crow.”

A muscle tightened in his angled jaw. “Best keep them apart then. Crows and falcons do not care for each other.”

She gave a tight nod of her head. “It is true. They are natural enemies, alas.”

She would have to keep her crow away if the gentleman kept the falcon anywhere near the castle.

Still… One never knew.

She was good at uniting creatures. That was true. Frightened things liked her. They understood her, and she understood them. And for whatever reason, she could have prey and predator at her feet and neither would engage in behavior that was concerning. But she did not know how it might go with someone else’s animal.

She cleared her throat and ventured, “Why are you in the barn? If you are a guest of my brother, are you trying to decide if you shall turn hermit?”

He snorted again. An intriguing habit. “Hermit. That sounds marvelous.”

She let out a chagrined laugh. “Yes, sometimes I think so too, but it is not the lot of a young lady to be a hermit.”

“No,” he said softly. “It is not. Especially one like you.”

Her brows shot up. “One like me?”

He scowled. Again. He really did seem to have a narrow repertoire of facial expressions.

She grinned at him. “What a delightful set of muscles that move your face about. They make you look quite handsome when you look so dour.”

He scowled further. “You are quite handsome too,” he drawled. “Which I’m sure you know. You come from a great family, so you shall no doubt make a great marriage.”

She pursed her lips, considering this. “Yes, it’s very likely,” she agreed. “And I shall fall in love. It’ll be wonderful.”

At this, his scowl transformed into a look of absolute incredulity. “Love?” he echoed.

“Oh yes,” she said nodding, quite looking forward to it. “All Briarwoods fall in love.”

“You’ve been reading, haven’t you?”

She laughed, highly amused. People were always so afraid of young ladies reading. There had been quite a scare a few years ago when novels had become all the rage. “I do like books. Though not as well as some of my siblings or their spouses. I’m a creature of nature, if I must be honest.”

“Nature,” he said, “is far more trustworthy than people.”

“I heartily agree,” she replied. “Now, have you seen a rabbit?”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“A rabbit,” she affirmed. “The children in the house have taken the poor thing, and I’m trying to find him before he is attacked. But seeing your falcon here, I do find it rather doubtful that he could be here. But would you mind if I looked? Rabbits can be marvelous at hiding.”

He shoved himself up into a sitting position, resting his arms on his knees. “I have not seen any children. Not this morning.”

She dared to climb up another step. “Do forgive me, but it’s quite dangerous. Lingering on ladders.”

And just as she was about to put her foot over the last rung, her dratted skirt caught, and she started to tumble forward.

Though she was not amazed by his agility, she was still stunned by the speed at which he darted forward. He grabbed her before she could either fall flat on her face or have the misfortune of tipping backward and going all the way down to the barn floor.

“Thank you,” she wheezed, her heart in her mouth. “Very well done.”

He clung to her, his hands gripping her shoulders, holding her close. “I could never face your brother if you were to die in my company,” he said tightly.

Their bodies pressed against each other, her soft curves fitting precisely with his hard lines. His heat pressed through her clothes, and hers into his. His scent was of juniper and the woods surrounding her. And it was the most delicious experience she’d ever had.

Her body longed to melt into his. And much to her shock, she found a wicked crackle of desire travel through her body and make its way to the place between her thighs. It was a shocking and sudden ache. Perdita tilted her head back and gazed up at him.

“That’s very dramatic of you,” she whispered.

His dark hair tumbled over his forehead, and his eyes shone with hunger that had leapt to life in them. His hands still held her tightly to him as he growled, “It is not. Plummeting all the way down the ladder? You’d see your neck broken.”

“But what if I plummeted forward ?” she pointed out, rather hoping he might hold her in his arms forever.

“Are you always so optimistic?” he asked, his voice a low, intoxicating, gravelly whisper.

“Is there a point to being any other way?” she breathed.

“It’s a rather foolish way to live,” he returned. “When there is so much danger about.”

She bit her lower lip, wishing he would kiss her. Wishing that all the world would vanish, and they could do as it was clear both of their bodies longed to do.

“I could go about expecting danger around every corner,” she replied, barely able to think now, “being afraid and sad and depressed, but what a miserable life that would be. Don’t you think?”

He raked his gaze over her face, then lingered on her lips. The look in his eyes only burned greater, as if he was thinking exactly what he wished to do with her mouth. “It would be intelligent.”

“Oh dear,” she teased. “Have you just insulted my intelligence?”

His hands tightened on her arms. “I don’t know you, Lady…”

“Perdita,” she managed, taken aback by his power. If he wished, he could have his way with her here and now. But he wasn’t the sort. Of that, she could tell. Yet he seemed completely shocked by his feelings for her, hence the hold on her arms that was increasing. Was he losing control?

Did she wish him to? No. Because when he kissed her—and kiss her he would, of that she was certain—she wished him to do so with intention.

“I like my intelligence,” she added. “I like the way I live in the world. And you, sir, have quite a good grip.”

He jolted and his hands eased but did not slip away, as if he considered it his duty to keep her standing. “I suppose I do. Forgive me. How rude of me.”

“Not at all. Not at all.” She drew in a long breath which seemed to have quite an effect on him as her breasts did press through her clothes into his linen-clad chest. “I am deeply grateful to you.” She tilted her head to the side. “And your excellent muscles.”

His eyes widened at that. “You like my muscles, do you?”

She let her gaze wander over his shoulders and could not believe how the butterflies suddenly flitted about her insides. Was this how animals felt? Right when they felt the urge to…

She blinked rapidly. “How could I not? When you have done me such a good turn and so quickly too. Most gentlemen would not be able to move with the speed that you did. What alacrity. My hat is off to you.”

“You’re not wearing a hat,” he replied.

She groaned. “A literalist and a pessimist. Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Nothing, Lady Perdita,” he rumbled. “Nothing.”

But given the way she was suddenly feeling inside, nothing was the last thing she was going to do with him. No matter what he had to say. Because Perdita knew deep in her soul that this was who she had been waiting for.