"I'm sorry," she muttered, wishing she could somehow disappear. "I--I overstepped my bounds, Sir Ross. Forgive me."

He grinned at her embarrassment and spoke to Sir Grant. "Morgan, I have something to discuss with Miss Sydney."

"Apparently so," came Morgan's dry rejoinder. He bowed briefly, his green eyes twinkling as he glanced at Sophia. The door closed behind him.

Sophia covered her reddened face with her hands. Her voice filtered between her stiff fingers. "Oh, what must he think of me?"

Ross came from behind the desk and stood before her. "No doubt he thinks that you are a kind and caring woman."

"I am sorry," she said again. "I did not realize that Sir Grant was here. I should not have come to you so impetuously, nor should I have...It's just that I am in the habit of..."

"Of touching me?"

She squirmed in discomfort. "I have become too familiar with you. Now that you are well again, things must return to the way they were before."

"I hope not," he replied quietly. "I enjoy our familiarity, Sophia." He reached for her, but Sophia stepped back hastily.

Averting her eyes, she asked in a subdued tone, "Whydid you send for me?"

A long moment passed before he replied. "I've just received word from my mother of what she assures me is a great crisis in her household."

"No one is ill, I hope?"

"I'm afraid it is far more serious than that," he said sardonically. "It pertains to an upcoming birthday party she is giving for my grandfather."

Perplexed, Sophia looked up into his dark face as he continued.

"Apparently my mother's housekeeper, Mrs. Bridgewell, has suddenly gotten married. She had been seeing an army sergeant, who proposed to her when he learned that the regiment was soon to be moved to Ireland. Naturally Mrs. Bridgewell wished to accompany her new husband to his new post. The family wishes her well, but unfortunately, her absence occurs in the midst of preparations for my grandfather's ninetieth birthday celebration." "Oh, dear. When will the event take place?"

"In precisely a week."

"Oh, dear," Sophia said again, remembering from the great household she had worked at in Shropshire that such large festivities required meticulous planning and near-flawless execution. Food, flowers, guest accommodations...there would be an overwhelming mass of work involved. Sophia pitied the underservants who would be required to step in to manage things.

"Who will arrange things for your mother, then?"

"You," Ross muttered with a scowl. "She wants you.

The family carriage is waiting outside. If you are willing, you are to leave for Berkshire at once."

"Me?" Sophia was stunned. "But there must be someone else who can take Mrs. Bridgewell's place!"

"According to my mother, no. She has asked for your assistance."

"I cannot! That is, I have no experience in taking care of something like this."

"You do quite well at managing the servants here."

"Threeservants," Sophia said in agitation. "When your mother must have dozens and dozens."

"About fifty," he told her in a deliberately offhand manner, as if the number were of little significance.

"Fifty! I can't be in charge of fifty people! Surely there is someone far more suitable than I."

"Perhaps if the housekeeper's departure had been less precipitate, they would have found someone else. As it is, you are my mother's best hope."

"I pity her, then," she remarked with great feeling.

He laughed suddenly. "It is only a party, Sophia. If all goes well, my mother will no doubt take the credit for everything. If it proves to be a disaster, we'll blame it all on the absent Mrs. Bridgewell. There is nothing for you to worry about."

"But what about you? Who will take care of you and manage things here while I am gone?"

He reached out and fingered the white collar at the neck of her dark blue dress, the back of his knuckle brushing the tender underside of her chin. "It appears I will have to make do without you." His voice lowered to an intimate pitch. "I expect it will be a long week indeed."

Standing so close to him, Sophia could smell the tang of his shaving soap, the touch of coffee on his breath. "Will your entire family be there?" she asked warily. "Including your brother and his wife?" The prospect of abiding beneath the same roof as Matthew was distinctly unappealing.

"I doubt it. Matthew and Iona prefer the pleasures of town life--the country is too quiet for them. I expect they will wait until the weekend, and arrive at the same time as the other guests." Sophia considered the situation carefully. There seemed to be no graceful way to refuse Ross's mother. She sighed in consternation at the Herculean mission that had been set before her. "I will go," she said tersely. "I will do everything in my power to make your grandfather's party a success."

"Thank you."

His hand slid around the back of her neck, and his fingers brushed over the braided coil pinned at her nape. His fingertips found a few delicate wisps of hair and stroked gently.

Sophia drew in an unsteady breath. "I will pack my things."

His thumb traced a slow, tiny circle on the side of her neck. "Aren't you going to kiss me good-bye?"

She licked her dry lips. "I don't think it is wise for us to...to do that anymore. It is not appropriate. This separation is a timely one, as it will allow us to go back to the way things were--"

"Don't you like kissing me?" He picked up a stray lock of hair on her neck and fingered it lightly.

"That is not relevant," Sophia heard herself say. "The point is, we shouldn't."

His eyes glinted with challenge. "Why?"

"Because I think...I am afraid..." She gathered her courage before blurting out, "I cannot have an affair with you."

"I have not asked for an affair. What I want from you is--"

Impulsively Sophia put her hand to his lips. She did not know what he had been about to say, but she did not want to hear it. Whatever his intentions were, she would die if he put them into words. "Don't say anything," she begged. "Let us be separate for a week. After you take some time to reflect, I am certain that your sentiments will change."

His tongue touched the seam between her fingers, and her hand jerked away. "Are you?" he asked, lowering his head.

His lips brushed over hers in a communion of moisture and warmth that filled her with unbearable pleasure. She felt the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip, softly teasing, and her resistance melted away. Gasping, she strained upward, and was caught against his hard body, one of his hands fitting beneath her buttocks. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she kissed him hungrily. She was unable to deny the attraction between them, which was, of course, the point that Ross was now intent on making. He rewarded her response with an even deeper kiss, his tongue sliding past her teeth, until she sagged against him in helpless pleasure.

Suddenly she was released. Stunned, Sophia put her fingers to her damp mouth.

Ross looked arrogant and amused, his own face flushed. "Good-bye, Sophia," he said, his voice thick. "I will see you in one week."

The vehicle provided by the Cannons was by far the most luxurious Sophia had ever ridden in, with French windows and velvet curtains, the dark-green-lacquered exterior decorated with gold-leaf scrolls, the interior upholstered in glossy brown leather. The well-sprung carriage traveled jauntily over the twenty-five-mile distance between London and Berkshire.

Although the prospect of arranging the weekend party was intimidating, Sophia was eager, to see the country estate where Ross had spent his childhood. The county of Berkshire and its environs were just as he had described them, with abundant pasturelands, fertile woods, and small towns with bridges arching over the Kennet and Thames rivers. The smells of freshly turned sod, river breezes, and grass mingled to create a pleasantly earthy fragrance.

The carriage turned off the great road onto a much smaller one, the wheels bouncing and jolting as the paving became ancient and uneven. As they approached the town of Silverhill, the scenery became even more picturesque, with fat sheep grazing in the meadows and half-timbered cottages dotting the green countryside. The road led through a series of timeworn gates covered in ivy and roses. The carriage skirted the periphery of Silverhill and started down a long private avenue. They passed through the stone gates of the Cannon estate, which Ross had told her was about fifteen hundred acres in size.

Sophia was impressed by the beauty of the land, which featured groves of oak and beech, and an artificial lake that sparkled beneath the cool blue sky. Finally the outlines of a Jacobean mansion rose before her, its roofline arching in a profusion of turrets and gables. The rubbed-brick facade of the home was so magnificent that Sophia felt a painful jab of anxiety in her stomach.

"Oh, Lord," she whispered. The towering entrance of Silverhill Park Manor was fronted by fifteen-foot-high hedges and bordered by a terraced walk featuring huge beds of primrose and rhododendron. A row of immense Oriental plane trees led the way to an orangery on the south verge of the walk. In Sophia's most extravagant dreams, she had never expected the Cannons' country estate to be so imposing.

Two thoughts assailed her at once. First, why would a man with this kind of wealth consign himself to live in the Spartan quarters at Bow Street? And second, how was she going to survive the next seven days? Clearly, she was wholly inadequate to the task that lay before her. She was too inexperienced to direct an entire regiment of servants. They would not respect her. They would not listen to her.