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edges of her lips. He brushed back the red tendrils framing her face, and stared at the woman who’d managed to ensnare him with her passion and vibrancy.
    “Fate has put you in my hands, little minx.” He traced the line of her delicate jaw with his finger. “And I’d be a fool to lose you to Wallingford.”
    She let out a loud, indelicate snore.
    *  *  *
    The next morning, Ashton sought out the privacy of the library. Now that he’d discovered his mystery woman, he had business to tend to—letters to write, preparations to make. He sat at the only desk, mahogany inlaid with ivory, and penned a letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, requesting a special license be sent through Ashton’s man of business, who resided in London.
    He was just sealing the letter when a quiet thud on the far side of the room drew his attention. Daphne. He looked up to see her straightening the small table she’d apparently bumped coming in.
    He stood, his chair sliding back on the thick blue-and-green carpet. “Daphne.”
    She turned abruptly, a book clutched to her chest. She must have snatched it off the shelf before he’d spotted her. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest.
    “Ashton.” Her voice shook slightly. “I didn’t realize the library was occupied. I’d thought all the men had gone out shooting this morning.”
    Her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she’d gotten little sleep. She wore a simple blue dress that hugged her gentle curves to perfection, her hair pulled up into a messy, chaotic knot. She looked beautiful, and his male pride swelled again at the knowledge that he’d been the one to pleasure her last night, not Wallingford.
    “You should still be abed,” he said, desperate to enfold her in his arms. He didn’t think she’d welcome his touch, so he held himself back, just barely. “It looks as though you’ve hardly slept.”
    “I slept perfectly well, thank you.” A lie, and he knew it. With a worried look, she touched a finger to the circle under one eye. “Are you implying I look unrested?”
    “That’s precisely what I’m implying. Go back to bed. I’ll fetch a maid to bring you a breakfast tray.” He smiled wolfishly. “Better yet, perhaps I’ll bring it to you myself. Butter and cream might satisfy any lingering cravings, don’t you agree?”
    Her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. “I don’t know why I bother talking to you. You are completely uncivilized.” She drew in a long breath, then released it with a huff. “And you are not permitted to go anywhere near my bedroom… ever again.”
    Just as she turned to leave, he said, “We need to discuss what happened.”
    She turned back to him. “Nothing happened.”
    He leaned against the desk, legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted to the side. “Oh, something most certainly did.”
    She stiffened. “I’ve drawn a veil over last night. It doesn’t exist.”
    He chuckled. “Really? I remember quite vividly how you—”
    “Quiet,” she hissed, crossing the room to where he leaned against the desk. “There are servants everywhere. Someone will hear you.”
    His lips curled up into a smile. “We’re quite alone.”
    “You’re impossible.” She blew out a breath. “What is it you wish to say?”
    “Has Wallingford officially offered for you?”
    Before he proceeded, he needed to know precisely how many obstacles stood in his path. If there was already an understanding between her and Wallingford, it would make Ashton’s task all the more difficult.
    She hesitated. Defiance flickered in her eyes. “Not yet, but he will.”
    Unexpected relief washed over him at her words. In all of his thirty-three years, he’d never been so fascinated by a woman. But Daphne was vivacious, opinionated, exceptional in every way.
    “When James returns from shooting, I intend to ask him for your hand.”
    Her eyes widened. “No! Please, Ashton, be reasonable. I understand why you feel you must do this,