Though he did not like to admit it-and would do so only to himself-the feisty Miss Benchley had scored a direct hit with her pronouncements regarding the state of society matrimonies. He doubted her claim that everyone in her family had made love matches. Still, it raised the question of whether it was possible these days for anyone to marry for that nebulous reason.

He stared beyond his sheltered bower and across the damp meadows, just rousing to the bright sunlight burning through the morning fog. But he did not see the sheep that dotted the lush green landscape, nor the meandering stone walls that marked fields in use for a thousand years and more. Instead he pictured his sister, Alice, and their last conversation.

She'd been very upset, almost to the point of tears. But she hadn't cried, even when he'd browbeaten her about Arlen Forrester, Lord Meever. That had been eight days ago. He'd gone blithely on to Winchester afterward, sure in his conceit that she would come around to his way of thinking. After all, Lord Meever was not too old-her objection to Lord Barton. He was not a sot-her objection to Lord Tinsdale. Nor was he a womanizer-her objection to Lord Lamkin. Barton, Tinsdale, and Lamkin had each been well connected, with solid family names and deep pockets. But Harrison recognized now that none of them had truly been right for his sweet younger sister.

Arlen Forrester, however, had no such flaws.

Alice had called the man dull as dirt, and perhaps he was. But that was hardly a fatal flaw, and indeed, he might make a better husband for it. He was a conscientious fellow who took his responsibilities seriously.

Yet the thought of marrying Forrester had sent Alice straight into the arms of a penniless opportunist who'd promptly dragged her off to Gretna Green.

No doubt she believed herself in love with the man, and for that Harrison was prepared to forgive her. Benchley, however, would receive no such leniency. For Colin Benchley had taken advantage of a green girl, and Harrison meant to punish him dearly for his audacity.

Unfortunately, Harrison could not escape some portion of the blame himself. He'd left Alice alone too much. Then when he'd decided she was ready for marriage, he'd tried to rush her into it.

He, of all people, should have known that the selection of a mate could not be rushed. It had been three years since he'd decided to select a wife and produce the heir he knew his position demanded. Three years, three seasons, and not one eligible miss he'd go so far as to actually commit a lifetime to. Whether silly or serious, titled or merely wealthy, not one of the many young women he'd danced and flirted with had moved him to propose marriage.

Not that he was waiting for love to strike, as Jinx Benchley obviously was. She was already old enough to be considered on the shelf. Before long she'd be a confirmed spinster. And all in the name of love.

But that was not his problem. He was not waiting for love.

The fact remained, however, that he'd not found the right woman for himself. So why had he presumed he could find the right man for Alice? That didn't mean he could allow Alice to choose her own husband without some guidance from him. This disaster with Benchley was proof that she was not capable of it. Still, Harrison knew he'd been a lackluster guardian to his much younger sister. He'd not sufficiently considered her feelings regarding marriage. He would have to do better in the future.

He waited silently in the woodland bower. Above him a pair of mating squirrels tore around the trunk of a towering oak, chasing one another in a dizzying upward spiral. His sleek mount stamped one foot and nickered softly to Rogers's placid mare. Love was in the air. Then he grimaced at such an idiotic notion. Not love, but lust.

He frowned and shifted uneasily in the saddle. Squirrels. Horses. Young men. Did Alice feel lust for this Benchley? Was that what she found missing in Lord Meever?

Harrison didn't like to think of his sister that way, nor of any innocent young woman of good breeding.

You thought of Miss Jinx Benchley that way, a silent voice accused.

His fist tightened on the reins. The horse tossed its head, restless from the wait. Maybe for a moment or two he'd thought of Miss Benchley that way. But then, why shouldn't he? She was not, after all, your typical gentleman's daughter. Her wild red hair, her eccentric wardrobe. The intriguing fragrance that clung to her.

Those bells that tinkled when she moved.

Any right-thinking man could be forgiven for harboring less-than-wholesome thoughts about such a vibrant creature. Even her temper had sparked his interest, for she was no shy, mumbling child, intimidated by either his anger or his physical presence.

And her voice, confident and yet musical-

"Look, milord," Rogers called, interrupting Harrison's inappropriate musings. "Someone's leaving the manor grounds."

Cursing himself for a fool, Harrison leaned forward, focusing at once on the distant rider. At first he was disappointed. It was a man, for he rode astride. Then his eyes narrowed. The rider's hat nearly fell off and a long knot of hair unfurled down his back. Her back, Harrison realized when the sunlight struck sparks off the rich red mass. Jinx Benchley, riding astride in some sort of combination of breeches and skirt. He could hardly believe it! She thundered down the road, trailed by another rider. One of the stable men, he would guess.

So, she was off to find her brother herself-no doubt to warn the wretch that someone was hot on his trail. Harrison had been right to wait, and now he meant to follow her straight to the runaway pair.

But as he turned his horse and picked his way along the edge of the woods, following the direction Miss Jinx Benchley took, he resolved to put aside the baser feelings the woman had roused in him.

Yes, she was attractive, but it was in an exotic sort of way. Yes, she was quick-witted, but she was also a sharp-tongued shrew, far too argumentative for his taste. And though she sat a horse admirably, almost as if she'd been born astride, that was not a talent a proper young lady need possess.

But for all her oddities, she was still a gentlewoman. She was young and well bred, despite her odd manner, outspoken ways, and outrageous behavior. Besides that, she was Colin Benchley's sister, and the last woman he should get involved with. He meant to follow her, that was all, and to use her to find Alice.

He leaned forward, urging his horse forward. The chase was on and, like a hound sharp on the heels of a wily red-haired vixen, he meant to pursue his quarry until he had her trapped-and with her, her brother and his foolish sister.

Chapter Three

Colin Benchley made his way down to the stables, ostensibly to check on the horses. But in truth, he needed time alone to debate his next move.

The first night he and Alice had stayed at an inn outside of Oxford. Alice had slept in the bed; he'd shifted fitfully all night on a chair that had long lost its padding. The second night they'd rested at an out-of-the-way abbey, passing themselves off as brother and sister. If the good brothers had suspected the truth, they'd kept it to themselves. He'd slept but little on the lumpy pallet given him in the men's quarters.

Two miserable nights. Two pitiful accommodations. His exquisite Alice deserved so much better. That's why they'd stopped earlier this evening, at a prosperous-looking coaching inn near Ballycoat. He'd taken a suite of rooms more in keeping with what Alice deserved.

And yet, wasn't he deluding himself? He could never provide for her as she deserved. And though he loved Benchley Manor and it was his home, he knew it did not begin to compare even to the least of Alice's brother's holdings.

He had no right to deprive her of her family wealth. How could he ever have been so selfish as to think he did?

He looked in on his team of weary horses, then gave the stable boy tuppence for extra rations. But instead of returning to Alice, he hesitated in the musty stable.

He wanted her so badly, he ached. But he'd vowed not to dishonor her by taking her innocence outside the bounds of matrimony. She was so beautiful, though. He wasn't sure he could bear another night sharing a room with her and yet not sharing a bed.

God, but he was so confused! He loved her and he wanted to marry her and take care of her and spend all the days of his life with her. But he was going about it all wrong. He could see that now. Despite her objections, he should have gone to her brother. It was the right thing to do, and it was still not too late to do it.

Resolved, he turned and strode back toward the inn. They would start back in the morning. He would have to make her understand that no matter how her brother might react, they must return and ask his approval.

She did not answer when he knocked. He knocked harder; still no reply. Alarmed, Colin turned the latch and peered inside. What he saw set his heart racing and blood rushing to his loins. For Alice stood in the window, backlit by a stupendous sunset which made her lounging gown all but disappear.

He saw a tiny waist and sweetly rounded hips outlined beneath the diaphanous fabric. He saw long, shapely legs. His honorable intentions turned to mush in the face of her innocently silhouetted femininity. The words he meant to say evaporated in the heat of the moment. Then she spoke, an angel who was more tempting than even the devil, and he was finally and irrevocably lost.

"Colin, I cannot wait any longer. I cannot bear to delay until we travel all the way to Scotland, my love. Please, Colin, make me your wife tonight. Now. Please…"