Her response stunned him, elated him, and he wanted more than anything to share a sensual adventure with her. But how could he? His conscience would flog him alive. The silence stretched between them and he knew he had to respond.

"As flattered as I am by your willingness, I'm afraid we must stop."

She frowned, then her eyes widened. "Oh, dear. Do you already have a lover?"

A warm flush crept up his neck. "Not currently, no."

There was no mistaking her relief. Her gaze drifted down to his still-bulging manhood, then returned to his face. "You cannot deny you desire me."

"Obviously not. But there is much more involved here than simply satisfying my desires." His fingers tightened briefly on her wasit, then he released her and dragged his hands down his face. "Clearly you have not thought this through-"

"On the contrary, I have."

"Indeed? 'Tis clear you have not considered your reputation, which would be utterly ruined."

"Only if someone found out. I wouldn't tell anyone. Would you?"

"Of course not. But no matter how discreet we might try to be, someone would suspect and gossip. A servant, a neighbor, someone in your family. It would be impossible to hide an affair in a close-knit village like Tunbridge Wells."

"I disagree." Drawing a deep breath, she clasped her hands in front of her. "I am regarded in this village as an odd, eccentric, homely, firmly-on-the-shelf bluestocking. No one would credit for an instant that any man, let alone a man such as yourself, would grant me more than a passing glance. I find it nearly impossible to credit myself. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that even if we stood in a crowded room and announced to one and all that we'd become lovers, no one would believe us."

The fact that she was most likely correct rushed a surge of anger through him toward every dolt who had ever dismissed her. Damnable idiots.

"I am rapidly approaching my twenty-sixth birthday." – she continued. "I accepted long ago the limitations put upon me by my appearance and unusual interests, but that has never stopped me from yearning for adventure. And passion."

Fragile hope and longing flickered in her eyes, tightening his throat. Damn it, he had to convince her that taking him as a lover was a bad idea-and somehow manage to convince her without crushing her. But it was damn difficult to recall why when his loins ached with need and it seemed he'd lost his voice.

Needing to touch her, he reached out, took her hand, and entwined their fingers. Warmth eased up his arm at her touch, and it required a great deal of willpower not to simply yank her against him and consign his bloody conscience to the devil.

"Ever since my encounter with the Bride Thief," she said softly, "I've been unable to suppress my need for adventure. It's as if he burst a dam inside me."

He froze. "The Bride Thief? What has he to do with this?"

"He made me feel… alive. Made me realize how very much I wanted… things."

His jaw hardened and he narrowed his eyes. "Things such as a lover?"

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Yes."

Unreasonable, irrational jealousy pumped through him, and he abruptly released her hand. "Then perhaps you should approach the Bride Thief with your offer."

Color rushed into her cheeks, and he gritted his teeth. He hadn't considered that she might be harboring… lover-like feelings for his alter personality.

"It is unlikely I shall ever see him again," she said.

Damned unlikely. "And if you did?"

"He did not give me any indication that he… desired me."

Bloody hell, what did she mean by that? Did she want to experience passion with the Bride Thief? The thought of her wanting another man, regardless of the fact that the other man was in reality him, edged his vision with a red haze.

Swallowing his mounting anger, he said coolly, "Have you considered that your adventure could result in pregnancy?"

"Yes, but I understand that there are ways to prevent such an occurrence."

"And do you know what they are?"

"No… not yet."

"Yet? " He raked a hand through his hair. "How do you intend to find out?"

She raised her brows. "Do you know?"

"Of course. I've no wish to father any by-blows."

A smile of unmistakable relief touched her lips. "Excellent. You can tell me everything I need to know."

"I'll do nothing of the sort. You do not require such information as I will not be your lover." He rubbed his hand over his face, shaking his head. "What if you decide to marry in the future?" The instant the words passed his lips, another image of her, wrapped in some faceless man's arms, filled his mind, almost choking him.

"I have no desire to marry. My scientific work fulfills me, and I hope to someday travel. If I'd wanted to be a wife, I could have agreed to a match my parents recently tried to arrange. You have my word that I shall not attempt to extract an offer of marriage from you."

"That is wise, as I've no intention of ever marrying. And I would never want to be forced into marriage."

"Nor would I. But what of your title?"

"It will die with me," he said, his voice stiff with cold finality.

"I see." She expelled a long breath, then said, "Well, now that we've discussed and dismissed all the obstacles…"

God knew he ached to make love to her. But with his damned conscience all but hammering him in the head, he felt compelled to save her from herself. For in spite of her protestations, she obviously didn't realize how much she stood to lose.

Forcing aside the need that threatened to overwhelm his good intentions, he took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. Praying she would see the depth of his regret, he said, "I cannot be your lover. Not because I don't want you, because I do." A humorless laugh escaped him. "Desperately. But I cannot, will not be responsible for your social ruin."

She lifted her chin a notch higher. "I've told you I would not hold you responsible for any adverse effects stemming from our association."

"I understand. But I am not the sort of man who can simply walk away from or ignore my responsibilities."

Confusion flashed in her eyes. "But what of your previous lovers? Were you not concerned for their reputations?"

Tenderness washed through him. Cupping her heart-shaped face between his hands, he brushed his thumbs over her smooth cheeks. "None of my previous lovers were innocents. Any association with me, or any other man, would not harm their social standing. You would be ruined. I cannot do it."

His words drained all the expression from her eyes. "I see." She stepped jerkily backward and his hands slipped from her face. "In that case, I suppose it's best if I go home. May I have my spectacles, please?"

"Of course." He extracted her glasses from his jacket pocket and handed them to her. He watched her slip them on, his insides aching with a sharp pang of loss.

After adjusting her glasses, she offered him a formal nod. "I bid you good-bye, Lord Wesley." Turning on her heel, she headed down the path toward her home.

Good-bye. There was no mistaking her meaning or her tone. This was clearly the last she expected to see of him.

It was for the best. He should be happy. But damn it, his heart bloody well hurt at the thought of not seeing her ever again. Seeing her smile. Hearing her laugh. Touching her. Kissing her. Making love to her.

He pressed his lips together to keep from calling her name, planted his feet firmly in the dirt to keep from running after her, clenched his hands into tight fists to keep from grabbing her. Then he squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to watch her walking away from him.

He'd done the right thing. The noble thing. For her. Although where he'd found the strength to resist her offer, he'd never know.

Never know. Yes, now he'd never know what it would have felt like to have Samantha Briggeham under him. Over him. Wrapped around him. Moaning his name. Awakening her to the passion she longed to experience… and had wanted to share with him.

He opened his eyes. The path she'd taken was now deserted. Forcing himself to move, he turned to leave, but his footsteps halted as his gaze riveted on the jar of honey. He'd set it down near a clump of bushes before he'd approached her. Instantly a swarm of images bombarded him. Her pleasure at his gift. Her desire-glazed eyes after he'd kissed her. Her earnest, achingly hopeful expression as she asked him to become her lover.

A humorless sound emerged from his throat.

Yes, he certainly was noble.

A noble idiot with an ache in his heart that he feared might not ever subside.


Sammie sat at her escritoire, drumming her fingers against the polished cherry wood surface. He refused. I must put the idea out of my mind.-

Unfortunately her mind was not cooperating at all.

Pursing her lips, she blew out a slow breath. His refusal should have left her embarrassed. Humiliated. Chastened. Instead she was frustrated. Disappointed.

And more determined than ever to have her way.

But how? How to convince him… entice him… seduce him? Why did he have to be so excruciatingly noble?

Yet even as she asked herself that question, she had to admit that she admired him even more for his concern for her welfare and reputation. If he weren't so honorable, she suspected he would not appeal to her so much. Still, she could not let this opportunity to experience passion pass her by. She could not imagine wanting to share such intimacies with anyone other than Lord Wesley, and if she failed to convince him, she feared she'd grow old without ever knowing what physical love was like. Perhaps if she hadn't met Lord Wesley she might have remained content to simply record such dreams in her journal.