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shall try to make it a good one.” He slid over until they were sitting side by side, his thigh pressing against hers.
    He cupped her cheek with one hand. “Your eyes are the most remarkable shade of green,” he murmured, thinking it was only right that they were as unique as the rest of her. “Like the finest emeralds.”
    Her brows arched in surprise. “And your eyes are two different colors. Brown and a misty blue-gray. How very odd.”
    “It has been said that my eyes are a good expression of my generally odd self,” he said, thinking it was pure pleasure to study Carrie at close range.
    When he first saw her, she’d been gagged and furious, but now that she was relaxed, she was a striking beauty. Her shining dark hair had come loose to fall over her shoulders in extravagant waves. He brushed her hair back and caught a whiff of her scent. “Lilacs and spice,” he said. “Feminine but with bite.”
    She laughed. “You understand perfume.”
    “Perfume is easier to understand than women.” Certainly he wanted to understand this woman, whose fine features had a faintly exotic cast. His fingers drifted down her throat, butterfly light. Her exquisite complexion had the warmth of Devonshire cream rather than the pale milk of a fashionable blonde. “You look entirely edible.”
    “Perhaps you need more bread and cheese.” Her tone was demure, but her green eyes sparked with amusement.
    He touched his lips to hers, prepared to savor gently. She leaned into the kiss with innocent interest. Then her lips opened under his. Pure fire blazed between them. The sensual shock raced through every vein, raw and urgent.
    He drew her closer until her breasts were pressed into his chest. Her hands came to rest on his waist, her fingernails biting through his coat like tiger claws.
    “Dear God, Carrie,” he said hoarsely, his hands kneading her back. “You are even more extraordinary than I realized.”
    She gulped for breath, her lips parted in irresistible invitation. “You are definitely to be preferred to Howard.”
    “I should hope so!” He kissed her again, and she did not point out that he’d already had his kiss. His pulse was pounding and so was hers. Lilacs and spice and the sweet, fresh scent of crushed hay.
    He realized that they were lying on their sides in the hay, his knee between hers and his hand on her breast. Their hips were pulsing together as if trying to dissolve the fabric that separated them so they could be fully joined. “This isn’t wise,” she whispered in a voice balanced between desire and doubt.
    “You are entirely right.” Yet he didn’t want to stop. Hoping she had more sense than he did, he said hoarsely, “Tell me to stop, Carrie. Or hit me. Not too hard, but hard enough to restore some common sense.”
    “Actually, my name is Kiri, not Carrie,” she said with a choke of laughter. “I didn’t want the smugglers to know my real identity.”
    “No matter,” he said distractedly. “You are beautiful under any name. . . .”
    Wait. Kiri.
    He’d only heard that name once. He gasped and released her as if she were a burning coal. “My God—Kiri! You must be Lady Kiri Lawford. Ashton’s sister.” Damnation, he should have guessed when he saw her green eyes. She and her brother looked very alike.
    “You know my brother?” she said, pleased, as she pulled his head down again.
    For dizzy moments he forgot why he should not be doing this. It took sharp nails on the back of his neck to bring him back to his senses.
    Summoning all his will, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the beams as he gasped for breath. “If I touch you again, just stick the knife into me. It will be quicker than waiting till Ashton breaks me into very small pieces.”
    She pushed herself up on one elbow and stared down at him. “What on earth are you talking about? Adam is the best and kindest of brothers.”
    “He is also one of the most dangerous men in England if he’s offended,” Mac said