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sound in his ears but the mad beating of his heart and the ragged unevenness of his breathing.
    The world swirled over his head and then ever so slowly steadied. A squirrel leaped from one branch to another, its claws scratching against the bark as it worked to build a nest. The sky beyond the oak’s strong, long limbs was a light, clear blue. A mourning dove called, its plaintive call disquieting, questioning.
    He rose to his feet and looked toward Craige Castle, its gray stone tower still visible above the trees. For a moment he hesitated, thinking of an innocent young girl, her honey-gold eyes so full of apprehension that she had made him feel like a monster. Worse, he remembered the feel of her breast beneath his hand, the pounding of her heart against her throat, and the smooth warmth of her skin.
    John shut the memory from his mind. She belonged to this castle. Here she would be safe and protected. For all intents and purposes, she was Lady Craige. That was how her people thought of her and how she would remain. She could have the ten thousand a year he received from his mother’s estate and live happily ever after, as in one of the German fables so popular with children.
    John had other plans. He turned away from the castle tower and, finding a path through the forest, made his way toward the coast. He wasn’t a churchman, a husband, or a lover.
    What he wanted was to be a soldier, a warrior-saint like St. George, who had led England toglory and destroyed her enemies. With God’s help, he would live that dream.
    And so it happened that the day after a wedding that had linked two important ancestral families and delivered a great estate into his father’s hands, John Barron escaped to create his own destiny.

Chapter 2
    First be kiss’d me ,
    Then he left me
    Bid me always answer No .
    O No, John! No, John! No !
    â€œO No, John!”
    London
Seven years later
    H e was determined to be a hell-raiser of a nobleman.
    John Barron, the new Viscount Craige, took off his hat and handed it to Titus, the butler of his latest mistress, Lady Sarah Ramsgate. Sarah’s drawing rooms were filled with the extravagant, self-indulgent members of the ton who enjoyed the sort of wicked entertainments that could be found at her soirées. The smell of spirits and smoke hung in the air. The doors and windows of the house were open to the summer night, and the sounds of laughter and conversation driftedout to the line of carriages and horses waiting in the street.
    The daughter of an actress, Sarah had purchased respectability by marrying a very rich, very ancient lord who turned a blind eye to his wife’s indiscretions and spent most of his time in the country. It was a good thing he did. John couldn’t imagine Lord Ramsgate would be pleased to see three actresses dancing on his dining room table while musicians played in hand-clapping time. One sweet young thing was already naked, while the other two were working their way to that state, urged on by the shouting admiration of male and female guests alike.
    The Prince Regent, or Prinny, as he was called by his friends, held court in the main salon, laughing with other members of the dissipated Carleton House set—Brummell, Alvanley, and a portly lord named Applegate, an avid gambler who depended on John to cover his debts. The men were laying wagers on who of their party could roll a marble across the fireplace mantel and knock off a very expensive vase sitting on the edge. They took to the task with the enthusiasm of small boys and broke out into gales of laughter when Alvanley’s marble sent the vase crashing. Wine was called for as another vase was found and set on the mantel edge. Applegate caught sight of John and called him over, hiccupping after every word.
    John pretended not to hear. With the restless energy of a caged animal, he wove his way through the glittering crowd, his tall presence commanding respect.
    He wasn’t dressed for