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common room and hurried up the staircase.
    The corridor to the indicated room was dark. Brennashivered and pulled the hood of the cloak low over her forehead. She couldn’t let panic overwhelm her. If this man wasn’t Lord Ashwood, she didn’t think she’d make it back out of the building unmolested.
    Brenna paused outside the door and looked down at her travel-stained garments. She knew she smelled of horse and leather. Not the best condition in which to confront the man she intended to marry. Still, she had no choice but to forge onward.
    A sharp rap on the scarred panel brought a shuffle of feet from inside. Her heart raced. The door jerked open, and Lord Ashwood stood before her, his face weary and his clothing rumpled from hard travel.
    He grimaced. “I didn’t order a woman. Find another bed to warm, wench.”
    Brenna stuck her boot in the door before it slammed closed. “Wait.” He paused. She pushed back her hood. “I was not sent by the innkeeper, Milord.”
    It was impossible to guess whether it was the sound of her voice or the remembrance of her face that caused the look of utter surprise on his face. But she had only enough time for a short gasp as he grabbed her arm, jerked her inside the room, and slammed the door behind her.
    “Brenna.” His grip tightened, and she tried not to whimper. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
    He left her no time to answer. He pushed her against the wall and pressed a hand over her mouth as muffled footsteps sounded from the corridor. Whoever the party was, he or she paused outside the room as if listening for…something. Low-voiced conversation followed. There were at least two men.
    Brenna felt Ashwood’s irregular breaths on her cheek as he pressed against her. Her heart raced, and her blood whooshed in her ears.
    “Where’d the wench go off to?” a gruff voice asked.
    “She has te be ’ere somewheres,” said a second man. They went silent, as if listening for clues to her whereabouts.
    Brenna pressed her face against the viscount’s neck to help muffle her breathing. He smelled of male and fresh air and slightly of horse. His arm around her confirmed he was nomilksop but a man of sinewy strength. If the two men wanted trouble, she’d be well protected.
    After a moment, and several low curses, the men moved on.
    Ashwood held her thus for another minute or two before slowly releasing her. Thankfully, she’d found the viscount, or the men might have spent the evening violating her.
    Relief flooded through her.
    Dragging her farther into the room, he pushed her down on the bed. Leaning forward, he met her eyes. “Have you lost your senses?” he whispered, his tone harsh. “Do you understand how dangerous this place is? There are men below who would kill me to have you.”
    She shuddered. The image of the men taking turns on her was too much to bear. “I did not know.”
    He straightened and raked his hands through his hair. His face tightened. “You have one minute to tell me why you’re here.”
    It took nearly half of her allotted time to find her voice. Even then, with him glaring at her, it was low and thin.
    “I came to ask you to marry me.”
    R ichard’s expression instantly changed from angry to bemused. He’d been shocked to find her outside his door, dressed like a waif in a soiled shirt and oddly altered skirt. That was nothing compared to this statement.
    “You have
what
?”
    She stood and walked a few steps away. When she turned back to him, there was purpose in her eyes. “Thanks to your note to my father, and interference, I have less than a month to find a marriageable man to wed me. He has decided I need a husband to curb my mischievous ways.” She met his eyes. “As it was you who set him on this unacceptable course, I have decided that it will be you who is the solution.”
    Weary from a long day of searching for Anne, it took him a moment to fully grasp her words. She wanted to marry him to satisfy her father’s