"Wake up, Sydney." Audrey leaned over the bed.

"I can't find her clothes," Freddie said, bumping into the bedpost.

"Lord, Audrey, the woman is harder to move than a beached whale."

"She never looked that heavy," Freddie said. "She's so little."

"Sydney, wake up."

Sydney surfaced from her dream long enough to scowl at the three familiar faces that hovered about her.

"What?" she whispered.

"We're leaving," Audrey said. "Get up. Get dressed."

"Leaving where?" Sydney whispered, burrowing like a caterpillar under the covers.

"Leaving Lord DeWilde's house."

"Lord DeWilde." Sydney smiled a mysterious smile. "Lovely man. Did you see the cleft in his chin?"

"As lovely as Lucifer," Audrey muttered, tugging the quilt off the bed. "Sydney, your very life is at stake."

Sydney sat up, frowning into the dark. "Am I dreaming this?"

Audrey tried to pull her off the bed. "No. Now hurry up before he comes home."

"I like Lord DeWilde." Sydney rolled herself back into the quilt. "Go away, all of you. I need to sleep."

"Did you know he's known as Wicked DeWilde?"

"I didn't know that," Sydney said, yawning loudly. "But I do now. Go away."

Audrey dropped onto her knees beside the bed. "He sailed naked down the Nile with three native women!"

Sydney forced one eyelid open. "On a barge?"

"On a barge, or a steamship, who cares?" Audrey said impatiently. "What matters is that he was naked with the Nubians."

"Naked," Sydney murmured, staring at the ceiling. "That must have been a sight."

Audrey shook her. "Listen to me. The man is a scandal. He shocked Venice last summer by entertaining an exiled prince and his concubine in his apartments."

"Were they naked, too?" Freddie asked.

"How should I know?" Audrey hissed.

Sydney was drifting back to sleep. The laudanum had proven too powerful for her system. She wanted to slip back into the delicious dream she'd been having about Lord DeWilde. He'd dedicated a book to her, and she wanted to thank him.

Audrey dug her nails into Sydney's shoulders. "Sydney, we have to leave before he comes back."

Sydney tried to poke Audrey in the eye. "That isn't polite."

"Never mind polite," Audrey practically shouted. "DeWilde isn't what he seems. There are three DeWilde brothers, Sydney. Rylan is not merely a coauthor of those lurid tales, he's the one upon whom Valentine and Geoffrey have based their most notorious villains. His wild past has been their inspiration. His misdeeds are legend."

Sydney just smiled.

"I think she's gone round the bend," Freddie whispered.

Jeremy opened the window to the windy night.

"Those hounds are howling to raise hell. Let's get out of here before someone comes."

"The Danger Hounds of DeWilde Manor." Sydney sighed. "It's just like the book. How exciting."

Audrey stared at her in desperation. "Don't you understand what I am saying? DeWilde is not the sort of man one can safely associate with. He's Peter's sworn enemy. Your reputation will be ruined if you don't escape tonight. He's a villain, Sydney."

Sydney tried her hardest to awaken. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with wool. Her thoughts kept drifting away before she could hold them. Suddenly she saw herself sailing down the Nile with DeWilde and they were both—

"Naked," she whispered. "Oh, golly."

Audrey and Jeremy joined forces to hoist Sydney from the bed. Then Freddie tried to help, but instead of helping, he fell on Sydney's knee. She let out a yowl of pain that could be heard across two continents.

There were footsteps coming up the stairs, hard and determined. The door shook as someone pounded it from the other side.

DeWilde's voice broke the stunned silence in the room. "What is going on in there? Miss Windsor, are you all right?"

"My God." Freddie turned chalk white. "The body snatcher is back. What do we do?"

Jeremy threw his leg over the ledge. "We escape. Come on, Audrey. I'll catch you."

"What about me?" Freddie said.

"Catch yourself," Jeremy said before he jumped.

"Oh, Sydney." Audrey looked over her shoulder in regret. "We really did try."

Audrey and the two men had just landed in the garden when DeWilde broke through the door. For a horrible moment, when he saw the open window, he thought they'd taken Sydney with them. Then Frankenstein trotted over to the bed and licked the small hand dangling from the bed.

Sydney slept, a smile on her lips, a Sleeping Beauty blissfully unaware of the evil world around her.

Rylan strode over to the bed and reassured himself that she wasn't hurt. The sight of her lying there with her limbs entangled in his sheets almost stopped his heart with desire. His eyes grew dark as he studied her sensuous curves and thought of waking up beside her every morning. Which he would.

He examined her with the proprietary satisfaction of a man who had been entrusted with a rare treasure. He looked forward to the pleasure and privileges of ownership.

He knelt at the side of the bed, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She looked so sweet and defenseless. But wasn't his Sleeping Beauty cold? He frowned in concern, nudging Frankenstein away. Sydney had kicked off the covers and her skin felt too cool. She needed to be warmed up.

He reached for the heavy quilt, then stopped, transfixed by her sensuality. The strings of her night rail had become untied, revealing her shoulder and the swell of her breast.

He needed to touch her. Just once. He was shaking at the thought.

He traced his forefinger over her plump breast. His breath quickened as the nipple hardened, thrusting against the thin linen. Dusky as a rosebud, so responsive to his touch. His gaze lowered to the juncture of her thighs, to the shadowed delta there.

He needed to be inside her. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile of anticipation and for a minute he felt as if had just caught fire.

He closed his eyes. He imagined how it would feel to make love to her, to be so deeply embedded in her body he could not move. A low growl broke in his throat, disturbing the silence.

Sydney stirred, whimpering in her sleep, as if she could sense his restless energy, the male hunger that possessed him. As if she sensed the threat. He smiled tenderly.

"Hush," he murmured, stroking her hair with infinite gentleness. But the impulses he fought were feral and unrefined. He was not surprised she could sense them.

She would never belong to herself again, but to him.

Rylan could hardly wait. He took a breath for self-control.

"It's all right," he whispered, allowing himself to run his hand down her arm. "You're safe here." Then he reached up to pull the quilt around her, protecting her not from the cold but from his own black desire.

She smiled at him in her sleep. Then, just as he tried to pry himself away, she curled her arms around his neck.

"Stay," she ordered him in the softest, the sexiest whisper.

His body responded with a surge of raw arousal that made him suck in his breath.

"You're too good for a snake like Peter, duke or not," he said in a determined voice. "You're going to forget he even existed."

"DeWilde." She gave a sigh. "You have a nice chest, do you know that? So strong."

He swallowed, not certain what to do. So he just stayed in that dangerous position for several seconds, breathing her faint soapy scent, mingled with liniment, feeling the softness of her skin. His body throbbed until the suspense of holding her became unbearable.

"What are you doing?" she whispered groggily.

"Letting you go back to sleep." Lord, his voice sounded rough, but he was so hot for her, he ached with it and could barely force the words from his throat.

"Did I hear Audrey's voice?" she murmured, cuddling against him.

"She jumped out the window," he said distractedly, trying to pry her hands away before he ended up on top of her.

"Jumped out the window?" She made a little snorting sound against his shoulder. "You're teasing me."

"Actually, I'm not," Rylan muttered. "I'd like to, but this probably isn't the time."

She tilted her head back. "I had the oddest dream."

Her mouth was soft and inviting. He wanted to taste it in the worst way. He wanted to brand every inch of her delicious body with his kisses. "Did you?"

"Umm." Her hands tightened around his neck. Rylan looked down and saw her night rail slide down again off the slope of one ivory shoulder. The sight made him instantly hard.

"I dreamed about you." She gazed up at him. "You touched me."

"I didn't." He gave her an innocent grin while his body went on the warpath.

"You did." She sighed, and he realized she was still half-asleep, too relaxed to censor her thoughts. The quilt slid to the floor. Sydney curled her knees into her body.

"And where did I touch you in this dream?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"I'd be embarrassed to say," she breathed, lowering her eyes.

"Did you like my touching you?"

She smiled against his shoulder, whispering, "Yes. I did, now that you ask."

Rylan swallowed, his face stark with self-denial. He was so aroused it hurt to breathe. "I didn't kiss you, did I?"

Sydney hesitated, and twisted her fingers in his hair. "I—"

"Not like this—"

And his mouth covered hers in a kiss that was only a prelude to all the naughty things he planned to do to her. He kissed her with such devastating skill that she quivered, breathless, in his arms. He teased the corners of her mouth with his tongue, easing her back onto the bed.

"Oh," Sydney said. "Oh."

Her lips were pouting, swollen and red when he finished. A pulse throbbed in the hollow of her throat, and he lay against her, a man in torment and loving every second of it.

He kissed her neck and shoulders until she lay gasping with pleasure. He tugged her night rail down to her belly, exposing her creamy breasts. His face intense, he studied her as he squeezed and pinched her distended nipples between his fingers. Then he tormented each tip in turn with sensuous licks of his tongue. He took his sweet time teasing her. Sydney arched off the bed in shock and anticipation.

She took shorter breaths, letting him have his way. She gave a moan in her throat. The sound sent a shiver of lust down his spine.

"Am I dreaming this?" she whispered.

"I don't know." His voice was hoarse. "It's possible we both are."

"Good," she breathed, "because if I weren't dreaming, I really would have to stop you."

He ran his palm over the mound of her pubis, pressing hard. She drew a breath. He leaned down and kissed her there, tantalized by the scent of her arousal. Musk of virgin. She went still as he raised his head to stare at her.

"I want you very, very badly," he whispered.

"I like this dream," she whispered back. He hesitated before reaching down for the quilt. He could so easily take advantage of her, but there wasn't much pleasure in seducing a half-awake woman, no matter how badly his body throbbed to possess her.

He wanted her to be fully aware when he loved her.

He wanted her to always remember the moment he'd made her his.

"Go back to sleep," he said.

"Hmm," she said, closing her eyes.

The hounds in the garden below were howling again. He settled Sydney back in the bed and got up to investigate. From the window he could just make out three shadowy figures running hell-for-leather toward the moor.

"That takes care of that," he said grimly.

He'd gotten rid of his first obstacle.

"Don't dream about anyone else but me, Sleeping Beauty," he said from the door.

Sydney awakened and heard the wind whistling outside the window. She'd heard the hounds too, but she was too achy and drugged to investigate. Besides, it was still dark outside, and she could hear the sea, restless and rough.

She touched her forehead, wondering if she had developed a fever.

DeWilde's virile scent hung in the air, dangerous, erotic. The scent of brandy and male desire. His face rose in her thoughts, tauntingly sensual, and she began to shake. Why did she ache and flush with these bewildering sensations? Her breasts felt engorged, and her mouth was so tender.

She sat up on her elbow, frowning into the dark.

Odd voices kept echoing in her brain. She shouldn't have read the first chapter of The Elixir of Death before falling asleep. Fear was playing tricks on her imagination.

He sailed naked down the Nile…

Your reputation will be ruined …

The door creaked open slowly.

Sydney peered up through her eyelashes, hesitant to breathe. She pulled the cover up to her neck.

A dark bulky shape pushed into the room. It panted and paddled over to the bed like a horrible beast.

He's a villain, Sydney. A villain...

"Frankenstein," Sydney whispered in relief. "What do you want?"

The dog stared at her for several seconds with pleading eyes. Then it jumped up on the bed and settled on Sydney's chest, breathing doggy breath in her face before laying down its head.

Sydney grinned and closed her eyes again, knowing somehow that both the dog and its master would take care of her through the night.

She limped down the stairs late the next morning and found Lord DeWilde alone in the drawing room. Papers, books, and pens sprouted in piles on the sofa and at his feet. The house appeared to have been furnished in a most haphazard manner. But he looked like a man who spent as much time outdoors as at his desk. That powerful body could have been honed only by hours of hard riding or, to judge by the size of his shoulders, possibly by lifting boulders twice a day.

She stared at his strong forearms in fascination. The sleeves of his white shirt were pushed up to allow him to write. His long, elegant fingers swept across the paper in bold strokes.

Sydney was embarrassed at how easily she could almost feel those fingers stroking her skin, leaving a wake of wonderful shivers instead of words.

She tiptoed up behind him. "Goodness, is that your latest masterpiece?"

The pen stopped. A secretive smile crossed his face as he swiveled around. "I was struck by a sudden inspiration late last night. I've decided to write about a succubus."

"A succubus?" Sydney said in a startled voice.

"It's a female demon who seduces men in their sleep," he explained. "She—"

"I think I should wait to read it when it's published," she said hastily. "I wouldn't want to spoil the suspense."

"You were my inspiration," he said with a low chuckle, looking her in the eye.

"Me?" she said, her voice a squeak of shock.

He rose from the desk, towering over her. He was so blatantly masculine that Sydney stepped back in self-defense. He looked even larger in this cluttered room than he had last night on the beach. His virility had not seemed as intimidating outside against the backdrop of rugged cliffs, and she hadn't spent an entire night in his house.

Something had happened, but she wasn't sure what. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, or what she would do when she found out.

An expectant silence fell. Sydney felt a flush crawl over her body. There was a sizzling tension between them which she had noticed yesterday, although not to such a degree. She could practically taste the change in the air.

This was alchemy.

This was trouble.

"Have you ever sailed naked down the Nile, my lord?" she asked him without thinking.

Rylan dropped his pen in surprise. Then he started to laugh so hard that Frankenstein, who had followed Sydney downstairs, ran to hide behind a chair.

Sydney felt like joining the dog to cover her embarrassment. Where on earth had that question come from?

"I was only half-naked, actually," Rylan said when he managed to get his amusement under control.

Sydney restrained herself from asking which half of him had been naked. In fact, she was wishing she'd never asked such a strange question at all. She didn't know what she'd been thinking, but the thought had to have come from somewhere.

He shook his head, surveying her from top to bottom. That wicked smile kept lurking on his lips. It unsettled Sydney. He seemed to know something she didn't, and she was certain he would use his knowledge to disarm her, although he wasn't the kind of man who would deliberately hurt a woman. He didn't seem to have Peter's hard streak.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, looking amused all over again.

She blushed without knowing why. "I must have."

"Why do you say that?" he asked with a grin.

Sydney frowned. "Why shouldn't I say that?"

He came around the desk. Dark mischief danced in his eyes. She looked even better to him now than she had last night in bed. He wondered if she was just pretending that nothing had happened. "You don't remember your… dream?"

She blinked in disbelief. "Are you telling me it wasn't really a dream, the kissing and the—" She just couldn't finish.

"Of course it was a dream, if that's what you want to believe," he said in a patronizing voice that made her want to throttle him. "A dream come true."

She edged toward the door, but Rylan apparently wasn't going to let her escape with any dignity. He moved behind her, settling his big hands on her shoulders in a proprietary hold.

She froze on the spot, staring down at her shoes. His breath raised a row of goosebumps on her neck. She swore she could feel the power of his hands all the way down her spine, and the only thing she could think about was him sailing down the Nile in the altogether.

"Don't you remember anything?" he said in a hopeful voice.

She ground her teeth as his lips brushed her nape. His touch was bringing back all the details that she'd lain in bed this morning musing over in privacy. Only it had really happened, and if she wasn't careful, it was going to happen again.

"Of course I don't remember," she retorted.

His chuckle was annoyingly smug. "Sydney, are you telling me a fib, or is this just a ploy to get me to refresh your memory?"

She spun around. "I'll tell you what needs refreshing—it's your manners. I've never met such an overbearing man in all my days."

His mouth curled into another teasing grin. "Not even in your dreams?"

"Good heavens," she said.

He slid his hands down her back. "I don't think you should be on your feet," he said gently. "The doctor wants you to rest."

"I feel perfectly fine." But she didn't. Her knee throbbed. Her head felt hot and giddy, and even worse, she half wished he'd keep rubbing her with his big hands.

She backed away.

He followed.

Then somehow, by hoping to evade him, she ended up flush against his hard body. Somehow his mouth captured hers, and the world dissolved in a dreamy mist. The floor rushed up to meet her, and he caught her in an iron grip, saving her the humiliation of falling at his feet.

His features blurred. His mouth demanded more and more. Shivering, she tasted the guttural growl of pleasure he gave as he backed her into his desk. She was drowning in his kisses, dying in little breaths between them, living for the next.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze lifting to his. Rylan raised his brow questioningly. Then, to his delight, she softened and let her body relax, giving him the permission he needed.

He felt the world dissolve around him in a red mist. The floor rushed up to meet him, and the lust he'd kept at bay all through the night unleashed itself like a gale. He hadn't been sure that she'd really felt the same way as he did, but now that he knew, nothing on earth was going to stop him.

He didn't waste a second in taking advantage of the situation. He wasn't going to give her a chance to change her mind.

He practically devoured her with kisses that left her gasping in surprise and pleasure. He supported her with one hand while the other was busy unbuttoning her jacket. He ate at her mouth until she clung to him, until she would have done anything he asked her then and there.

They danced around the desk, locked in a heated embrace. They knocked his books and papers to the floor, months of research lost in a moment. They kissed their way in carnal combat across the carpet and ended up entangled together on the sofa, breathing hard, with Frankenstein playfully jumping up to join them.

"Go," Rylan shouted, waving the hound away as he nibbled his way down Sydney's neck. "We're busy."

"No, we're not," Sydney said, coming up for air.

She took a deep breath. Rylan's knee had gotten wedged between her skirts. Her unbuttoned jacket dangled from her wrist. And then he was leaning over her, looking beautiful and wild and downright dangerous. He was a master at this.

There eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"Do you want me to carry you back up to bed?" he said, his voice tender and persuasive. He traced his forefinger across her wet, trembling mouth.

Sydney thought she was about to experience a fatal heart seizure. A violent tremor went through her. She was ashamed to admit to herself that it wasn't a socially acceptable tremor of mortification.

It was more like a tremor of unadulterated lust.

"I am perfectly capable of walking on my own," she said, her heart pounding in her ears. "Furthermore, I am engaged to marry another man."

He leaned dowen even lower and stared her in the eye. His scowl let her know in no uncertain terms what he thought of that statement. Sydney couldn't help thinking how stunning a specimen of maleness he was, even though she was scared to death of what he was going to do. And of what she would let him.

"If you belonged to another man, you wouldn't have been shipwrecked on my cove," he said coldly.

She raised her chin. "My fiance can hardly control the weather."

"He obviously can't control you either," he said, "or you wouldn't be sprawled on my sofa with my knee lodged between your sweet thighs." He cupped her breast in his palm, staring at her with a knowing smile. "You're mine now anyway, and I'm not about to let you take such dangerous risks with your life."

There was a rattling sound of a tea cart outside the door.

Sydney gasped, pulling her jacket back on. "Good Lord, if my friends see me, they'll die."

"Friends?" He grunted, allowing her to wriggle to her feet. "What manner of friends would abandon a helpless woman to the mercy of a man with my reputation?"

"Abandon?" Sydney said. "What are you talking about?"

He frowned. "You really don't remember?"

She shook her head. She did recall snatches of a disjointed conversation with Audrey, and that wicked business with Rylan on the bed, but nothing more. The laudanum had obviously addled her senses.

Mrs. Chynoweth knocked at the door. "Tea, my lord."

Rylan regarded Sydney with a ruthless smile. It was time to tell her the truth so that she would understand what he'd saved her from. "Sit down, Sydney. We're going to talk."

Sydney frowned at the teapot. If she understood DeWilde correctly, she didn't need something as weak as tea to drink. She needed a full bottle of his most potent port.

"Are you saying my friends abandoned me?" she demanded.

"Like rats on a sinking ship," Rylan said, holding back a grin. Hell, was it his fault if things were going his way? He hadn't pushed the stupid blockheads out of that window. "They knew I'd fought a duel with Peter's cousin. They figured it would be disloyal of them to stay in my house."

"Well, now I'm unchaperoned," Sydney said, "and I just woke up in the bed of the man who tried to kill my betrothed's cousin. Could it get any worse?"

"I didn't try to kill him," Rylan corrected her. "If I'd tried to kill the worm, he'd be dead. I tried to wound him."

Sydney gave him a sour look. "Does Peter know about the duel?"

"Hell—pardon me for swearing—Peter was the worm's second in the duel. I'll say he knows."

"This is dreadful," Sydney said.

"Isn't it?" Rylan tried to make a sympathetic face, which didn't quite counteract the delighted gleam in his eye. "But what can one do?"

"It's your fault," Sydney added, glowering at him.

"My fault? It's my fault that you were shipwrecked and I, out of the goodness of my heart, gave you shelter in my house?"

"No." She was getting upset, and it didn't help that she hadn't recovered from their sensual tussle on the sofa. "But it is your fault you wounded the worm—oh, good grief—Peter's cousin, I mean."

"That wasn't my fault, either." Rylan's voice had grown brittle. "Edgar practically begged me to fight him. In public, I might add. I couldn't very well walk away from that, could I? This isn't the first duel that Peter and his cousin have fought, by the way."

Sydney stared down at the carpet. Her father had warned her that Peter had a dark side, that he liked to drink too much and lost his temper too easily, that he had a reputation as a ladies' man. But Sydney had been so swept up in all his power and attraction that she'd ignored her own instincts—the same instincts that were drawing her to DeWilde.

A coal shifted in the grate. She glanced up and caught Rylan staring at her intently.

"What were you dueling over?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated.

"Was it a woman?" she said, clasping her hands.

"Yes."

Sydney's eyes widened. "All three of you were fighting over the same woman?"

Rylan chuckled. "Well, I wasn't personally involved with her myself. I'd never met her until that night."

"You risked your life for a stranger's honor?" Sydney said dryly.

"There's more to it than that," he said. "At first I believed she was carrying my brother Valentine's love child. Valentine was out of the country at the time." He paused. "As it turns out, the child could also belong to Edgar or even Peter. All three men apparently slept with her in the same month. Valentine, however, is paying the support."

Sydney went deathly still.

Rylan realized he had revealed a secret that had upset her, but he would rather hurt her now than have her ruin her life being married to a man who was more shallow and self-serving than someone like her could imagine. Sydney didn't understand what lay ahead of her. She had no idea how unhappy she'd be as the wife of a man who cared only for his own pleasure.

"I believe Peter must have conducted this affair before we were engaged," she said in a stilted voice.

Rylan snorted at her naive faith. There had been numerous other affairs and, according to Audrey, Peter showed no signs of allowing matrimony to shackle his uncontrollable sex drive.

He looked directly at her. His chiseled face was devoid of any gentleness. "I chase after demons and I write about man's darkest vices and quest for cosmic power. I write about men who make pacts with Satan. It's true that I have a certain reputation, but at least I'm not a hypocrite and I haven't hurt anybody on purpose. I can't say that for your fiance."

Sydney smiled without humor. "That's preposterous. He's a duke, for heaven's sake, and he hasn't hurt me."

Rylan wanted to shake some sense into her. "Not yet he hasn't," he said, his voice rising. "I saw Peter in a private club when I was researching The Elixir of Death. He had a half-naked woman on his lap, and he took her home in his carriage."

"How do you know he took her home? And how do you know it was him?"

"It was him!" he shouted.

Sydney was frightened by his intensity. "You don't even know Peter!" she shouted back.

"I know all of Esterfield I can stomach," he said in contempt. "He's a cad and a womanizer. The man is sowing his wild oats all over London, and shows no sign of stopping, not even for you, Sydney."

"Are Audrey and Lord Westland devil worshippers too?" she said sarcastically. "Is Freddie really a werewolf in a fat man's body?"

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, unmoved by her response. There was no understanding in his heart where another man was concerned. "I've shocked you and now I've hurt you. It was necessary, Sydney." His beautiful mouth lifted in a beguiling smile. "But I am perfectly willing to make your hurt go away."

Sydney scooted to the other end of the sofa. "What about my friends? Don't you want to warn me away from them too?"

"As far as I know, stupidity and selfishness are the worst crimes they've committed," Rylan replied.

She stood decisively. "Thank you so terribly much for all you've done, but I don't think we have anything else to discuss, so if it's all the same to you, I'll be on my way now. Would you be kind enough to make travel arrangements for me into the village?"

"Well," he said, rubbing his chin to control his annoyance. "I'd offer you a horse and carriage, but your friends stole my horses when they ran off last night."

Sydney put her hands on her hips. "How far is the village?"

"Ten miles or so across the moor. A little longer if you take the moorland path to enjoy the scenery. The church is on the cliff, but the bell ringer is a bit mad."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you telling me there's no way for me to leave this house?"

He didn't look at all upset by her predicament. In fact, Sydney thought he was taking her social ruination in stride.

He lifted his large shoulders in a shrug. "If you insist, I can drive you in the coal cart to the village. Of course, the journey across the moor, taking in the ponies' temperament, will probably take two days. And two nights. Three if it storms."

"Two nights?" Sydney said in horror.

He shook his head. "Spent alone together. Isn't it terrible?"

"You're saying we'd have to sleep on the moor?"

"We might find a cave to share."

There was a pause.

"Wicked DeWilde," Sydney said through her teeth. "I remember now. That's what Audrey called you."

"I won't lie to you," Rylan said. "I have been called that in the past."

"I don't wonder why."

"I led a reckless youth," he said. "I did not develop a conscience until after I reached my majority."

"Some men never do," Sydney said.

"Oh, Sydney." His mouth curled in the sexy smile that sent fire down her spine. "I don't know how someone so adorably naive ended up engaged to a snake like Esterfield, but isn't it a good thing I saved you?"

Mrs. Chynoweth came in with a fresh plate of scones, bustling between them to make room on the tea table.

She gave them both a friendly smile as if she were totally oblivious to the chill in the air. Sydney lowered her voice.

"Are you insulting me, Lord DeWilde?"

He reached for a scone. "Actually, I was complimenting you. You don't have the qualities to hold a snake like Peter for long. He would grow bored with your sweetness and lack of sophistication."

"That was definitely an insult," Sydney said. "You're a smug, opinionated man."

"Now that was an insult," he said, pointing his scone at her with an accusing grin.

Sydney backed away from the sofa. "You've been kind to shelter me, but under the circumstances, I can't stay in your house any longer."

Rylan and Mrs. Chynoweth exchanged alarmed looks. They both wanted Sydney to stay. "Where will you go, miss?" the housekeeper asked in concern.

"She can't go anywhere far on that leg," Rylan said confidently as Sydney limped to the door. "And she can't go anywhere because there's nowhere else to go."

Sydney was upset. She threw all her belongings into her valise and hobbled down the stairs. She wasn't as furious with Lord DeWilde as she was with her so-called friends for abandoning her to the overbearing man. They should have stayed to protect her, or at least to offer their support.

The housekeeper and her husband met her at the bottom of the stairs. Sydney braced herself against their well-meaning concern.

"Where are you going, miss?" Mrs. Chynoweth asked in dismay.

Sydney caught a glimpse of Rylan in the drawing room, standing by the fire. He looked straight at her with a knowing smile that sent every thought from her head. Then he blew her a kiss. She glared back. She would show him she was immune to his charm.

How could the man suggest she place herself at his mercy when her reputation was at stake?

A scoundrel like DeWilde probably didn't give a farthing for what the world thought. Why, hadn't all three brothers been denounced by the clergy for their Faustian ventures into a realm that was morally forbidden to man? The DeWildes had always done as they pleased.

"I would like to hire your husband to drive me into the village," she announced loudly.

"He can't do it, miss," the housekeeper said.

"How much?" her husband asked.

Mrs. Chynoweth gave him a discrete little kick in the ankle. "It will take you two days to walk to the village of St. Kilmerryn."

"Three days. Possibly four," Rylan called from the drawing room. "She'll get lost on a bog track or meet up with a local ghost. I predict disaster."

Sydney raised her chin. She would show them all what a Windsor could do when forced to the wall. "I shall find my way."

Rylan dropped onto the sofa, lacing his hands behind his neck. He grinned as he heard the door slam. His Sleeping Beauty wasn't going anywhere. There wasn't anywhere to go. It should take her at most an hour to realize that. He'd welcome her back into his bed with open arms. He'd bring her tea and sympathy, and he wouldn't say "I told you so" when she realized he'd been right all along. He might even take a nap while he waited so he'd be refreshed for their reunion.

A frown banished his complacent grin. Of course, Sydney didn't know there wasn't anywhere to go. He couldn't bear to think of her getting hurt, hobbling around on her knee. She needed him to take care of her. Sooner or later Esterfield would show up, demanding his bride-to-be. It undid Rylan to think of that snake destroying her innocence. Rylan had spent enough of his life studying human nature to predict that Peter would seek pleasure outside the marriage bed.

Rylan would guard her heart and worship her body. However, it seemed he might have to do something about taming her independent streak first, or he'd never get the chance.

He jumped up from the sofa, Frankenstein at his heels. The two of them would just have to follow Sydney until the stubborn darling realized she had only one place to go.

Back to him, where she belonged.