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marshal her thoughts, but they scattered like spilled matchsticks … and then he set fire to them as his breath touched her cheek.
    “I hope you’re right. God help me if I should ever have to face the consequences.”
    “Of what?” Her voice was faint.
    “This.” His hand slid to the back of her neck and his mouth covered hers.
    Amelia had been kissed before. Not all that long ago, as a matter of fact, by a man she had been in love with. The pain of his betrayal had cut so deep, she had sworn never to allow any man close to her again. But Cam Rohan hadn’t asked her consent or given her any chance to protest. She stiffened and brought her hands to his chest, exerting pressure against the hard surface. He seemed not to notice her objection, his mouth subtle and insistent. One of his arms slid around her, lifting slightly as he pulled her against the solid contours of his body.
    With each breath she drew in a deeper scent of him, the sweetness of beeswax soap, the hint of salt of his skin. The supple power of his body was all around her, and she couldn’t stop herself from relaxing into it, letting him support her. More kisses, one beginning before another had quite finished, moist and intimate caresses, secret strokes of pleasure and promise.
    With a soft murmur—foreign words that fell pleasantly on her ears—Rohan took his mouth from hers. His lips wandered along the flushed curve of her neck, lingering on the most vulnerable spots. Her body felt swollen inside her clothes, the corset cinching around the desperate pitch of her lungs.
    She quivered as he reached a place of exquisite sensation and touched it with the tip of his tongue. As if the taste of her were some exotic spice. A pulse awakened in her breasts and stomach and between her thighs. She was filled with a dreadful urge to press against him, she wanted to fight free of the layers and layers of smothering fabric that made up her skirts. He was so careful, so gentle—
    The crash of a bottle on the pavement jolted her from the haze.
    “No,” she gasped, now struggling.
    Rohan released her, his hands steadying her as she fought for equilibrium. Amelia turned blindly and staggered toward the open door of the carriage. Everywhere he had touched, her nerves stung with the desire for more. She kept her head low, grateful for the concealment of her bonnet.
    Desperate for escape, Amelia ascended to the carriage step. Before she could climb in, however, she felt Rohan’s hands at her waist. He held her from behind, trapping her long enough to whisper near her ear, “Latcho drom.”
    The Romany farewell. Amelia recognized it from the handful of words Merripen had taught the Hathaways. An intimate shock went through her as the heat of his breath collected in her ear. She didn’t, couldn’t, reply, only climbed into the carriage and awkwardly pulled the mass of her skirts away from the open doorway.
    The door was closed firmly, and the vehicle started forward as the horse obeyed Merripen’s guidance. The two Hathaways occupied their respective corners of the seat, one of them drunk, the other dazed. After a moment Amelia reached to untie her bonnet with trembling hands, and discovered the ribbons were hanging loose.
    One ribbon, actually. The other …
    Removing her bonnet, Amelia regarded it with a perplexed frown. One of the red silk ribbons was gone except for the tiny remnant at the inside edge.
    It had been neatly cut.
    He had taken it.

Chapter Four
    One week later, all five Hathaway siblings and their belongings had removed from London to their new home in Hampshire. Despite the challenges that awaited them, Amelia was strongly hopeful their new situation would benefit them all.
    The house in Primrose Place held too many memories. Things had never been the same since both Hathaway parents had died, her father of a heart ailment, her mother of grief a few months afterward. It seemed the walls had absorbed the family’s sorrow until it had become