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hands, aware of her cheeks burning. Who else would it be?
    He prefers housemaids…his reputation is one of stamina and skill.
    She knew that she must leave, instantly. This was a very private affair. Yet her feet would not move. The banging was reaching a terrific crescendo. Vague images danced in her mind of shadowy lovers, prone and entwined.
    Blanche realized she stood a finger’s length from the door and that she was listening acutely to the lovers. She was shocked with herself. Was Sir Rex in there? Was he really such a skilled lover? His image began to form, shadowy and naked, a woman in his embrace.
    And then a woman sobbed in uninhibited pleasure.
    Her mind froze. Her heart leaped as never before. She panicked. She meant to turn and leave, but she stumbled against the door instead—and it opened.
    Blanche was confronted with so much masculinity that she froze. Sir Rex was making love in a frenzy to a dark-haired woman who lay on the sofa and she glimpsed his dark, slick gleaming back and shoulders, his hard profile and a tangle of skirts. She inhaled. He wore only his breeches and he had the physique of a medieval knight—huge shoulders, bulging arms, and his breeches revealed a high, hard, muscled posterior. His muscular thighs rippled, thick and full. She couldn’t see much of his right leg, the lower half having been amputated from the knee down during the war, but his left leg was planted on the floor, and she was shielded from seeing what she should not.
    Yet she couldn’t turn away. Helplessly, her heart fluttering frighteningly in her chest, she stared. He was a dark angel—his hair almost black and wet, thick black lashes fanned out over terribly high cheekbones, his straight, not quite perfect nose flared. He was beautiful.
    And she meant to go. This was shocking—she had seen too much! She ordered her feet to move, her legs to obey and carry her away. But she had never seen such a strained intense expression on anyone and he was driving hard and fast now, and as naive as she was, she understood. Rapture transformed his expression. He gasped.
    She gasped.
    And somehow, she knew he had heard her. Suddenly, slowly, he turned his head toward her.
    She saw dark, unfocused eyes.
    Blanche knew she had committed the worst faux pas possible. “I am sorry!” she cried, in a complete panic now.
    She backed out, just as his eyes changed, becoming lucid, just as she saw recognition flare there, just as their gazes met.
    His eyes widened.
    She whirled and fled.

CHAPTER THREE
    R EX SAT ON THE SOFA , stunned. Lady Blanche Harrington, a woman he admired as no other, had walked in on him and Anne!
    He breathed hard, praying he was in some terrible nightmare and that when he awoke, he would realize Blanche Harrington had not just caught him with his lover.
    Anne whispered, “Who was that, my lord?”
    Oh, God, he wasn’t in a terrible dream—Blanche Harrington had caught him in bed with his maid! He covered his face with his hands and was overwhelmed with mortification and shame.
    For one long moment, he succumbed to absolute horror and utter embarrassment. He did not know Blanche Harrington well, even though she had once, briefly, been betrothed to Tyrell. He had probably run into her half a dozen times since first meeting her eight years ago. But he had admired her instantly, as her grace, elegance and gracious behavior were truly remarkable, and had thought his brother mad and blind to have no interest in her. The few times they had conversed, he had done his best to be courtly, correct and polite. He had been determined to be a perfect gentleman in her presence. How in God’s name would he face her now? And what on earth was she doing at Land’s End?
    â€œIs she your intended?”
    He became aware that Anne sat beside him. He slowly dropped his hands, aware now of the heat in his cheeks. Anne had arranged her clothing, but her braided hair was entirely