If anyone deserved a party in which marital prospects were paraded about, it was Anne and her sisters. Roderick was not desperate to marry, but Anne was, as were all of her sisters. Every year that passed put Anne, Bernadette, and the others further on the shelf, and the dwindling prosperity of the small patch of land their house stood on didn’t help matters.

  With their father gone all the time, not caring for the land and the few tenants they’d had left, the tenants had moved on, and the land went to furrow. The only income they had coming in was from their neighbors who leased it for grazing pasture.

  But the future was bleak for the Marsden women. When their father died, there would be no place to go, no relative who would accept all ten of them.

  She couldn’t help searching the room for him. Did he have other dance partners? Of course he did. He had three women—or rather, two, if what he’d said about his brother and Miss Everly was true.

  Anne didn’t know what to believe. He'd singled her out tonight and thrown her wits into the wind. She felt off, like she was dreaming, waiting for the pleasant evening to turn to a nightmare.

  This was what Roderick had always done as a boy, appear friendly, but that was a ruse to distract her while he pinned a tail of horsehair to the back of her dress or slipped a lizard in her pocket. He was a rascal, and there was nothing he loved more than to stir up mischief.

  So what could be his aim tonight?

  Anne noticed her sister, Georgette, at the refreshment table and moved in that direction as she pondered Roderick’s motives.

  Reaching her sister’s side, she nodded in greeting.

  “Were you waltzing with Roderick a moment ago?” Georgie asked with wide eyes.

  Was it only a moment? It felt like more than a moment, rather like hours. That’s how effectively he captivated her. The dance, the dark hall he'd snuck her into. Everything drifted away when she was with him, her focus so trained on him, the world dropped away.

  She was on her guard, but also… She was mesmerized by him.

  Anne couldn’t help it. As much as she loathed him, she was equally enthralled by him.

  His handsomeness stunned, and when he spoke, the deep timber of his voice and the wicked words from his sultry and soft lean lips wove a spell she couldn’t resist. She ached for his attention, even though the flurry of emotions that followed when she got it was overwhelming and uncomfortable. He was a vice she couldn’t purge from her system. A sin she should regularly confess to every Sunday.

  But she couldn't, she wouldn’t tell a soul about her fascination with a man who likely had no ability to care for anyone but himself now.

  Roderick had become a rake in every way. He drank, he womanized, he gambled, he slept until the afternoon even when in the country, according to his mother.

  He could never redeem himself in her eyes, and yet she still longed for the sight of him, for a quip from his wicked tongue, for a glimpse of the young man who’d tried to give her flowers.

  He was the devil, and he tempted her more than anything in her life.

  But resistance was Anne’s strength.

  She knew where the line was drawn between her and him. It wasn’t just their status that separated them. He was the sun—bright, hot, with the ability to burn her. And Anne was the moon, forever opposite, destined to remain hidden in the night, out of the sun’s warm rays.

  Ugh. She loathed poetic metaphor.

  “ANNETTE MARSDEN!” Georgie waved her hand in Anne’s face.

  Anne pushed her hand down and glared.

  “Why are you shouting at me?”

  “I’ve been speaking to you directly and saying your name repeatedly and all you’ve been doing is staring vacantly over my shoulder. I thought you had an apoplexy.”

  “Now everyone will stare at us!” Anne hissed in embarrassment.

  “No one cares about our doings. We’re just barely eccentric, and invisible, when more interesting people like Weirick and Roderick are about. We’d need a real scandal to bring attention to our family.”

  Anne froze. Roderick had pulled her into a dark hall. That was scandal enough in her mind, but apparently, no one had noticed.

  “By the way, you still have made no comment regarding your dance with Roderick. Shall I check your pockets for rodents?”

  “You think he danced with me to slip a mouse in my pocket? This dress doesn’t have pockets.” She patted her sides just to be sure, even though she knew her one and only evening gown had no pockets. But she wasn’t sure of anything right now. Because Roderick had waltzed with her and pulled her into a dark hall.

  For what, she wanted to shout. She bit her bottom lip instead.

  “What can I do to change your impression of me?”

  What could he do, short of making a miracle that would ever change her mind about him?

  “He said he wants to make amends with me,” Anne said.

  Georgie raised a brow. “Truly?”

  “I know, it sounds preposterous.”

  “Hmmm,” Georgie said and tapped her chin with a fingernail. “Perhaps he has finally matured after all.”

  Anne chewed her lip and worried about what that might mean. A mature Roderick, combined with his devilish looks and wit, would be devastating to her composure. She wouldn’t be able to stand in the same room with him. She knew how to be defensive with him, wearing her irritation like armor against his charms, but if he stopped with his childish antics, if he became more alluring and dangerous to her, what would she do? The worst fate of all would be to lose her heart to him. She could never let that happen.

  Chapter 5

  May 22, 1825 Ablehill Castle, Scotland

  Violet and Weirick’s Wedding Ball

  “Thank you for coming here with me,” Bernie said. “I know you weren’t particularly enamored of Violet when you first met her.”

  Anne grimaced. “I know. I wasn’t very agreeable, was I?”

  “That ball was a strange night.” Bernie said, turning her attention back to the dance floor where Weirick circled Violet at their wedding ball.

  It was indeed. Anne still felt out of sorts by Roderick’s behavior that night. But one thing was certain. He hadn’t been lying about Miss Everly and Weirick’s secret attraction, for now there they were happily married.

  Only Anne and Bernie had been allowed to travel to Scotland for the wedding, and tomorrow they would return home. They’d had to share a room, but the bed was much larger than theirs at home, and the room luxurious with thick carpets and velvet bed hangings.

  Anne darted a glance toward the side of the ballroom where Roderick leaned against the wall, cradling a balloon of brandy, a crooked smile on his lips as he watched his brother. Anne could almost say he looked triumphant.

  Was he gloating because he orchestrated the whole thing? After all, it was he who was supposed to get married, not Weirick.

  His gaze caught hers, and Anne snapped her face away, a gasp hitching in her throat. Her whole body grew alert, the fine hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck standing on end as if she were a rabbit hiding from a hungry fox and knowing she’d been spotted.

  She trained her gaze on the far wall, but she could see him in her periphery, and he pushed away from the wall, sauntering in her direction. She held her breath as he passed out of her vision behind her, her palms growing damp and her back rigid.

  Then nothing. He must have kept walking.

  She released her breath and wiped her hands on her thighs.

  Her mouth had gone dry. She backed away, out of the circle of light cast by hundreds of candles in the chandeliers above the dance floor and moved toward the refreshment table. She didn’t see Roderick anywhere, which was a relief, and yet she wondered where he’d gone after catching her staring at him. She passed a darkened doorway and a hand reached out, pulling her into the shadowed depths.

  Anne sucked in a breath to scream, but before she could emit a sound, a hand clamped over her mouth. She was backed against a wall, a hard body caging her there, warm, sweet scented breath bathing her cheek as the shadow of a man loomed in front of her. She caught the scent of something else, a familiar smell under the heavy aroma of brandy.

  It was starch and mint.

  She tramped down the urge to scream and settled on glaring at the man before her, but her heart still galloped like a runaway horse. He hesitated only a moment, as if sensing she’d recognized him and wouldn’t shout for help. He lowered his hand.

  Anne couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She’d never been this close to him. He surrounded her with his body and energy. It made her senses go wild, like she was experiencing everything, touch, smell, sight, more than ever before. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she could make out a hint of his features: the dark pools of his eyes, the line of his lips.

  “As quiet as a starless night,” he said. “Have you nothing to say?”

  Speech was far beyond her. She was surprised she could still remember to breathe.

  “Still as waters deep.” His voice had lowered to a caress.

  It must be a trick of the light, but his head loomed closer, and with every breath, the tips of her breasts brushed his chest. Her nipples tingled as they hardened.

  Darkness surrounded her. She didn’t know if her eyes were open or closed as everything but him disappeared and his lips touched hers. She gasped against his mouth, and his tongue surged inside, brushing across her tongue like a paintbrush on a canvas, slow and sure.

  Steady and confident. A painter who knew his art form, his talent.

  And just like that, she was being thoroughly kissed by Lord Roderick Andrews.

  Her first kiss—and if she couldn’t remember how to breathe, possibly her last.

  He inhaled as he angled his head, and Anne did the same, sparkles of light filling her vision. She squeezed her eyes closed, and they went away. Her knees went slack, and he caught her against the wall, his arms coming around her. She reflexively grabbed his shoulders. They were chest to chest now, hip to hip. Her nerve endings became so sensitized it almost hurt not to move, not to slide her hands over his shoulders or squeeze her legs together.

  She returned his kiss, copying his movements, her pulse pounding in her ears as a new energy took hold of her, and she found the urge to push back at him with her body, to squirm and hold him any way she could.

  He tasted like brandy and sin, a sweet forbidden fruit she’d now plucked and devoured.

  Heaven help her but kissing him was as magnificent as she’d always imagined. She could almost convince herself she was dreaming, and this was her dream version of Roderick. The sweeter, confident man who would see her as she wanted him to, as a woman who hungered for passion, for connection, for love.

  To be loved.

  Long ago Annette had buried a secret so deep, she could scarcely believe it was true anymore. But here in this darkness, he brought it out.

  She was a hopeless romantic, and she was equally and hopelessly in love with him.

  It was terrible and impossible, but like a shooting star, all her love burned hotly inside her right this moment. It was glorious, even though she was falling, hurtling dangerously toward the ground. She thought she might open her eyes and be able to light up the room.

  He slowly drew away, dragging his lips from hers.

  “Well, well. You kiss like a practiced courtesan.”

  And just like that all her light snuffed out. She slapped him so hard her hand stung through her glove. He staggered back, holding his cheek.

  “You pathetic wretch.”

  He leaned against the back of a sofa.

  “I meant it as a complithment.”

  He slurred the word, and rage and shame swept over her in pure heat.

  “How drunk are you Roderick?”

  “Pshhhh… I’m never drunk. I’m either miserable or happy. It all depends on the drink in my hand.”

  Anne folded her arms, feeling chilled despite the burn of her cheeks. “How many drinks have you had in your hand tonight?”

  He held up a hand before him and blinked at it. Then he brought up the other, which must have been supporting him because next he slid down the back of the sofa and sat on the floor.

  “I’ve had not enough,” he said.

  Disgusted, Anne bolted away from the wall and through the door into the gaiety of the wedding ball. She clung to the shadows of the room and made her way away from the guests as quickly and inconspicuously as she could.

  Her eyes were burning when she reached a quiet hall and frantically tried to remember how to reach her and Bernie’s room. She found her way through familiar landmarks and closed herself in their room, pressing her hand to her roiling stomach.

  Her first kiss and he had to ruin it.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, her memories terribly vivid of every moment of the kiss, including how much she’d enjoyed participating in it. Only to have it ruined by the same drunk louse that was so capable of such a kiss to begin with.

  It wasn’t fair.

  How could a man be so beautiful and perfect on the outside, only to be rotten on the inside?

  Was it traits from his terrible father coming through? Was it the drinking?

  She fisted her hands against her stomach and dropped to the floor, so angry she wanted to break something, to throw things and have a proper rage-filled fit.

  But she couldn’t do any of those things, first because she was a guest in someone else’s home, and second because she never wanted to lose control.

  But she’d done it tonight.

  She’d lost herself in that kiss.

  And now she needed to put herself back together by sheer will, or Lord knew what would become of her.

  She couldn’t let him ruin her like this or let him know how much he’d devasted her heart with that kiss.

  Above all else, she would have to show that brandy-soaked rogue that she was not affected by him.

  It was just a kiss, a stupid, horrendous, brilliant, and soul-shattering kiss.

  Anne pounded her fist on the floor. Just once. That was all she’d allow of her anger. She forced herself to stand and then she began to undress.

  Tomorrow they would leave. And that meant she had between now and then to put herself back together before Roderick and Chester escorted them home.

  Because that was how hilarious fate happened to be. She would have to share a carriage for four hours with the man who’d so thoroughly shaken her self-control.

  Chapter 6

  Anne tossed and turned all night, finally giving up on sleep when the edge of the sky began to lighten. She got up and dressed quietly since Bernie had come to bed far later than Anne had. She had feigned sleep when her sister entered, so Bernie wouldn’t ask why she had disappeared early from the ball.

  That kiss had tortured all night long. Every time she closed her eyes, the darkness became his shadow leaning over her, his lips only a hand’s breath away. She could taste him in her mouth, the mint of her tooth powder only bringing him to mind again after she’d tried to brush the taste of his kiss away.

  But he was still there in her mind, taunting her, reminding her that sometimes the things you want most are the things that will hurt you.

  After dressing she paced the room, but she feared waking Bernie so she crept through the castle to the outside to watch the sun rise. The light was changing, the pitch black of a moonless night turning to sapphire with a hint of violet just over the trees.

  There was a serene quiet, which soothed Anne’s turbulent thoughts as she took deep breaths of cool morning air and walked across the clipped green lawn outside the stable yard of the castle.

  Coming to a wall of spruce trees, she spotted a gate. Intrigued, and feeling a bit wistful now that she was finally calm, she approached the gate and went inside. She didn’t expect to find a magical garden hidden there, a place she could only imagine in her dreams. Roses and ivy covered the walls, so thick the stone was invisible. This was not a rigidly kept traditional English garden. The shrubs and flower beds were over grown, but the chaos was wildly beautiful. The path urged her through a stone arch, the blocks crumbling on one side like ancient ruins.

  She followed a white gravel path deeper into the garden, searching for the source of the sound of trickling water. Somewhere a lark called out, and it startled her as she came around a tall blooming hydrangea and spotted the fountain.

  She froze.

  There a man sat on the edge of the fountain, hunched over as he scribbled in a small book.

  Anne stepped back, the crunch of gravel under her foot so loud it may as well be a pistol shot.

  The man glanced up, not at all startled.

  Anne’s heart leapt to her throat, and her anger returned full force.

  Of course it would be Roderick. Just when she’d found some peace, he would destroy it all over again.

  He stood, slipping the book into his pocket.

  “Anne.”

  His voice was as coarse as the gravel under her feet.

  She swallowed the emotion that threatened to choke her and nodded once in recognition that he spoke, but she couldn’t fathom what to say to him after last night.

  He took a hesitant step toward her and held out his hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, his eyes pleading to her in a way she’d never seen before.

  She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “For which offense are you apologizing? There have been many.”

  “Every single one.”

  He took determined strides toward her, and she was too stunned to move.

  “For every reason I ever gave you to hate me. For every cause of annoyance and pain. I wounded myself just as much as I wounded you and I am sorry.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Everything—his words, his harsh expression of defeat and sadness—obliterated her anger and brought something stronger and far more terrifying up inside her. Compassion and longing.