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But in the meantime I will court you, if you’ll let me, Charlotte. Is that so very much to ask?”
    He pulled her closer, close enough that she could feel the hard, male angles of him pressed against her. Close enough that she could feel the beat of his heart beneath her hand. She knew a stirring in her blood, a sense of hovering on the brink of wonderful discovery.
    “When you trust me enough, I will make love to you,” he went on, his voice a seductive whisper in her ear. The promise alone was enough to cause a spasm of delight to uncurl within her and leave her moist with anticipation. “I will hold you in my arms throughout the night and cherish every moment we share. I will respect and honor you. And if, after all that, you decide I’m not the man you want to spend the rest of your life with, I will let you go. The question is, has that moment arrived already?”
    The answer came to her not in a rush or a flood, but with a slow, tingling warmth that seeped along her veins with quiet deliberation and the promise that the best was yet to come. “No,” she said. “I want to take that journey with you, Paolo. I believe in our tomorrow.”
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The Duke’s Dilemma
    By Margaret Moore

Chapter One
    Charlotte winced as an inebriated party-goer stepped on her foot, but she kept moving determinedly toward the doors that led to the balcony. The Duncans would be delighted with their party; it was clearly the event of the season, and their daughter had been successfully launched into society.
    Unfortunately, the noise, the heat, and the crowd combined with Charlotte’s pounding headache to make her want to escape for a breath of fresh air. Reaching the balcony doors, she opened them to find two people engaged in a passionate kiss.
    “I’m sorry.” The words escaped her mouth before she realized it would have been better to make an exit without being noticed. The couple jumped apart.
    Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her fiancé. “John! I thought you were dead!”
    Two azure blue eyes flashed in a face so handsome it could take a woman’s breath away. “John is dead. I’m James.”
    Charlotte breathed again. Of course this wasn’t John. John was dead, and by his own hand. This was his twin brother, who had gone off to fight with Wellington while John had stayed home. This was the brother who had stayed in Europe after her fiancé’s death, who had written that terrible, accusing letter that had arrived when she was still full of sorrow and remorse.
    This was the brother who knew so little of her relationship with John, yet who derided her, and blamed her for something she had not foreseen. She would have prevented John’s death if she could have; she did not need to feel more guilt from someone who had not seen his brother in over five years.
    And who was now the Duke of Broverhampton, heir to a vast estate and fortune, as well as the title.
    As Charlotte fought to regain her composure, James’s gaze meandered over her simple silk gown, lingering for the briefest of moments on the embroidery around the neckline—or her breasts—before returning to her blushing cheeks.
    Angered by his impertinent scrutiny, she quickly closed the doors behind her, shutting out the music heralding the start of a quadrille. She wanted no one to hear them, or come out to see what was going on. And she wanted to know what the long-absent James was doing on the Duncans’ balcony with her cousin, Dulcabella—besides the obvious.
    * * *
    Dulcie Duncan giggled and swayed, clearly the worse for the powerful punch full of rum, which was how their family had made their fortune, one large enough to overcome the stigma of having earned it in trade. The Duncan Distillery had even been granted a Royal Warrant to supply rum to the British Navy.
    “I just came out for a breath of air and he grabbed me and kissed me,” Dulcie