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curvaceous woman in the well-used red gown hurried out of the inn, her skirts held up with one hand as she dashed across the muddy yard. He admired the flash of ankle for as long as was gentlemanly (far too short a time since the woman dropped her skirts as she reached them).
    â€œMr. Harris?”
    Temple turned his back on the mare as he faced the woman, an error Harry was about to rectify when it occurred to him that the woman must be the missing last applicant. He eyed her again, closer this time, appreciating not just her pretty face with cheeks bright with exercise but the raven-black hair that was visible beneath her bonnet, the slash of black eyebrows across her brow, and two dark eyes that had an appealing, almost exotic tilt to them. To Harry’s great mortification, he became instantly and fully aroused. Clamping the reins under his knee, he pulled his jacket off and laid it across his lap in what he hoped was a suitably nonchalant it’s-a-bit-hot-out-today manner.
    â€œMr. T. Harris? I’m Frederica Pelham. I apologize for being so late, but I lost my way a few times and had to ask for directions.”
    The woman was speaking to Temple, having given him a glance that took in more of his horse than him. Harry wished he could dismount and speak to her, but his reaction to the sight of her had left him in the unenviable position of having to remain astride Thor. The thought of her noticing his bulging breeches had the unexpected (and lamentable) effect of making him even harder.
    â€œI’m not too late, am I? You haven’t…er…filled the position?”
    She caught her lower lip between her teeth, clearly worried and anxious. Harry wondered why such an attractive woman should be so desperate for a husband. She had no warts, no physical imperfections that he could see, and her voice was educated and well-modulated.
    Temple cleared his throat and glanced toward him. Harry shook his head, then remembered he couldn’t stand before the woman with his breeches nigh to bursting, and nodded. Temple looked confused. “Er—”
    â€œNo, you’re not too late,” Harry said, fully enjoying receiving the attention of those dark, velvety eyes as they turned upon him. “Mr. Harris is my man of affairs. I am the one who is looking for a wife.”
    â€œOh, I see,” the woman said and eyed him just as curiously as he had been examining her. She didn’t appear to find anything objectionable about him, although she must have wondered why he was so ill-bred as to remain on horseback, sitting in his shirtsleeves while speaking with her. He damned his own lack of control and decided that the interview would have to be conducted quickly.
    â€œWe were about to return home, but if you don’t mind answering a few questions here, I’m sure we can have this business over with quickly. You said your name was Pelham?”
    She made an odd sort of flinching movement, but lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eyes while answering. “Yes, sir. Frederica Pelham, although my friends call me Plum.”
    His eyebrows rose. “Plum?”
    â€œFor Pelham. It’s a pet name, you see. My father used to call me Plum. He was Sir Frederick Pelham, of Nottingham.”
    Daughter of an impoverished baronet, no doubt. She had a niceness about her that did not allow her to look on him with scorn despite the fact that he was insulting her by remaining on his horse.
    â€œDo you read, Miss Pelham?”
    She looked startled by that question, but recovered quickly enough, although her high color remained. “When I have the opportunity to, yes.”
    â€œAh. Good. I have a large library.” Harry considered her, trying to separate the lustful urgings of his body from the less earthy desires of his mind.
    â€œDo you?” Plum asked politely, reaching out to pat Thor’s long face. Harry grabbed the reins from under his knee, about to pull Thor back