arah was aware that she shouldn’t have gone outside in the middle of the night. She wasn’t allowed to step outside her house in London without a chaperone; she knew very well that a post-midnight jaunt in Berkshire was equally verboten.

But she had been so restless, so... itchy. She’d felt wrong in her own skin, and when she had climbed out of bed and touched her feet to the carpet, her room had felt too small. The house had felt too small. She’d needed to move, to feel the night air on her skin.

She had never felt this way before, and truly, she had no explanation for it. Or rather, she hadn’t.

Now she did.

She’d needed him. Hugh.

She just hadn’t known it.

At some point between the carriage ride and the cake and the crazy waltzing on the lawn, Sarah Pleinsworth had fallen in love with the very last man she should ever have wanted.

And when he kissed her...

All she wanted was more.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, and for the first time in her life, Sarah truly believed that she was.

She touched his cheek. “So are you.”

Hugh smiled down at her, a silly half grin that told her he did not believe her for one second.

“You are,” she insisted. She tried to make her face stern, but nothing could dampen her smile. “You shall have to take my word for it.”

Still, he did not speak. He gazed down at her as if she were something precious, and he made her feel precious, and in that moment, all she wanted in the world was for him to feel the same thing.

Because he didn’t. She knew that he didn’t.

He had said things... little things, really, just an odd comment here and there that he surely did not expect to stick in anyone’s memory. But Sarah listened. And she remembered. And she knew... Hugh Prentice was not happy. Worse, he did not think he deserved to be.

He was not the kind of man who sought large crowds. He did not wish to be a leader among men. But Sarah also knew that Hugh did not wish to be a follower. His was a fiercely independent nature, and he did not mind being alone.

But he had been more than alone these past few years. He had been alone with only his crushing sense of guilt to keep him company. She did not know what Hugh had done to convince his father to allow Daniel to return to England in peace, and she could not begin to imagine how difficult it had been for Hugh to travel to Italy to find Daniel and bring him back.

But he had done all that. Hugh Prentice had done everything humanly possible to make things right, and still he was not at peace.

He was such a good man. He defended young girls and unicorns. He waltzed with a cane. He did not deserve to have his life defined by a single mistake.

Sarah Pleinsworth had never done anything by half measures, and she knew that if she loved this man, that meant that she would devote her life to making him understand one simple fact.

He was precious. And he deserved every drop of happiness that came his way.

She reached up and touched her finger to his lips. They were soft, and wondrous, and she felt honored just to feel his breath on her skin. “Sometimes at breakfast,” she whispered, “I can’t stop looking at your mouth.”

He trembled. She loved that she could make him tremble.

“And your eyes...,” she continued, emboldened by his reaction. “Women would kill for eyes that color, did you know?”

He shook his head, and something about his expression—so baffled, so overcome—made her smile with pure joy. “I think you’re beautiful,” she whispered, “and I think...” Her heart skipped a beat, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I hope that mine is the only opinion that matters.”

He leaned down and lightly touched his lips to hers. He kissed her nose, then her brow, and then, after one long moment when his eyes held hers, he kissed her again, this time holding nothing back.

Sarah let out a moan, the husky sound becoming trapped in his mouth. His kiss was hungry, ravenous, and for the first time in her life, she understood passion.

No, this was more than passion.

This was need.

He needed her. She could feel it in his every movement. She could hear it in the harsh rasp of his breath. And with every touch of hand, every flick of his tongue, he was stoking that same need in her. She had not known it was possible to crave another human being with such intensity.

Her fingers found the untucked hem of his shirt, and she slid her hand under the edge, skimming lightly over his skin. His muscles jumped beneath her touch, and he drew a sharp breath, the air whispering past her cheek like a kiss.

“You don’t know,” he rasped. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

She could see the passion in his eyes; it made her feel womanly and strong. “Tell me,” she whispered, and she arched her neck to bring herself up to his lips for a soft, fleeting kiss.

For a moment she thought he might. But he just shook his head and murmured, “It would be the death of me.” Then he kissed her again, and she didn’t care what she did to him, just so long as he kept doing the same thing to her.

“Sarah,” he said, lifting his lips from hers for just long enough to whisper her name.

“Hugh,” she whispered back, and she could hear her grin in her own voice.

He drew back. “You’re smiling.”

“I can’t stop,” she admitted.

He touched her cheek, gazing down at her with such emotion that for a moment she forgot to breathe. Was it love she saw in his eyes? It felt like love, even if he had not said the words.

“We have to stop,” he said, and he gently tugged her nightgown back to its proper place.

Sarah knew he was right, but still she whispered, “I wish we could stay.”

Hugh let out a hoarse chuckle, almost as if he was in pain. “Oh, you have no idea how much I wish the same thing.”

“It’s hours yet until dawn,” she said softly.

“I won’t ruin your reputation,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “Not like this.”

A bubble of mirth floated inside her. “Does that mean you intend to ruin me some other way?”

His smile turned hot as he stood and pulled her to her feet. “I would very much like to. But I shouldn’t call it ruining. Ruin is what happens to a reputation, not what happens between a man and a woman. Or at least,” he added, his voice dropping sensually, “not what happens between us.”

Sarah shivered with delight. Her body felt so alive; she felt so alive. She did not know how she managed to walk back to the house. Her feet wanted to run, and her arms wanted to wrap themselves around the man next to her, and her voice wanted to laugh, and deep inside...

Deep inside...

She was giddy. Giddy with love.

He walked her to her door. No one was up and about; as long as they were quiet, they had nothing to fear.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Hugh said, lifting her hand to his lips.

She nodded but said nothing. She could not think of a word big enough to capture everything that was in her heart.

She was in love. Lady Sarah Pleinsworth was in love.

And it was grand.

“Something is wrong with you.”

Sarah blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked at Harriet, who was perched on the edge of their four-poster bed, watching her with considerable suspicion.

“What are you talking about?” Sarah grumbled. “Nothing is wrong with me.”

“You’re smiling.”

This caught her off guard. “I can’t smile?”

“Not first thing in the morning.”

Sarah decided there could not possibly be an appropriate response and went back to her morning routine. Harriet, however, was in full curiosity mode and followed her to the washbasin, eyes narrowed, head tilted, and letting out dubious little “hmmms” at irregular intervals.

“Is something amiss?” Sarah inquired.

“Is there?”

Good heavens, and people called her dramatic. “I’m trying to wash my face,” Sarah said.

“By all means, you should do so.”

Sarah dipped her hands in the basin, but before she could do anything with the water, Harriet poked her own face even closer, scooting right between Sarah’s hands and nose.

“Harriet, what is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with you?” Harriet countered.

Sarah let the water drain through her fingers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re smiling,” Harriet accused.

“What sort of person do you think I am that I’m not allowed to wake up in a pleasant mood?”

“Oh, you’re allowed to. I just don’t believe that you’re constitutionally able.”

It was true that Sarah was not known to be a morning person.

“And you’re flushed,” Harriet added.

Sarah resisted the urge to flick water on her sister’s face and instead splashed some on her own. She dried herself off with a small white towel, then said, “Perhaps it is because I have been forced to exert myself arguing with you.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Harriet said, ignoring her sarcasm completely.

Sarah brushed past her. If her face hadn’t been flushed before, it certainly was now.

“Something is wrong with you,” Harriet called, hurrying after her.

Sarah paused but did not turn around. “Are you following me to the chamber pot?”

There was a very satisfying beat of silence. Followed by: “Er, no.”

Shoulders high, Sarah marched into the small bathing room and shut the door.

And locked it. Really, she wouldn’t put it past Harriet to count to ten, decide that Sarah had had more than enough time to complete her business, and barge right in.

The moment the door was safely barred from invasion, Sarah turned, leaned back against it, and let out a long sigh.

Oh dear heavens.

Oh dear heavens.

Was she really so fundamentally different after last night that her younger sister could see it on her face?

And if she looked that different after a night of stolen kisses, what would happen when...

Well, she supposed technically it was “if.”

But her heart told her it would be “when.” She was going to spend the rest of her life with Lord Hugh Prentice. There was simply no way she would allow anything else to come to pass.

By the time Sarah made it down to breakfast (Harriet hot on her heels and questioning every smile), it was clear that the weather had turned. The sun, which had spent the last week resting amiably in the sky, had retreated behind ominous pewter clouds, and the wind whistled with the threat of an oncoming storm.

The gentlemen’s excursion (a horseback journey south to the River Kennet) was canceled, and Whipple Hill buzzed with the unspent energy of bored aristocrats. Sarah had become used to having much of the house to herself during the day, and to her surprise, she found herself resentful of what felt like an intrusion.

To complicate matters, Harriet had apparently decided that her mission for the day was to shadow—and question—Sarah’s every move. Whipple Hill was large, but not large enough when one’s younger sister was curious, determined, and, perhaps most importantly, aware of every nook and cranny in the house.

Hugh had been at breakfast, like always, but it had been impossible for Sarah to speak with him without Harriet inserting herself in the conversation. When Sarah went to the little drawing room to read her novel (as she had casually mentioned she planned to do at breakfast), there was Harriet at the writing desk, the pages of her current work-in-progress spread before her.

“Sarah,” Harriet said brightly, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Fancy that,” Sarah said, with no inflection whatsoever. Her sister had never been skilled in the art of subterfuge.

“Are you going to read?” Harriet inquired.

Sarah glanced down at the novel in her hand.

“You said you were going to read,” Harriet reminded her. “At breakfast.”

Sarah looked back toward the door, considering what her other options for the morning might be.

“Frances is looking for someone with whom to play Oranges and Unicorns,” Harriet said.

That clinched it. Sarah sat right down on the sofa and opened Miss Butterworth. She flipped a few pages, looking for where she’d left off, then frowned. “Is that even a game?” she asked. “Oranges and Unicorns?”

“She says it’s a version of Oranges and Lemons,” Harriet told her.

“How does one substitute unicorns for lemons?”

Harriet shrugged. “It’s not as if one needs actual lemons to play.”

“Still, it does ruin the rhyme.” Sarah shook her head, summoning the childhood poem from her memory. “Oranges and unicorns say the bells of St....” She looked to Harriet for inspiration.

“Clunicorns?”

“Somehow I don’t think so.”

“Moonicorns.”

Sarah cocked her head to the side. “Better,” she judged.

“Spoonicorns? Zoomicorns.”

And... that was enough. Sarah turned back to her book. “We’re done now, Harriet.”

“Parunicorns.”

Sarah couldn’t even imagine where that one had come from. But still, she found herself humming as she read.

Oranges and lemons say the bells of St. Clements.

Meanwhile, Harriet was muttering to herself at the desk. “Pontoonicorns xyloonicorns...”

You owe me five farthings say the bells of St. Martins.

“Oh, oh, oh, I have it! Hughnicorns!”

Sarah froze. This she could not ignore. With great deliberation, she placed her index finger in her book to mark her place and looked up. “What did you just say?”

“Hughnicorns,” Harriet replied, as if nothing could have been more ordinary. She gave Sarah a sly look. “Named for Lord Hugh, of course. He does seem to be a frequent topic of conversation.”

“Not for me,” Sarah immediately said. Lord Hugh Prentice might currently occupy her every thought, but she could not recall even once initiating a discussion about him with her sister.

“Perhaps what I meant to say,” Harriet wheedled, “is that he is a frequent subject of your conversations.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“He is a frequent participant in your conversations,” Harriet corrected without missing a beat.

“I enjoy talking with him,” Sarah said, because no good could come of denying this. Harriet knew better.

“Indeed,” Harriet said, eyes narrowed like a sleuth. “It leads one to wonder if he is also the source of your uncharacteristic good cheer.”

Sarah gave a little huff. “I am beginning to take offense, Harriet. Since when have I been known for a lack of good cheer?”

“Every single morning of your life.”

“That is quite unfair,” Sarah said, since she was fairly certain that no good could come of denying this, either.

In general, it was never good to deny something that was indisputably true. Not with Harriet.

“I think you fancy Lord Hugh,” Harriet declared.

And because Sarah was reading Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron, in which barons (mad or otherwise) always appeared in doorways the moment someone uttered their name, she looked up.

Nothing.

“That’s a refreshing change,” she muttered.

Harriet glanced her way. “Did you say something?”

“I was just marveling on the fact that Lord Hugh did not appear in the doorway the moment you said his name.”

“You’re not that lucky,” Harriet said with a smirk.

Sarah rolled her eyes.

“And just to be precise, I believe I said that you fancy Lord Hugh.”

Sarah turned to the doorway. Because really, she would never be that lucky twice.

Still no Hugh.

Well. This was new and different.

She tapped her fingers against her book for a moment, then said under her breath, “Oh, how I wish I could find a gentleman who will look past my three vexing sisters and my”—why not?—“vestigial toe.”

She looked to the doorway.

And there he was.

She grinned. But all things considered, she ought to stop with the vestigial toe business. It would be just her luck if she ended up giving birth to a baby with an extra digit.

“Am I interrupting?” Hugh asked.

“Of course not,” Harriet said with great enthusiasm. “Sarah is reading, and I am writing.”

“So I am interrupting.”

“No,” Harriet blurted out. She looked to Sarah for help, but Sarah saw no reason to intercede.

“I don’t need quiet to write,” Harriet explained.

His brows rose in question. “Didn’t you ask your sisters not to chatter in the carriage?”

“Oh, that’s different.” And then, before anyone might inquire how, Harriet turned to Hugh and asked, “Won’t you sit down and join us?”

He gave a polite nod and came into the room. Sarah watched as he made his way around a wingback chair. He was depending on his cane more heavily than usual; she could see it in his gait. She frowned, then remembered that he had rushed all the way down from his room the night before. Without his cane.

She waited until he took a seat at the other side of the sofa, then quietly asked, “Is your leg bothering you?”

“Just a little.” He set his cane down and idly rubbed the muscle. Sarah wondered if he even noticed when he did that.

Harriet suddenly shot to her feet. “I just remembered something,” she blurted out.

“What?” Sarah asked.

“It’s... ehrm... something about... Frances!”

“What about Frances?”

“Oh, nothing much, really, just...” She shuffled her papers together and grabbed the whole sheaf, folding a few sheets in the process.

“Careful there,” Hugh warned.

Harriet looked at him blankly.

“You’re crumpling,” he said, motioning to the paper.

“Oh! Right. All the more reason I should leave.” She took a sideways step to the door, and then another. “So I’ll be on my way...”

Sarah and Hugh both turned to watch her depart, but despite all of her protestations, she seemed to be hovering by the door.

“Did you need to find Frances?” Sarah asked.

“Yes.” Harriet rolled to her toes, came back down again, and said, “Right. Good-bye, then.” And she finally left.

Sarah and Hugh looked at each other for several seconds before chuckling.

“What was that ab—,” he started to say.

“Sorry!” Harriet called out, dashing back into the room. “I forgot one thing.” She ran over to the desk, picked up absolutely nothing that Sarah could see (although to be fair, Sarah did not have a clean line of sight), and hurried out, closing the door behind her.

Sarah’s mouth fell open.

“What is it?”

“That little minx. She just pretended to have forgotten something so she could shut the door.”

Hugh quirked a brow. “This bothers you?”

“No, of course not. I just never thought she could be so devious.” Sarah paused to reconsider this. “Never mind, what was I saying? Of course she’s that devious.”

“What I find interesting,” Hugh said, “is that your sister is so determined that we should be left alone together. With the door shut,” he added meaningfully.

“She did accuse me of fancying you.”

“Oh, she did, did she? What was your reply?”

“I believe I avoided making one.”

“Well played, Lady Sarah, but I am not so easily subdued.”

Sarah inched a little closer to his side of the sofa. “Is that so?”

“Oh, no,” he replied, reaching out to take her hand in his. “If I were to ask if you fancied me, I can assure you that you would not escape so easily.”

“If you were to ask if I fancied you,” Sarah said, allowing him to tug her closer, “I might not wish to escape.”

“Might?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

“Well, I might need a little convincing...”

“Just a little?”

“A little might be all I need,” she said, letting out a little gasp when her body came into contact with his, “but I might actually want quite a lot.”

His lips brushed hers. “I can see that I have my work cut out for me.”

“Lucky for me, you never struck me as the kind of man who shies away from hard work.”

He smiled wolfishly. “I can assure you, Lady Sarah, that I will work very hard to ensure your pleasure.”

Sarah thought that sounded very nice, indeed.