annah tried in vain to find an opportunity to talk to Rafe the next day. He was impossible to find. And so were Natalie and the Blandfords, and the Bowmans. She had the uneasy feeling that something was brewing.

Stony Cross Manor was swarming with activity, guests singing, eating, drinking, while the children put on productions with a huge toy theatre set up in one of the common rooms.

Quite late in the day, Hannah finally caught a glimpse of Rafe as she passed by Lord Westcliff's private study. The door had been left open, and he could be seen inside talking with Westcliff and Mr. Swift. As she paused uncertainly, Rafe glanced in her direction. Instantly he pushed away from the desk he had been leaning against, and murmured to the others, "One moment."

He came out to the hallway, his expression uncharacteristically sober. But a smile tipped the corners of his mouth as he looked down at her. "Hannah." The softness of his voice sent a ripple of awareness down her back.

"You... you said you wanted to, talk with me," she managed to say.

"Yes, I did. I do. Forgive me—I've been occupied by a few matters." He reached out to touch her as if he couldn't help it, lightly fingering the loose fabric of one of her sleeves. "We'll need time and privacy for what I want to discuss—both of which seem to be in short supply today."

"Perhaps later tonight?" she suggested hesitantly.

"Yes. I'll find you." Letting go of her sleeve, he gave her a slight, gentlemanly bow. "Until tonight."

WHEN HANNAH WENT UPSTAIRS TO HELP NATALIE CHANGE INTO her ballgown, and then ready herself, she was mystified to discover that Natalie was already fully dressed.

Her cousin looked magnificent in a pale blue satin gown trimmed with bunches of matching blue tulle, her hair dressed in upswept golden curls. "Hannah!" Natalie exclaimed, leaving their room in the company of Lady Blandford. "I have something to tell you—something very important—"

"You may tell her later," Lady Blandford interrupted, seeming as distracted as her daughter. "Lord Blandford and Lord Westcliff are downstairs, Natalie. It will not do to keep them waiting."

"Yes, of course." Natalie's blue eyes sparkled with excitement. "We'll speak soon, Hannah."

Bemused, Hannah watched them hurry along the hallway. Something was definitely afoot, she thought, and a rush of worry caused a cool sweat to collect beneath the layers of her clothes.

A lady's maid waited for her inside the bedroom. "Miss Appleton. Lady Westcliff sent me to help you get ready for the ball."

"Did she? That is very kind. I don't usually require much help, but—"

"I'm very good at arranging hair," the maid said firmly. "And Lady Westcliff told me to use her very own pearl hairpins for you. Now, if you'll sit at the dressing table, miss...?"

Touched by Lillian's generosity in sending her own maid, Hannah complied. It took an eternity to curl her hair with hot tongs, and arrange it in pinned-up curls, with gleaming white pearls scattered amid the dark locks of her hair. The maid helped her into the white ballgown, and gave her a pair of silver-embroidered silk stockings from Evie. After fastening a pearl necklace from Annabelle Hunt around Hannah's neck, the maid helped her to tug on a pair of long white satin gloves from Daisy Swift. The wallflowers, Hannah thought with a grateful smile, were her own group of fairy godmothers.

They finished with a dusting of powder on her nose and forehead, and some rose petal salve for her lips.

Hannah was vaguely startled by her own elegant reflection, her eyes wide and green, the elaborate coiffure contrasting pleasingly with the simplicity of the white gown.

"Very beautiful, miss," the maid pronounced. "You'd best hurry downstairs... the ball will be starting soon."

HANNAH WAS TOO NERVOUS TO BE TEMPTED BY THE MAGNIFICENT buffet of delicacies laid out on long tables. The refreshments would be enjoyed by the guests during the dance, and later in the evening a formal supper would be served. As soon as she appeared in the ballroom, she was joined by Lillian and Daisy, who exclaimed over her appearance.

"You are both so very kind," Hannah told them earnestly. "And to loan me the pearls and the gloves, it is beyond generous—"

"We have ulterior motives," Daisy replied.

Hannah gave her a perplexed glance.

"Very good ulterior motives," Lillian said with a grin. "We want you as our sister."

"Have you spoken to Rafe yet?" Daisy asked sotto voce.

Hannah shook her head. "I've hardly seen him all day. It seemed he was missing for a while, and then he was talking with a great many people."

"Something is brewing," Lillian said. "Westcliff was busy all day as well. And my parents were nowhere to be seen."

"The Blandfords as well," Hannah commented apprehensively. "What does all that mean?"

"I don't know." Lillian gave her a reassuring smile. "But I'm certain everything will be fine." She slipped her arm through Hannah's. "Come look at the tree."

With all the candles lit, the Christmas tree was a brilliant, spectacular sight, hundreds of tiny flames glowing amid the branches like fairy lights. The entire ballroom was decorated with greenery and gilt and red velvet swags. Hannah had never attended such a dazzling event. She looked around the room in wonder, watching couples swirling across the floor while the orchestra played Christmas music in waltz-time. Chandeliers shed sparkling light on the scene. Through the nearby row of windows, she saw the glow of torches that had been set in the gardens, glowing against a sky the color of black plums.

And then she saw Rafe across the room. Like the other men present, he was dressed in the traditional evening scheme of black and white. The sight of him, so charismatic and handsome, made her light-headed with yearning.

Their gazes caught across the distance, and he surveyed her intently, missing no detail of her appearance. His mouth curved with a slow, easy smile, and her knees turned to jelly.

"Here, miss." A servant had come with a tray of champagne. Glasses of the sparkling vintage were being passed out among all the guests. The orchestra finished a set and paused, and there was a clink of what sounded like silver on crystal.

"What's this?" Lillian asked, her brows lifting as she and Daisy took some champagne.

"Apparently someone is going to make a toast," Daisy commented.

Seeing Lord Blandford draw Natalie with him on the other side of the room, Hannah gripped the stem of her champagne glass tightly. Every nerve tensed with foreboding.

No... it couldn't be.

"My friends," Blandford said a few times, attracting the attention of the crowd. Guests quieted and looked at him expectantly. "As many of you know, Lady Blandford and I were blessed with only one child, our beloved Natalie. And now the time has come to give her into the keeping of a man who will be entrusted with her happiness and safekeeping, as they embark upon their life's journey together—"

"Oh, no," Hannah heard Lillian whisper.

The coldness concentrated in her chest until she felt it needling through her heart. Lord Blandford continued to speak, but she couldn't make out the words through the blood rush in her ears. Her throat closed on an anguished cry.

She was too late. She had waited too long.

Her hands had begun to shake too badly for her to hold the champagne. She thrust the glass blindly at Daisy. "Please take this," she choked. "I can't... I have to..." She turned in panic and anguish, and made her way to the nearest exit, one of the French doors that led outside.

"On this most joyous of holidays," Blandford continued, "I have the honor and pleasure of announcing a betrothal. Let us now make a toast to my daughter and the man to whom she will bestow her hand in marriage..."

Hannah slipped out the door and closed it, desperately pulling in huge lungfuls of cold winter air. There was the sound of a muffled cheer from inside.

The toast was done.

Rafe and Natalie were engaged.

She nearly staggered under the weight of her own grief. Wild thoughts coursed through her mind. She couldn't face it, any of it. She would have to leave tonight and go somewhere... back to her father and sisters... she could never see Natalie or Rafe or the Blandfords again. She hated Rafe for making her love him. She hated herself. She wanted to die.

Hannah, don't be an idiot, she thought desperately. You're not the first woman with a broken heart, nor will you be the last. You will survive this.

But the more she fought for self-control, the more it seemed to elude her. She had to find a place where she could fall apart. She headed out into the garden, following one of the torchlit paths. Reaching the little clearing with the mermaid fountain, she sat on one of the hard, freezing stone benches. As she covered her face with her hands, hot tears soaked into the white satin gloves. Each sob tore through her chest with knifelike sharpness.

And then through the wrenching gasps of misery, she heard someone say her name.

For anyone to see her like this was the ultimate humiliation. Hannah shook her head and curled into a ball of misery, managing to choke out helplessly, "Please leave me—"

But a man sat beside her, and she was gathered up in warm, strong arms. Her head was pulled against a hard chest. "Hannah, love... no. No, don't cry." It was Rafe's deep voice, his familiar scent. She tried to push him away, but Rafe gripped her firmly, his dark head bent over hers. Murmuring endearments, he smoothed her hair and pressed kisses against her forehead. His lips brushed her wet lashes. "Come. There's no need for this, sweet darling. Hush, everything is fine. Look at me, Hannah."

The exquisite pleasure of being held by him, comforted by him, made her feel even worse. "You should be back there," she said, and let out a few coughing sobs. "With Natalie."

His palm stroked her back in firm circles. "Hannah. Sweetheart. Please calm yourself enough that we can talk."

"I don't want to talk—"

"I do. And you're going to listen to me. Take a deep breath. Good girl. One more." Rafe let go of her long enough to remove his evening coat, and he wrapped it around her shivering body. "I didn't think Blandford would have made the announcement so damned quickly," he said, pulling her close again, "or I would have made an effort to reach you first."

"It doesn't matter," she said, her despair congealing into sullenness. "Nothing matters. Don't even try to—"

Rafe put his hand over her mouth and looked down at her. Lit by the torches, his face was cast half in shadow, his eyes dark and bright. His voice was thick and warm, and tenderly chiding. "Had you stayed in the ballroom about thirty seconds longer, my impulsive love, you would have heard Blandford announcing Natalie's engagement to Lord Travers."

Hannah's entire body stiffened. She couldn't even breathe.

"With the exception of a brief errand in the village," Rafe continued, "I've been talking with people all damn day. With my parents, the Blandfords, Westcliff... and most importantly, Natalie." He took his hand from her mouth and rummaged in the pocket of his coat. Extracting a handkerchief, he wiped her wet cheeks gently. "I told her," he continued, "that as lovely and appealing as I found her, I could not marry her. Because I would never be able to care for her in the way that she deserved. Because I had fallen in love, deeply and forever, with someone else." He smiled into Hannah's dazed eyes. "I believe she went straight to Travers afterward, and in giving her comfort and counsel, he probably confessed his own feelings for her. I hope she hasn't rushed into an impulsive betrothal merely to save face. But that's not my concern."

Cradling Hannah's face in his hands, Rafe waited for her to say something. She merely shook her head, too overwhelmed to make a sound.

"That day in the library," he told her, "when I nearly made love to you, I realized afterward that I had wanted to get caught with you. I wanted to compromise you—anything that would allow me to be with you. And I knew then that no matter what, I wasn't going to be able to marry Natalie. Because a lifetime is too long to spend with the wrong woman."

His head and shoulders blotted out the torchlight as he bent over her, his mouth taking hers with a slow, penetrating kiss. He coaxed her trembling lips to part, exploring her with an ardent tenderness that caused her heart to thump with painful force. She gasped as she felt his hand slide inside the coat, caressing the fine skin exposed by the low-cut bodice of her ballgown.

"Darling Hannah," he whispered. "When I saw you crying just now, I thought 'Please, God, let it be because she cares for me, wicked scoundrel that I am. Let her love me even a little.' "

"I was crying," she managed to tell him unsteadily, "because my heart was breaking at the thought of you marrying someone else." She had to set her jaw against a quiver of emotion. "Because I... I wanted you for myself."

The flare of passion in his eyes sent her pulse rioting. "Then I have something to ask you, my love. But first you must understand... I'm not going to inherit Bowman's. That doesn't mean I can't provide for you, however. I'm a wealthy man in my own right. And I'm going to take my ill-gotten gains and put them to good use. There are opportunities everywhere."

Finding it difficult to think clearly, Hannah had to concentrate as if she were translating a foreign language. "You've been cut off?" she finally whispered in concern.

Pulling back a little, Rafe nodded. His face was sober and purposeful. "It's for the best. Some time in the future, my father and I may find a way to accept each other. But in the meantime, I won't live according to any man's dictates."

Her hand stole up to the side of his face, caressing his cheek gently. "I didn't want you to make such a sacrifice for me."

His lashes half lowered at her touch. "It wasn't a sacrifice. It was salvation. My father sees it as a weakness, of course. But I told him it doesn't make me less of a man to love someone this way. It makes me more of one. And you're under no obligation, you know. I don't want you to—"

"Rafe," she said unsteadily, "obligation is no part of what I feel for you."

His expression caused her insides to turn molten. Picking up one of her hands, he removed her glove in a leisurely manner, pulling gently at the fingertips to loosen them. After peeling off the white satin, he kissed the backs of her fingers and laid her palm against his warm, smooth-shaven cheek. "Hannah, I love you almost more than I can bear. Whether you want me or not, I'm yours. And I'm not at all certain what will happen to me if I have to spend the rest of my life without you. Please marry me so I can stop trying to be happy and finally just be. I know this has happened very fast, but—"

"Some things can't be measured by time," Hannah said with a tremulous smile.

Rafe went still and gave her a questioning glance.

"One of the housemaids found a half-burned love letter in the hearth in your room," Hannah explained, "and she brought it to Natalie, who showed it to me. Natalie assumed it was for her."

Even in the darkness, she saw Rafe's color heighten. "Well, hell," he said in a rueful tone. Bringing her close, he held her and whispered against her ear. "It was for you. Every word was about you. You must have known when you read it."

"I wanted it to be about me," Hannah said shyly. "And"—her own face flamed—"those things you wrote—I want all of that, too."

He gave a soft laugh and drew back to look at her. "Then give me your answer." He crushed a brief, impassioned kiss against her lips. "Say it, or I'll have to keep kissing you until you surrender."

"Yes," she said, breathless with joy. "Yes, I'll marry you. Because I love you too, Rafe, I love—"

He seized her mouth with his and kissed her hungrily, his hands coming up to her coiffure and disheveling it. She didn't care in the least. His mouth was so hot, delicious, consuming her with light sensual caresses, then ravaging deep and hard. She responded eagerly, shivering in his arms as her body tried to accommodate the surfeit of pleasure, too much, too fast.

Rafe dragged his parted lips slowly down her throat, exciting nerve endings, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His mouth went down to her chest, and within the confinement of her bodice, she felt the tips of her breasts turn hard and sensitive. "Hannah," he whispered, spreading feverish kisses across her skin, "I've never wanted anyone this much before. You're so beautiful in every way... and everything I find out about you makes me love you more..." He lifted his head and gave it a rough shake as if to recall himself to where he was. A self-mocking grin came to his lips. "My God. We'd better make this a short betrothal. Here, give me your hand—no, the other." He searched one of the coat pockets and unearthed a shining circlet. It was a garnet set in silver. "This is why I went to the village today," he said, slipping the ring onto her fourth finger. "I'll buy you a diamond in London, but we had to start out with something."

"It's perfect," Hannah said, looking down at it with shining eyes. "A garnet means enduring love. Did you know that?"

He shook his head, staring at her as if she were a miracle.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Hannah impulsively kissed him. Rafe angled his head over hers, possessing her lips with soft erotic demand. She ran her hands over the powerful lines of his body in a timid but ardent exploration, until she felt him shiver.

Gasping, he held her back from him. "Hannah... sweetheart, I'm... I've reached my limits. We have to stop."

"I don't want to stop."

"I know, love. But I have to escort you back inside before everyone notices that we're missing."

Everything in her rebelled at the thought of returning to the large, crowded ballroom. The talking, dancing, the long formal supper... it would be torture, when all she wanted was to be with him. Daringly, Hannah reached out to toy with the buttons of his waistcoat. "Take me to the bachelor's house. I'm sure it's empty. Everyone is at the manor."

He gave her a sardonic glance. "If I did that, sweetheart, there is no way you would get out of there with your innocence intact."

"I want you to compromise me," she told him.

"You do? Why, love?"

"Because I want to be yours in every way."

"You already are," he murmured.

"Not that way. Not yet. And even if you don't compromise me, I'm going to tell everyone that you did. So you may as well do it in actuality."

Rafe laughed at her threat. "In America," he told her, "we would say you're trying to seal the deal." Gently he framed her face in his hands, and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "But you don't have to, sweetheart. There's nothing on earth that will keep me from marrying you. You can trust me."

"I do trust you. But..."

His brows lifted. "But?"

The skin beneath his fingers warmed a few degrees. "I want you. I want to be close to you. As... as you wrote in the letter."

He gave her one of those slow smiles that sent hot and cold chills down her spine. "In that case... maybe I'll compromise you just a little."

PULLING HANNAH UP FROM THE BENCH, RAFE TOOK HER WITH him to the bachelor's house. He argued with himself every step of the way, knowing the right thing to do was to take her back to the manor without delay. And yet the desire to be alone with her, to hold her in privacy, was simply too powerful and all-encompassing to resist.

They went inside the bachelor's house, with its dark, stately furniture and paneled walls and luxurious rugs. Coals glowed in the bedroom hearth, spreading a pool of yellow and orange across the floor.

Rafe lit a bedside lamp and turned it low, and turned to look at Hannah. She had shed his coat and was reaching back to unfasten her ballgown. He saw her expression, how she was trying to appear nonchalant as if going to bed with a man were a normal occurrence for her. And he was filled with amusement and tenderness, and the most unholy ache of lust he'd ever experienced.

He went to her and reached around her, closing his hands over hers. "You don't have to do this," he said. "I'll wait for you. I'll wait as long as I have to."

Hannah tugged her hands free and slipped them behind his neck. "I can't think of a thing I'd rather be doing," she told him.

He bent to kiss her compulsively, pausing only to murmur, "Oh, love, neither can I."

Slowly he removed layers of silk and linen, and unhooked her corset, and rolled the stockings from her legs. When every last garment was gone, and she was stretched blushing on the bed before him, he let his gaze wander along her slender body, and he let out a shaking sigh. She was so beautiful, so innocent and trusting. He touched her breast, molding the softness with fingers that held a slight tremor.

Her gaze lifted to his face. "Are you nervous?" she asked with a touch of surprise.

Rafe nodded, brushing the pad of his thumb over a pink nipple and watching it tighten. "It's never been an act of love for me before."

"Does that make it different?"

A wry smile curved his lips as he considered that. "I'm not certain. But there's one way to find out."

He undressed himself and lay beside her, gathering her carefully in his arms. Despite the desire raging through his body, he pressed her against him with controlled gentleness, letting her feel him. He slid one hand over her bottom, rubbing in a warm circle.

Her breath caught as she felt the length of him against her. A small hand came to the surface of his chest and explored delicately. "Rafe... how should I touch you?"

He smiled and kissed her throat, savoring the softness and female fragrance of her. "Anywhere, love. Any way you like." He held still as she played with the light pelt of hair on his chest.

Staring into his eyes, she let her palm drift to the muscles of his abdomen, stroking until they tightened reflexively. She fumbled a little as she grasped his aroused flesh, the hard satiny length alive and pulsing with masculine need. She gave him a few hesitant caresses. His response was so acute that he gasped at the sharply climbing sensation. "Hannah," he managed to say, reaching down to pull her hand away. "Change of plan. Next time"—he paused, struggling for self-control—"you can explore to your heart's content, but for now, let me make love to you."

"Did I do something wrong? Did you not like the way I—"

"I liked it too much. If I liked it any more, this would all be over in less than a minute." He rose above her and pressed kisses over her body, lingering at her breasts to tug and tease and softly bite. He delighted in the shocks of response he felt in her, the deepening color of arousal, the instinctive way she moved toward him to follow the source of pleasure.

Nudging her thighs open, he rested his hand between them, fitting his palm over the fleecy triangle. And he held her gently until she writhed and moaned, needing more. Sliding downward, Rafe kissed her stomach, letting his tongue trace delicate circles around her navel. He had never been so aroused, so completely absorbed in someone else's pleasure. The intimacy was nearly unbearable. His breathing was quick and frayed as he found the entrance of her body and teased around it with his fingertip.

"Hannah, darling," he whispered, "relax for me." He eased his finger inside the lush, clinging heat. The feel of her was so exquisite, he let out a groan. "I have to kiss you here. I have to taste you. No, don't be afraid... just let me... oh, Hannah, sweet love..." He dragged his mouth straight through the curls, and searched hungrily until he found the blunt silken peak. His senses were engulfed in radiant pleasure, all his muscles taut with lust. The taste of her, salt and female, was insanely arousing. He drew his tongue over her, flicked and circled, glorying in her helpless cries. He slid his finger deeper, and again, teaching her the rhythm.

She reached down with a low cry, her hands gripping his head. With tender skill he urged her into climax, luxuriating in the soft, pulsing warmth of her body. Long after her release had faded, he stayed with her, drawing his tongue through the rosy heat, easing her into a dreamy afterglow.

"Rafe," she said thickly, pulling him upward.

Smiling, he levered his body over hers, staring down into her dazed green eyes.

"More," she whispered, and wrapped her arms around his back, holding him to her. "I want more of you."

Murmuring her name, Rafe lowered his body into the cradle of her thighs. A rush of primitive satisfaction went through him as he felt the enticing softness parting for him. He pushed into the resisting flesh, so hot, so wet, and the deeper he went, the more tightly she closed around him. He thrust deep and held, trying not to hurt her. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, a pleasure beyond imagining. He took her head in his hands and kissed her mouth, while his senses swam in rapture. "I'm sorry, love," he said in a guttural voice. "So sorry to hurt you."

Hannah smiled and drew him down to her. "As a foreigner goes to a new country..." she whispered against his ear.

He let out a shaken laugh. "God. You'll never let me forget that letter, will you?"

"I never even read the whole thing," she said. "Parts of it were burned. And now I'll never know everything you said."

"The passages you missed were probably about this," he murmured, pushing gently inside her. They both caught their breath and held still, absorbing the feel of it. Rafe pressed a smile against her cheek. "I wrote quite a lot about this."

"Tell me what you wrote."

He whispered into her ear, love words and intimate praise, and all the longing he'd felt. And with each word he felt something opening inside him, a sense of freedom and power and perishing tenderness. She moved with him, welcoming him deeper, and the ecstasy of being joined with her roared through him, driving him to a piercing, brilliantly transcending release.

Indeed... love made it different.

RAFE HELD HER FOR A LONG TIME AFTERWARD, HIS HAND STROK-ing gently over her back and hip. He couldn't seem to stop touching her. Hannah snuggled in the crook of his arm, her body feeling heavy and sated. "Is this real?" she whispered. "It feels like a dream."

Amusement rumbled in his chest. "It will seem real enough tomorrow morning when I take you back to the manor a fallen woman. If I hadn't already told Westcliff of my intentions to marry you, I daresay he'd greet me with a horsewhip."

"You aren't taking me back tonight?" she asked in pleased surprise.

"No. For one thing, I've ruined your coiffure. Second, I don't have the energy to leave this bed. Third... there's a distinct possibility that I'm not finished with you yet."

"Those are all very good reasons." She sat up and pulled the remaining pearl pins from her hair, and leaned over Rafe to deposit them on the bedside table. Catching her ribs in his hands, he held her over him and kissed her breasts as they were displayed before him. "Rafe," she protested.

Pausing, he looked up into her blushing face, and he grinned. "Modest?" he asked softly, and tucked her into the crook of his arm again. His lips pressed against her forehead. "Well. Being married to me will cure you of that soon enough."

Hannah leaned her face against his chest, and he felt the curve of her smile.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Our first night together. And our first morning will be Christmas."

Rafe patted her naked hip. "And I've already unwrapped my present."

"You're rather easy to shop for," she said, making him laugh.

"Always. Because Hannah, my love, the only gift I'll ever want"—he paused to kiss her smiling lips—"is you."