“Thunderbolts,” Beatrix exclaimed, entering the library where Leo had been waiting, “I can’t go with you to the ruins after all. I’ve just checked on Lucky, and she’s about to have her babies. I can’t leave her at such a time.”

Leo smiled quizzically, replacing a book on a shelf. “Who’s Lucky?”

“Oh, I forgot you hadn’t met her. She’s a three-legged cat who used to belong to the cheesemaker in the village. The poor thing got her paw caught in a rat trap, and it had to be amputated. And now that she’s no longer a good mouser, the cheesemaker gave her to me. He never even named her, can you imagine?”

“Given what happened to her, the name ‘Lucky’ is something of a misnomer, isn’t it?”

“I thought it might improve her fortunes.”

“I’m sure it will,” Leo said, amused. Beatrix’s passion for helping vulnerable creatures had always worried and touched the other Hathaways in equal measure. They all recognized that Beatrix was the most unconventional person in the family.

Beatrix was always sought after at London social events. She was a pretty girl, if not classically beautiful, with her blue eyes, dark hair, and tall, slender figure. Gentlemen were attracted by her freshness and charm, unaware that she showed the same patient interest to hedgehogs, field mice, and misbehaving spaniels. And when it came time for active courtship, men reluctantly left Beatrix’s engaging company and turned to more conventional misses. With each successive season, her chances at marriage diminished.

Beatrix didn’t seem to care. At the age of nineteen—nearly twenty—she had yet to fall in love. It was universally agreed among the Hathaways that few men would be able to understand or handle her. She was a force of nature, unhampered by conventional rules.

“Go take care of Lucky,” Leo said gently. “I don’t expect to have any difficulty finding the ruins by myself.”

“Oh, you’re not going alone,” she told him. “I arranged for Miss Marks to accompany you.”

“You did? And she was willing?”

Before Beatrix could answer, Catherine entered the library, her slim figure dressed in riding clothes, her hair pulled back in a tight braided chignon. A sketchbook was clasped beneath her arm. She stopped short at the sight of Leo, who was wearing a gentleman’s riding coat, close-fitting breeches, and well-worn boots.

Her wary gaze went to Beatrix. “Why haven’t you changed into your riding habit, dear?”

Beatrix replied apologetically, “I’m sorry, Miss Marks, I can’t go after all. Lucky needs me. But it’s just as well—you can show Leo the way even better than I.” Her sunny smile encompassed them both. “It’s a fine day for riding, isn’t it? Have a good outing!” And she left the library in her long, lithe stride.

Catherine’s slender brows rushed downward as she looked at Leo. “Why do you want to visit the ruins?”

“I just want to look at them. Hang it all, do I have to explain myself to you? Just refuse if you’re afraid to go somewhere alone with me.”

“Afraid of you? Not in the least.”

Leo gestured to the doorway in a parody of gentlemanly manners. “After you, then.”

As a result of the strategic importance of the ports of Southampton and Portsmouth, Hampshire was filled with ancient castles and picturesque ruins of forts and Saxon dwellings. Although Leo had known that there were remains of an old manor on the Ramsay estate, he hadn’t yet found the opportunity to visit them. Among the concerns of farming, the accounting of rents, rates, and labor, the timber cutting and the architectural commissions Leo took on occasion, there hadn’t been much time left for idle touring.

Together he and Catherine rode past fields of flowering turnips and wheat, and clover pastures where fat white sheep grazed. They crossed through the timber forest to the northwest of the estate, where heavy streams cut through green hills and limestone crags. The ground was less arable here, more rock than loam, but its location was a solidly defensible position for an ancient fortified manor home.

As they ascended a hill, Leo took covert glances at Catherine. She was slim and graceful on horseback, guiding the horse with a smooth economy of motion. An accomplished woman, he mused. Poised, articulate, competent in nearly everything she did. And yet when another woman would have advertised such qualities, Catherine went to great lengths to keep from drawing attention to herself.

They reached the site of the original manor, where the remains of ancient walls protruded from the ground like the vertebrae of fossilized creatures. Inequalities in the scrub-covered ground marked the locations of the manor’s outbuildings. A shallow circular ring, approximately twenty-five feet wide, revealed the dimensions of the moat that had surrounded a sixty-square-foot elevation of land.

After dismounting and tethering his horse, Leo went to assist Catherine. She disengaged her right leg from the pommel and took her foot from the stirrup, letting Leo control her descent. She alighted on the ground, facing him. Her face lifted, the brim of her riding hat partially shadowing her opalescent eyes.

They stood together with her hands on his shoulders. Her face was flushed with exertion, her lips parted … and all at once Leo knew how it would be to make love to her, her body light and supple beneath his, her breath rushing against his throat as he moved between her thighs. He would bring her to ecstasy, slowly and ruthlessly, and she would claw and moan and sigh his name …

“Here it is,” Catherine said. “Your ancestral home.”

Tearing his gaze from her, Leo regarded the crumbling ruins. “Charming,” he said. “A little dusting and sweeping, and the place will be as good as new.”

“Will you go along with the family’s plan to find a bride for you?”

“Do you think I should?”

“No, I don’t think you have the makings of a decent husband. You haven’t the character for it.”

Leo’s sentiments exactly. Except that it rankled to hear her say it.

“What makes you a fit judge of my character?” he asked.

Her shoulders lifted in an uncomfortable shrug. “One can’t help hearing about your exploits when all the dowagers and matrons are together at the balls.”

“I see. And you believe every rumor you hear?”

She was silent. Leo expected her to argue, or insult him. To his surprise, however, she stared at him with something like remorse. “You have a point. And whether the rumors are true or false, it was wrong of me to listen.”

Leo waited for her to follow that with some stinging insult, but she appeared genuinely chastened. Which was a surprise. It made him realize there was much he didn’t know about her, this solitary and serious young woman who had hovered at the edge of his family for so long.

“What do the gossips say about me?” he asked casually.

She gave him a wry glance. “Your prowess as a lover is much vaunted.”

“Oh, well, those rumors are definitely true.” He clucked his tongue as if shocked. “Do dowagers and chaperones really prattle about such things?”

Her slender brows arched. “What did you imagine they talked about?”

“Knitting. Jelly recipes.”

She shook her head and bit back a smile.

“How tedious these affairs must be for you,” Leo said. “Standing at the side of the room, listening to gossip and watching everyone else dance.”

“I don’t mind it. I don’t like dancing.”

“Have you ever danced with a man?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Then how can you be sure you wouldn’t like it?”

“I can have an opinion about something even if I haven’t done it.”

“Of course. It’s so much easier to form opinions without being troubled by experience or facts.”

She frowned but kept silent.

“You’ve given me an idea, Marks,” Leo went on. “I’m going to allow my sisters to plan the ball they mentioned earlier. Only for this reason: I’m going to come to you in the middle of it and ask you to dance with me. In front of everyone.”

She looked appalled. “I would refuse.”

“I’m going to ask nevertheless.”

“To make a mockery of me,” she said. “To make fools of us both.”

“No.” His voice gentled. “Just to dance, Marks.”

Their gazes locked in a long, fascinated stare.

And then to Leo’s surprise, Catherine smiled at him. A sweet, natural, brilliant smile, the first she had ever given him. Leo felt his chest tighten, and he went hot all over, as if some euphoric drug had gone straight to his nervous system.

It felt like … happiness.

He remembered happiness from a long time ago. He didn’t want to feel it. And yet the giddy warmth kept washing over him for no reason whatsoever.

“Thank you,” Catherine said, the smile still hovering on her lips. “That is kind of you, my lord. But I will never dance with you.”

Which, of course, made it the goal of Leo’s life.

Catherine turned to retrieve a sketchbook and roll of pencils from the saddle pouch.

“I didn’t know you sketched,” Leo said.

“I’m not very good at it.”

He gestured to the book in her hands. “May I see that?”

“And give you reason to mock me?”

“I won’t. My solemn promise. Let me see.” Slowly Leo extended his hand, palm up.

Catherine glanced at his open hand, and then his face. Hesitantly she gave the book to him.

Opening the book, he glanced through the sketches. There was a series of the ruins from different angles, perhaps too careful and disciplined in places where a bit of looseness would have given the sketch more vitality. But on the whole it was very well done. “Lovely,” he said. “You have a nice feeling for line and form.”

She colored, seeming uncomfortable with the praise. “I understand from your sisters that you are an accomplished artist.”

“Competent, perhaps. My architectural training included a number of art classes.” Leo gave her a casual grin. “I’m especially good at sketching things that stay still for long periods of time. Buildings. Lampposts.” He leafed through the book. “Do you have any of Beatrix’s drawings?”

“On the last page,” Catherine said. “She began to sketch a protruding section of the wall, over there, but she became preoccupied with a squirrel that kept hopping into the foreground.”

Leo found a perfectly rendered and detailed portrait of a squirrel. He shook his head. “Beatrix and her animals.”

They exchanged a grin.

“Many people talk to their pets,” Catherine said.

“Yes, but very few understand the replies.” Closing the sketchbook, Leo gave it back to her and began to walk the perimeter of the manor enclosure.

Catherine followed, picking her way among the gorse studded with yellow flowers and shiny black pods. “How deep was the original moat, do you estimate?”

“I would guess no more than eight feet where it cuts into the higher ground.” Leo shielded his eyes as he surveyed their surroundings. “They must have diverted one of the streams to fill it. You see those mounds over there? They were probably farm buildings and serf quarters, made of clay and stud.”

“What was the manor home like?”

“The central keep was almost certainly made of stone, with the rest a combination of materials. And it was likely crowded with sheep, goats, dogs, and serfs.”

“Do you know the history of the original overlord?” Catherine sat on a portion of the exposed wall and arranged her skirts.

“You mean the first Viscount Ramsay?” Leo stopped at the edge of the circular depression that had once been the moat. His gaze traveled across the broken landscape. “He started as Thomas of Blackmere, known for his lack of mercy. Apparently he had a talent for pillaging and burning villages. He was regarded as the left arm of Edward the Black Prince. Between them, they virtually destroyed the practice of chivalry.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled at the sight of Catherine’s wrinkled nose. She sat with schoolgirl straightness, the sketchbook in her lap. He would have liked to snatch her off the wall and do some pillaging of his own. Reflecting that it was a good thing she couldn’t read his thoughts, he continued the story.

“After fighting in France and being held prisoner for four years, Thomas was released and returned to England. I suppose he thought it was time to settle down, because he subsequently rode on this keep, killed the baron who had built it, seized his lands and ravished his widow.”

Her eyes were wide. “Poor lady.”

Leo shrugged. “She must have had some influence on him. He married her afterward and sired six children by her.”

“Did they live to a peaceful old age?”

Leo shook his head, approaching her leisurely. “Thomas went back to France, where they put an end to him at Castillon. But the French were quite civilized about it and raised a monument to him on the field.”

“I don’t think he deserved any kind of tribute.”

“Don’t be too hard on the fellow—he was only doing what the times demanded.”

“He was a barbarian,” she said indignantly. “Regardless of the times.” The wind had teased a lock of light golden hair loose from her tight chignon, and sent it straying over her cheek.

Unable to resist, Leo reached out and stroked the tendril back behind her ear. Her skin was baby-fine and smooth. “Most men are,” he said. “It’s only that they have more rules now.” He removed his hat, set it on the wall, and stared into her upturned face. “You may put a man in a cravat, teach him manners, and make him attend a soiree, but hardly any of us are truly civilized.”

“From what I know of men,” she said, “I agree.”

He gave her a mocking glance. “What do you know of men?”

She looked solemn, the clear gray irises now tinged with ocean green. “I know not to trust them.”

“I would say the same of women.” He shed his coat, tossed it over the wall, and went to the hill at the center of the ruins. Surveying the surrounding land, Leo couldn’t help wondering if Thomas of Blackmere had stood on this exact spot, looking over his property. And now, centuries later, the estate was Leo’s to make of what he would, his to shape and order. Everyone and everything on it was his responsibility.

“How is the view from up there?” he heard Catherine’s voice from below.

“Exceptional. Come see it, if you like.”

She left the sketchbook on the fence and began up the slope of the mound, lifting her skirts as she climbed.

Turning to watch Catherine, Leo let his gaze linger on her slender, pretty figure. She was fortunate that medieval times were long past, he thought with a private smile, or she would have found herself snapped up and devoured by some marauding lord. But the touch of amusement faded quickly as he imagined the primitive satisfaction of claiming her, picking her up and carrying her to a soft patch of ground.

For just a moment he let himself dwell on the idea … lowering himself to her writhing body, tearing her dress, kissing her breasts’

Leo shook his head to clear it, troubled by the direction of his thoughts. Whatever else he was, he was not a man to force himself on a woman. And yet the fantasy was too potent to ignore. With an effort, he bludgeoned the barbaric impulses back into submission.

Catherine was halfway up the slope when she gave a low cry and seemed to stumble.

Concerned, Leo started for her immediately. “Did you trip? Are you’bloody hell.” He stopped in place as he saw that the ground had partially given way beneath her. “Stop, Cat. Don’t move. Wait.”

“What’s happening?” she asked, her face bleached of color. “Is it a sinkhole?”

“More like a bloody architectural miracle. We seem to be standing on a portion of a roof that should have caved in at least two centuries ago.”

They were approximately five yards apart, with Leo on higher ground.

“Cat,” he said with great care, “slowly lower yourself to the ground to redistribute your weight over a greater surface. Easy. Yes, like that. Now you’re going to crawl back down the slope.”

“Can you help me?” she asked, and the tremor in her voice wrenched his heart.

He answered in a thick voice that didn’t sound like his own. “Sweetheart, I would love nothing more. But joining my weight to yours could collapse the roof entirely. Start moving. If it makes you feel better, with all the debris in there, it can’t be too far to fall.”

“Actually, that doesn’t make me feel better at all.” White-faced, she moved slowly on her hands and knees.

Leo stayed in place, not taking his gaze from Catherine. The ground that seemed so solid beneath his feet was possibly nothing more than a layer of earth and ancient rotted timber. “You’ll be fine,” he said in a soothing tone, while his heart pounded with anxiety for her. “You weigh no more than a butterfly. It’s my weight that’s put a strain on what’s left of the beams and bridging joints.”

“Is that why you’re not moving?”

“Yes. If I cause a collapse when I try to get off, I’d like you to be out of harm’s way first.”

They both felt the ground shift beneath them.

“My lord,” Catherine asked, her eyes wide, “do you think this has anything to do with the Ramsay curse?”

“Actually, that hadn’t occurred to me yet,” Leo said. “Thank you so much for bringing it to my attention.”

The roof collapsed, and they simultaneously plunged amid a torrent of earth, rock, and timber into the dark space below.