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things down in a moment, ma’am,” the conductor said as the station’s
     single porter wrestled my luggage to the platform. For me it was next to nothing:
     only the two trunks for gowns, three hat boxes, and several smaller valises and bags
     for the rest of my belongings.
    I was disappointed to see that I was the only passenger to disembark at Wrenton station.
     Even though Lady Carleigh had promised that our party would be a small, select group,
     I had still hoped there would be others here to join me on the way to the manor house.
     I’d even dared to hope that Lord Savage himself might be on my train.
    But I soon saw that I wouldn’t be entirely without company. An elegant motorcar, accompanied
     by a horse-drawn cart, were waiting before the station, and as soon as I stepped from
     the train, the chauffeur threw open the car’s door and trotted up to the platform.
     In his hands was a small introductory placard with my name neatly lettered upon it,
     a nicety made unnecessary by my being the only lady on the platform.
    “Welcome to Wrenton, Mrs. Hart,” he said, touching the front of his livery cap. “I
     am Simon, ma’am.”
    “Good afternoon, Simon,” I said, smiling warmly at the chauffeur. It was impossible
     not to, really: he was a delicious young man with a ruddy face, bright blue eyes,
     and curling blond hair. His livery coat barely contained his broad shoulders and the
     rippling muscles of his arms and thighs, and he truly was the perfect model of a country-bred
     Adonis.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Hart,” he said, smiling in return. “My only wish is to please you.
     Parker and I will see to your trunks.”
    That smile surprised me, and not just because of his dimples, either. I hadn’t expected
     such—such familiarity from Lady Carleigh’s staff. Simon was a servant, and servants were not supposed to
     smile like that at female guests of the household.
    It was one thing for Hamlin to be impertinent, but another entirely for a male servant
     from another household to be so bold. Keeping my expression stern, I lowered my veil
     back over my face, determined to reinforce decorum.
    Yet, from behind my veil I watched Simon and Parker—who was also quite handsome—as
     they loaded my belongings into the wagon, their breeches pulling snugly over their
     buttocks and thighs as they bent and lifted the heavy trunks and cases. In most houses,
     the servants with the responsibility of driving cars and carriages were seldom as
     young or as worthy of such regard as these two men.
    At last they were done, and Simon opened the door to the motorcar for me, standing
     respectfully to one side. I walked briskly to the door, gathering my skirts to one
     side to climb inside the car.
    “Permit me to assist you, Mrs. Hart,” Simon said, taking me firmly by the elbow. “That
     step is a high one.”
    Although the step wasn’t high at all, I simply nodded. But as I bent to climb into
     the car, I was shocked to feel the chauffeur’s hand on the back of my skirts, lightly
     caressing my bottom as he guided me inside.
    I gasped and quickly turned and sat, the audacity of his touch still burning on my
     flesh beneath my skirt.
    Unperturbed, Simon reached down to push the hem of my skirts into the car, so that
     they wouldn’t be caught in the door. As he did, he slid his gloved hand beneath my
     skirts and touched my silk-covered ankle.
    I gasped again, but perhaps not quite as startled as I’d been before, and when he
     slid his hand up my leg to my thigh, I didn’t gasp at all. He did not stop until he’d
     reached the top of my stocking, his deerskin-covered fingers warm and sure on my bare
     thigh.
    I’d never felt leather on so intimate a part of my anatomy, and to my surprise, it
     was not distasteful. It was … intriguing.
    “Her ladyship wishes you to be pleased in every way, Mrs. Hart,” Simon said, his gaze
     intense with promise and his fingers tracing little teasing circles on my skin.