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Ian felt his chest expand with that knowledge as he waited for the marchioness.  The way she had looked at him during the carriage ride home was just as empowering, he realized.  The attraction between them had been instantaneous and intense.  He couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like it.
    The urge to touch her, to hold her hand or caress her cheek , had been almost overwhelming.  It had been difficult not to act on that attraction, to assume the familiarity he felt.  Instead he had settled for watching her.  Watching her expression as she’d looked out the window of the carriage as Cuilean had come into view had enthralled him.  Her anticipation and excitement had been palpable, rousing an answering anticipation in him.  But it was her expression when she looked at him that enthralled Ian the most.  She looked at him as if he were godlike, like something she’d never seen before, and Ian felt the same when he looked at her.  It was intoxicating.
    It was magical.  
    So magical that he wanted to grasp it in his hands and never let it go.   He wanted her to stay at Dùn Cuilean, wanted to share it with her.  Wanted to share more than he cared to consider just yet.
    Not the least of those things was her bed.   The attraction he had felt for the woman in the portrait in his chambers for the last month had become undeniable lust since seeing Hero in the flesh.  Ian shook off the arousal that gripped him at the mere thought of her and seized again on the puzzle that was Hero Conagham.
    Though it pleased him that she loved the castle as much as he and considered it home, Ian had to wonder again what prompted her return to this place.  The castle, despite its vast beauty, was certainly far removed from society.  Indeed, it was almost removed from civilization itself in its remote locale on the coast of the Firth of Clyde, miles from anything or anyone, with just Ian in residence, if one didn’t count the bevy of servants it took to run the castle.
    Why would she return?
    All of those questions fled his mind the moment Hero appeared on the landing above him, and Ian’s breath caught.  Only one question remained and, for a bachelor of long standing, it was an uncomfortable one that boggled the mind.
    How could he convince her to stay?
    The rustling of silk caught his attention and Ian turned.
    She was so incredibly lovely, Ian thought again as he awaited Hero at the foot of the steps as she swept down the curved staircase toward him.  Her evening gown was a widely striped rose and bronze silk.  The broad hooped skirt was nearly as wide as the staircase as she descended, and at its center, her tiny cinched waist was encircled by a band of bronze silk that trailed in lace-edged streamers over the belled skirts.  The bodice clung tightly to her every curve.  The notched collar—for lack of a better word—was edged with lace and hung low across her bosom and arms, leaving her shoulders bare.  The tops of her breasts nearly spilled over the low neckline with every breath.  Her arms were bare as well, as she eschewed gloves.  Only the long ribbons trailing from the silken rosettes on lacy trim that served as the arms of the gown made any attempt to cover her bare flesh.  Hero wore no jewelry, either, only gold and rose silk flowers in her hair.
    His fingers itched to encircle that tiny waist, to caress that ivory skin.   Ian had never seen a more breathtaking sight … that is, until she looked down at him with a brilliant smile.
    Ian felt as if the bare-knuckled prizefighter, Tom Sayers, had just hit him below the belt.  The wind was nearly taken from him but Ian stood tall and welcomed his guest with a broad smile and a gentlemanly bow.  Surely the marchioness would expect her husband’s heir to treat her with detached respect, not tethered lust. 
     
    Reaching the foot of the stair, Hero returned the marquis’s bow with a reflective curtsey of her own, marveling at how wonderful he looked in