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a heart-stopping vision
of her straddling him in the carriage, her slim white thighs gripping his hips,
his fingers slipping into the wet heat of her body while her silky blond hair
drifted over them like silver gossamer and her beautiful sky-blue eyes begged
him to take her.
    With a low curse he threw himself onto his side and
yanked a blanket over his shoulder, Lindsay Somerset's soft red mouth yielding
utterly to his, her whimpers and breathless pants of sweet release echoing in
his ears even as he prayed somehow to get some sleep.

     

     

 
    Chapter 4

     
    "Lord, another ten minutes to go. Could this night
possibly drag on any slower?"
    Lindsay's frustrated whisper was answered by the low,
rhythmic ticking of the mantel clock, which only made her pace her bedchamber
with mounting impatience.
    She had been ready since half-past eleven, the town
house gradually falling still as a tomb, Aunt Winifred tucked into bed with her
nightly cup of hot chocolate, Matilda and the other servants retired to their
attic rooms. Truly, she had begun to wonder if that blessed hurdle might even be
breached!
    Somehow she had endured an endless card party at the Whimseys ' home, elderly neighbors of Aunt Winifred's,
Lindsay feeling through countless hands of whist as if her excitement might
very well kill her, and now she truly felt as if she were about to burst. At
last an adventure! But where was Jared? Oh, dear, had he forgotten?
    Lindsay stopped abruptly at a window overlooking the
broad avenue and swept aside ivory lace curtains to take another peek, but
still no coach had slowed at the Piccadilly address.
    The dull clip-clop of horses' hooves had drawn her to
the window a dozen times, and each time her disappointment had been almost
painful, making her wonder again if meeting Jared Giles, the Earl of Dovercourt , had been nothing but a dream. But Aunt Winifred's
frantic lecture all the way home had been quite real, as well as her
pronouncement in a stricken voice that there would be no more balls for several
days, the smelling salts passed more than once under the poor woman's nose.
    "Please, please, don't be a dream," Lindsay
said fervently to herself, her breath fogging the windowpane. A soft drizzle
tapped at the glass, wispy strands of mist creeping over the gaslit thoroughfare. She turned back to the clock. Almost
half-past midnight . . .
    No longer able to contain herself, Lindsay drew the
hood of her cloak over her hair as she quietly left her room, pausing only to
close the door behind her before she flew down the hall. Her slippers barely
made a sound upon the thick Oriental runner, but she knew the staircase would
be a different story. Nearly each step creaked, so she fled down them as
quickly as she could, her heart pounding for fear she might awaken one of the
servants.
    Aunt Winifred, fortunately, slept as soundly as the
dead, as did her docile Welsh corgis, Ignatius and Primrose; Lindsay almost
imagined she could hear their buzzing snores following after her. But Matilda
was known to be a light sleeper—she had to be with such a mistress—yet Lindsay
couldn't worry about the Scotswoman now. She raced across the vaulted center
hall, nearly slipping on the polished pink marble floor, which only made her
heart beat faster.
    Made her smile, too, Lindsay once more swept with
nervous excitement. Her last obstacle the imposing double front doors, she
nearly laughed with relief once she stepped outside into the chilly night air,
but her smile faded when she saw that no carriage and snorting horses awaited
her at the street. Shrouded from head to foot in her black cloak, she
hesitated, not sure whether to venture out closer to the road or resign herself
unhappily to bed.
    "I was beginning to think perhaps you had
reconsidered our rendezvous."
    Lindsay spun around as a tall shape materialized from
the shadows, her heart settling into her throat when she recognized Jared in
the hazy golden halo emanating from the lamplight in