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heiresses were overindulged.”
    She paused, as if taken aback. “That is not so, my lord. Not so at all. In fact, I’ll wager that I’ve survived worse circumstances than you have. I can’t imagine you’ve ever gone hungry, or went around without shoes on a regular basis each summer—indoors and out.”
    “Without shoes?” He had to concede. She had him with that. She also surprised him with her “wager.” Perhaps there were tiny embers of wickedness smoldering somewhere in the depths of this perfect angelic creature after all.
    She seemed to suddenly comprehend the intricacies of her argument, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. You English already think we are beneath you as it is.”
    “ You English ?” he repeated, drawing his dark brows together, feeling very pleasantly intrigued by their conversation. “Clearly we English are not the only ones with prejudices. Tsk tsk, Miss Wilson. What is the world coming to when people of different nationalities cannot get along, I ask you?”
    She stared at him for a few seconds, looking surprised until she realized he was teasing her. Then she smiled. It was a dazzling smile—sweet and scintillating at the same time, and so very genuine.
    It was the first time Damien had seen hersmile, he realized. She’d been nervous and uncomfortable until this moment, looking at him as if he were something to be feared. Perhaps now she would relax.
    He, on the other hand, felt his own relaxation slip.
    Damien dropped his gaze to his coffee, suddenly understanding very well why Harold had been so taken with her. Not only was she magnificent in every way a woman could be, but there was something elusively indefinable about her as well—a sensual, earthy nature that seemed to glow with warmth. A man like Harold, who was shy around women, would be seduced by such natural charisma.
    When their smiles died away, she returned to the thread of their conversation. “I suppose Harold described my summer home in Newport to you,” she explained, “and it didn’t sound at all like I had to go without shoes.”
    “He told me about your diamond-studded champagne glasses.”
    She was suitably embarrassed and lowered her gaze, shrugging as if to apologize for the glasses.
    Damien seized the opportunity to glance down at the lovely fullness of her bosom beneath her thick, wool bodice. He experienced a pang of guilt, because she belonged to his cousin, but it was quickly overcome when he returned his gaze to her face and made a solemn vow to keep it there.
    “We didn’t always have money,” she said innocently, which charmed him, because she was not even remotely aware of his lusty interest in her bosom. “Papa earned his fortune on Wall Street when I was ten.” She stared pensively into the fire. “Sometimes when I look at my life, it seems like it’s divided in two. Before the money, and after. So you see, I’m not quite as overindulged as you think. At least, I wasn’t always.” She inhaled and let the breath out slowly, looking faintly reminiscent.
    “I miss those old days,” she said. “I used to enjoy running about barefoot. I still do on occasion, when I’m alone in the woods, which unfortunately is very rare. But please ,” she said, her bright smile returning, “keep the part about my running about barefoot to yourself.”
    He inclined his head, trying not to become too diverted by the enticing image of her doing anything barefoot.
    “But perhaps I owe it to Harold to tell him,” Damien said. “He doesn’t know he’s about to marry a wood nymph.”
    Her responding smile made his breath catch.
    She let her head tip onto the chair back and gazed into the flames again, looking tired. Damien allowed her some peace, though he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her enchanting profile. As he stared at her, he contemplated their situation.
    If she were a different woman, and these were different circumstances, he would find a way tohave her