Returning his attention to the task at hand, he continued to apply salve to the scraped and swollen front legs of one of his carriage bays. Unlike the main house, the stable was warm, well tended, and in excellent shape, a fact that didn't surprise him at all.

"Allow me to have a look," she murmured, coming toward him.

In the tight confines of the stable stall, there was no room to avoid her. She squeezed in between where he knelt and the front of his horse, her breeches stretching deliciously over a lush derriere. Hugh's mouth dried at the sight, his entire body hardening as her scent, a soft mix of flowers, enveloped his senses.

"I agree." Her tiny hands soothed over the raw scrapes, and the animal breathed a soft whinny. Watching the caressing strokes of Charlotte's hands, Hugh swallowed hard. It was a common enough task she was performing, and yet his interest in her was so unusually strong, it made the everyday action startlingly erotic.

Earlier, while struggling to remove his trunks from the disabled carriage, Hugh's gaze had continuously strayed to the beautiful redhead as she set his footman's broken arm and tended to his abrasions. There was a quiet confidence to her deportment and an unflappable air of control that he admired. He'd struggled most of his life to find that sort of confidence in himself, but to Charlotte it seemed innate.

Most women of his acquaintance would have been no assistance at all, but Charlotte had been invaluable. With her help they'd finished quickly and returned to the Kent estate with barely a moment to spare. Outside the wind howled and blew around with such force it was hard to see. Even now, her gorgeous red locks were dampening, the snow in them melting in the warmth of the stable.

"You shouldn't have ventured out here," he said.

"I wanted to be certain you found the salve." Still crouched, she turned to face him, bringing her ripe mouth within inches of his own. Across her nose was a light dusting of freckles, the bane of most women's existence, but a trait he'd always found charming.

Hugh studied her with a frown, trying to reason out why he found her so desirable. Charlotte was beautiful, yes, but no more so than he was accustomed to. The revealing breeches could have much to do with his constant state of arousal, although he'd never before considered men's clothing particularly enticing. Of course his brother-in-law would beg to differ.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

She arched a brow. "I told you-"

"No. Not here in the stables, here in Derbyshire."

Charlotte sat and crossed her legs. Hugh did the same.

"I grew up here. I left for a while and then returned."

"Your family is here?"

Hugh reached for a nearby towel and rubbed the salve from his palms. Then he picked up her hands and cleaned them as well, taking note of the calluses and ink stains that marred her fingers. The nails were trimmed to the quick, neat and without vanity, similar to the way she comported herself.

"No," she murmured, a bit breathless. "I have no family."

Finished with the cloth, he set it aside, but kept her hands within his. She didn't protest, for which he was grateful. He enjoyed touching her, relishing the way it made his entire body prickle with a singular sensual awareness.

"Tell me about the duchess."

If he hadn't been holding her hand, he wouldn't have known she tensed at his query. Her adeptness at hiding her feelings intrigued him. She was too young to be so expert at evasiveness.

"What would you like to know?" she asked, looking away.

He snorted. "What wouldn't I like to know? Is she mad, like they say? Does she mistreat you? Why does she live like this? The horses live better than you. Why-"

Charlotte covered his mouth with her hand. "No, no, and she doesn't have any other choice." She stood and tugged at their joined hands. He rose to his feet.

"Allow me to show you to your rooms, my lord. You'll see things are not so dreary as they appear at first glance."

"You're avoiding my questions."

She smiled, a potent mixture of sweetness and allure, and his stomach clenched in response. "Not so," she assured him, releasing his hand. "I simply want to answer some of your questions without words."

There was a bit of promise in the sparkle of her eyes, a hint that told Hugh she found him attractive. He was glad of that, for it made his goal much easier to attain. It was bloody freezing outside, and he'd be trapped here for days. The time would best be spent in bed with a lovely companion, and he wanted Charlotte with a sharpness he'd not experienced in a very long time, if ever.

Hugh stepped closer, gauging her reaction, and smiled when she stood her ground, her emerald gaze neither frightened nor wary. "I thank you for your help today," he murmured, reaching for her hand.

She lifted hers to meet his, startling him. "It was nothing."

"It was wonderful. The way you handled James's injuries and set his broken bone… I don't know that I could have done it." He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and felt her shiver.

"You might be surprised at the things you can accomplish when the need is dire enough."

"You sound as if you speak from experience."

"Perhaps." Charlotte tilted her head and frowned, studying him with a far-too-perceptive gaze. "And you?"

He shrugged. "I never seem to reach the dire point," he confessed, attempting to make the words light but failing miserably. "I'm always rescued before it progresses that far."

Her grasp tightened, giving him a comforting squeeze. "I think you did well enough today, barging into the house and cornering Her Grace. There was no one to rescue you or your servants, yet you managed quite nicely on your own."

Hugh's eyebrows rose.

Charlotte touched his mouth where he was attempting to curb a smile and said softly, "I am a very good judge of character, my lord, but I misjudged you."

"Oh? In what way?"

Her smile matched his. "I was very impressed with you today. Earlier, I wouldn't have thought you'd need to hear that. But apparently you do."

And with just that simple statement, the sharp edge of Hugh's desire honed to a burning point. Suddenly the cozy warmth of the stables was too hot, the air around them crackling with sensual energy. He'd never experienced anything like it, this itching, burning feeling coursing over his skin. That it was brought on by simple verbal praise astonished him. But, then, everything that had happened today astonished him.

Charlotte recognized the change in the atmosphere. Her pupils widened, her mouth parted. Hugh stepped back a fraction, forcibly preventing himself from moving too fast and frightening her. She took a step forward, closing the distance he'd just created.

Against his better judgment, Hugh tugged her nearer. When she came forward willingly, he reassessed her. Charlotte was comfortable with his touch and his bold approach. In fact, he would say her approach was just as bold, belying her innocent exterior.

"Charlotte." His free hand came up to brush across her cheek, finding her creamy skin as soft as he'd imagined it would be. "I believe you are the loveliest thing I've ever seen."

"My lord-"

"Hugh," he corrected. He'd never been comfortable with his title, and at this moment it created a distinction between their classes of which he didn't wish to be reminded.

She leaned into his touch, her mouth curving in a wry smile. "I'm usually immune to charming rogues."

Hugh didn't deny the obvious. Instead he ran his thumb across her lips. "Your mouth is beyond lovely. It's simply perfect."

His free hand moved to her shoulder, then down along the curve of her spine. Charlotte arched into him, pressing her breasts to his chest. Unhampered by stays and petticoats, he could feel her, all of her, yet not enough of her.

Lowering his head slowly, he moved his fingertips away, intent on kissing her. She had such a lovely mouth, so full and ripe. And it said such wonderful things.

It was the not-so-gentle bite from his horse upon his shoulder that brought back the reality of the small stable stall and the storm that raged outside. For a moment, Hugh considered ignoring the rude intrusion and continuing anyway, but the warning snort from the beast behind him changed his mind.

"We should go back to the house," he said with true regret. "I believe my horse is jealous."

Charlotte blinked and took a moment to reply, visibly withdrawing from his blatant seduction. "Yes, I suppose that would be wise." The matching note of regret in her voice soothed Hugh's nigh-unbearable frustration.

Hands linked together, they left the comfortable stable and struggled across the courtyard, entering the manse through the kitchen. They were wet and frozen by the time they completed the journey, and the cook stared at them agape as they stumbled inside followed by a billowing cloud of snow. Hugh gaped right back.

The cook was the largest woman he'd ever seen. Impossibly tall and built like a laborman, she quite frankly scared him. Gray hair stuck out in every direction, and grayer eyes raked him from head to toe. With a gleaming knife in her hand and a helpless chicken on the counter, she was a terrifying sight to behold. He might have stood there for hours, arrested by shock, had Charlotte not grabbed his arm and tugged him from the room.

"Good God," he muttered as he followed Charlotte up the servants' stairs to the upper floors.

Minx that she was, she laughed. "Wait until dinner," she promised. "You'll be impressed."

"I'm impressed already." He'd never met an Amazon before in his life.

Traversing well-appointed hallways, Hugh barely had time to register the dichotomy of the house before he found himself in an immense bedchamber warmed by a fire. It was beautifully furnished and immaculately cleaned. He found it hard to believe he was in the same residence he'd entered just a few hours ago.

"Why isn't the rest of the manse maintained?" he asked, glancing back at her.

Charlotte shivered by the door, her hair and garments wet with melting snow.

He held out his hand. "Come warm yourself by the fire."

"Not yet."

The "yet" gave him pause, a tiny intimation that she intended at some point to tarry in his rooms. Their eyes met and held, his with silent query, hers open and clear.

"Go change, then," he said. "Before you catch your death. You can explain to me after you're warmed."

She nodded. "I'll return directly to escort you to supper."

Hugh sketched a quick bow. "I await your pleasure."


"How long did it take before he started asking questions?"

Charlotte sighed. "Longer than I would have expected."

"How did you answer?"

"I didn't."

"But you'll have to."

Nodding, Charlotte began to strip from her damp clothes. Goose bumps covered her skin, and she stepped closer to the warmth of the fire. "Montrose is very interesting, just as you suspected."

"And handsome."

"Yes, he's quite gorgeous, and a brazen rake, too." Smiling, she thought of the way he'd cleaned her hands for her and the concern he'd shown for his injured footman. "But much nicer than I would have thought. A touch vulnerable, too, which I never would have suspected. I took him for the arrogant sort, but beneath that exterior, I think he doubts himself a little."

"Oh… he is interesting! Perhaps it's good he's come along, then. You're young and lovely; it's truly a shame you've chosen to dedicate yourself to me. Not that I'd ever send you away. You keep me from going completely mad with boredom."

Charlotte laughed. "It's no sacrifice, as you well know."

" 'Tis far different from the life you knew."

"That is not a bad thing." Charlotte sank gratefully into the steaming bath. "My former life had its pleasures, to be sure, but I was ready for a change and a bit of equanimity."

A few moments of silence passed. "I studied the map while you were gone."

Resting her head against the lip of the tub, Charlotte closed her eyes. "I'm sick to death of poring over that blasted thing. When the spring thaw comes, we'll charter a ship and go ourselves. Perhaps then we'll discover something useful."

"His Grace was very ill when he gave you that map," came the soft reminder. "Perhaps he wasn't altogether sane at the time."

Charlotte sank lower into the water. She'd considered that possibility many times. The books Glenmoore had left behind were cryptic at best, and the map, while comparable to others depicting the same body of water, had distinguishing features she could find nowhere else. Still, what choice did they have? The new Duke of Glenmoore was miserly with the trust and-