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He stepped in front of her and the words died on her lips.

“Is there anything you would command, mistress?”

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James

Esme’s mouth was dry. This beautiful barbarian was offering himself to her. One hand, rough with physical labor, touched her cheek with a caress as gentle as an evening breeze. Then he moved back and propped a shoulder against the wall and just waited.

“Sebastian—” she started, and stopped.

He turned and opened the door. It was dark outside. Inside the hut was all glowing warmth. The firelight threw licks of golden light around the rough-hewn walls and danced over the table, a bed in the corner, that bench, one chair. The huge body leaning against the wall.

Her finger seemed to rise of its own volition and trace the pattern of firelight on his chest.

Her breath caught. He felt like liquid gold under her fingertips.

“I must go!”

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said serenely. He touched her arm just as she turned to enter the house.

“Whatever you desire, nymph.”

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In Which Mrs. Cable Receives

an Invitation to Dinner

Mrs. Cable was having a lovely morning. She thought it was truly scandalous of Lady Rawlings to host a dinner party so soon after Lord Rawlings’s death. As she reminded her bosom friend Mrs. Pidcock, Esme Rawlings was barely through her first mourning period. “When Mr. Cable dies,” she assured Mrs. Pidcock, “I shall mourn for a decent period of time, and so I have assured him. I think I have a small reputation in the village for understanding propriety. Two years in black, I will be, and without a thought for hosting entertainments such as this.”

Mrs. Pidcock had her own ideas about what Mrs. Cable would do when her husband expired. Probably dance a jig on his grave. But there was no arguing with Myrtle’s sense of proper duty. She would dance in black ribbons, no doubt about it.

Naturally, Mrs. Cable’s outrage was not sufficient to prevent her accepting Lady Rawlings’s invitation. “I shall attend the dinner,” she assured Mrs. Pidcock, “if only to verify that our dear Henrietta has not fallen prey to the wiles of that Mr. 186 Eloisa

James

Darby. The man’s up to no good, if you ask me. I’ll feel more comfortable when she’s five years older, and that’s a fact.”

Mrs. Pidcock didn’t share her anxiety. She had a hardheaded sense that no man would marry just for a pretty face when an heir could not result.

“Lady Henrietta has a good head on her shoulders,” Mrs. Pidcock said. “She won’t succumb to some fribble from London.”

“But everyone says he’s desperate for money. And you know Henrietta is remarkably well endowed in that respect.”

“He’s not so desperate that he’d marry a wife sure to leave him a widower. I know that man’s a peacock. George is beside himself, muttering about Darby’s lace cuffs. But he is not a fool. True, it was unfortunate that he kissed Henrietta in the village, where anyone might see. But now that Lady Holkham had informed him of the situation, I have no belief that he will continue his suit.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Cable said. “And Henrietta did say that he was wooing Lucy Aiken.”

“Well, there you are then. Lady Henrietta is such a goodnatured girl that she probably smoothed the way for Lucy—

and you know, dear, I do believe that Lucy would love to marry just such a fribble as Mr. Darby.”

Mrs. Cable was almost convinced. But she was still overjoyed to have a chance to keep an eye on Darby.

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Lady Rawlings Receives Guests