One

Wiltshire countryside, England

Northeast of Bath and Bradford on Avon

September 5, 1815

Lady Adriana Sutton whirled through the gracefully arched portico of Randwulf Manor, spilling effervescent laughter over her shoulder as she deftly avoided the reaching hand of an eager young swain. In copying her lead, he had jumped down from his mount and raced after her in his zeal to catch her before she could dash up the stone steps and escape into the Jacobean mansion of her family's closest neighbors and friends. At her approach, the massive door was drawn open and, with quiet dignity, a tall, thin, elderly butler stepped aside to await her entrance.

"Oh, Harrison, you're positively a dear," Adriana warbled cheerily as she flitted through the spacious vestibule. Safely ensconcing herself in the hall beyond the steward, she spun about and struck a playfully triumphant pose for the benefit of her pursuer who came to a teetering halt at the threshold, causing her to lift a brow in curious wonder. As zealously as Roger Elston had dogged her heels in his nearly year-long quest toclaim her for his very own, even intruding when not invited, it seemed as if his dread of the late Lord Sedgwick Wyndham, the sixth Marquess of Randwulf, had actually intensified rather than abated in the months following the nobleman's death.

If there had been occasions when Lord Sedgwick had grown exasperated by the apprentice's impromptu visits, it certainly hadn't been the elder's fault, for Roger had seemed unusually tenacious in his endeavor to win her hand, as if that had been even remotely possible. His gall had reached amazing limits. Whenever formal invitations had been extended to select groups or close friends were enjoying private dinners with the Wyndhams or her own family, as long as she had been a participant, her single-minded admirer would present himself on some pretext or another, if only to speak with her for a moment or two. It made her rue the day she had ever yielded to his first unannounced visit to her own home at Wakefield Manor. Even after his audacious proposal of marriage, which her father had answered forthrightly by explaining that she was already committed, Roger had continued to chase her hither and yon.

As much as she had foreseen the need to issue a stern directive that would have permanently banished the apprentice from her presence, Adriana had not yet subdued the qualms that plagued her. At times, Roger seemed like such a lonely individual, clearly evincing his troubled youth. Whenever she came nigh to severing their association, she found herself inundated with reminders of all the helpless creatures that her lifelong companion, Samantha Wyndham, and she had once nurtured as children. To exhibit less compassion to a human being in desperate need of a little kindness had seemed inequitable in comparison.

"I do believe that dastardly fellow is afraid of you, Harrison," Adriana teasingly surmised, lifting her riding crop to indicate her boyishly handsome admirer. "His reluctance to confront such a man as yourself has plainly led to my advantage. If you hadn't opened the door when you did, Mr. Elston would've likely caught me and made me rue the fact that Ulysses and I left him and that paltry nag plodding along behind us again."

Although Roger had not been invited on their planned outing today, he had nevertheless shown up at Wakefield Manor just as her friends had arrived on horseback to join up with her and a recent female acquaintance. What else could she have done other than politely offer the man a mount? In spite of his awareness that she was obliged to another by a formal agreement her parents had signed years ago, Roger's perseverance seemed indefatigable, causing her to wonder if the man actually thought he could, by his own resolve, put to naught such a contract and win her hand.

In a guise of perplexity, Adriana gathered elegantly arched brows as she laid a slender finger aside her chin. "Still, as much as I've tried to rein in Ulysses, I fear he can't abide the sight of another steed racing ahead of him. He refuses to walk beside any of the geldings from our stables, as Mr. Elston can well attest by his efforts to keep up today. Indeed, I wouldn't be at all surprised if the gray considers it a personal affront to be associated with them. You know yourself, Harrison, that Lord Sedgwick used to complain fairly often about the stallion's indomitable spirit."

The steward's ephemeral grin hinted of a humor more often masked by a dignified mien. "Aye, my lady, that he did, but always with a twinkle of pride in his eye because of your ability to handle such a headstrong stallion. His lordship took enormous delight in boasting of your accomplishments to any who'd lend an ear. Why, he was just as proud of you as his own darling daughter."

Having been in the Wyndhams' employ for several decades, Harrison had a fine recollection of the Suttons' arrival at Randwulf Manor in a quest to show off their third and newest daughter. Slightly more than a score of years later, the lady now held claim to the affection of nearly everyone living on the premises. As for her riding skill, Harrison had heard enough praise from his late lordship to be conversant of the fact that the girl rode well enough to ruffle the pride of equestrians who considered their own talents unmatched. In view of her present companion's lack of experience in that area less than a year ago, it wasn't at all surprising that he continued to lose without fail. If anything, his defeats had strengthened his determination to succeed, to the degree that he usually fared better now than other participants in their spontaneous races. At least this time he had been nigh upon the girl's heels when she had darted through the doorway. But then, considering the long climb from the hitching posts to the manor, her pursuer's leaping strides had allowed him more of an advantage in the final moments of their contest.

"To be sure, my lady, no other steed has the heart to match the heroic efforts of the gray … or those of its spirited rider. Nevertheless, Mr. Elston does seem determined to catch you. Perhaps he will someday."

Long years of service had established Alfred Harrison as head steward of Randwulf Manor, in all aspects a rightly deserved position dutifully carried out with loyal dedication. In the presence of such a respected pillar of the household staff, Roger Elston did indeed feel uncomfortable barging into the manor. As much as he craved to have the lady for his own, he couldn't dismiss the fact that he was taking much upon himself by fraternizing with affluent aristocrats who had grown up with lofty titles and well-respected names. His impertinence had already tweaked the ire of a veritable legion of titled lords vying for the maiden's hand, but months ago he had decided the prize was clearly worth any altercation he'd be forced to surmount. Had not his own sire inherited a sizable woolen mill on the outskirts of Bradford on Avon and bade him to learn its management and the woolen trade, he would never have left the London orphanage wherein he had lived since he was nine and, for the last ten of his eight and ten years' residency there, served as a tutor. Truly, considering his less than humble circumstances, it was a miracle he was even allowed in their presence. If not for the Wyndhams' deep, long-abiding affection for Lady Adriana and their reluctance to embarrass her byquestioning the one who trailed in her footsteps, a man of his low estate would have been turned away at the door.

Sweeping off his hat, Roger drew himself up in stilted decorum and sought to claim the steward's attention, if only to remind the man he was awaiting an invitation to enter, but he froze in sudden prickling apprehension as his ears caught the low, muffled growls of the pair of aging wolfhounds that freely roamed the palatial manse and the grounds around it. Months ago, he had learned that when Leo and Aris were afoot, he was not always safe, whether in the house or the grounds around it. Indeed, the two seemed ever-eager to sink their sharp fangs into him. Even if the manners of the family members had always been above reproach, the same could not be said for their two pets.

Elaborately ornamented stonework clearly evidenced the artistry of talented masons of bygone eras in the fluted and festooned archways that on two levels and four sides set apart the enormous great hall located at the heart of the manor from the elegantly vaulted passageways that surrounded it. Two of these corridors began at the vestibule, which was itself spacious enough to accommodate a throng of people. From the entrance, the hallways on both the north and south sides almost traversed the entire length of the manor. The expansive great hall, which they buttressed, was typical of those built in ancient castles, where trestle tables, replete with thronelike chairs, provided dining reminiscent of the Middle Ages. The southernmost corridor offered access to the drawing room, at the door of which the lady and the butler had paused to talk. Just beyond that massive chamber, stone archways similar to those encompassing the great room defined the boundaries of the gallery. The library with its handsomely paneled door was immediately adjacent to it. At the end of the passage was a pair of deeply etched crystal doors that led to the enormous, glass-paned conservatory presently glowing with the reflected radiance of the afternoon sun.

The rumbling growls could have come from any of these areas on the south end of the manse, yet the open stone archways bordering the gallery made it completely accessible to the hounds. It was also a room where the pair could often be found basking in the warm maze of fragmented sunlight.

Cautiously Roger craned his neck as he tried to see into the gallery, though from where he stood it was impossible to view the interior of the room. But then, even had he been standing directly in front, the stained-glass windows lining the exterior wall would have made it difficult for him to ferret out the wolfhounds. Framed within elegantly arched stone casings similar to those on the opposite side of the room, the vividly hued windows presented an impressive collection of artistic memorials. Among ancestors honored for their valiant contributions to the Wyndhams' legacy were battle-garbed knights immortalized for their separate acts of courage, several ladies for their righteous causes, and a gentlemanly scholar holding an olive branch. Yet, in seasons stretching from the advent of winter until the coming of summer, the sun cast its rays upon the leaded panes from mid-afternoon nigh to the approach of dusk, causing strangely distorted configurations of multicolored shafts of radiance to flood into the room, doing much to confuse the eye and muddle the senses of the beholder. It was nearly three in the afternoon now, and already there was a riotous blaze of vibrantly hued streaks stretching as far away as the great hall.

Roger blamed his sudden dizziness on the variegated brilliance imbuing the corridor rather than his own swiftly palpitating heart, but he had cause to reflect upon a possible error in his reasoning when he found himself meeting evilly glinting eyes amid the dazzling array of sunlit colors. Beneath those piercing orbs, sharp, white fangs were bared in fixed snarls. The threat was obvious … and immensely terrifying; any moment now the huge beasts might decide to rush upon him and close their steely jaws on his legs or arms, if not his throat. They only awaited some menacing gesture to incite them to attack. For that reason, Roger dared not twitch a brow.

Incredible as it began to seem as the moments flew past, theanimals remained rigidly poised for battle where they stood, as if some magical potion had transformed them into two granite effigies, which to Roger's regret he could not trust to remain stationary beyond a second's passage of time. In spite of their frozen posture, their hackles now formed distinct ridges along their backs, conveying their unwavering distrust of him or anyone else they loosely regarded as an outsider … except that in this case they had taken up what had every appearance of being a protective stance on either side of a tall, uniformed officer who was standing in the passageway near the far end of the gallery. The fact that he was leaning heavily on a cane indicated that he was just another wounded participant from their war with France, perhaps even from the more recent battle of Waterloo or the subsequent skirmishes still raging in that foe's country. From what could be roughly ascertained, the fellow had been halted by the lady's arrival in the manor, for his slowly exacting perusal seemed riveted entirely upon her.

No reasonable explanation could be found for the wolfhounds' acceptance of this newcomer, at least none to which Roger was privy. Stalwart loyalty of the sort he was now witnessing was normally reserved for the immediate family, as had frequently been demonstrated by the dogs' fierce devotion to the late lord. Roger had oft suspected and yet had never found viable proof to privately convict the marquess of abetting the hostility of his pets in order to deter the many suitors seeking Lady Adriana's attention. Prior to Lord Sedgwick's illness and death, the hopefuls had been wont to descend in droves on the neighboring country estates of Randwulf and Wakefield in their eagerness to be anywhere within close proximity to Adriana Sutton. Not only was the lady breathtakingly beautiful, but perhaps of more interest to some than to others was the fact that, upon her marriage, her groom would become the recipient of a dowry generous enough to greatly elevate his status from pauper to fortunate gentleman.

The hounds had belonged to the nobleman, after all, and if Lord Sedgwick had been of such a mind, he could've easilyencouraged their aggression. Although outwardly he had seemed pleasantly amused by the gallants who had found themselves genuinely besotted with the lady, he had once decreed his own son should marry the lady, which in Roger's mind had seemed reason enough for the elder to use crafty subterfuge in allowing the dogs to frighten off lovesick swains.

It was still a mystery to Roger why the hounds tolerated the servants, though some came and went, unless their uniforms somehow set them apart from visitors and strangers in the dogs' minds. Having nurtured as many aspirations as the rest of Lady Adriana's admirers, Roger had followed her to Randwulf Manor on more than a score of occasions, and had concluded that Leo and Aris bestowed upon her alone the same affection they extended to family members. Bearing that in mind and considering the dogs' intolerance for outsiders, Roger was more than a little curious as to what connection this officer had to those living in the manor.

Unable to bring to mind any definite memory of such a man from previous visits to the mansion, Roger was put to task to figure out precisely who this newcomer was. If merely an acquaintance or a distant relative of the family, then why would the dogs accept him so readily? As perplexing as that question was, Roger couldn't shake the impression that he had seen the officer somewhere before or at least someone who bore a close resemblance to him. Such a face was unforgettable. It had all the characteristics he had come to envy: strong, noble features and a handsomeness significantly more manly than his own fine, good looks, which in recent years he had begun to suspect would remain annoyingly boyish far into the future. Although he had recently passed his twenty and seventh birthday, he was continually vexed by people who mistook him for a stripling lad.

If the officer was indeed a guest in the house, Roger had to mentally revile the air of authority the man conveyed, which no doubt stemmed from a haughty attitude or perhaps even his military rank. He certainly couldn't have commanded respectmerely by his length of years. At the most, he looked no more than thirty and five.

The stranger's imposing presence seemed highly inappropriate in the late marquess's home. Having elevated a dark brow to a lofty height in some exasperation with the elderly butler, who at the moment seemed oblivious to everything but his own animated conversation with the lady, the officer gave every indication that he was expecting an introduction to the maid, as if he had some indubitable right to receive one. Perhaps, like his predecessors, he had become enthralled by her uncommon beauty, a premise that ofttimes had sorely nettled Roger's mood when he found himself in the midst of her audience of aristocratic suitors.

Who the devil was this chap anyway?

That question was swept from conscious thought as Roger was jostled aside by the late lord's only daughter. After falling well behind during their afternoon race, Samantha Galia Wyndham Burke had only just now arrived at her family's country estate. Much in the manner of her closest friend, she seemed playfully intent upon eluding the man who had given chase, in this case her sandy-haired husband of nearly two years. In tossing a quick glance over her shoulder, she found him closing the distance between them at a rapid pace.

Perceval Burke's height and long, leaping strides definitely gave him an advantage in his pursuit. Amid squeals of laughing protest, he gathered his wife in the crook of an arm and, with a devious chuckle, swept her around to face him. "Now I have you, my lovely."

Dragging off her bonnet, Samantha peered up at her handsome husband through long, silky lashes as the corners of her soft lips curved coyly. "Should I believe I am in danger, sir?"

Sandy brows arched diabolically above gleaming blue eyes. "The worst kind, I fear."

In sweetly contrived contrition, Samantha lowered her gaze as her gloved fingers toyed with the buttons of his suede waistcoat. Even so, her lips seemed inclined to twitch as she strove to restrain her merriment. "I suppose I must pay penance."

"Aye," her husband murmured huskily, squeezing her arm. "I shall see to it without delay upon our arrival home."

The entrance of the third couple was considerably more dignified than the previous two. For some time now, Major Lord Stuart Burke had been hindered by a particularly painful wound, which he had received in the left buttock during the Battle of Waterloo. Yet his courtliness remained above reproach. Having drawn within his accommodating arm the daintily gloved hand of Miss Felicity Fairchild, a young, immensely fetching newcomer to the small nearby town of Bradford on Avon, Stuart escorted her into the great hall with all the gallantry of an officer and a gentleman, while she, with small, mincing steps and demure little smiles, glided along beside him.

Greatly encouraged by the arrival of the couples, Roger followed in their wake and sought to fortify his entrance further still by the example Perceval had set. Daring much, he dashed toward Adriana with every hope of catching her unaware, for if there was one thing at which he excelled, it was his speed and maneuverability. Having had to fend for himself and his mother amid the squalor of London streets prior to her death and his internment in an orphanage, he had learned the necessity of being swift at a very early age. It had either been that or have the stolen food stripped from his grasp by officials, an incident that had usually ended in a magistrate determining the fate of the thief.

The briskly advancing repetition of metal striking marble immediately claimed Adriana Sutton's attention. Recognizing it as a sound that normally accompanied Roger's every footfall, she glanced around in some surprise. It was as she had feared: The rascal was coming toward her with all possible speed.

In spite of the destructive and painful havoc the metallic wedges had wreaked upon her slippers and feet in the past, Adriana was far more dedicated to the idea of keeping the apprentice at bay. An unwed maid, she would allow no man the same familiarity Perceval had recently evidenced with hiswife. She had yet to find any man that engaging. However disappointed she had been earlier to find herself once again in the company of Roger Elston, she could not bring herself to discomfit him by demanding a halt to his antics in the presence of her highborn friends. Her mother had never been one to abide rudeness of any sort, even when it was bestowed upon one who frequently forced his company on others.

Challenged to defeat the purposes of her indomitable suitor, Adriana spun away from Harrison with a well-feigned, light-hearted laugh, managing by a narrow margin to avoid Roger's outstretched hand. Dedicated to the idea of staying out of the apprentice's reach (as much as he would have had it otherwise), she continued her whirling dervish past the first several archways of the gallery, vaguely aware of Leo and Aris scurrying out of her way. Immediately on the heels of their flight, a wooden object rattled to the floor and then skittered across the marble somewhere ahead of her, making her wonder what the animals had inadvertently sent flying. She was just thankful she hadn't heard an accompaniment of shattering glass. The metallic clacking, which had been nigh upon her heels, ceased abruptly as the hounds leapt from the gallery, where they had briefly sought refuge, into the hallway behind her, forestalling the apprentice's advance. As for what the animals had actually overturned, Adriana's curiosity went unappeased, for in the very next instant she came to a mind-jarring halt against an obstacle firmly rooted in her path, giving her cause to wonder if a tree had suddenly sprouted to soaring heights in the passageway. Taking into account her dazed senses, the notion seemed justifiable as she reeled away haphazardly.

The threat of falling seemed imminent as her booted toe struck the decorative molding at the bottom of an Italianate ornamented archway. Or was it a wickedly twining root over which she stumbled?

In the next instant, a long limb stretched forth from the seemingly oaken structure and clamped about her waist in an unyielding vise. Before her wits had time to clear, she was swept full length against a solid structure, which seemed farmore human than any tree could have come close to duplicating. Once upon a time, she had plowed into her family's portly cook in her haste to escape to the stables. The experience had been much like landing upon a pillow, a memory that now convinced her that whatever the nature of the one who currently imprisoned her, one fact was certain: The form was definitely not of feminine origin!

Lady Adriana Elynn Sutton had grown up in her family's ancestral home no more than a hundred furlongs away, the youngest of three female offspring and, from her earliest years, a companion and close confidant of Samantha Wyndham. Although in many respects she had always been her father's darling, she had nevertheless caused her mother and sisters untold hours of despair. Not only was she dissimilar in appearance from the three, being tall, ebon-eyed, and dark-haired like her handsome sire, but in a variety of other ways too numerous to mention.

Her mother, Christina, was the quintessence of a lady who had tried to sculpt her three daughters in the very same mold. To some degree she had been successful. The elder two, Jaclyn and Melora, had heeded their parents' counsel and, when it met their mood, could convey a genteel demeanor that observers found both pleasing and attractive, to the extent that Jaclyn was now married, living near London, and the mother of two children. Melora, the second born, was not long from being wed. Adriana, on the other hand, had given every indication that she had been cast from an entirely different mold. Her siblings had even suggested that she was more like her paternal aunt than the family could bear.

Except for a contract of courtship and betrothal that had left her uncertain as to her future, Adriana considered herself as yet uncommitted and wasn't at all eager for that circumstance to change. She was reluctant to assume lofty airs for the benefit of high-ranking guests and, in her mother's opinion, had even seemed rebellious at times when, instead of donning her finest gowns, she'd appear before their visitors in riding attire, offer gracious excuses with enchanting smiles, and then flitout the door in a dizzying flash before any had the inclination to object.

Unquestionably her equestrian abilities ranked among the best in the area, especially when she rode the proud Andalusian stallion her father had had imported from Spain especially for her. But to achieve such skill as an accomplished rider, she had dedicated herself relentlessly to hours of training, something her fainthearted siblings had been disinclined to do soon after discovering they were not always safely ensconced in a sidesaddle. A tumble or two had made them keenly aware of that fact and abruptly turned their interests toward more ladylike activities.

Her mother had fretted untold hours over the tomboyish ways of her youngest offspring, who had proven far more adventuresome than her siblings, not only while racing Ulysses across the rolling fields or sending him flying over steep hurdles, but in her avid fascination with archery and firearms. Under her sire's doting tutelage, she had acquired a keen eye for both and, from a goodly distance away, especially with the Ferguson rifle he had bestowed on her, could take down a stag or some other game to relieve the monotony of the fare served at the family table or to deliver dressed-out portions to people in need, most often to a couple who had taken in a dozen or more orphans. It was the opinions of her tutors that her doting sire had found most satisfying, however. According to those worthy scholars, Adriana Sutton had an intellect keen enough to be envied by many a learned gentleman.

In spite of such lauding praises from her instructors, her lack of certain accomplishments had earned sharp disapproval from her dainty, green-eyed, flaxen-haired sisters, a condemnation greatly strengthened by the fact that she was totally lacking any skill with a needle. She was especially loath to sing or play the harpsichord, at which both Jaclyn and Melora excelled. She was also fairly selective in extending her friendship to those of her own gender, for she couldn't endure twittering little gossips who were forever whispering snide comments in others' ears about this or that young lady whojust happened to be more appealing than the little tale-mongers. It seemed deplorable to her sisters that she had far more gentlemen friends than feminine companions. "Why, what would people think?" they complained. Yet, inexplicably (definitely to those who frowned on her flawed, ofttimes unladylike behavior), Adriana Sutton had been much favored by the late Marquess of Randwulf, his family, and their loyal servants, many of whom had watched her grow from a painfully thin chit to an intriguingly beautiful young lady.

Now, here she was, caught in an unyielding vise that, by rights, should have made her hackles rise. At the moment, however, she was experiencing some difficulty in discerning reality from illusion. Under the circumstances, Adriana thought she had had every right to entertain the whimsical notion that a tree had taken root in the hall, for the towering form against which she had been swept left her inundated with impressions of a steely oak. The smoothly draped black skirt of her modish riding habit and its short, double-breasted Spencer jacket of forest-green velvet, fashionably set off by a creamy-hued jabot, seemed insufficient protection against the stalwart frame, for she had cause to wince within the unyielding embrace of the one who clasped her so tightly.

In a sudden, peevish attempt to push herself away and regain her dignity, she was relieved to find the man's arms falling away. Upon reclaiming her freedom, she sought to retreat farther still from the fellow. Alas, her effort to escape fell far short of her expectation, for in backing away, she stepped on a stick or some other long, wooden object, which promptly slid forward beneath her booted foot, throwing her completely off balance. Her arms flayed wildly about in a frantic attempt to catch herself as the man reached for her. In desperation she clutched the first thing that came within proximity to her hand, the waist of the finely tailored red coat. Even then, her feet seemed to twist beneath her. The sole of her boot slipped, making her lose what little equipoise she had gained. Her frantic gyrations to recover her aplomb ended abruptly when her right thigh slammed into the manly loins. Her victim seemed tochoke from her haphazard assault, but that was hardly the end of her disgrace. Her skirts rode nigh up to her knee as her left leg slid down the outer side of a hard, muscular limb, seemingly with the same intent as a skinning tool. It was difficult to determine who winced more from her outlandish feats, the officer or herself. Adriana only knew the inside of her leg felt as if it had been scraped raw after skimming down the man's smoothly tailored white wool breeches. If any wrinkle had existed in his trousers, she had no doubt she would've been the first to discover it.

Diligently she sought to regain her modesty as well as her dignity as she strove to unmount the iron-thewed thigh, but, as much as she tried, she couldn't ignore the fact that her softer parts felt sorely abused. Considering her discomfort, she had reason to doubt that she'd be able to grit out a smile, much less laugh at her own clumsiness. She could only wonder in agonized reflection what havoc she had reaped upon the man.

"I'm sorry …," she began, blushing hotly as she endeavored to hide her burgeoning chagrin and distress. She feared her pantaloons had cut creases where previously there had been none. "I didn't mean—"

"Never mind," the officer strangled out. The tendons in his cheeks fairly snapped as he struggled for control. His arm came around her waist once again, and he lifted her easily, shifting her weight off his thigh before settling her feet safely to the floor between his own shiny black boots.

Still struggling to surmount his manly discomfort, the officer closed his eyes and bent his head forward to await its ebbing, allowing Adriana to catch a vague scent of his cologne. Mingled with an underlying essence of soap and an equally indistinct trace of the fine, costly wool of his uniform, the pleasantly aromatic bouquet drifted upward into her nostrils, and twined tantalizingly through her senses. Adriana had never in her life experienced the like of such strangely provocative stirrings. Indeed, the manly fragrance seemed far more intoxicating than a glass of port on a warm evening. As difficult as it proved to be, she sought to lend her attention towhat she was actually seeing rather than the warmly titillating ambience through which she had just drifted.

Another painful grimace evidenced the man's continuing discomfort, tightening chiseled features and compressing well-formed lips as he endured the torment in silence. Stoic-faced, gentlemanly decorum didn't seem at all conducive to abating his pain, however, for with a softly muttered apology he reached down between them beneath the protective shroud of her skirts.

Adriana made the mistake of glancing down before it dawned on her just what he was doing, gingerly readjusting the torpid fullness defined by his narrow-fitting breeches. Just as quickly, a breathless gasp was snatched from her throat, and her eyes went chasing off. She suffered through an endless moment of excruciating embarrassment as she tried diligently to banish from mind what she had just seen and to keep her thoughts firmly fixed on logical matters, such as the reason for this officer's presence at Randwulf Manor. Yet it was impossible to ignore the heat creeping into her cheeks. It certainly didn't help that she felt much like a ship adrift in some strange sea halfway around the world.

Purposefully, Adriana focused her gaze within an area no higher than closely cropped, dark brown hair and no lower than broad shoulders adorned with gold epaulettes affixed to the blazing red fabric of his military blouse. It seemed the only way she could keep her thoughts well in line with what was proper for an untried maid, but she never in her life imagined the alluring quintessence of masculinity could be embodied so completely in just one man.

In the midst of a handsome arrangement of chiseled features, darkly translucent gray eyes were now thankfully devoid of pain, at least enough to communicate some evidence of humor above a waywardly charming grin. Still, white teeth, as perfect as any she had seen in many a year, seemed far too bright to allow for sober reflection. Neatly clipped sideburns accentuated crisply chiseled bones beneath sun-bronzed cheeks. Poorly suppressed amusement momentarily compressed manly groovesthat formed deep channels on either side of his mouth. Any woman would've stared in admiration at the intriguing results that perhaps had evolved through the years from simple dimples. Yet those indentations troubled Adriana, for they seemed to pluck at fibers long entrenched in her memory, as if strumming some tantalizingly evasive tune she had heard ages ago but now had difficulty bringing clearly to mind. If some faint recollection of those devilish creases actually did exist, then surely it was no recent memory and in all probability had been relegated to the dark, fathomless depths of her brain, where she could imagine such thoughts and remembrances of forgotten years were now moldering from disuse.

"Considering the discomfort we have shared in this past moment," the officer murmured in a warmly hushed tone meant for her ears alone, "I think I should at least know the name of such a captivating companion before another calamity befalls us … Miss …?"

The warmly mellow tones of her captor's voice were imbued with a rich quality that seemed to vibrate through her womanly being. To Adriana's amazement, the sound evoked a strangely pleasurable disturbance in areas far too private for an untried virgin even to consider, much less invite. As evocative as the sensations were, she didn't know quite what to make of them. They seemed almost… wanton. But then, the image that had recently been scored into her brain had undoubtedly heightened her sensitivity to wayward imaginings. If not for the man's sterling good looks, she'd still be struggling to drag her musings away from his loins.

"S-Sutton," she stammered, and could have groaned in chagrin at the clumsiness of her tongue. Her present failure to articulate clearly could in no wise have been due to any painful bashfulness suffered in the presence of men, for hardly a month passed without some new request for her hand being addressed to her or her father. If anything, those pleas had become rather hackneyed, solidifying her disinterest while she awaited some news of the one to whom she had been promised.

Prior to this day in history, she had considered the darkly handsome Riordan Kendrick, Marquess of Harcourt, without equal among those who had petitioned her father. Riordan had definitely seemed the most charming, and although his persistence hadn't equaled Roger's, she definitely counted that a point in his favor. Indeed, his manners were suave and polished. Yet, she couldn't recall a time wherein she had been so completely awed by Riordan's shining black eyes as she was now by the thickly lashed, luminous gray depths presently sparkling with amusement above her own. She hadn't seen eyes like that since …

"Sutton?" A well-defined eyebrow jutted sharply upward in what could only have been astonishment. A sort of incredulous awe seemed to spread over the officer's features as he looked her up and down. Still, he seemed hampered by lingering doubt as he thoughtfully canted his head and peered at her more closely. As much as he searched her face, it was as if he just couldn't believe what he had heard or, for that matter, was actually seeing. "Not… Lady … Adriana Sutton?" At her cautious nod, his grin deepened by nearly the same astonishing degree his arm tightened, crushing her soft bosom against the unyielding hardness of his broad chest. "My goodness, Adriana, you've become thoroughly enchanting in your maturity. Never in a thousand years would I have dreamt that one day you'd be so utterly ravishing."

At this questionable familiarity and praise, Adriana suffered through another scorching blush. Whoever this stranger was, he had somehow gained knowledge of her name. But that hardly put to flight her own confusion or her discomfort. Considering the intensity of his embrace, she feared her ribs would crack beneath the strain. She suffered little doubt that her breasts would be tender for days to come merely from his painfully constricting clinch. She just wondered how the fellow would react if she adjusted them beneath his very nose.

Perhaps the officer had passed too long a time in the company of fighting men and had forgotten that a gentleman didn't clasp a lady as tenaciously as he seemed wont to do, but Adriana had every intention of instructing him in the error of his ways. Though she had earlier shunned the idea of chiding the apprentice in front of witnesses, this man didn't seem the least bit hindered by a retiring nature, certainly not after he had made use of her blanketing skirts. On the contrary, she wondered if she had ever met a bolder man.

"Please, sir! Kindly release me and allow me to breathe! I can promise you that you're not confronting the enemy here in this place!"

A soft, amused chuckle issued forth from the officer, but it wasn't until her toes actually touched the floor that Adriana realized he had swept her, with uncommon ease, off her feet. It wasn't his physical prowess that astounded her as much as the fact that he was so tall. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her own father and Riordan Kendrick were tall men, yet there had only been one other she had known who could have equaled this officer's height, and that had been the late Sedgwick Wyndham.

"Dearest Adriana, please forgive me," the man murmured, making no attempt to curtail his grin. Casually he glanced aside and accepted with a murmur of thanks the fine, black, silver-handled walking stick the elderly steward handed back to him. Then his eyes gleamed once again into hers. "I certainly didn't mean to distress you by my failure to heed gentlemanly manners, but I'm afraid I forgot myself in my eagerness to renew our acquaintance. When I saw you talking with Harrison, I was hoping for an introduction, but I never imagined for an instant that I already knew you."

Dearest Adriana! Renew our acquaintance! Already knew you!Was the man making overtures?

Of a sudden, Adriana found the officer's brazenness too much to bear. Cheeks aflame, she spun away, snapping her skirts about with enough force to whip them across the tops of his highly polished black boots as well as his costly walking cane, the end of which he had braced on the floor. She could only believe that instrument had created their difficulty in the first place. It would probably prove just as valuable as a chastening rod should she decide to take offense at the man's audacity and lay it over his fine head.

Only when she had halted the length of one archway away did Adriana dare face the officer again. She did so quite saucily, flipping her skirt about once more before freeing it and lifting her chin in an attitude of haughty displeasure.

The officer's lips widened leisurely into a rakish grin as his gaze ranged over her. Though she had been leered at any number of times while strolling along the streets of Bath with her paternal aunt or with her sister in London, this was an entirely different matter. Those warmly glowing gray orbs gave her cause to wonder if his expression would have changed even remotely had she been standing before him entirely naked. Indeed, she could almost swear from the way he was looking at her that he had designs upon her person and was already portioning off the areas where he would begin his manly seducement.

The gall of him!she thought in rising ire and readied her tongue to flay the hide off this one who had proven himself no gentleman.

"Sir, I must protest!"

A second or two passed before it dawned on Adriana that the words had not issued forth from her lips, but from Roger Elston's, of all people. Taken aback, she glanced around to find him stalking toward them with lean features contorted by rage. The way his hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists, he seemed ready to confront the man, with fisticuffs if need be.

The wolfhounds had plopped themselves down on the floor near the stranger's feet, but when they became aware of Roger's advancing presence, they leapt to their feet with a fierce barking that sundered the confused blend of curious questions that had been evoked from the other occupants of the hall. Glinting eyes and evilly bared fangs left little doubt that the dogs would attack if Roger advanced but one step closer. The threat was enough to bring him to a stumbling halt.

Roger had never noticed any trace of frailty in the physicalprowess of either canine during his previous visits to Randwulf Manor, though both Aris and Leo were at an age of ten and eight years. Regretfully, he detected none now. The prime condition of both animals had made him grateful for those far too rare occasions when, for some reason or another, they had been left behind during the equestrian outings of family members and their many friends. More times than he cared to recall, however, the inseparable pair had been encouraged to race alongside their mounts. In most cases, they had dashed far ahead to scout out the brush or hilly terrain in their eagerness to sink their fangs into larger animals or else gobble up the smaller ones, depending on what they discovered.

Roger had found himself facing a similar threat the first time he had followed Adriana to Randwulf Manor. The hounds had rushed upon him, barking so ferociously that she had been forced to intervene lest they rend his flesh. On later occasions, he had seen her calm the animals with softly scolding tones, doing much to solidify the premise that the huge beasts adored her as much as any member of the Wyndham family. Her proximity usually bolstered his confidence, but at the moment the lady was staring agog at the pair, as if unable to believe they'd leap to the fore in defense of a perfect stranger. Except he wasn't a stranger.

Months ago, Roger had been brought brutally to the full realization of his paltry lineage. Such an occurrence had taken place soon after he had arrived in his quest to be with Adriana. He had not been the only one who had come for such a purpose. Nearly a dozen other gallants had been just as bold. Later, the lot of them had gathered in the Wyndhams' drawing room, where, during the course of their tête-à-tête with Samantha, her family, and other acquaintances, Roger had become increasingly mindful of the vast array of portraits adorning the walls. An impressive collection of faces evidenced the very handsome and distinguished line from whence the Wyndhams had descended. In an attempt to appease not only a curiosity about nobles in general, but specifically those related by blood to his host, Roger had carefully studied each likeness.

One painting in particular, a full-length oil of Sedgwick Wyndham himself, standing majestically beside the very same fireplace over which the portrait now hung, had taken precedence over all the rest, lending largely to Roger's burgeoning disquiet. The portrait, painted less than two decades ago, had not only affirmed the striking good looks of his lordship at an age of about forty or so, but also the youthful fitness of the pair of wolfhounds.

No one after meeting the marquess could have lightly dismissed the ability of the artist, for the latter had painted his subject with incredible accuracy, to the extent that even now, many years later, people were still held captive by the darkly lucent gray eyes that seemed to sparkle back at them from the canvas. The refined visage, captured for generations to come, was so strikingly handsome that an ordinary man could easily feel insignificant in comparison.

Still, whatever feelings were normally stirred within the breasts of those gazing upon the portrait seemed as naught when compared to the emotions that had occasionally been elicited in the actual presence of his lordship. It was as if those darkly translucent orbs had had the ability to see the innermost secrets of a man's heart and, more disturbingly, to turn one's focus inward. Roger had likened such an experience to peering into the intricate mechanisms of one's own character. Thereafter, he had hated Lord Randwulf for what he had been able to discern about himself, not the least of which was the bleakness of his own aspirations. Adriana ranked among the nobility, an earl's daughter, no less. She was at ease and content within the realm of the landed gentry, and yet Roger, aware of the fate looming over him if he failed to win her, had dismissed the restrictions of his common birth in his strengthening desire to have her for himself.

Now, here he was again, no longer confronting the handsomely aging marquess, but one who bore a striking resemblance to the elder. A rapidly intensifying gloom grew apace with his heightening perception of just who this visitor was. As fervently as Roger yearned to deny the likelihood, the similarity between father and son was too great. The heir of the late lord had finally, at long last, returned home, perhaps to claim his marquessate and, with it, no doubt, the hand of Adriana Sutton. What man in his right mind could long reject a woman of such exquisite beauty … or a dowry large enough to stagger a pauper's wits?

Beneath the piercing challenge of the officer's sharply inquisitive stare, above which a dark brow had been arched condescendingly, Roger yearned to vent several insulting epithets, if for no other reason than to convey his own mounting frustration at the injustice of one who was already wealthy being able to claim the rich dowry that would come to him through marriage to the Lady Adriana. Yet, with the wolfhounds braced to attack, Roger could not find the courage to do anything more than retreat behind a huge, potted plant occupying the nearest archway bordering the great hall.

Adriana could find no plausible explanation for what she had just witnessed. Indeed, she had to wonder what madness had taken hold of the animals. They absolutely abhorred outsiders. Even with frequent visitors, they were disinclined to make friends, as had oft been evidenced by their refusal to accept Roger as anything less than an enemy. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, they seemed motivated to defend this uniformed officer, whom she could only believe was some distant kin of the family. If a stranger, she had no idea what mission he was on.

It was Samantha who put the mystery to flight when she seemed to awaken from a daze and, with an ecstatic shriek, ran toward the officer. "Colton! Dear brother, is it really you?"

Before the man had a chance to reply, Samantha reached her own conclusions and threw herself into his arms, nearly choking him in her enthusiasm. This time he managed to retain possession of his cane as he embraced his sister in return. A full moment passed before Samantha relaxed her stranglehold and, with a jubilant laugh, leaned back against a steely arm. Equally oblivious to the angry resentment with which Roger Elston was presently trying to cope and the emotional upheaval that had nearly buckled the knees of Adriana Sutton, who all but gaped at the officer, Samantha could only revel in her own spiraling joy, hardly able to believe that her brother had finally, at long last, come home.

Reaching up, Samantha clasped his sturdy arms and sought without success to shake them. Undeterred, she declared gaily, "Oh, Colton, I hardly recognized you. Why, you must have grown taller by half a head in the years you've been gone! I never once imagined that you'd be as tall as Papa. You look so … so … mature, or should I say more truthfully, so very handsome and distinguished?"

Adriana closed her mouth, realizing her jaw had plummeted to a depth that equaled her shock. Though it was difficult to do anything more than gawk at the new Marquess of Randwulf, a man to whom she had been pledged ere her seventh birthday, she searched the manly features for some hint of the youth she had once known. Years ago, their respective parents had made every effort to convince the lad of the judiciousness of the contract his father had proposed, but at the age of ten and six, James Colton Wyndham had been no less than adamant in his refusal to consider their future courtship and betrothal and had departed, never to be seen again until this very day. Adriana would have felt vindicated if in his maturity he had been as hideous as a warthog. Instead, she was struck with a sense of awe at the changes that had occurred since he had taken leave of Randwulf Manor. As a lad, Colton had proven time and again that he had had a mind and a will of his own, and after so many years, Adriana had begun to think, as his sister had, that he would never return. Now, at an age of thirty and two years, he was no longer a youth, but a man in every sense of the word.

It was a simple fact that Colton Wyndham was far more magnificent in his maturity than he had ever been in his youth. Indubitably he was now taller, stronger, heavier, and incredibly more handsome and virile. With noble features, crisply wrought cheekbones handsomely defined by bronzed skin and striking indentations, a lean, straight nose, and darkly lashed gray eyes as translucent as a moonlit pool in a heavy glade, henow possessed the refined, aristocratic good looks that could make any maiden pine for want of him. No wonder she had fancied herself in love with him at so youthful an age. He had been her prince, her champion in gleaming armor. Now he was home, ready to assume the marquessate. Though she suspected he had yet to be informed of the conditions his father had laid out for them, she wondered if, in keeping with what he saw fit, he would comply with the requirements of the contract or renounce them altogether, just as he had done years ago. The uncertainty created a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she had to wonder what would cause her greater turmoil: the implementation of the nuptial agreement or its expected negation.

Brotherly affection was evident as Colton leaned on his cane and, with his free hand, chucked his sibling gently beneath the chin. "Dear sister, by this time you've probably heard that Bonaparte has been vanquished once again. Perhaps the good captain of the ship has even dropped anchor and put his illustrious passenger ashore at Saint Helena. If we are indeed fortunate, the emperor will never again escape to stir up the ugly worm of war. ‘Tis a hungry maggot whose ravaging fangs feed upon the lives of men with little regard for the legions of widows and mothers it leaves grieving in its wake."

Samantha traced trembling fingers over a handsome groove in her brother's cheek. "I had thought you'd return sooner, Colton. Papa kept asking for you on his deathbed, but he finally lost all hope of seeing you. He died with your name on his lips."

Colton clasped his sister's hand within his and pressed a gentle kiss upon her thin knuckles. "Please forgive me, Samantha. My regrets in that area are immense. When you first sent word of Father's illness, I was unable to leave because of our conflict with Napoleon's forces. Later, when news of Father's death came, I was hampered by a leg wound the surgeons deemed so serious that they warned me they'd have to hack it off nigh my hip if the infection worsened. If not for my good fortune in having seen a sergeant heal his own festeredwound by unspeakable methods—maggots, no less, and a repulsive mixture of moss and clay—I wouldn't be here today a whole man … if at all. Even so, it took some time before I was able to walk with any proficiency. Then, to obtain my release from service, I was required to go hither and yon. Officials seemed indisposed to issue the papers granting my release, since by that time it was evident that I would keep my leg. They kept assuring me that I was being considered for brigadier general, that I could have any assignment I wanted. They were especially reluctant to let me go, considering that some of our troops are still engaged with the enemy in certain areas of France. I had to tell them more than once that I was ready to come home."

Samantha and Adriana's minds had snagged on his debilitating injury and the bizarre cure, and, for a moment, couldn't seem to move beyond that. Much of what he had stated afterward had been lost to them. The remedy that had brought about the cure seemed so grotesque they were both seized by convulsive shudders.

Samantha could do nothing more than clasp a trembling hand over her mouth as she waited for her queasiness to pass. At long last, her eyes fell to her brother's cane and when finally she lifted her gaze to meet his again, she spoke haltingly in a voice fraught with concern. "And … there is … no lingering malady?"

Colton's own tone was muted as he lowered his head near his sister's. "Only a slight hindrance that requires the aid of a cane in walking, but, with any luck, exercise, and enough time to perfect a proper healing, my dependence upon it will likely cease. With each passing day, my leg is growing stronger. I'm confident my limping gait will wane, precisely to what degree remains to be seen."

Squeezing her eyes shut against encroaching tears, Samantha leaned into her brother and felt his arm slip about her shoulders. Tearfully she mewled, "I can only thank a merciful God for your safe return, Colton. Our prayers have truly been answered."

His hand moved in a slow, circular motion between her shoulder blades. "I have every confidence that I'm here, hale and hearty, because you and our dear mother proved faithful in offering entreaties on my behalf," he rasped near her ear. "I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for your petitions, for there were indeed many close calls in this latest campaign against Napoleon's forces."

Adriana was reminded of her own fervent supplications whispered in the night-borne shadows of her bedchamber. She had lain awake many a night, unable to endure the thought of Colton lying dead, wounded, or perhaps even abandoned on a battlefield somewhere. He was the only male offspring of parents she had loved almost as much as her own. Once he had even been the hero of her girlish fantasies, more than enough reason for her to offer countless prayers for his safety.

Samantha couldn't ignore the inquiry burning within her heart. Leaning back against her brother's supporting arm, she searched his features with an intensity that encompassed the full sphere of her concerns. "Does your presence here at Randwulf Manor mean that you intend to assume the responsibilities of the marquessate?"

Colton met her dewy-eyed gaze unwaveringly. "As the one upon whom the title rightly falls, dear sister, I'd be remiss in my duties to the family if I allowed it to be bestowed upon our cousin, Latham."

Struggling against a confused blend of thankful tears and jubilant laughter, Samantha relented to both, vividly evidencing her overwhelming relief and joy. Latham's latest visit had set her at odds with their cousin. He had arrived on the pretext of attending her father's funeral, but had entered the manor with the air of a pompous lordling, single-mindedly intent on inspecting his newly acquired domain and the furnishings therein housed. Indeed, he had barely paid proper respect to the dead before insisting that Harrison take him on a tour of the mansion and then had grown annoyed when the steward, out of his fierce loyalty to the family, had asked his mistress if she'd permit the man to look about. Considering the galling heightof Latham's arrogance, Samantha had almost expected him to demand an immediate accounting of the family treasures. In spite of her own enforced restraint throughout most of his visit, near its conclusion she had answered him rather caustically when he had asked where her mother would live in the coming months. Quite aloofly she had informed him that Lady Philana would remain at Randwulf Manor as mother of the heir.

"Latham will be disappointed," she murmured with a radiant smile. Although her elation was entirely due to Colton's willingness to accept the marquessate, which had been a heartfelt desire of their father, she was grateful that she wouldn't have to choke on the bitter bile of resentment while making an apology to their cousin. "I'm sure Latham thought you were dead when you failed to return from Waterloo. If not for assurances offered by men in your command, Mama and I would've certainly lost heart. Yet it seemed you were gone so long after most of the officers had returned home that we had begun to fear you were opposed to giving up your commission and taking on the responsibilities the title demanded. But now you're home, and all is well. In fact, if I had known you'd be here, I would've insisted that we ride over after collecting Adriana and our guests and have you join our outing."

Chuckling softly, Colton shook his head, denying the possibility. "I'm afraid after traveling so far by coach I was immensely relieved just to have it behind me. Then, too, my leg would've prevented me. It still pains me when I ride or when I'm physically confined, as I was on the trip here. Unless I'm able to walk out the stiffness that comes upon me, the discomfort doesn't relent. As it happened, Mother and I were able to spend some time talking together. I left her resting upstairs a few moments ago and thought I'd just ramble about the old place, get reacquainted with the older servants, and have a look around the grounds with Leo and Aris. I had barely begun my tour when Harrison opened the door to let in your guests."

Samantha's lips curved mischievously as her eyes swept him from the top of his head to a finely booted toe. "You left here hardly more than a lad and have returned here a man…."

"To find you a woman," Colton countered with a chuckle. "You were a wee chit of eight when I left. Now look at you, a real beauty you are." Retreating with the aid of his cane, his granite gray eyes sparkled with delight as they swept over her. "Mother sent a lengthy letter describing your wedding a couple of years ago, and I must confess at the time it caused me a great deal of shock. I'm still having trouble believing what I'm actually seeing … my little sister all grown up and married."

"I suppose you were still imagining me as that scrawny little girl who followed in your wake, but whether you realize it or not, brother mine, I'm twenty and four now, which, of course, makes you positively ancient." Beneath his contrived glower, she danced away, merriment rippling in musical waves behind her. Upon facing him again, she clasped a hand behind her ear, as if straining to hear. "Forsooth, I do believe I hear your bones creaking from old age."

Her brother burst into hearty laughter. "If they are, dear sister, I can truthfully attest ‘twas entirely due to the rigors of war, not old age." Much like a rooster strutting before a hen, he limped about in a circle, smoothing a lean hand down the side of his blouse. Whether intentional or not, he drew the ladies' attention to the sleekness of his waist. "If you haven't yet noticed, I'm exceptionally well preserved."

Although in full agreement with his claims, Samantha rolled her eyes, as if to convey her skepticism. "No one would ever believe that merely looking at you."

Thrusting up a hand to halt her criticism, Colton struck a commanding pose, yet he made no attempt to curb the amusement shining in his eyes. "Enough of this nonsense, minx! I've been waiting hours to meet everyone."

The statement was barely out of his mouth when, to his sibling's surprise, he pivoted about on his good leg and approached the tall, dark-haired beauty he had had the pleasure of encountering moments earlier. It had been some time since he had felt the intriguing softness of a womanly bosom pressed against his chest. As for the lady's long, sleek limbs, he was led to think that he had never caressed any that hadevoked his imagination as much as those he had recently felt sliding against his own. The lingering impression of those trim thighs entangled with his own had done much to awaken a manly craving that had gone unappeased for some months. Although it was fairly safe to say Gyles Sutton's daughter was an innocent and likely ignorant of her affect on him, he could believe she had branded her very image upon his mind and body.

Years ago, he had resented his father's prediction that one day he would come to savor the company of Lady Adriana. Little had he guessed after his lengthy absence that at their very first meeting he'd be taken aback by the uncommon pulchritude of the very one he had adamantly rejected. Search as he might, he could find no lingering evidence of that thin little thing with huge, dark eyes who, along with his sister, had once tagged behind his heels whenever her parents had visited.

For a young girl whose looks had once been so uninspiring, Adriana Sutton was now no less than a rare gem. The enticingly slender nose, the elegant cheekbones, and the delicate structure of her winsome face in its entirety were admirable enough to bestir the heart of many of his gender, but it was her large, silkily lashed dark eyes, slanting ever-so-slightly upward beneath gracefully sweeping brows, that revived images of the young, gangly sprite she had once been. Still, after so long a time, those memories seemed as fleeting and whimsical as the wind rustling through the trees.

As a young girl, Adriana had always been thin and tall. Even now, she was nearly half a head taller than his sister. Although slender still, she had more curves than he would've ever supposed possible for one he had once likened to a twig. Perhaps his lengthy abstinence had much to do with the fact that he was still keenly aware of the lingering impressions her soft bosom and slender limbs had left upon his frame.

A few curling wisps had escaped from underneath her rakishly slanted top hat and the heavy chignon at her nape, leading his gaze to delectable little areas a man might be tempted to stroke with his tongue. The long, ivory column of her throat, visible between her jabot and dark hair, might well prove adelicate sweetmeat that his parted lips and nibbling teeth could leisurely savor. So, too, her dainty, pearl-adorned ears. The tantalizing fragrance that had wafted from these areas as well as the smooth temple even now, in recall, seemed to twine like silken vapors through his very being. A natural rosy hue had imbued her cheeks even before she had become aware of his presence, yet the places where her skin had been fair and smooth as creamy silk, he now detected a deeper color, giving him cause to wonder if his close inspection had stirred forth a blush from the lady.

As much as his heart rallied in admiration at what he saw before him, conversely his self-esteem suffered from the smarting darts of his erroneous judgment of the past, for it was a simple fact that Adriana Sutton was a strikingly beautiful young woman. Indeed, rarely, if ever, had he seen such perfection. For the first time since his ten-and-six-year absence from home, the full weight of his refusal to accept the betrothal his father had proposed struck his pride a blow that equaled a broadside across the prow of a ship, leaving his heart listing with a sense of regret to the leeward. Had it not been for his limited foresight and his own headstrong obstinacy, by now he'd have already laid claim to the lady.

"I beg your pardon for not recognizing you at the onset, Adriana," he murmured warmly. "Your appearance has changed by such an astonishing degree that I'm left in awe. I suppose I was still thinking of you as a little girl, but that is definitely no longer the case." His eyes twinkled above a lopsided grin. "Father always said you'd be a beauty one day, but I never imagined you'd become a goddess."

The vague smile that touched her lips was the best Adriana could manage with any semblance of calm. It didn't help that moments earlier she had been forced to construct a cool reserve from the ashes of a resentment she had struggled to maintain throughout the uncertainty of war. Even after feeling as if this man had ripped out her heart so many years ago, it was all she could do to carry on with her stilted aloofness. She was so very, very relieved he was home and safe from the hazards of war that she wanted to throw herself in joyful delight into his arms, much as his sister had done. Still, what loomed before them filled her with a consuming dread that he would revile the agreement that had been drawn up in his absence and, in rebellious resentment, leave Randwulf Manor once more, never to be seen again.

"You're very kind, my lord, but there is no need to apologize," she replied, struggling with a tremulous smile. "Your lack of recognition is quite understandable. I was, after all, a mere child of six when you left. I can only guess at the many changes that have occurred in your life since your departure, yet, from all outward indications, you have endured the years very well in spite of the many battles you've fought."

"I'm definitely older and a bit more scarred," Colton admitted, casually indicating the tiny nicks that added subtle character to his handsome face, "but in my lengthy absence from home, I've learned to appreciate the people I left behind more than I once did. I've often thought of the anguish I caused by my departure and have lamented it time and again, but, of course, like wine foolishly spilled, there was no real remedy for the mistakes I made. Once I set my heels to the flanks of my horse, I dared not glance back at the havoc I left behind me; I could only look forward with the hope that someday I would be forgiven for the pain I caused."

Considering what had yet to be revealed, Adriana could only wonder if he'd still have regrets when a similar announcement was made to him. Years ago, his reaction to the proposed edict had left such an ominous impression in her mind that she knew with a certainty that she wanted to be far away when the second pronouncement was issued. "I share in the immense relief of your family, my lord, and do take comfort in the fact that you're back home where you belong. Samantha has been fretting night and day since your father's death, and I had no idea what more I could say to rally her hopes."

"You used to call me Colton years ago," he reminded her, moving forward a step. "Is it so hard for you to do so now?"

As he encroached into an area that she would've quickly deemed intrusive had it been some other man, Adriana realized that his proximity stirred feelings she had previously considered benumbed. Long ago, when she had been no more than a child, this man had shattered the image she had formed of him in her mind. In every way, he had been an heroic knight to her. To forestall such a trauma from ever happening again, she had to keep herself on an even keel, her sights firmly fixed upon the horizon, for there was no guarantee that the sails that had once been filled by her girlish desires and aspirations would be less susceptible to the freshening breezes of his charm. She couldn't allow him to fill those vulnerable canvas shrouds with any degree of hopeful expectation ever again, at least not until she was reasonably confident that he'd prove himself more compassionate now than he had then. Only when she had been reassured of his benevolence toward her would she yield him her companionship … and perhaps, in time, her heart.

"Please forgive the faults of my youth, my lord," she replied, daring to meet his gaze as she retreated a step. "That was a very long time ago when I was naught but a child. I can only hope that among the basics my mother has tried to teach me in your absence, I've learn to show proper respect for lords of your noble standing."

Slanting his head at a curious angle, Colton considered her at length and had to wonder why she refused to be so informal with him after he had invited her to. "I must assume by your answer that you're averse to the familiarity."

"If not with the show of etiquette my mother would demand of me were she here, my lord, what would you suggest?"

His eyebrow quirked with some amusement. "Come now, Adriana, our parents have not only lived near each other for nigh on to thirty or more years, but they have been intimate friends since well before I came into the world. My goodness, I even remember the day you were born and the fuss I made carrying in the flowers Mother had picked from her conservatory when she took Samantha and me over for a peek at thenewborn. You were the tiniest, reddest, most outraged little creature I had ever seen in my life. Can you not agree that the close camaraderie of our families allows us some privileges above the usual stilted decorum of strangers?"

Adriana was convinced that he had plied many light-of-loves with similar persuasive reasoning. As handsome as he was, she could imagine that he had grown quite adept at swaying besotted young maids from the path their parents had urged them to follow. He did seem to have a way about him, and she could not fault any woman for falling under his spell, for she found to her amazement that her heart was not so distantly detached as she might've imagined it to be. Even his deep, mellow voice seemed like a warm caress stroking over her senses.

Shaking off the effects of his winning smile, Adriana took herself mentally in hand and reminded herself of what she'd likely suffer once the truth came out, at the very least the pain of his rejection. Better to remain aloof and save some minute portion of her pride against that coming day, she reasoned. "I'm afraid, my lord, that your lengthy absence has made us that very thing. Strangers we have become, and I fear there's no remedy to be found in the space of a few moments or even a matter of hours."

The tantalizing channels in his cheeks deepened as he offered her a smile that seemed every bit as persuasive as it once had been. "Will you not relent, Adriana?"

Staring into those darkly translucent eyes that had ensnared her own, Adriana felt as if she were being swept back in time to her childhood. As a young girl, she had absolutely adored Colton Wyndham. He had been the brother she had never had, a hero second only to her father, a knight more worthy than any of whom she had either read or heard. Then had come the fateful day she had learned he wanted no part of her. The question that remained was whether he'd react any differently today once he realized that nothing had changed during his absence.

Colton argued his case unrelentingly. "If you insist upon rejecting my plea, Adriana, then I'm left wondering if I must restrict myself to the stiltedness of addressing you in like manner. Considering the close ties of our families, does it not seem ridiculous that we should be held to such rigid reserve?"

"Far be it for me to presume upon your forbearance, my lord. Whether or not you adhere to a strict code of gentlemanly conduct is entirely limited to your discretion."

"Ouch!" Colton feigned a grimace and clasped a lean, brown hand to his scarlet blouse as if denoting the place where she had wounded him. "I must confess that my conduct has not always been displayed in proper form, Adriana. Still, as much as I once deserved to be socially cut from your presence, I thought I had managed to learn a few manners over the years."

"I wouldn't know anything about that, my lord. You've been gone half your lifetime and most of mine."

"Aye, that I have," he admitted, "and though I had expected changes in my absence, I never once thought I'd have to be so confoundedly reserved with the youngest daughter of my family's closest friends."

"Your marquessate gives you leave to do as you please, my lord."

Colton sighed in vexation and, leaning on his cane, folded his free arm behind his back as he gazed down into the face of the delectable beauty. "My dear Adriana, you look like something a lonely man far from home would dream about in the wee hours of the morning. Had I been able to store such a memory in my heart years ago, it would have surely given me hope in times of need. Your words flow so silkily from your lovely lips and, at the onset, seem as pleasing as the delicate scent of roses that clings to you, but alas, their sharp thorns prick my unwary hide, leaving me to wonder at this deep chasm I now find betwixt us. Can you not forgive the callousness of my youth? I would hope that I am a different man today than the boy I once was."

Her hesitant smile was brief enough to seem terse. "If I appear rude, my lord, I suppose one could say I've learned from my betters."

Colton winced again, feeling as if she had just sunk her fangs into him. "Aye, I was rather rude to you back then," he admitted in a hushed tone, "and for that, I must make amends. I never intended to hurt you, Adriana. You were an innocent, and I brought shame upon myself by wounding you as I did." He studied her at length, saying nothing more until he became aware of a blush invading her cheeks. With a charmingly wayward grin, he stepped forward, once again invading the forbidden boundaries she had mentally erected around herself. Leaning his head near until his cheek almost brushed the brim of her top hat, he murmured above her ear, "But let me assure you, my dear, you have no betters. You have become a rare jewel, the very finest I've ever seen. The sight of you definitely makes me wish I hadn't acted so foolishly and left home in such a fretful temper."

Adriana's head snapped up, and for a moment she searched those dancing gray eyes for what they would reveal. Thoroughly confused, she accused breathlessly, "You jest with me, my lord."

Colton laughed softly, pleased that he had put to flight her aloofness. "Perchance I do, Adriana." A long interval passed before he leaned forward again, barely breathing above her ear, "Then again, perchance not."

Though Adriana stumbled back a step in sudden confusion and made a desperate attempt to respond in an intelligent vein as she opened and closed her mouth several times, she realized the futility of her effort, for he had disconcerted her to the point that she could manage no adequate rejoinder.

Colton reached out and, gently laying a hand alongside her cheek, placed a lean thumb across her softly enticing lips, stilling her attempts. "Have pity upon me, Adriana, I can bear no more holes in my hide right now. My wound has yet to heal."

Turning from her without further adieu, he moved away, leaving the lady clasping a trembling hand to her burning cheek, that same cheek that his palm had caressed in a strangely provocative way before he had drawn back. In spite of the wayward racing of her blood, Adriana became certain ofone thing. Colton Wyndham had not changed one whit since his departure, for even now, with nothing more than a word or a warm touch of his hand, he seemed able to scatter her wits in a thousand different directions. He had done it countless times by teasing her when she was a child, and then, more devastatingly before his departure, by his angry refusal to entertain their future marriage. As much as Adriana would have denied her susceptibility moments earlier, she realized that he had disconcerted her once again, only this time by creating peculiar little bubbles of delight she couldn't seem to hold in check.