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very sense of herself.
    But, oh, it was too sweet, and so poignant that she wanted to weep. The warmth wrenched her heart. A part of her long denied, long buried and ignored, ached to break free and sing. She was a girl again within that embrace, and painfully alive.
    You are nothing but a plaything to him . You of all women know that is true . The thought finally found its voice in her mind, after trying too long. She saw what was happening as if looking in through the nearby glass panes of the greenhouse wall.
    She had responded to that kiss, and it had become two kisses, then many, each more dominating and hot. She was now pliant and accepting in his embrace, and he held her tighter against his body. His hands moved, tempting her with scandalous caresses that smoothed firmly over her hips and side, her back, and now, dear heavens, her thighs.
    She heard her own sighs and gasps as tantalizing sensations cascaded through her, each more powerful. She noted how his caresses rose higher now, close to her breasts, and how her nipples tingled, waiting for the touch that would obliterate the last of her reserve.
    She saw herself falling fast, like the pathetic, lonely widow he thought her to be.
    You must end this at once, or he will ignore your attempts to do so later . The warning screamed in her head, an ugly truth and an unwelcome reminder of all the devastating vulnerabilities a woman faced in the world.
    Stopping it was hard. As hard as he probably knew it would be once she allowed the first liberty. Harder than she believed possible, considering she hardly knew him and did not need the costs of such passion explained.
    Somehow, she found the strength and forced her body to stiffen, then her mouth to as well.
    He noticed at once. He stopped the kiss. She knew not all men would under the circumstances. She refused to meet his eyes in the long, searching gaze he gave her. Then his arms fell away. He stepped back.
    In the taut silence that followed, she pieced together some composure. She could hardly upbraid him for insulting her. Considering how she had behaved, that would be comical. She would not give him the satisfaction of watching her run away like a frightened mouse, though.
    She turned away and pointed airily to the far wall of the greenhouse. “Allow me to show you the grapevine we grow here, Lord Castleford. It always amazes visitors to find one flourishing inside. We are very proud of it.”
    She spoke nonstop as they strolled toward the passage that connected the greenhouse to the back sitting room. She explained the grapevine and encouraged him to admire a huge pot of camellias. He paced silently, a tall, dark presence exuding sensual danger.
    She trusted he would take his leave gracefully, and they would pretend the kisses had never happened. He did not. Instead he subjected her to a gaze that ignored all social niceties. It was the gaze of a man debating his options and the strength of her will.
    Heaven help her, he managed to revive some of those sensations in her while he looked too deeply into her eyes.
    “I may have to devote the next year to seeing you in high color again, Mrs. Joyes.”
    What an outrageous thing to threaten. Vexed, she curtsied and turned to make good her escape. “Since drunkards are beyond my interest, I expect that my composure is safe for a year of Tuesdays, Your Grace.”
     
     
    H ell and Damnation .
    Castleford downed another good swallow of brandy from his flask. It warmed his blood but did not help his mood one bit.
    He cursed again more colorfully. Out loud. If Daphne Joyes heard, he really would not care. Nor, he assumed, would she.
    He cursed Becksbridge and his stupid testament and letter. And his cowardice in not seeing matters through with his prior mistresses and instead leaving it to another man. I am depending on what little is left of the better side of your character . There was almost nothing left, damn it. Becksbridge had often pointed out as much.
    Maybe it had