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yourself?”
    “Not particularly.” Even if he was, she didn’t need to know it. A man’s thoughts were his own. Besides, he could no more help the fact that he was stuck with Miss Preston in this wardrobe than he could have stopped himself from tripping over her panniers. It was all just unlucky chance.
    “If you intend to wed Lady Florence, why are you following me?”
    Because he couldn’t bear not to. The small space inside the wardrobe was awash in her scent. She was flush against his body because there was little room for her to do otherwise. Without her panniers, only the layers of her petticoat and his breeches separated them. Perhaps with a little clever maneuvering…
    No, he had to stop thinking like that. Delphinia Preston was a sickness in his blood. A fever. Like malaria.
    On the other hand, if he succumbed to the ailment once, perhaps he’d be cured. Or at least be granted a remission.
    “I don’t know why I followed you,” he said. “It seemed a good idea at the time. And you must admit we have the perfect hiding place now. Lady Florence won’t retrace her steps any time soon.”
    “But since you latched the door we can’t get out,” she accused. “There are no knobs on this side.”
    He shifted to free up an arm, felt around the door and found the hinges. When he was ready to free them, he could work the pins out with no trouble. In the meantime, he decided his vicar was wrong. Some temptations were more than a man could withstand.
    “I suppose we’ll have to wait till we’re found,” he said, a smile creeping into his voice. “What shall we do to pass the time till then?”
     

Chapter 4
     
     
    Delphinia rested her head on his chest because there was little room for her to otherwise. He hoped his wildly thumping heart didn’t cause her to go deaf.
    “I suppose we could conduct an experiment,” she said finally.
    “An experiment?” If she’d suggested growing another head, he couldn’t have been more surprised. He hadn’t figured her for an overly intellectual bluestocking. Clearly there was much about the beguiling Miss Preston he didn’t know, but he was game to find out.
    “Yes,” she went on. “My grandfather was a great admirer of Sir Isaac Newton and his methods for discovering the truth of a matter.”
    “Mine, too.” Except that Tristan’s grandsire wasn’t a scientist. He had followed the mathematician and natural philosopher into an ill-considered investment in the South Sea Company. They both bought in at the peak of the stock’s value and the very next week, Sir Isaac lost twenty thousand pounds when the inflated price tumbled.
    Tristan wished Devonwood’s loss had only been twenty thousand.
    “What premise do you wish to test?” he asked.
    “Whether or not love at first sight is not only possible, but whether it is true in our case.”
    He chuckled.
    “Don’t laugh. I’m serious,” she said. “Can you deny you have feelings for me?”
    He sobered in an instant. “I crave you. That’s not in dispute. But I had feelings for a strawberry treacle the first time one was presented to me, too. No one would argue I was in love with it.”
    “I’m not an item on the menu,” she said icily.
    “Maybe not.” He inhaled her clear to his toes. “But I’ll wager you’re still delicious.”
    “Then you shouldn’t mind helping me with my experiment.”
    When she shifted, the stiff busk of her bodice pressed against his chest. He wondered how women bore being trussed up like that. He’d certainly relish freeing Miss Preston’s bosom from its cage.
    “Very well,” he said. “How shall we prove or disprove your premise?”
    “I propose that you kiss me until we hear the longcase clock chime the hour,” Delphinia said.
    “I’m at your disposal, Miss Preston, but you should know that lust is a far more likely outcome than love.”
    “Ordinarily, I’d agree, Tristan—and I really think you ought to give up and call me Delphinia since you can’t