The Marquess of Winterbourne

"You really do not have to do this," she protested as the Marquess of Winterbourne helped her into the carriage.

He gave her a little shove, and Maggie tripped into her seat, while he stepped up and sat down himself. The driver, no help whatsoever, merely raised a brow and closed the door.

"My, no. She'll be asleep until noon, and will not be accepting company until well into mid afternoon."

"If I did not know better, I'd swear you did not delight in my companionship on this lovely spring day."

She heard the jest in his inflection, and her eyes darted from the landscape back to him. "Lord Winterbourne, I am most uncomfortable in your company, and I do not appreciate the manner in which you make light of it."

"I did not mean to cause you any discomfiture. Tell me how I may put you at ease."

His brow slanted upward into a silent question, his dark eyes sparking mischievously.

"My lord," she began harshly, but quickly softened her voice to almost a whisper, "after the intimacy we shared, coupled with the fact that I am now living in your aunt's home, and you are set to wed another, it is most improper that you, of all people, act as my chaperone."

"Hmmm," he hummed, and leaned back casually across from Maggie, stretching his long legs out to rest on the seat beside her, then brushing a stray lock of deep chestnut from his brow. "I suppose it is a rather precarious position, isn't it?"

"What do you propose we do to rectify it, Lady Maggie? Should I be hanged at dawn? Or should I have enlightened my aunt on the reasons it might not be proper to act as your chaperone?"

"Not really. I simply think you are making far too much of this situation. What say you to a truce?"

Maggie rolled her eyes in exasperation. There was no kinship between herself and the Marquess of Winterbourne whatsoever.

They were on their way to Madam Boutrey's dress shop on Bond Street for the final fitting of the gown she was to wear at Lady Pepperstill's ball tomorrow evening.

Maggie slid down in her seat and wondered how disguising herself as a boy a month prior, in order to join the Royal Navy and escape the slums of Haymarket, had landed her in a situation as dubious as this.

Because the captain of the ship had been Captain Victor Hightower, she reminded herself.

It had been a long three weeks aboard that ship, as Maggie was called upon to serve the captain, made even longer by the flood of emotion his very presence brought about, and all the while, she had to maintain her deception, or risk being thrown to the sharks. Not an easy task when one has the responsibility of dressing a young and handsome captain thrust upon her.

Maggie had managed to keep her true identity a secret until that night – the last night they were at sea, headed home to Mother England. A small band of pirates attacked the ship, and Maggie was thrown into battle in an attempt to save one of her shipmate's lives. She failed. Randy was murdered. The pirate turned on her, striking a violent blow to her head, then prepared to run her through. She lifted her gun and fired. A second shot rang from out of nowhere. The pirate fell. Captain Hightower stood before her, his gun smoking.

Everything happened so fast. In the space of an instant a dear friend had been slain at her feet and she'd taken the lives of his two murderers. Her knees buckled. She fell into the captain's arms. The cap she wore was knocked from her head, her amber braid tumbled free. She remembered the stunned look in the captain's eyes as he realized his Marcus was a woman. What possessed her then she still did not know, but she turned her face to his and kissed him. And he kissed her in return.

Captain Hightower had carried her to her cabin and tended to the bruise on her face. He asked no questions, voiced no judgements. And he would have left her cabin then, had she not reached out to him in her fear and pain – the need to escape the black death that surrounded her with the life he sparked inside her.

She did not hate Captain Hightower, nor did she blame him for what transpired between them that night in her cabin. However, the man who stepped off the ship was no longer a captain, but the Marquess of Winterbourne. And it was him she quickly learned to despise.

Victor, the Marquess of Winterbourne, forced her into his carriage with the threat of turning her over to the guard on account of her fraud. But instead of dropping her in Haymarket Square, she found herself at Misthaven, under the guardianship of the dowager Duchess of Misthavenshire, Victor's aunt.

"Hear me out, Lady Margaret," Victor finally continued, interrupting her thoughts. "I only requested the duchess help you obtain a respectable position of governess. However, it appears she intends to keep you at Misthaven for some time, with this little charade. And while we both know you are not the daughter of her late fourth cousin, Earl Dodson, she is determined that the rest of the ton believe it is so." He cleared his throat and eyed Maggie, while raking his hand through his dark chestnut waves. "She is my favorite aunt, and really the only close relative I have in the world, you know. I can hardly steer completely away from her. So I think it only wise that you and I forge a friendship. It will surely make these next months easier on both of us don't you think?"

She stared at him, studying his expression, comparing it to the tone of his voice. His brown eyes appeared sincere, even if his words harbored a bit of teasing.

"For Aunt Ester's sake?" he prodded, leaning forward, extending his hand with a smile.

Warily she reached her hand out to meet his and shook. "For Ester's sake," she agreed.

Victor stood on the street, his dark eyes holding her gaze. He held out his hand to help Maggie from the carriage. She accepted it, still uncertain if he truly intended to keep to the bargain they'd made only a short time earlier. He responded to her uncertainty with a chuckle.

This time it was Maggie who chuckled. "I have yet to decide, my lord. I suppose we shall see if you made your offer of friendship in earnest."

As they walked through the door of Madam Boutrey's, he clutched his chest. "Ah, another arrow, straight through my heart!"

She jabbed her elbow discreetly into his ribs. "Enough. You are acting like a school boy!" she hissed, before gleaming a smile in the direction of the portly little woman who bounded toward them.

"Welcome! How can Madam Boutrey be of service to you today?" She lifted her chubby hand to Maggie, her gray eyes sparkling and her full cheeks bright pink.

"I have come for my final fitting for a ball gown. The Duchess of Misthavenshire had my measurements delivered, and I was to come in today."

"Ah, yes, the duchess! One of Madam Boutrey's favorites! And you must be her beautiful cousin she wrote of in the accompanying letter?"

"She is," came Victor's reply. He leaned out of the way just in time to avoid another jab.

Madam Boutrey scurried to the back of the shop without looking over her shoulder.

Madam Boutrey suddenly ceased her instructions, her cheeks aflame, and gawked behind Maggie. Maggie turned around, and there stood Victor, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was in a ladies' fitting room.

She scowled. "Cousin, I think I am quite safe back here on my own. Would you be so kind as to remove yourself and wait for me in the front?"

The very devil's grin spread across his face. "Of course, cousin," he replied, and turned on his heel.

He hadn't realized he'd followed Maggie into the fitting room. Her very presence seemed to do that to him--made him forget himself. He gazed out the window onto Bond Street and watched the carriages and people pass.

Before that day, he'd never considered Maggie might be uncomfortable in his company. How could she be otherwise? He'd taken her virtue, and all but acted as though it never happened. And Maggie made it abundantly clear she had no desire to have anything to do with him whatsoever.

The marquess tried to justify his actions with silent arguments he made in his own defense, which only made him feel guiltier. But what was he to do?

Victor sighed and pressed his nose against the shop window. The glass fogged. He stared through the haze, wishing for an answer to this dilemma. There was no flash of brilliance – no spectacular solution. However, a sense of rightness filled him, and he knew what he must do. No matter how difficult, he must truly become Maggie's friend. Yes, he'd been playing with her in the carriage when he offered his friendship, but it was really the right thing to do.

Victor would become the girl's protector and champion—her best friend. He would see to it that she lived happily ever after.

It seemed the duchess was hell bent on obtaining a better position than governess for Maggie. The glass fogged more as he released his frustration. With Aunt Ester determined to parade the girl in the lines, he had no question this charade would win Maggie the adoration of the ton.

Victor groaned. Why did he have such difficulty envisioning Maggie in the line? A growl rumbled inside. His shoulders slumped hopelessly. Because the beau monde was full of eligible young dukes and lords who would turn themselves wrong side out to win her attention. A painful twist in the depth of his gut occurred then. That is what made it so difficult – the thought of his Maggie in the arms of another man.

The marquess swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. She was not his Maggie, except for that brief moment when he held her cradled in his arms aboard the ship, while she lay sleeping. Nothing before, and surely nothing the rest of his life would touch him as deeply as those few hours when she belonged only to him.

The shrill voice of Madam Boutrey pierced his thoughts. Victor turned his face away from the window to greet the seamstress and Maggie as they exited the fitting room.

"And is it the perfect dress for your first societal ball, Lady Margaret?" He tried to smile away the tension that creased his brow.

Maggie finished pulling on her glove and glanced up at the Marquess of Winterbourne. He seemed less hauty than before; dreadfully serious.

"Madam Boutrey is to be commended. Not a single alteration needed to be made, and the dress is the loveliest I've ever seen."

Victor stole his gaze away from the window of the carriage and gave it to Maggie. He smiled, but it seemed forced. "I am well."

She studied the man who sat across from her, and wondered about this new aspect he wore so completely. Polite. Strained. No teasing, no jesting. His dark eyes reflected a particular emotion, which she could not describe. What happened to him while she was with Madam Boutrey? Could it be he really intended to make a friendship out of their muddled acquaintance? And was this the result?

By the time the carriage turned into the long drive that led to Misthaven, Maggie decided two things:

First, she did not like this new arrangement at all. It seemed to be Victor's friend as a woman was an entirely different situation than they'd shared when he believed her to be a man. He was quiet, distanced. There were no humorous stories, no revealing conversations. His demeanor was rigidly formal—each movement and word thought out and precise. Victor now treated her the same as he'd treated all the men aboard the ship—guarded and methodical in all things.

She shifted in her seat and straightened her skirt. Peering over at the man who stared out the window, she decided she'd rather he never discovered she was a woman, for to have remained Marcus would have meant she would have worked in his stable and remained his confidant.

The second conclusion was that she really did not wish to be his friend at all. She felt tears swell in her eyes, and she sniffed them back. No, to have remained Marcus meant she would never have known his sweet kiss. What Maggie really wanted was to be held in his arms, the way he held her that night on the ship. She'd curled up next to him and closed her eyes. Thinking her asleep, she felt his eyes roam over her face and her body. She felt his hand gently stroke her hair. Then he pulled the blanket over them, wrapped his arms around her and laid his head on her pillow, while she was lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart, taking his warmth and his fragrance into her dreams.

She took a deep, calming breath as Victor offered his hand to help her down from the carriage. She met his polite smile with one of her own. His beautiful dark eyes did not sparkle and dance, but were dull as they looked into hers. There was no velvety laughter in his voice when he spoke. Even his teasing would be welcome over this—this-- nothing.

The sound of the marquess's voice shattered her thoughts. She looked up and saw another coach in the drive.

Maggie felt panic grip her instantly and she stopped cold. "Your cousin? H-he will know I am not a relative."

Victor patted her hand. "There, there. Calm yourself. He is not my cousin. He is from Uncle Albert's side of the family. In fact, he is now the Duke of Misthavenshire, since my Uncle Albert passed on two years ago."

This brought a laugh from the marquess and he began walking toward the entrance of Misthaven Hall, dragging Maggie along. "Not at all. Rufus had little to do with Uncle Albert and Aunt Ester until Albert took ill. Suddenly, with the dukedom lurking around the corner, his interest in family blossomed."

"Less than that. Now, I'm sure the duchess has lunch waiting, and we must get your dress hung so it does not wrinkle."

As Victor threw the door open, the duchess ran to greet them. "You are home at last! Come! Come!" she exclaimed, taking Maggie by the hand, all but ignoring Victor.

She dragged Maggie across the anteroom, and finally stopped when they stood in front of a handsome young man, with wavy blonde hair the color of the sand on the beach at Cornwall, and smokey blue eyes.

"Rufus, Duke of Misthavenshire, I would like you to meet Lady Margaret, the daughter of my cousin, the late Earl Dodson."

His solemn face broke into a dashing smile and he took her hand as he bowed low, and brought it to his mouth.

Something resembling a bull's snort sounded beside her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the marquess, with a nasty glower covering his face. It appeared he disliked young Rufus a great deal. At least it was not that staid countenance he'd worn all the way back to Misthaven.

Maggie looked back to the duke, smiled as sweetly as she could, while dipping into the curtsey she'd learned at Cornwall. "Your Grace," she responded, batting her eyes coyly at the man who stared back with obvious interest.

He grinned all the more. "Aunt, on second thought, I believe I will stay for tea."

She heard a disgruntled breath escape the marquess. Maggie fought the temptation to witness whatever expression accompanied the great sigh of annoyance, and smiled demurely for the duke.

Without a glance in Victor's direction, Maggie allowed the duke to wrap her arm through his, and they followed the duchess into the sitting room.

While Ester sat herself on the throne, as she referred to her magnificent crimson chair, the duke led Maggie to the chaise, and sat beside her. Victor took the seat beside the duchess, and Wadsworth poured the tea into delicate china cups, adorned with tiny painted flowers.

"So, Lady Margaret, my aunt informs me your father was one of her dearest relations."

Maggie tried to smile, quite uncomfortable with the deception at the moment. She prayed the Duke of Misthavenshire would not press her for too much information, because her imagination was faltering. In fact, with Rufus's eyes scrutinizing her every inch and movement, there was little her brain could manage, least of all elaborate detail of a life that did not exist.

"Funny," he said, rubbing his hand over his cheek in contemplation, "I do not seem to recall ever meeting your father—or even hearing about him for that matter. At least not until today."

The duchess interrupted him. "Now, Rufus, you should not bring up such painful memories for Lady Margaret. After all, it has been but little more than a month since her father's passing. Shall we talk of something more cheerful?"

Maggie felt her heart resume its normal pacing. She threw Ester a grateful smile. "Yes, it does bring me great sorrow to speak of the last torturous month of my life." The expression on Victor's face proved he understood her meaning well. A giggle nearly bubbled to the surface and she hung her head to conceal it.

The duke mistook Maggie's actions for grief, and took her hand in his comfortingly. "There, there, Lady Margaret. I did not mean to cause you any moment of sadness. I apologize."

She squared her shoulders, and sat straight, bringing her teacup to her lips. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"My aunt informs me you are to make your first appearance in London society tomorrow evening."

"Do not tell me you are not all a-flutter at the prospect! Why, it will surely be one of the grandest events of your life!"

"Of course she's looking forward to the ball with great anticipation!" Ester broke in. "As am I."

"And is Lady Georgette to be the one of your many with the honor to hold your arm at the ball tomorrow, Misthavenshire? Or will it be the widowed Lady Hallingsworth?" asked Victor, more than a ring of sarcasm to his tone.

Misthavenshire, for the first time, acknowledged the Victor's existence, with a snap of his head and a sneer. "On the contrary, Winterbourne. As you know, the widow is still in mourning, and Lady Georgette has come down with a fever of some sort." Then his anger suddenly dissipated, and the duke returned his attentions to Maggie. "Not that it matters, for I'd made plans with neither. And since your cousin will be quite preoccupied with the lovely Lady Jane, I'm certain the duchess will approve of you saving most of the dances on your card for me. That is, if you have no objection."

She was uncertain about her reaction to the duke. However, after a morning of staring into Victor's expressionless face, she imagined with great satisfaction the delicious scowl still etched along his mouth and brow. And for a moment, she wanted it to grow darker.

"Oh, on the contrary, Your Grace!" she exclaimed. "I—" Suddenly, Maggie could not understand why she wished to witness a scowl to dim the perfect features of Victor's handsome face. But it was too late to take her words back. "I would be honored."

"Victor, you are frowning dreadfully!" hissed Jane. "Do you intend to embarrass me in front of all of London with your scurrilous mood?"

"You know these affairs make me uncomfortable." The marquess shifted in his chair so Lady Jane could not lean against his arm.

They'd arrived at Gadstone only an hour earlier, and Victor was more than ready to leave. He ran his finger around the inside of his collar, finding it excruciatingly tight. In fact, everything was tight or made him feel closed in that evening.

Jane began her clinging the moment his coach arrived to pick her up. And if that and the ill-fitting collar were not enough to make him desire a speedy escape from the Pepperstill gala, then the sight of Maggie dancing with Rufus, most assuredly was.

Victor scraped his teeth across his lower lip as the minuet ended, and a waltz began. He crossed his legs, folded his arms over his chest, and breathed out his frustration when Maggie did not walk away from Rufus and return to her seat beside Aunt Ester. He did not wish to be forced to gaze upon her, in her gown of pink satin, cut scandalously low to reveal the ivory tops of her breasts and fitted shamelessly tight around her tiny waist. He wanted her out of the duke's arms and out of his line of vision. But it was not to be.

Maggie fell into Misthavenshire's arms just then, and blushed prettily at something he whispered in her ear as he brought her much closer than propriety allowed. He'd vowed to be Maggie's protector, and if ever there was anyone she needed protection from, it was that scoundrel, Rufus. On another occasion, he might have ignored Jane's hinting, but it came at just the moment he needed it.

Victor lifted his tall form from the chair and reached out for Jane's hand. Her lower jaw dropped.

"It has been long since you waltzed with me, Victor," she nearly whispered, accepting his hand.

For a brief moment, he felt quite heartless that he should be waltzing with his intended only as a means to get close to another woman. But the thought was promptly put to rest when he again caught site of Maggie in Misthavenshire's embrace, and reminded himself of his pledge to safeguard her, especially from the likes of the duke.

Maggie caught site of the marquess and Lady Jane as they stepped onto the dance floor. They were a curious pair. He rarely mentioned the lady when he visited Misthaven. And until then, his demeanor suggested a lack of patience with the woman. Hardly what one would expect from a couple soon to be wed. But to see the two of them together now, one could assume nothing beyond the notion that they were in love. Victor practically dragged the lady onto the dance floor, obviously in a hurry to hold her in his arms. Lady Jane practically threw herself into his arms and now gazed into his eyes adoringly. Maggie saw him pull Jane closer. Then all at once, his eyes met hers.

Quickly Maggie turned her stare away. She did not want him to know his actions held any interest whatsoever for her. She smiled up at Misthavenshire—a dazzling smile, as though there was no place she'd rather be than with him, and she hoped Victor saw it as such.

He chuckled and brought Maggie to him. She glanced over his shoulder at Victor, and then immediately turned back to the duke the moment the marquess caught her.

"If this little affair delights you, then the Gadstone Masquerade will most certainly be a sight for you to see."

Victor's glare made Maggie's cheeks grow warm with the prickle of a blush. The duke misunderstood, and he tightened his grip until she was almost pressed against him.

"I do not know if I am to attend the masquerade, Your Grace," she replied, attempting to acquire a bit more space between them.

"Lady Margaret, everyone who is anyone accepts an invitation to Gadstone's. There is no question the duchess has already sent her acceptance."

Suddenly, the waltz ended, and Maggie curtsied to the duke. Just as suddenly, Victor and Jane stood beside them.

"Lady Margaret." He bowed and took her hand. "It is a pleasure to see you this evening."

His voice and face were blank again of emotion, the smiles he'd given to Jane now gone. He greeted the duke.

Jane's eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin, fully ignoring Maggie. "No, Victor, I have not. In fact, I've never heard you mention her."

"Ah-ho!" exclaimed Rufus. "It seems Lady Margaret has been a well kept secret from everyone!"

The marquess disregarded the duke. "She has only recently come to live with Aunt Ester, since the passing of her father, Earl Dodson."

"You are looking spectacular, Lady Jane," Misthavenshire broke in, giving Jane the opportunity to make no acknowledgement at all of Maggie's existence.

Jane's sour expression was overcome by a smug smile and her eyelids flapped flirtatiously. "Thank you, Your Grace."

The music began again, and just as Maggie turned to sneak back to the duchess before Rufus could whisk her back onto the floor, Victor grabbed her arm.

"Not so fast, Lady Margaret." He threw a glance over his shoulder to the Duke of Misthavenshire. "Would you be so kind as to keep Lady Jane company while I have one dance with my cousin, Rufus?"

He did not give the duke time to respond, nor did he appear to hear Lady Jane's gasp in protest. The marquess wrapped his hand around Maggie's and swung her into his embrace. She caught just a glimpse of the duke leading Jane toward the punch table, before Victor led her out into the center of the couples who whirled to the music.

"How so? Is it not natural that I should desire a dance with my favorite cousin?"

"I am not truly your cousin, my lord, and surely Jane will be fit to be hanged because of this."

Maggie felt a flood of indignity envelop her. "And just what, pray tell, leads you to believe you have the right to deal with me in any manner?"

"Our agreement. I am your friend, my dear, remember?" Then he leaned close to her ear and whispered, "And as such, I have granted myself all rights concerning your well-being."

"Say what you will, but I fully intend to see that your best interests are served in this little contrivance of the duchess's that you've seen fit to embrace."

"Do not concern yourself with me, Lord Winterbourne, for I am not in need of your protection."

His hand slid further around her back and brought her abruptly to him, until barely a breath separated them. "I will not allow this dalliance with Rufus."

A hint of dry sarcasm rose in her voice as Maggie lifted her mouth to his ear and whispered, "Why, my lord, you did not believe me so young and naïve when you saw quite completely to my ruination." Then she curtly added, "Without a second thought."

Without even the slightest discretion, the marquess stopped dancing, took Maggie harshly by the arm, and led her brusquely through the open doorway and onto the balcony. He closed the double doors behind them, blocking some of the music and most of the light, save that which streamed through the small windows of the French doors. She struggled until she broke free of his hold.

Turning fiercely on him, she strained to see his face in the dark night. Little by little her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the moon, and made out a cold and dangerous cast upon the marquess's face.

"You think this all another game, just as you thought disguising yourself as a boy was a game. Only this game you play with Rufus is by far the most perilous of the two."

"Of all the pompous arrogance!" she hissed. "You insinuate Rufus's interest is dishonorable, though you place my reputation in peril on this balcony, behind closed doors."

"No one will question your maidenly standing because your cousin spoke to you in private on this balcony. On the other hand, should you continue this flirtation with Misthavenshire, it will be assumed he has claimed you, since he leaves nothing or no one unspoiled in his path."

"He's been a perfect gentleman." She was almost certain it was a lie. Too many occurrences of accidental brushes against her breast in one evening, and several attempts to press her to him while dancing. "Hang their wicked suppositions!" She was so angry, it came out as a shriek, and she stormed away from him to the far end of the balcony.

She heard Victor stomp behind her. Maggie stood with her back toward him, and stared out into the night. It was easier when she did not have to look into those eyes while she lied. She could handle Misthavenshire, just as she'd handled every one of the wretches that tried their hand at the boarding house from the day she'd arrived. The marquess's interference was one thing she would not tolerate.

Gripping the rail until her knuckles went white, she steadied her shaking voice. "It is obvious you and the duke have little use for each other. But as far as I can see, I am no more than a pawn in this battle you've waged, and I will not be a party to it."

"Do you think he will offer you a proposal, Maggie? Has the duchess succeeded in convincing you that he will offer you marriage? He will never love you."

Maggie felt as though a dagger plunged through her heart. She forced back the tears that clouded her eyes. "You do not need to remind me of my place, Lord Wellsely. I have no intentions of seducing the Duke of Misthavenshire, or any other member of your society. And I have not forgotten who the woman is that lies beneath this cloak of pink satin, nor have I assumed myself worthy of the love you speak of."

Victor heard the tremor in her voice, and her words struck him to the core. How could she believe he thought her unworthy of love, when he believed with all his heart that she deserved the most sacred, most pure love—something Misthavenshire's selfish heart was incapable of giving. He brought her around to him.

Pain marked Maggie's cheeks and she dashed it away, turning her face from Victor. "I know what you must think of me after… after," the words stuck in her throat. "I absolve you of any sense of obligation you may feel. Pray, turn me loose and let me trouble you no further."

Without thinking, Victor leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Maggie's. He pulled away suddenly, realizing what he'd done. The moonlight washed over her face. Green eyes, framed by velvet lashes, blinked, until teardrops glistened against porcelain. He heard her breath flutter like the wind. Her lower lip quivered, as she gazed into his eyes.

He reached out his hand to caress her cheek. In a moment of uncertainty, Victor hesitated. Maggie did not turn away from him in anger or fear, but leaned against his hand and closed her eyes. Every wall he'd built against her these last two weeks crumbled then, and he lifted Maggie into his embrace. Her arms slipped about his neck. Her lips whispered softly against his.

Victor felt the fire build. He kissed her, slowly at first, but each sweet taste upon his tongue was like water to a man dying of thirst. He wanted more of her. He wanted that moment they'd shared on the ship. And he wanted it to last forever.

There was a searing passion in her kiss, the rise and fall of her breasts, firm and inviting against his chest, and the fragrance of her skin that made his body ache for her. The fragile woman that trembled in his arms and her tears that touched his face, made his heart ache for her.

But why did not matter. All that mattered was that Victor, Marquess of Winterbourne, had never known any feeling so strong or any emotion so tender, as what swept over him whenever Maggie was near.

Maggie melted against him as he drew her into his arms. There was no longer the grim or blank expression in Victor's dark eyes, but something there that whispered to her heart and broke it, all at once. When his fingers brushed her cheek, she felt comfort. When his lips met hers, she felt desire. Her tattered sobs turned to breathless passion, and her body came alive when pressed to his.

His eyes pleaded. They stood motionless. Neither uttered a word. At that moment, heaven and hell came together in frenzied chaos, and every emotion she'd ever known filled her heart in the space of an instant, and Maggie realized she loved him—had somehow always loved him.

Her hands came suddenly to her mouth, and a river of anguish streamed from her eyes. How could she have been so foolish?

Maggie ran. Across the balcony, away from the marquess. Through the doors, away from love.

Maggie buried her face in the satin pillow, wet with the tears she'd shed since arriving back at Misthaven after fleeing Lady Pepperstill's ball.

How could she have been so foolish as to let herself fall in love with Victor? Not only was he affianced to Lady Jane, but he was a marquess – a man who could never love someone as plain and common as herself.

Maggie decided then that she would leave Misthaven at first light. She could no longer face him, or witness him with the earl's daughter on his arm.

Where would she go? Did it matter? Anything would be better than the heartbreak she was sure to endure every time she beheld Jane on his arm.

Suddenly there was a wrapping at her window. Maggie bolted upright in the bed. A shadowy form moved, blocking the moonlight. The window flew open. She cringed and felt faint, certain she was about to die at the hand of a highwayman – or worse.

Maggie swallowed hard. Her legs wouldn't move as the black cloaked figure glided toward her in silence. Her heart rose to her throat when she tried to scream.

She let loose the breath she'd been holding in anticipation of her death. "Victor?" Squinting in the dim light, she made out his eclipsed features. Of all the audacious nerve! Even after all that had occurred between them, only a rogue of the first degree would enter a woman's chamber window in the wee hours of the morning.

Maggie hastily dried her eyes and scurried to her feet. "If you have come to badger me about Rufus—"

In three long strides he stood just inches away, towering over Maggie, making her feel quite defenseless.

"I am not giving you a choice in the matter, nor am I asking your permission." There was a particular edge to his voice – an urgency. "You will hear me out because you must. As surely as the sun rises, you must." He moved a step closer.

"In the time that I have known you," he began, his voice low, almost grave, "you have been a constant source of irritation. I have never met a woman more troublesome in my entire life."

"I-I shall trouble you no further after tomorrow," she said, turning her face away so he would not witness the heartbreak his words caused.

"You are correct. Because I am going to see to it that I am never troubled by you again."

What more could he possibly want from her? She'd voiced her intention to leave, yet he found it necessary to compound her pain by telling her what a vexation she was to him. He was heartless. A rake.

"No, I do not think I have," he said, suddenly falling to one knee before her. "I have not been able to put you out of my mind since the moment I held you in my arms on the ship, Maggie. And there is only one way I can free myself of this incessant longing."

Nor had she been able to put the memories of him out of her mind. But she had to be strong now. Her very heart depended on it. "It would not be right for us to repeat the mistake we made that night."

He brought her hand to his lips and tenderly brushed them against her skin. "That was not the mistake," he said softly. "The only mistake I made was denying all that I felt since then."

"Jane is no more in love with me than I am with her. I never thought I would know love – until I knew you. And now that I have it, I've no intention of letting it slip through my hands."

His quiet laughter rumbled then. "I love you, Maggie. Please say you will be my wife."

With the hand he did not hold within his own, she discreetly pinched herself. No, she was not dreaming, proven by the sharp pain where her nails dug into her skin.

"Victor … I am not certain I know what to say." This was all too much and happening far too quickly.

"Just say yes, Maggie," he said, rising to his feet. He pressed his lips to hers. "Just say yes," he whispered, kissing her again, "or I shall be forced to kiss you until I convince you to accept my proposal," he challenged, gently taking hold of her shoulders.

When she did not answer, he pulled her into his embrace and crushed his mouth over hers, his tongue tickling until her tongue met his in a dance of flickering circles.

"I fear I shall need more persuading," she sighed, her voice barely a murmur, as she leaned forward, touching her lips to his playfully.

His grin broadened wickedly. Again he brought her to him, and this time Victor kissed Maggie, searing his mouth to hers with his passion, draining her resistance with his very breath, until her mind whirled and her knees went weak.

His brow raised suspiciously. "Are you certain you are thoroughly persuaded?" Victor pressed Maggie against him, breathing in the sweet scent of her, his heart racing with love for her. The moonlight reflected in her emerald eyes, and he saw himself there. Forever.

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