'Highly unlikely! So what would put him off?'

'Lying, immorality, unkindness to children.'

'Oh. That's a daunting list. Nothing minor, then?'

'I doubt it. I have recounted all your hints and gossip. He just shrugs it off.'

'This is much harder than I thought it would be. Is there nothing I can tell her about him that is so bad her father would refuse the match?'

'No.' Lucas's brows drew together sharply. 'There is not. And I am not going to make something up, either. If Sir Gregory is not baulking at the current scandal anything that would put him off would have to be appalling. What about you? Can I tell him she is spiteful and deceitful, or has a clandestine lover?'

'No! She is none of those things, and I am certainly not going to risk her reputation. You will just have to keep pointing out to him the disadvantages and inequalities of the match, and I will try to persuade her that the world will not end if she stands up to her father.'


Lucas watched Daisy's face as she leaned back against the rough bark of the tree and looked out across the valley, her eyes narrowed either in worried thought or against the snow dazzle. She intrigued him. More than intrigued, if truth be told. Her upbringing was that of a lady, yet here she was, waiting on a little dab of a nobody. Her need for employment must be serious. He liked her fierce loyalty towards Penelope Maylin, the way she stood up to him, the humour that was always lurking in those big hazel eyes-and he liked looking at her.

He had liked the feel of her mouth under his in that fleeting kiss last night. Warm, full, trembling between outrage and response. A bird began to sing above their heads, sweet and clear on the cold air. Lucas glanced up and smiled. It was so very tempting to indulge in a little dalliance. Just a very little. He did not think he could disturb Miss Lawrence's heart too much, and he had every confidence that she would send him on his way with a clip around the ear if she found his actions unwelcome.

'Look up, Daisy.'

'Hmm?' She tipped back her head and stared up through the bare branches. 'Oh, a robin-how lovely. Look at the way his throat is working with the force of his singing. You would never believe such a tiny scrap could make so much noise.'

'Look just above it.'

She refocused, and he saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth when she saw what he was referring to. Then it was gone, and she was saying repressively, 'Mistletoe?'

But it had been there, that spark of mischief. He moved in front of her, put both gloved hands on the tree

trunk either side of her head and leaned in. 'Mistletoe. And we will bring down the wrath of Druids everywhere if we do not do the proper thing when beneath it-especially at this time of year.'

'Wrathful Druids will be the very least of your problems if you try and ki…'

It was everything he had guessed it would be, kissing Daisy Lawrence. Softness, the fragrance of warm femininity, and the dangerous spark of her temper as she decided whether to kiss him back or box his ears.

She tasted very faintly of peppermint. He slipped his tongue between her lips, urging them to part for him, wary that he would find her teeth, not the sweet heat inside. She was still braced against the tree, her hands by her sides.

She lifted them suddenly, and as suddenly moved away, just enough to gasp, 'Oh, you wretch,' before clasping her hands in his hair and pulling his head down to hers again.

CHAPTER SIX

She was angry with him, but she shouldn't be-she was kissing him just as much as he was kissing her. Although it was patently obvious that Lucas had far more experience than she had. Either that or he had startling natural talent.

His mouth was hot and hard and flexible enough to drive her distracted, and his tongue was quite blatantly impertinent in its exploration. No one had ever kissed Rowan with anything like this sensual impact. And she should not be kissing him. She knew she should not.

Her fingers bumped against the underside of his hat and she felt it tip and fall off, giving her unrestricted access to his hair. It was springy between her fingers, like a live thing. At her back the tree was solid, hard and uncomfortable. At her front she was pressed against his body-almost as hard, certainly as solid, but far from uncomfortable.

Her insides were feeling very strange indeed: tense, hot, aching with an almost-pain that ran from her belly

down the inside of her thighs. This must stop…now. Or in a minute or two…

Just a few moments more. Now.

Rowan opened her eyes and pulled back with enough force to bump her head against the tree trunk a few inches behind. She found she was panting slightly, and that Lucas was, too. He did not move back. He was so close she could see where his beard was already beginning to show, despite a severe morning shave, so close she could see that there was a ring of darker blue around the indigo of his eyes. So close that the mist of their breath mingling in the cold air hung between them.

'I-' She should reprimand him. Or she should just walk away. Or say something dignified about it being both their faults and it must not happen again: for of course it must not. Instead she looked him straight in the eye and said, 'That was very nice.'

'I thought so,' Lucas said gravely. 'I suspect my hat may be ruined, but that is a small price to pay.'

'Hadn't you better look, before it gets too wet?'

'Yes.'

He did not move. It was really very pleasant, standing so close. Warm, intimate, friendly. Only her toes were becoming very cold and her inner voice was demanding to be heard. Her behaviour could be excused, just, it reminded her sternly, if the man concerned was betrothed to her. Under no circumstances could she ever have such a relationship with a valet, so she had acted purely for the pleasure of kissing him. Which was scandalously wanton and she should be ashamed of herself. But she wasn't, which was even more shameful. Her conscience nagged on, relentless.

'Oh, do be quiet,' she muttered, earning a startled look from Lucas. 'Sorry-just thinking aloud. My feet are cold.'

'Then we must go in.' This time he acted on his words, turning to pick up his tall hat and brushing the snow off it as they walked towards the kitchen garden gate. 'Where were you last employed?' he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

'With a middle-aged person-more as a companion than anything,' Rowan said, with perfect truth. 'Abroad, mostly.'

'In which country?' Lucas opened the gate onto the practical formality of the kitchen garden. Within the sheltering walls the snow lay only patchily. Men were working around the glass frames, shifting covers. One lad was picking the tight button heads of borecole off the robust stalks that leaned drunkenly in the cold earth, and a man Rowan guessed was the head gardener was supervising a delivery of coals by the stovehouse door.

'Austria.' There was no point in lying about it. If he knew she had been out of the country he was not going to ask questions about English families or houses, and she was not going to have to risk an error.

'The Congress?' he asked, and she nodded in reply. 'Interesting.'

'It certainly greatly entertained my employer.' It had entertained her as well. The endless round of balls and receptions, picnics and parties, political gossip and scandalous on dits were a world away from the careful formality of the servants' hall at dinner time. 'It seems a different world,' she added, stamping her feet on the brick path to get rid of the snow.

In Vienna now she could be going on expeditions into the forest in a horse-drawn sledge, or shopping in the luxurious stores and emporia that lined the streets. But Papa was coming home early in the New Year, and she had agreed with him that it would be best if she came on ahead and got the town house opened up.

If she had not come then she would not have known about Penny's predicament until the deed was done and her friend irrevocably married. And she would not be having this insight into the parallel world of the servants, or the freedom to indulge in her scandalous flirtation.

'I'm not sorry to be back.'

'No. Neither am I. Although I suspect I will never get warm again. I had forgotten how cold this country can be.'

'You have been abroad, too? For how long?'

'Five years. I got back a few weeks ago.'

Thank goodness. He could have had nothing to do with Lady Danescroft's death.

'I have been in the West Indies.' That explained the faint colour his skin held, as though he had been brushed lightly by the sun.

'As a valet?' The sound of the other servants arriving back met them as they rounded the edge of the stableblock and the yard behind the kitchen door came into sight.

'No. More as an estates manager. I had not expected to take this job when I returned, but it was…expedient.'

An estates manager sounded considerably more respectable than a valet. Younger sons of quite good family became estates managers. Rowan realised she was pleased by this discovery, and then, a moment later, why she was. For goodness' sake. Slightly better breeding does not excuse flirtation! Valet or younger son of a gentry family, it does not matter. I am the only child of Roland Chilcourt, third Earl of Lavenham, and I know what is due to my name. The scandal would be resounding if anyone ever found out. Acting as Penny's dresser might be excused as a prank; kissing a valet would put her beyond the pale.

Then don't get found out. She was shocking herself. She glanced at Lucas as they mingled with the other returning churchgoers, all shedding hats and wraps and stamping the snow off their feet as they trooped back into the warmth. There had been other men in her life- attractive, eligible men whom she had liked very well. Several had proposed, and with two of them she had thought long and hard before refusing. But never had she been tempted to kiss one of them. She had not felt oddly breathless with either of them, and they had certainly not disturbed her dreams in the way this man had last night.