He looked at Alice as she sat so prim and neat between Lizzie and her mother. Just the sight of her seemed to make the lust within him tighten to almost unendurable levels. That really should not happen to a rake. It might be acceptable for a boy in his salad days, perhaps, but not to a man of experience. Miles disliked being at the mercy of his physical needs. He had seriously toyed with the idea of quenching his lust in dalliance with Ethel, the chambermaid at the Morris Clown Inn, who had made him so very welcome the previous year. He had even gone to the inn a few days before, with the intention of seeking Ethel out and paying not only for her body but also for her silence in order to ensure that Alice’s lawyers did not hear of it. Yet when he had gone into the taproom Ethel’s ample charms, so proudly displayed by her low-cut blouse, had failed to move him in any way at all. Instead of purchasing her he had bought a pint of ale and sat in a corner thinking about Alice and the cool silk of her skin beneath his hands and the eagerness of her response and the soft sounds she had made as he had caressed her. He had grown hard at the thought and had slammed the half-drunk pint down on the table and gone out to stand beneath the pump, which had eased his bodily torment, at least temporarily. Fidelity was another quality he had never practiced, and to find that he was obsessed with a virgin to the point where he wanted no other woman baffled and annoyed him. But there was no fighting it. He was a realist and he knew when he was beaten. It had not helped that as he had walked out of the inn yard, dripping wet, angry and frustrated, he had met Frank Gaines casually strolling the other way and the lawyer had given him a look of complete understanding that had made Miles want to punch him.

Now he stood watching Alice for a few moments. Her head was turned away so that all he could see was her charming profile beneath the hood of her cloak, but there was some tension in the way she was sitting. Mrs. Lister turned around to hail the Dowager Lady Vickery as though they were at a garden party rather than the auction of all Miles’s worldly goods, and for a moment Miles caught sight of Alice’s expression. Where Lizzie Scarlet was looking excited, Alice was looking deeply unhappy.

Miles wrenched his gaze away. Seeing Alice’s compassion for his situation aroused emotions he did not want to feel. He was comfortable feeling lust for her-actually it was not comfortable but it was just about tolerable-but this complicated mixture of need and desire went deeper than the physical and he did not want it.

“How much am I bid for this fine Breguet watch?” the auctioneer demanded. “A genuine Breguet, ladies and gentlemen, from Paris, signed on the dial…”

Miles turned away. His father had given him the watch for his sixteenth birthday. When they had sold off the contents of Vickery Hall a few years before he had resisted selling too many of his personal possessions, not because of any sentimental connotations but because he had wanted to keep something back. Now, though, his finances were so dire that he could no longer afford the luxury of personal items.

“Take care of it,” he remembered the late Lord Vickery telling him when he had stood before him on the worn Axminster carpet in the study at Vickery Hall. “It is very valuable.”

It had been doubly precious to Miles, who had kept the gift safe right up until this moment. Even when he had left Vickery in anger and disillusionment he had held on to the watch, his father’s present to him, as though it had been some sort of talisman.

And then he saw that Alice was bidding on the watch. He felt sick. Clearly he had misjudged her earlier. She had come to the Sale of Drum to crow over his plight and in his heart of hearts he knew he could not blame her, for he was the one who had forced her into this situation. He told himself that he was not disappointed in her. He did not care what Alice did; she could be as venal as he was for all he cared. Which did not really account for why he found he wanted to smash his fist through the twelfth-century paneling.

The bidding rose higher and higher. There was a strange, hollow feeling beneath Miles’s breastbone. He could not place the sensation but it made him feel blue-deviled. He turned away from the auction and made his way through the stone-flagged hallway toward the study. He needed a drink but he had sold the contents of the wine cellar and the crystal glasses. He needed a bit of peace but all the rooms in the castle had been thrown open to the public so that they could view the sale items, so there was no privacy anywhere. Miles walked over to the window embrasure and stood looking out over the moors. It was a raw February day with lowering clouds and a misty sleet shrouding the rocky outcrops. The view suited his mood.

He heard the gavel come down on the watch and the auctioneer’s delighted cry and the ripple of applause that meant that it had sold for some astronomical sum. Something snapped within him. Marching back into the great hall, Miles strode up to the place where Alice was sitting. She was looking flushed and triumphant. It was obvious that hers was the winning bid. Miles grabbed her wrist and dragged her to her feet in full view of the crowds. He saw Mrs. Lister’s shocked face and heard his mother’s horrified gasp. He ignored them. Dragging Alice behind him, oblivious to the shocked whispers that rustled through the throng, he hurried her out of the door and into his study, slamming the door behind them.

“What the devil do you think you are doing?” Miles’s voice was harsh. “When we agreed to the terms of our engagement they did not include you coming to the sale here and making it plain to everyone that you were taking pleasure in buying me up twelve times over!” He realized that he was shaking with anger but seemed powerless to regain control. “I thought that I had made myself clear,” he continued. “If you cannot summon up any enthusiasm for our betrothal you will at least show me a modicum of respect in public or everyone will suspect there is something suspicious about our arrangement.”

Alice drew herself up. She was very pale. Her cloak was awry, her fair hair ruffled, but instead of the anger he expected to see in her eyes there was nothing but distress.

“The watch was for you,” she said, with an honesty that devastated him. Her face was set and white but she continued doggedly. “Your mama told me that it was very precious to you and I did not want anyone else to have it.”

Miles swore. He felt sick. “I don’t want it,” he started to say, instinctively rejecting both Alice and the dangerous intimacy of her gesture, but she held his gaze and continued to speak.

“It’s true that I came here intending to embarrass you,” she said. “I meant to spend lots of money and show you up, but-” she shrugged her shoulders beneath the crimson cloak “-I find it’s not my way to take revenge like that. Perhaps I am too generous. Lizzie says I am softhearted, but-” her tone hardened “-I will not change the way that I am, I will not let myself become twisted out of shape because of the way that you have behaved to me.”

Miles swallowed hard. He did not understand why her words were as painful as the sympathy in her eyes.

The last thing he wanted-the last thing he could bear-was her pity.

He could hear the echo of the auctioneer’s voice rising and falling as he sold the next item, and winced as he tried to block out the sound. Alice came across to him and laid a hand on his arm.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I am so sorry, Miles. It must be very difficult for you to have to do this.”

Miles closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered the compassion in Alice’s face ten days before when they had been at the Granby Ball and she had pressed him on his feelings for his family. He had not wanted her kindness then, or her sympathy. He did not want it now. He absolutely could not admit that this ghastly parade of his possessions mattered in any way at all. It did not. It could not.

He tried to find some casual words to dismiss Alice’s concerns but they seemed to stick in his throat. He wanted to back away from this unexpected emotion, to dismiss it out of hand. He grasped after his customary cool cynicism. “It is of no consequence, Miss Lister. Why, when everything is sold there may even be some profit for me to gamble away…”

He told himself that it was the truth, but the words would not come.

And suddenly, with a blinding shock that shook him to his soul, he realized that he was bitter and furious that he should be the one forced to sell Vickery and Drum, to be the man who had humbled the family pride, when it was his father with his irresponsible profligate ways who had done the real damage years before. He felt sick and angry that the late Lord Vickery had once more abrogated his responsibility by dying before he had had to sell up, leaving Miles to bear the burden of all that ignominy and to sell his honor along with his possessions. His father, whom he had idolized before their terrible quarrel and cold estrangement…He could see at last that he had kept the Breguet watch for sentimental reasons hoping, perhaps, to keep faith with his father even though at times they had been so bitterly divided. And now at last he saw that everything had gone. He had lost everything and it hurt damnably.

He found that instead of dismissing Alice as he wanted to, he had put his hand over hers as it lay on his arm. Her face was tilted toward him and her lips were parted, pale pink, soft and sweet. In her eyes was something that looked like genuine pain and concern. Miles felt something shift deep within him.

He pulled her to him and kissed her with all the pent-up rage and violence that was in him, pushing the hood of her cloak back so he could tangle a hand in her bright hair and tilt her head to bring her mouth up even more ruthlessly to meet his. He felt her gasp against his lips and then she yielded to him instantly and absolutely, and her surrender lit something wild and primitive in him, and he was aware of nothing other than the unconditional need he had for her and the whirling, painful spiral of their desire. He felt shaken to the depths of his soul and yet somewhere in that raging darkness he felt a core of peace he had not known in a very long time, a peace that only Alice could give him.