She went inside, leaving the door open so that she could breathe the rhododendron-fragrant air and listen to the birds singing, and so that she could get an unobstructed view of the pretty, well-kept lily pond, its water dark green beneath the roof of tree branches, the lilies a startling white in contrast.

It was a little heaven on earth, she decided, sinking onto one of the benches, folding her hands in her lap, and allowing herself to relax for the first time all afternoon. She pushed aside homesickness, loneliness, and heartache. It was not in her nature to harbor negative feelings for long and these ones had oppressed her for altogether too many days. Here were peace and beauty to nurture her spirit, and she would accept the gift by opening herself to what was offered and giving it a chance to seep into her soul.

She inhaled deeply and then relaxed further. Her eyes closed after a couple of minutes, though she was not sleeping. She felt both happy and aware of being blessed. She lost track of time.

“A pretty picture indeed,” a voice said softly from the doorway and she was jolted back to unpleasant reality just as if she really had been sleeping.

Horace was standing there, one shoulder propped against the door frame, one booted leg crossed over the other.

“Oh,” she said, “you alarmed me. I came for a walk, found the summerhouse, and sat down to rest for a few moments. I must be getting back.” She stood up and realized that the summerhouse was really not very large at all.

“Why?” he asked her without moving. “Because Step-mama may have some errands for you to run?

Because your grandmama may need someone to fetch her more cakes? The garden party will continue for some time yet, and we Harewood guests will be staying even after everyone else leaves, you know.

We are invited for dinner. Relax. You will not be missed for some time yet.”

That was precisely what she was afraid of.

“It is all very picturesque, is it not?” she said brightly. And very remote and secluded .

“Very,” he agreed without removing his eyes from her. “And would be even more so without its bonnet and cap.”

She smiled. “Is that a compliment, Mr. Effingham?” she asked. “I thank you. Will you stay here a while?

Or will you walk back to the house with me?”

“Judith.” He smiled at her, revealing almost all his perfect white teeth. “There is no need to be skittish—or to call me Mr. Effingham . I saw you leave the party because you were feeling alone and neglected. You go unappreciated here, do you not? It is because Stepmama treats you like a poor relation and encourages the impression most of the guests have that you are your grandmama’s companion. And because you have been forced to wear this heavy disguise. I am the only man here, apart from your brother, who has been privileged to catch a glimpse beyond it.”

She silently reprimanded herself for dressing the way she had on that day he had arrived with Bran. He would have shown no interest in her if he had seen her only as she looked now. She could think of no sensible answer to his words.

“You are not quite unappreciated, though,” he told her.

“Well.” She laughed. “Thank you. But I really must go now.” She took one step forward. Another would bring her into collision with him. But, as he had done on the wilderness walk, he stood his ground and did not move aside for her to pass. “Excuse me, please, Mr. Effingham.”

“I daresay,” he said, “you had a very strict and narrow upbringing at the rectory, did you, Judith? A little dalliance can be very entertaining, you know, especially when the party is so dull.”

“I am not interested in dalliance,” she told him firmly.

“That is because you have never experienced it,” he said. “We will correct that gap in your education, Judith. And could we ask for more ... picturesque surroundings for the first lesson?”

“Enough of this,” she said curtly. She was truly alarmed now, since he seemed to be a man who would not take no for an answer even when it was firmly given. “I am leaving. And I would advise you not to try stopping me. Uncle George and Aunt Louisa would not be pleased with you if you did.”

He chuckled and sounded genuinely amused.

“Little innocent,” he said. “Do you really believe they would put any blame on me? And do you really believe you would tell?” He took one step forward and she took a half step back.

“I do not want this, Mr. Effingham,” she said. “It would be ungentlemanly of you to come one inch closer to me or to speak any further on a matter that is thoroughly distasteful to me. Let me go now.”

Instead of letting her go, he lifted one hand, pulled open the ribbons of her bonnet, and tossed both it and her cap onto the bench behind her before reaching for her. Half of her hair fell down over one shoulder, and she heard the sharp intake of his breath.

It was the last thing she consciously heard or saw for what seemed forever and was perhaps a minute, maybe two. She struck out at him blindly, flailing both fists, stamping with both feet, sinking her teeth into whatever came close to her mouth—but not screaming, she realized afterward. She had never been a screamer. Yet it was strange how, mindless as she seemed to be, a part of her took a step back and watched almost dispassionately as she struggled in a panic for her freedom and as Horace overpowered her quite effortlessly, laughing softly most of the time, cursing once or twice when she struck him.

And then her body was pressed to his, her dress half ridden up her legs, one of his wedged between them, her hands imprisoned against his chest, his horrid wet, open mouth seeking hers. It was the moment when her conscious mind returned. He fully intended to ravish her, and she was essentially powerless to stop him. But she would not go down meekly. She struggled on, panic returning as she became aware that her twistings and turnings were doing nothing to free her, but were only further amusing and inflaming him.

And then suddenly, without any warning, she was free, gazing in terrified incomprehension at the great monster who had just lifted Horace bodily away from her and was still growling menacingly as it turned and flung him outside. The monster resolved itself into Lord Rannulf Bedwyn as he went outside after Horace, lifted him from the ground with one hand, and slammed his back against a tree.

Judith reached out blindly for the nearest windowsill and clung to it.

“Perhaps it escaped your notice,” Lord Rannulf was saying—still in a harsh growl, “that the lady was unwilling.”

“This is rather extreme, is it not, Bedwyn?” Horace said, trying unsuccessfully to brush off the hand that held him by both coat lapels. “She was being coy rather than unwilling. We both know that. .. Oofff!”

Lord Rannulf had drawn back his free hand and driven his fist into Horace’s stomach.

“What we both know,” he said in a voice that suggested his teeth were half clenched, “is that to call you a worm, Effingham, would be to dishonor the insect kingdom.”

“If you fancy her yourself... Oofff!” Horace sagged forward as another blow landed to his stomach, but Lord Rannulf’s left hand held him firmly in place.

“You can be thankful,” he said, “that we are on my grandmother’s land with a garden party in progress.

It would otherwise give me the greatest pleasure to send Miss Law away and give you the thrashing you deserve. I guarantee that you would end up unconscious and bloody on the ground here, your features permanently rearranged on your face.”

He dropped his hand and Horace, looking visibly shaken, stood away from the tree and started to restore his coat and shirt to rights.

“You think so, Bedwyn?” he said with studied nonchalance. “Dear, dear, and all over a wench who is simply panting for the attentions of anything in breeches.”

Lord Rannulf clearly kept in mind that the scandal of a fight must not ruin Lady Beamish’s garden party.

Not one of his blows was aimed at Horace’s face. All were directed at his body above the waist. Judith clung more tightly to the windowsill and watched, only half noticing that Horace, though he waved his fists ineffectually a few times, did not land even one blow. It was not a fight, though Horace was free to make it into one if he so chose. It was punishment. It ended only when Horace was on his hands and knees on the ground, retching horribly into the grass between his hands.

“You may wish,” Lord Rannulf said, his voice only slightly breathless, “to excuse yourself from staying for dinner, Effingham. It would make me sick to see you at my grandmother’s table. You will stay away from Miss Law in the future, do you hear me? Even when I am not in the vicinity to observe you pursuing her. I will find out, and next time I will thrash you to within an inch of your life . .. z/you are fortunate. Get out of my sight now.”

Horace stumbled to his feet, clutching his stomach with one hand. He was pale to the point of greenness.

But he looked at Lord Rannulf before turning and stumbling away.

“I’ll get even with you for this,” he said. He switched his gaze to Judith. “I’ll get you for this.” His eyes blazed with hatred.

And then, finally, he was gone, and Judith realized that her knuckles were white from the death grip she had on the windowsill and that her stomach was fluttering and her knees shaking. Lord Rannulf was straightening his clothes and then turning to her. It was only at that moment that she realized she should have been using the time to put herself to rights, but she still could not release her hold on the sill.