annah had never been so uncomfortable in her life. The man sitting next to her was a beast. He stared at her as if she were some carnival curiosity. And he had already confirmed much of what she had heard about American men. Everything about him advertised a brand of excessive masculinity that she found distasteful. The slouchy, informal way he occupied his chair made her want to kick his shins.

His New York accent, the flattened vowels and lax consonants, was foreign and annoying. However, she had to admit that the voice itself... a deep, polished-leather baritone, was mesmerizing. And his eyes were extraordinary, dark as pitch yet gleaming with audacious fire.

He had the sun-browned complexion of a man who spent a great deal of time out of doors, and his close-shaven jaw showed the grain of a heavy beard. He was an excessively, uncompromisingly masculine creature. Not at all a match for Natalie in any regard. He was not appropriate for the drawing room, or the parlor, or any other civilized surroundings.

Mr. Bowman addressed her with a directness that seemed nothing short of subversive. "Tell me, Miss Appleton... what does a lady's companion do? And do you receive wages for it?"

Oh, he was horrid to ask such a thing! Swallowing back her indignation, Hannah replied, "It is a paid position. I do not receive wages, but rather an allowance."

He tilted his head and regarded her intently. "What's the difference?"

" 'Wages' would imply that I am a servant."

"I see. And what is it you do in return for your allowance?" His persistence was galling. "I provide companionship and conversation," she said, "and on occasion I act as chaperone to Lady Natalie. I also do light sewing, and I do small things that make Lady Natalie's life more comfortable, such as bring her tea or go on errands."

Mockery flickered in those heathen eyes. "But you're not a servant."

Hannah gave him a cool glance. "No." She decided to turn the tables on him. "What exactly does a financial speculator do?"

"I make investments. I also watch for people who are being idiotic with their investments. And then I encourage them to go at it full-tilt, until I'm left with a profit while they're standing in a pile of smoking rubble."

"How do you sleep at night?" she asked, appalled.

Bowman flashed an insolent grin. "Very well, thank you."

"I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant, Miss Appleton. I rest easy in the knowledge that I'm doing my victims a service."

"How?"

"I teach them a valuable lesson."

Before Hannah could reply, Annabelle broke in hastily. "Dear me, we mustn't allow the conversation to drift into business talk. I hear far too much of that at home. Miss Appleton, I have heard such lovely things about Lady Natalie. How long have you been her companion?"

"For three years," Hannah answered readily. She was slightly older than her cousin, two years to be exact, and she had watched as Natalie had blossomed into the poised and dazzling girl that she was now. "Lady Natalie is a delight. Her disposition is amiable and affectionate, and she has every grace of character one could wish for. A more intelligent and charming girl could not be found."

Bowman gave a low laugh edged with disbelief. "A paragon," he said. "Unfortunately I've heard other young women advertised in equally rapturous terms. But when you meet them, there's always a flaw."

"Some people," Hannah replied, "will insist on finding flaws in others even when there are none."

"Everyone has flaws, Miss Appleton."

He was too provoking to be endured. She met his keen, dark gaze and asked, "What are yours, Mr. Bowman?"

"Oh, I'm a scoundrel," he said cheerfully. "I take advantage of others, I care nothing for propriety, and I have an unfortunate habit of saying exactly what I think. What are yours?" He smiled at her wide-eyed silence. "Or are you by chance as perfect as Lady Natalie?"

Hannah was struck speechless by his boldness. No man had ever spoken to her in such a manner. Another woman might have withered at the derision in his voice. But something in her would not be cowed.

"Rafe," she heard Lillian say in a warning undertone, "I'm sure our guest doesn't wish to be subjected to an inquisition before we've even brought out the scones."

"No, my lady," Hannah managed to say, "it's quite all right." She stared directly at Bowman. "I am far too opinionated," she told him. "I believe that is my worst flaw. I am often impulsive. And I'm dreadful at small talk. I tend to become carried away in conversation, and I go on for far too long." She paused strategically before adding, "I also have little patience with insolent people."

A brief, tumultuous silence followed as their gazes locked. Hannah could not seem to look away from him. She felt her palms turning moist and hot, and she knew her color was high.

"Well done," he said softly. "My apologies, Miss Appleton. I did not mean to give any impression of insolence."

But he had. He had been testing her, needling her deliberately to see what she would do. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Hannah felt a warm sensation bristling down her spine as she stared into the heathen depths of his eyes.

"Rafe," she heard Lillian exclaim with exasperation, "if this is an example of your parlor manners, there is much work to be done before I will allow you to meet Lady Natalie."

"Lady Natalie is quite sheltered," Hannah said. "I fear you will not get very far with her, Mr. Bowman, if you are anything less than gentlemanly."

"Point taken." Bowman gave Hannah an innocent glance. "I can behave better than this."

I doubt that, she longed to say, but bit the words back. And Bowman smiled as if he could read her thoughts.

The conversation returned to the topic of Natalie, and Hannah provided answers to such questions as her preferred flowers, her favorite books and music, her likes and dislikes. It had crossed Hannah's mind to be untruthful, to put Mr. Bowman at a disadvantage with Natalie. But it was not in her nature to lie, nor was she very good at it. And then there was Lord Blandford's request. If he truly believed it would be to Natalie's advantage to marry into the Bowman family, it was not Hannah's right to stand in the way. The Blandfords had been kind to her, and they did not deserve an ill turn.

She found it a bit peculiar that Bowman asked very little about Natalie. Instead he seemed content to let the other women question her, while he drank his tea and stared at her with a coolly assessing gaze.

Of the three women, Hannah liked Annabelle the most. She had a knack for keeping the conversation entertaining, and she was amusing and well versed in many subjects. In fact, Annabelle was an example of what Natalie might become in a few years.

Were it not for Mr. Bowman's disturbing presence, Hannah would have been sorry for teatime to end. But it was with relief that she received the news that Lord Blandford's carriage had arrived to convey her back home. She didn't think she could abide much more of Bowman's unsettling stare.

"Thank you for the lovely tea," Hannah said to Lillian, standing and smoothing her skirts. "It has been a delight to make your acquaintance."

Lillian grinned with the same flash of mischief that Bowman had displayed before. With their spicy brown eyes and gleaming sable hair, there was no doubting their family resemblance. Except that Lillian was far nicer. "You are very kind to tolerate us, Miss Appleton. I do hope we haven't behaved too badly."

"Not at all," Hannah replied. "I look forward to seeing you in Hampshire soon."

In a matter of days, Hannah would be leaving for Lillian and Lord Westcliff's country estate with Natalie and the Blandfords for an extended visit over Christmas. It would last more than a fortnight, during which time Mr. Bowman and Natalie would have ample opportunity to discover whether they suited. Or not.

"Yes, it will be a grand, glorious Christmas," Lillian exclaimed, her eyes glowing. "Music, feasting, dancing, and all kinds of fun. And Lord Westcliff has promised that we will have an absolutely towering Christmas tree."

Hannah smiled, caught up in her enthusiasm. "I've never seen one before."

"Haven't you? Oh, it's magical when all the candles are lit. Christmas trees are quite the fashion in New York, where I was brought up. It started as a German tradition, and it's catching on rapidly in America, though it's not common in England. Yet."

"The royal family has had Christmas trees for some time," Annabelle said. "Queen Charlotte always put one up at Windsor. And I've heard that Prince Albert has continued the tradition after the manner of his German heritage."

"I look forward to viewing the Christmas tree," Hannah said, "and spending the holiday with all of you." She bowed to the women, and paused uncertainly as she glanced up at Bowman. He was very tall, his presence so forceful and vital that she felt a shock of awareness as he moved closer to her. As she glanced up at Bowman's handsome, arrogant face, all she could think of was how much she disliked him. And yet dislike had never made her mouth go dry like this. Dislike had never sent her pulse into a swift, tripping beat, nor had it knotted in the pit of her stomach.

Hannah nodded to him in the approximation of a bow.

Bowman smiled, his teeth very white in his sun-browned face. "You shook my hand before," he reminded her, and extended his palm.

Such audacity. She didn't want to touch him again, and he knew it. Her chest felt very tight, compressing until she was forced to take an extra breath. But at the same time she felt a wry, irrepressible smile curve her lips. He was a scoundrel indeed. Natalie would discover that soon enough.

"So I did," Hannah said, and reached out for his hand. A quiver went through her frame as she felt his fingers close around hers. It was a powerful hand, capable of crushing her delicate bones with ease, but his hold was gentle. And hot. Hannah sent him a bewildered glance and tugged free, while her heart pounded heavily. She wished he would stop staring at her—she could actually feel his gaze on her downbent head. "The carriage is waiting," she said unsteadily.

"I'll take you to the entrance hall," she heard Lillian say, "and we'll ring for your cloak and—" She broke off as she heard the sound of a crying baby. "Oh, dear."

A nurserymaid came into the parlor, holding a dark-haired infant bundled in a pink blanket. "Beg pardon, milady, but she won't stop crying."

"My daughter Merritt," Lillian explained to Hannah. Reaching out for the infant, she cuddled and soothed her. "Poor darling, you've been fretful today. Miss Appleton, if you'll wait a moment—"

"I'll see myself out," Hannah said, smiling. "Stay here with your daughter, my lady."

"I'll go with you," Bowman offered easily.

"Thank you, Rafe," came Lillian's grateful reply, before Hannah could object.

Feeling a pang of nerves in her stomach, Hannah left the parlor with Rafe Bowman. Before he reached for the bell pull, she murmured, "If you have no objection, I would like to speak with you privately for a moment."

"Of course." His gaze swept over her, his eyes containing the devilish glint of a man who was well accustomed to having private moments with women he barely knew. His fingers slid around her elbow as he drew her with him to the shadow beneath the stairs.

"Mr. Bowman," Hannah whispered with desperate earnestness, "I have neither the right nor the desire to correct your manners, but... this matter of the handshake..."

His head bent over hers. "Yes?"

"Please, you must not extend your hand to an older person, or to a man of greater prestige, or most of all to a lady, unless any of these people offer their hands to you first. It's simply not done here. And as vexing and annoying as you are, I still don't wish you to be slighted."

To her surprise, Bowman appeared to listen closely. When he replied, his tone was infused with quiet gravity. "That is kind of you, Miss Appleton."

She looked away from him, her gaze chasing round the floor, the walls, the underside of the stairs. Her breath came in anxious little gusts. "I'm not being kind. I just said you were vexing and annoying. You've made no effort to be polite."

"You're right," he said gently. "But believe me, I'm even more annoying when I'm trying to be polite."

They were standing too close, the crisp scents of his wool coat and starched linen shirt drifting to her nostrils. And the deeper underlying fragrance of male skin, fresh and spiced with bergamot shaving soap. Bowman watched her with the same intensity, very nearly fascination, that he had shown in the parlor. It made her nervous, being stared at in such a way.

Hannah squared her shoulders. "I must be frank, Mr. Bowman. I do not believe that you and Lady Natalie will suit in any way. There is not one atom of likeness between you. No common ground. I think it would be a disaster. And it is my duty to share this opinion with Lady Natalie. In fact, I will do whatever is necessary to stand in the way of your betrothal. And though you may not believe this, it is for your own good as well as Lady Natalie's."

Bowman didn't seem at all concerned by her opinion, or her warning. "There's nothing I can do to change your opinion of me?"

"No, I'm quite stubborn in my opinions."

"Then I'll have to show you what happens to women who stand in my way."

His hands slipped around her with an easy stealth that caught her completely unaware. Before she comprehended what was happening, one powerful arm had brought her against the animal heat of his hard masculine body. With his other hand, he grasped the nape of her neck, and tilted her head backward. And his mouth took hers.

Hannah went rigid in his arms, straining backward, but he followed and secured her more firmly against him. He let her feel how much bigger he was, how much stronger, and as she gasped and tried to speak, he took swift advantage of her parted lips.

A wild jolt went through her, and she reached up to push his head away. His mouth was experienced and unexpectedly soft, possessing hers with seductive skill. She had never thought a kiss could have a taste, an intimate flavor. She had never dreamed that her body would welcome something her mind utterly rejected.

But as Bowman forced her to accept the deep, drugging kiss, she felt herself going limp, her senses overrun. Her traitorous fingers curled into the thick raven locks of his hair, the strands as heavy as raw silk. And instead of rebuffing him, she found herself holding him closer. Her mouth trembled and opened beneath his expert persuasion as liquid fire raced through her veins.

Slowly Bowman took his lips from hers and guided her head to his chest, which moved beneath her cheek with strong, uneven breaths. A mischievous whisper tickled her ear. "This is how we court girls in America. We grab them and kiss them. And if they don't like it, we do it again, harder and longer, until they surrender. It saves us hours of witty repartee."

Looking up at him sharply, Hannah saw a dance of laughter in his wicked dark eyes, and she drew in a breath of outrage. "I'm going to tell—"

"Tell anyone you like. I'll deny it."

Her brows pulled together in a scowl. "You are worse than a scoundrel. You're a cad."

"If you didn't like it," he murmured, "you shouldn't have kissed me back."

"I did not—"

His mouth crushed over hers again. She made a choked sound, hitting his chest with her fist. But he was impervious to the blow, his hand coming up and engulfing her entire fist. And he consumed her with a deeply voluptuous kiss, stroking inside her, doing things she had never suspected people did while kissing. She was shocked by the searing invasion, and even more by the pleasure it gave her, all her senses opening to receive more. She wanted him to stop, but more than that, she wanted him to go on forever.

Hannah felt his breath rush fast and hot against her cheek, his chest rising and falling with unsteady force. He let go of her hand, and she leaned weakly against him, gripping his shoulders for balance. The urgent pressure of his mouth forced her head back. She surrendered with a soft moan, needing something she had no name for, some way to soothe the anxious rhythm of her pulse. It seemed that if she could just pull him closer, tighter, it might ease the sensual agitation that filled every part of her.

Drawing back reluctantly, Bowman finished the kiss with a teasing nudge of his lips, and cradled the side of her face in his hand. The amusement had faded from his eyes, replaced by a dangerous smolder.

"What is your first name?" His whisper fanned like a waft of steam across her lips. At her silence, he dragged his mouth lightly over hers. "Tell me, or I'll kiss you again."

"Hannah," she said faintly, knowing she could not bear any more.

His thumb caressed the scarlet surface of her cheek. "From now on, Hannah, no matter what you say or do, I'm going to look at your mouth and remember how sweet you taste." A self-mocking smile curved his lips as he added quietly, "Damn it."

Releasing her with care, he went to the bell pull and rang for a housemaid. When Hannah's cloak and hat were brought, he took them from the maid. "Come, Miss Appleton."

Hannah couldn't bring herself to look at him. She knew her face was terribly red. Without doubt, she had never been so mortified and confused in her life. She waited in dazed silence as he deftly draped the cloak around her and fastened it at her throat.

"Until we meet again in Hampshire," she heard him say. The tip of his forefinger touched her chin. "Look up, sweetheart."

Hannah obeyed jerkily. He placed the hat on her head, carefully adjusting the brim. "Did I frighten you?" he whispered.

Glaring at him, she lifted her chin another notch. Her voice shook only a little. "I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Bowman. But I am neither frightened nor intimidated."

A gleam of humor flickered in those obsidian eyes. "I should warn you, Hannah: when we meet at Stony Cross Park, take care to avoid the mistletoe. For both our sakes."

AFTER THE DELECTABLE MISS APPLETON HAD DEPARTED, RAFE remained in the entrance hall, lowering himself to a heavy oak bench. Aroused and bemused, he pondered his unexpected loss of control. He had only meant to give the young woman a peck, just enough to fluster and disconcert her. But the kiss had flared into something so urgent, so fiercely pleasurable, that he hadn't been able to stop himself from taking far more than he should have.

He would have liked to kiss that innocent mouth for hours. He wanted to demolish every one of her inhibitions until she was wrapped around him, naked and crying for him to take her. Thinking of how difficult it would be to seduce her, and how much damned fun it would be to get under her skirts, he felt himself turning uncomfortably hard. A slow, wry smile crossed his face as he reflected that if this was what he could expect from Englishwomen, he was going to take up permanent residence in London.

Hearing footsteps, Rafe lifted his gaze. Lillian had come into the entrance hall. She regarded him with fond exasperation.

"How's the baby?" Rafe asked.

"Annabelle's holding her. Why are you still out here?"

"I needed a moment to cool my... temper."

Folding her slender arms across her chest, Lillian shook her head slowly. She was beautiful in a bold, clean-featured way, as spirited and raffish as a female pirate. She and Rafe had always understood each other, perhaps because neither of them had been able to tolerate the stringent rules set by their parents.

"Only you," Lillian said without heat, "could turn a respectable teatime visit into a sparring match."

Rafe grinned without remorse and glanced at the front door reflectively. "Something about her brings out the devil in me."

"Well, you had better contain it, dear. Because if you wish to win Lady Natalie, you'll have to display far more courtesy and polish than you did in that parlor. What do you think Miss Appleton is going to tell her employers about you?"

"That I'm an unprincipled, ill-mannered villain?" Rafe shrugged and said in a reasonable manner, "But they already know I'm from Wall Street."

Lillian's gingerbread-colored eyes narrowed as she regarded him speculatively. "Since you don't seem at all concerned, I'll have to assume that you know what you're doing. But let me remind you that Lady Natalie wants to marry a gentleman."

"In my experience," Rafe said lazily, "nothing makes women complain nearly so much as getting what they want."

Lillian chuckled. "Oh, this should be an interesting holiday. Will you come back to the parlor?"

"In a moment. Still cooling."

She gave him a quizzical glance. "Your temper takes a long time to subside, doesn't it?"

"You have no idea," he told her gravely.

Going back into the parlor, Lillian stood in the doorway and regarded her friends. Annabelle sat with Merritt resting placidly in her arms, while Evie was pouring a last cup of tea.

"What did he say?" Annabelle asked.

Lillian rolled her eyes. "My idiot brother doesn't seem the least bit worried that Miss Appleton is sure to deliver a scathing report about him to the Blandfords and Lady Natalie." She sighed. "That didn't go at all well, did it? Have you ever seen such instant animosity between two people for no apparent reason?"

"Yes," Evie replied.

"I believe so," Annabelle said.

Lillian frowned. "When? Who?" she demanded, and was mystified when they smiled at each other.