Catherine hoped that Leo, Lord Ramsay, would stay away from Hampshire for a good long while. Perhaps if enough time passed, they would be able to pretend the kiss in the garden had never happened.

But in the meantime, she couldn’t help but wonder … why had he done it?

Most likely he had merely been amusing himself with her, finding a new way to set her off balance.

If life were at all fair, she thought dourly, Leo would have been pudgy, pockmarked, and bald. But he was a handsome man with a strapping six-foot build. He had dark hair and light blue eyes and a dazzling smile. The worst part was that Leo didn’t look at all like the rogue he was. He looked wholesome and clean and honorable, the nicest gentleman one could ever hope to meet.

The illusion was dispelled as soon as he opened his mouth. Leo was a thoroughly wicked man, articulate in all circumstances. His irreverence spared no one, least of all himself. In the year since they had first met, he had exhibited nearly every objectionable quality a man could possess, and any attempt to correct him only made him worse. Especially if that attempt had been made by Catherine.

Leo was a man with a past, and he didn’t even have the decency to try and hide it. He was frank about his dissolute history, the drinking and skirt-chasing and brawling, the self-destructive behavior that had nearly brought catastrophe to the Hathaway family on more than one occasion. One could only conclude that he liked being a scoundrel, or at least being known as one. He played the part of jaded aristocrat to perfection, his eyes glinting with the cynicism of a man who, at the age of thirty, had managed to outlive himself.

Catherine wanted nothing to do with any man, least of all one who radiated such dangerous charm. One could never trust such a man. His darkest days might still be ahead of him. And if not … it was entirely possible that hers were.

Approximately a week after Leo had left Hampshire, Catherine spent an afternoon outside with Beatrix. Unfortunately these outings were never the kind of well-regulated walk that Catherine preferred. Beatrix didn’t walk, she explored. She liked to go deep into the forest, investigating flora, fungi, nests, webs, and holes in the ground. Nothing delighted the youngest Hathaway so much as the discovery of a black newt, a lizard’s nest, or a rabbit warren, or the tracking of badgers’ marks.

Injured creatures were caught, rehabilitated, and set free, or if they could not fend for themselves, they became part of the Hathaway household. And the family had become so accustomed to Beatrix’s animals that no one so much as batted an eye when a hedgehog waddled through the parlor or a pair of rabbits hopped past the dinner table.

Pleasantly tired after the long ramble with Beatrix, Catherine sat at her dressing table and took down her hair. She scrubbed her fingers over her scalp and through the loose blond waves, soothing the little aches left from tight braids and hairpins.

A happy chatter came from behind her, and she turned to see Beatrix’s pet ferret, Dodger, emerging from beneath her dresser. His long, sinuous body arced gracefully as he loped toward her with a white glove in his teeth. The mischievous thief liked to filch things from drawers and boxes and closets, and hide them in secret piles. To Catherine’s frustration, Dodger especially loved her possessions. It had become a ritual humiliation to go through Ramsay House in search of her own garters.

“You overgrown rat,” Catherine told him as he stood tall and braced his tiny paws on the edge of her chair. She reached out to pet his sleek fur, tickled the top of his head, and carefully pried the glove from his teeth. “Having stolen all my garters, you’re moving on to gloves, are you?”

He regarded her affectionately, his eyes bright in the dark stripe that formed a mask across his face.

“Where have you hidden my things?” she asked, setting the glove on the dressing table. “If I don’t find my garters soon, I’ll have to keep my stockings up with pieces of old string.”

Dodger twitched his whiskers and appeared to grin at her, displaying tiny pointed teeth. He wriggled invitingly.

Smiling reluctantly, Catherine picked up a hairbrush and drew it through the loose locks of her hair. “No, I don’t have time to play with you. I’m getting ready for dinner.”

In a liquid and lightning-fast movement, the ferret leaped to her lap, snatched the glove from the table, and streaked from the room.

“Dodger,” Catherine exclaimed, dashing after him. “Bring that back!” She went out into the hallway, where maids were rushing back and forth with unusual haste. Dodger disappeared around the corner.

“Virgie,” Catherine asked one of the maids, “what is happening?”

The dark-haired girl was breathless and smiling. “Lord Leo has just come from London, miss, and the housekeeper told us to ready his room and set another place for dinner, and unpack the luggage when the footmen bring it up.”

“So soon?” Catherine asked, feeling the color drain from her face. “But he didn’t send word. No one expected him.”

I didn’t expect him, was what she meant.

Virgie shrugged and hurried away with an armload of folded linens.

Catherine put a hand to her midriff, where nerves were leaping, and retreated into her room. She wasn’t ready to face Leo. It wasn’t fair that he had come back so soon.

Of course, it was his estate. But still …

She paced in a tight circle and tried to marshal the chaos of her thoughts. There was only one solution: She would avoid Leo. She would plead a headache and stay in her room.

In the midst of her turmoil, there was a tap on the door. Someone entered without waiting for a response. Catherine nearly choked on her own heartbeat as she saw Leo’s tall, familiar form.

“How dare you come into my room without…” Her voice faded as he closed the door.

Leo turned to face her, his gaze sweeping over her. He was travel-rumpled and a bit dusty. His hair wanted a good brushing, the dark brown locks disheveled and falling over his forehead. He looked self-possessed but cautious, the ever-present mockery in his eyes replaced by something she couldn’t identify. Something new.

Catherine’s hand drew into a fist against her midriff, and she struggled to catch up with her own breathing. She held still as he approached her, while her heart pounded with a dizzying mixture of dread and excitement.

Leo’s hands went on either side of her shrinking body and gripped the edge of the dressing table behind her. He was too close, his masculine vitality surrounding her. He smelled like outside air, like dust and horses, like a healthy young male. As he leaned over her, one of his knees pressed gently into the mass of her skirts.

“Why did you come back?” she asked weakly.

He stared directly into her eyes. “You know why.”

Before Catherine could stop herself, her gaze dropped to the firm contours of his mouth.

“Cat … we have to talk about what happened.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He inclined his head slightly. “Would you like me to remind you?”

“No, no…” She shook her head for emphasis. “No.”

His lips twitched. “One ‘no’ is enough, darling.”

Darling?

Filled with anxiety, Catherine fought to keep her voice steady. “I thought I made it clear that I wanted to ignore what happened.”

“And you expect that will make it go away?”

“Yes, that’s what one does with mistakes,” she said with difficulty. “One sets them aside and moves on.”

“Really?” Leo asked innocently. “My mistakes are usually so enjoyable that I tend to repeat them.”

Catherine wondered what was wrong with her that she was tempted to smile. “This one will not be repeated.”

“Ah, there’s the governess voice. All stern and disapproving. It makes me feel like a naughty schoolboy.” One of his hands lifted to caress the edge of her jaw.

Her body raced with conflicting impulses, her skin craving his touch, her instincts warning her to move away from him. The result was a kind of stunned immobility, every muscle drawing up taut. “If you don’t leave my room this instant,” she heard herself say, “I’ll make a scene.”

“Marks, there is nothing in the world I would enjoy more than watching you make a scene. In fact, I’ll help you. How shall we start?” Leo seemed to enjoy her discomfiture, the wash of uncontrollable color over her face.

The pad of his thumb stroked the thin, soft skin beneath her jaw, a coaxing motion that caused her head to tilt back before she quite knew what she was doing. “I’ve never seen such eyes,” he said almost absently. “They remind me of the first time I saw the North Sea.” His fingertips followed the edge of her jaw. “When the wind chases the waves before it, the water is the same green-gray your eyes are now … and then it turns to blue at the horizon.”

Catherine could only assume that he was mocking her again. She scowled at him. “What do you want from me?”

Leo took a long time to answer, his fingers trailing to her earlobe, massaging lightly. “I want your secrets. And I’ll get them out of you one way or another.”

That gave her the impetus to swat his hand away. “Stop this. You’re amusing yourself at my expense, as usual. You are a dissipated scoundrel, an unprincipled cad, and—”

“Don’t forget ‘lecherous libertine,—” he said. “That’s one of my favorites.”

“Get out!”

He pushed away lazily from the dressing table. “All right. I’ll go. Obviously you fear that if I stay, you won’t be able to control your desire for me.”

“The only desire I have for you,” she said, “involves maiming and dismemberment.”

Leo grinned and went to the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder. “Your spectacles are fogging again,” he said helpfully, and slipped through the door before she could find something to throw.