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  He kissed like a man who knew what he was doing. Like he wanted nothing more in the world at this moment than to devour her mouth with his.

  Mariah had never experienced anything like it, nor had she ever felt the flutter of desire flickering deeply in her body. Her tongue dueled with his, a wanton encouragement that brought a tiny groan to his throat.

  She breathed it in and returned it with a moan, losing herself entirely in the embrace they shared.

  He tasted wonderful, a sweetly spiced tang of man mixed with the slight flavor of wine. She angled her head a little, moving off a nasty pebble beneath her cloak and getting their mouths into better alignment.

  Her breasts seemed to awaken to an existence of their own, swelling between their bodies, her nipples sensing the pressure and abrasion of his chest. And she jumped when his hand slipped beneath her chemise to find one heated mound, toying with the hard bud at the tip and making her want to cry out from sheer pleasure.

  Her legs parted of their own accord, her whole being hungry for this stranger's touch. As if he understood, his leg slithered over hers to press between them, his thigh crushed hard against her mound almost exactly where she wanted it most.

  Drowning in delight, Mariah forgot everything but the lips and hands and body of the man she was kissing with every ounce of passion she possessed.

  The voice that interrupted them was like a shower of icy water. "Mistress Dean!"

  She jerked and tore from their embrace, recalled immediately to where she was—and why. Covering herself with her disarrayed blouse, she struggled to her feet only to find a strong arm around her waist and a jacket being tenderly wrapped around her shoulders.

  She took a breath and turned—looking straight into the horrified gaze of the Right Honorable Morton Stinson, eyes wide and shocked above the large lantern he held.

  "Good evening, Mr. Stinson." She tried for aplomb.

  "I, well, I never—" The man stuttered and waved his hands helplessly.

  "Darling, would you introduce me?" The arm tightened around her waist and she turned to see a pair of warm brown eyes reflecting the light shed over them.

  He smiled then, stealing a little bit of her heart. Her breath caught in her throat. He was so damnably handsome with all that black hair and a tiny dimple to the left of his mouth.

  He turned to look at the men. "Forgive her. My dearest Mariah is a little breathless, I believe. After all, it's not every night her fiancé returns to surprise her." He nodded at the group. "Sir Marcus Camberley, at your service."

  "Good Lord." A figure detached itself from the mounted horsemen. "Mad Marcus?"

  The man beside Mariah groaned dramatically. "And I thought I'd lived that down."

  "Your fiancé?" Mr. Stinson's chest swelled as he squeaked out the words.

  Mariah winced a little. That news wasn't going to go over too well with the man she'd been avoiding like the plague for several months every time he attempted to woo her.

  "Yes, Mr. Stinson. My fiancé." Mariah angled her chin at him. Take that, you groping louse.

  His chest swelled to even greater proportions, leading Mariah to wonder if an explosion was imminent. There was a lot of Mr. Stinson to begin with. He couldn't afford to expand much more without violating some natural laws.

  "I'm...stunned." Stinson's eyes wandered over her as if desperately searching for a glimpse of her breasts. Instinctively, she tightened her grasp on the jacket and moved even closer to her savior.

  Marcus. At least now she knew the name of the man who'd kissed her so—so... Mariah shivered.

  "I'm at a bit of a loss myself." The other man had dismounted and was walking toward them with a rather wicked grin on his face. "Haven't seen you in an age. When you left town and everybody said you'd gone south with that good-looking Selkirk chap, I had no idea you'd got such a lovely lady waiting for you." He held out his hand.

  "Rogue Chambers, you dog." Marcus shook his hand. "What the devil are you doing down here in this remote neck of the woods?"

  "That's Colonel Rogue Chambers to you, my lad." He gestured to his uniform. "It's penance."

  Marcus chuckled. "I should've guessed as much. You got La Diamanté into your bed, did you?"

  "Pissed off the wrong people too. But by God, she was worth it."

  Mariah cleared her throat. "Gentlemen. This is all very nice, but it's getting chilly."

  "Forgive me, love." Marcus tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, for all the world as if he was indeed the fiancé he claimed to be. "You did say this was a deserted spot, though." He glanced at the horsemen. "What on earth are you all doing out here? Other than interrupting what could have been a rather pleasant tryst?"

  "'Tis naught but a fool's errand." Colonel Chambers spun on his heel and faced Stinson. "This—gentleman—was convinced we'd entrap some smugglers tonight. Obviously, his information was false. Again."

  Stinson muttered under his breath, still casting covert and rather angry glances at Mariah.

  "Apologies, Marcus. Had I known what was going on, I would have given you more time. At least five minutes or so." Colonel Chambers grinned over his shoulder.

  Marcus snorted. "Don't confuse my skills with yours, Rogue. I need more like ten."

  Stinson squawked. "There's a lady present." He looked aghast. "Although whether the term lady can be applied now that I've seen—" He waved his hands around.

  Mariah felt Marcus stiffen next to her. "Sir. Given the circumstances, I am going to assume that unwise comment is occasioned by the lateness of the hour. Not by any implied insult to my future wife."

  "Better agree, Stinson. 'Tis rumored Marcus has killed his man at dawn a time or two." The colonel crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back on his heels.

  "Oh. Er—yes. Of course. No insult intended, sir. To you or to Mistress Dean." The chest deflated rapidly to Mariah's relief.

  "Very well, I shall let the matter rest." Marcus turned to the colonel. "Since there's obviously nothing illegal going on here, I suppose we might all seek our beds before my arse freezes in this damn wind..."

  The colonel nodded. "Good idea. Where are you billeted?"

  Mariah spoke up. "He's not billeted anywhere, Colonel. He's my fiancé. For tonight, I suppose he'll have to come home with me."

  "But—but—"

  Mariah rolled her eyes. The chest was puffing again. Would the man never give up?

  "Mr. Stinson. What I choose to do, who I choose to invite to my home, who I decide to wed—all those things are none of your business. As I believe I've been forced to remind you one or two times before. Must I repeat myself?"

  All eyes turned to Stinson. Overwhelmed, he sagged. "Oh well, if that's the way of it..." He spun around and headed for his horse.

  "I'll see you later, Marcus. Ma'am." The colonel followed Stinson's path. "I'll want to hear more, you know. Every little detail. You'll find me down in Calshot."

  "Don't make book on it," Marcus called after him.

  "I always win my bets, lad. You know that better than anyone." The colonel's boots slid smoothly into his stirrups as he turned his mount toward the land. "And you still owe me twenty guineas."

  The laughter that followed echoed out over the waters and soon the landscape was empty, leaving a man and a woman alone on the rough ground.

  Mariah eased away from Marcus' protective arm and turned to face him.

  "Well done, sir." She gathered what was left of her wits along with her cloak. "Now who the hell are you?"

  Chapter Two

  Marcus tidied himself before he answered Mariah's sharp inquiry, simply enjoying the humor of the situation. He buttoned his shirt and retrieved his jacket from her shoulders as she shook out her cloak and wrapped it protectively around her re-covered breasts.

  Pity about that. They'd been rather nice breasts. Marcus found himself wanting to explore them in greater detail.

  Finally comfortable, if he ignored the arousal pressing against the front of his
breeches, he glanced at her. "Marcus Camberley, madam."

  "Sir Marcus Camberley." She corrected him.

  "Indeed." He bowed slightly. "And now apparently, as far as your little community is concerned, your fiancé."

  She snorted and spun on her heel. "Nonsense."

  "Where are you going?" Marcus paused.

  "Home." She sighed. "I suppose you'll have to come too. In case that idiot has some foolish idea in his maggot brain to watch me. I wouldn't put it past him."

  "Well then—" Marcus grasped her arm before she could stride off and leave him standing alone on damp turf, "let's use my horse. He's over there." It took a few tugs to get her to turn and look where he was pointing.

  She thought about it for a moment or two. "Oh, very well."

  A curl lifted Marcus' mouth as he spared a brief thought for all the women who would have scrambled for such an invitation. This Mistress Mariah Dean was quite unique. He was definitely enjoying himself.

  Together they retraced the path to the top of the rise. "I assume the maggot-brained idiot would be Stinson? An admirer of yours? He certainly seemed quite disturbed by finding us together."

  She let a tiny growl slip from her throat. "He may think to woo me, but you can certainly believe I've given him no encouragement whatsoever." She stopped and stared at the horse. Then she glanced at Marcus. And looked back at the horse. "This is a truly fine mount. You're not lost in the depths of England because you're rolled up, are you?"

  "Not at all." He untied the reins. "My fortune is quite intact. Or was the last time I checked it. I'm actually not even lost." Marcus reached for Mariah and lifted her easily so that her boot could find the stirrup. Without a second thought, she swung her leg over the saddle, sorting out her skirts and her cloak. Countrywomen would sometimes ride astride, but Marcus had never seen a lady quite so comfortable with the notion.

  It fired up his awakened lust even more.

  Which wasn't the best course of events, given that he had to sit behind her and hold her slim waist to reach the reins.

  Wincing, he hoisted himself onto his mount's hindquarters. His cock objected painfully to such treatment, but settled down a little when snuggled nicely against Mariah's lush bottom.

  He felt her stiffen slightly in his gentle embrace, but ignored it. She was a widow. So the odds were fairly good that she knew a hard-on when she felt one prodding her. Still, she hadn't been the beneficiary of his hard-on. Yet. And from the sound of things, her marriage hadn't been all roses and sunshine.

  Oh yes, he'd bet his last guinea that Mistress Mariah Dean would enjoy the experience. He'd make damn sure of it. Visions of them together, naked, learning about each other and her making that tiny little growling sound as he slammed into her plagued Marcus' brain and distracted him to the point where he nearly jumped when she spoke.

  "You'll need to turn right—here." She pointed to a small path leading off the main lane.

  Obediently, Marcus pulled on the reins. "You have a house? Do you live alone?"

  "Yes and yes."

  "Well, that's a nice concise answer. You're not much of a woman for polite conversation, are you?" He resisted the urge to nibble on her earlobe. But it wasn't easy.

  "Yes, I have a house. And yes, mostly I live alone. There's an elderly couple in a nearby cottage who help take care of the basic chores."

  "Ah." Marcus breathed the word into her ear, grinning in the darkness at the tiny shudder he felt ripple down her spine. "That clears up everything."

  "No, it doesn't. But it's all you need to know."

  "Darling." Marcus surrendered to impulse and briefly touched the lobe with his tongue. "I'm your fiancé. You should be sharing everything with me." The horse was making his way carefully along a dark lane, cleared of undergrowth, but very deeply shadowed all the same. "Such as how did you reach the shore tonight?"

  She huffed out a breath, her ribs moving beneath Marcus' free hand. "I walked, of course. What did you think?" She shifted against him, taking the breath from his lungs. If she moved back one more inch... "There. There's the house."

  Dredging his brain out of his cock, Marcus looked ahead to see a dim light gleaming between the trees. The path had widened, joined by a better-traveled road leading to her home.

  Anxious to get off the damn horse, Marcus dug in his heels and spurred the mount to a trot, pulling up in front of a weathered door. The leaded glass beside it held a candle, flickering a little through the ancient window.

  It looked like it was an old farmhouse, although what he could make out of the front seemed well tended.

  "Snug." Some comment seemed appropriate. "And quite private too."

  Carefully, he dismounted, holding out his hand and allowing her to slide into his arms as she unhooked her foot from the stirrup. His relief at being off the back of the horse was mitigated by the sensation of holding her once more, tucked into his chest. She was tall but slender, a perfect armful of warmly fragrant woman.

  "You'll find the stable around the back." Unconcernedly, she waited for him to put her down. "There's a door to the kitchen there and I'll light candles. I expect you're hungry."

  "Mariah, you have no idea." With a sigh, he put her back on her feet and watched her enter her home without a backward glance.

  Marcus gazed at his horse. "You know, I'm not really used to this being ignored stuff she's trying on me." The horse stared blankly at his master. "It's rather aggravating, if you want to know the truth." He sighed. "Come on. Let's see what the stables are like. If I can get you settled down, then perhaps I can spend a little more time with our delightful hostess. My fiancée, that is."

  Wondering why the sound of that word didn't send a frisson of terror across his skin, Marcus gathered the reins and led his weary horse around to the back of Mariah's farmhouse and spent the next half-hour feeding him, removing the harness and generally doing all the things he'd hired a lot of grooms to do in the past.

  Finally, he patted the strong nose. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen, my four-legged friend. I'm now a stable boy and you're being tended by a knight of the realm. Don't let it go to your head."

  The lights Mariah had promised beckoned from what was obviously the kitchen. Eagerly, Marcus picked up his saddlebags, closed the stable door and headed that way. It was time to get a good look at his new fiancée, up close. And if he could get those clothes off her while looking, so much the better.

  *~*~*~*

  Mariah jumped as the heavy kitchen door swung inward, admitting a cool rush of night air and the man who had occupied her thoughts without cessation for the last hour or so.

  Although she was forced to admit to herself that it was his kisses occupying a majority of said thoughts, not a careful and collected evaluation of her newly acquired fiancé.

  She paused at the long table where she'd been slicing bread and cheese—and simply stared at him.

  He blinked at the light from the branch of candles and his gaze fell to her fingers. "I'm not sure whether being welcomed into a strange kitchen by a woman with a large carving knife in her hands is a good thing or not."

  Nervously, Mariah chuckled. "I assure you, sir, 'tis only to prepare some food for you. Although having a stout knife handy isn't such a bad idea."

  He eased his shoulders free of his jacket and ran his hands through his hair, dark eyes fixed on her face the entire time. "You mean if I should entertain unwontedly lustful thoughts about your person, for instance."

  The blade clattered a little on the plate. "Quite." She tried to pull herself together. "There's water at the sink for you to clean up if you'd care to avail yourself?"

  Unable to suppress the internal shivers that welled from someplace most unexpectedly, Mariah turned away from him, silently ordered her body to behave itself and returned to her task. Although the consequent slices of bread were somewhat irregular.

  There was a good reason for it, of course. She couldn't seem to see the loaf at all. All she could see was him. Marcus Camberl
ey. All six foot or so of him, complete with a body that looked like it was well-nigh perfect, a face that could melt a statue's heart and hair as black as the night sky. The quick glance had burned its way into her brain and just sat there, daring her to think about it, toy with it, do decadently naughty things with it.

  Dear God above. The man was sex incarnate and right at this moment he was washing away the dust of the road in water she'd used herself not long before. The intimacy of the situation was amazingly unsettling.

  In an attempt to keep all her fingers attached, Mariah sighed and put the knife down. He'd crossed the room and pulled out a chair, seating himself at the old table for all the world as if he always ate late at night in a kitchen.

  Given his title, she wondered if he'd ever actually been in one before, but kept her thoughts to herself as she pushed the food toward him. "Eat."

  "In the face of such a gracious invitation, how can I refuse?" Marcus took the proffered bread and cheese and did as he was bid.

  "I have a jug of ale." Mariah crossed to her pantry.

  "I have a thirst that would put that to good use."

  She poured him a tankard and pushed that across the table as well. For some reason, she was unwilling to get too close to him. He was...disturbing.

  And it was that particular facet of his personality that had run rampant through her thoughts as she'd prepared his humble meal.

  Mariah watched him as he devoured the bread and sliced the cheese with enjoyment. His hands were strong but shapely, his hair a tumbled chaos of black silk, shining in the candlelight.

  He ate heartily and with an aristocratic ease that betrayed his high-born roots—no pulling or tearing at the food, but a hungry pleasure coupled with a tasteful display of table manners.

  The rest of him sang a song to her body that astounded her.