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their mistresses wicked. They controlled the world, but could not comfort a crying child. They often cared more for their precious horses than their loyal servants.…
    In general, her opinion of them was not all that high.
    Then again, she had adored her father. Her brother, Jonathan, the current Earl of Augustine, was also—while not conventional in any way—a good man and very much in love with his new wife.
    But, his emancipated views on females aside, Jonathan would disapprove, Lily suspected, of her current whereabouts, because while her intentions had been to just snatch a moment or two of solitude, here she was in a very compromising situation.
    Again.
    There was a bend in the steps and for a moment Lord Damien faltered, obviously a bit off balance, his breath going in with an audible hiss. This time she was the one who tightened her grip, steadying him, but he recovered almost as soon as it happened, murmuring, “Thank you. We should be there soon. If I remember correctly, this comes out in what is now the wine cellar.”
    He was right, she discovered a few minutes later as he pushed open a door with a shriek of protesting hinges and the cool air washed over them, the lamp in his hand illuminating racks of dusty bottles, the light bouncing eerily off the shadowed corners.
    It was odd, but when he let go of her hand, Lily experienced a small, unexpected sense of loss, and now that it was over, she began to shake.
    He reached for his coat and cravat, plucking them from the bundle in her arms. “As escapes go, that one was not too taxing. I feel confident Pondsworth’s butler locks the cellar, but that should not be a problem without a broken key jammed inside it. All we have to do now is make it upstairs undetected.”
    “Is
that
all?” Lily was so relieved to be out of the passageway her mortification over being in such a state of undress didn’t even matter. Besides, it wasn’t as if Lord Damien was even paying attention, which was actually a bit insulting. She’d never thought of herself as a raving beauty, but men did notice her, though apparently retired spies were immune. She slipped her gown on with a little difficulty as she was used to having help from her maid, and, as when she was taking it off, he came to her aid in a way that spoke of more than a scandalous passing experience with the process, swiftly buttoning up the back.
    “My breeches and boots are a little dusty,” he said as casually as if their recent escapade was an everyday occurrence, tying his cravat. “Otherwise, how did I fare?”
    There was a cobweb or two in his thick, wavy hair and without thinking Lily reached up to brush them away. The strands were unexpectedly soft and silky in contrast to the masculine cast of his fine features and his lean, athletic build. The gesture was surprisingly intimate and the immediacy of it startled her.
    “Quite presentable now, my lord,” she managed to say, practically snatching her hand back.
    “You have a smudge.” He cupped her chin and rubbed the pad of his thumb lazily over the curve of her cheekbone. “There, that’s done the trick.”
    “Thank you.” An odd tingle went through her.
    His brows snapped together. “Are you quite all right? You’re trembling.”
    “I told you, I don’t like enclosed spaces.”
    “Yes, you did tell me exactly that. You did very well, Lady Lillian.”
    For a split second they gazed at each other and there was a second treacherous inner quiver she had not felt since the debacle her first season and her bungled elopement. Then he smiled and dropped his hand. “Let’s see how quickly I can confound Pondsworth’s butler into thinking he left the door to the precious wine cellar unlocked, shall we?”
    True to his word, Lord Damien was a wizard when not thwarted by errant weakened keys stuck in diabolical locks, and moments later they were climbing the steps to freedom. It wasn’t too difficult to find her way back to the ballroom—the sound led