She shuddered; he felt it, felt the primal thrill of it in his bones, through the kiss sensed her response, her uninhibited, unscreened wanting.

Sensed her desire rise to meet his.

Rise to swirl with, to complement, to mesh with his.

To set fire to passion and ignite sensual need.

Madeline gasped through the kiss. Never before had she felt like this-as if there were some thing, some being within her, within her skin, expanding, taking over, driving her to grasp, to seize, to embrace every second of sensation, of experience.

Of all she’d thought she’d never know.

She felt heated, nerves alive, her breath no longer hers but his-her body wrapped, trapped in his arms and glad, so glad, to be there.

Her rational mind couldn’t take it in, but her senses reveled and gorged. And some side of her she didn’t know frankly rejoiced in the escalating heat, in the compulsive, burgeoning swell of what even she, innocent and inexperienced, recognized as passion.

Hot, urgent, increasingly explicit.

Their kiss had grown wildly so, infecting his touch.

Infecting him.

And her.

So that she made not the smallest demur when one hard hand swept up her side to palm her breast. To caress, to cup, then to lightly knead.

Sensation, new and novel, flared, grew, spread molten delight just beneath her skin.

And he knew. His hand closed, more possessive; beneath the straining bodice of her walking dress, his fingers found the furled bud of her nipple and tweaked, rolled-and pleasure, sharp and sweet, sliced through her.

Breathing was beyond her. Raising both hands to grasp his head, she gripped, felt the slide of his curls, so much softer even than they looked, over her fingers as she held him and kissed him-hard-then in desperation pulled back.

“Oh, God-Gervase!” Eyes closed, she struggled to breathe. “Someone might see.”

“They can’t.” His voice was deep, gravelly by her ear as his hands, both now ministering to her breasts, continued to play. “No one can see up here, even with a spyglass.”

The fact he’d thought even of a spyglass reassured her completely.

Dragging in one last breath, she reached for his face, framed the long planes between her palms and brought his lips back to hers.

She was still hungry, still greedy for his kiss, his lips, and the sensations they wrought. For the reaction they evoked in her, the heretofore unknown side of her that came alive in his arms.

Gervase inwardly groaned, and complied, unable not to, incapable of denying her-yet he hadn’t imagined, hadn’t dreamed she would be so demanding. So wanting.

So starved.

If he’d known, he would have chosen some other site for this encounter. His apartments, for instance, with the bed he intended her to grace close at hand.

Instead…they were on the battlements.

The increasingly wind-strafed battlements.

It took more than effort, more than steely will-it took desperation to drag his hands from her breasts, to grip her waist and shift, turn, so her back was to the door and he was before her.

Even then she merely kissed him again, her mouth a gift he couldn’t refuse. It took several minutes of heated engagement before he recalled-again-why he, they, had to stop. Halt. Now. Before…

Before matters got entirely out of hand and stopping became impossible.

When he finally lifted his head, Madeline discovered hers reeling. Her lips throbbed, swollen and slick-and still eager.

So damningly willing.

Hauling in a breath, irritated to feel a sense of loss that his hands were no longer on her breasts, she opened her eyes and forced herself to meet his.

They’d never looked more tigerish, their expression more intent.

“Have you changed your mind yet?”

The words, gravelly and low, laden with male desire, nearly made her shiver. Distracted with suppressing the wanton reaction, when she stared at him uncomprehendingly, he clarified, “About warming my bed.”

Her mind refocused in a rush. She blinked up at him. “No.” Her hands had fallen to rest against his shoulders. She pushed. Hard.

And he budged not one inch.

A very odd sensation skittered down her spine, novel and distinctly startling.

She was helpless, trapped between the door and him, between ungiving wood and the hard muscle and bone of his unyielding body. Never before had any man made her feel captured.

To win free she would need to cede…something.

She blinked, inwardly snapped free of that ridiculous supposition. “Let me go.”

She endeavored to infuse every ounce of her will into the words; she lifted her chin to give them emphasis.

His expression hardened. But he eased his grip on her waist. “For now.”

The warning in the words was every bit as explicit as the kiss had been.

She glared, but it was a weak effort. With one hand, she groped behind her, found and grasped the latch. Stepping to the side, her eyes on his, she opened the door.

He stepped back and let her swing it wide.

Breathing a little more easily, head high, she flashed one last defiant glance at him, then turned and went through. Stepping onto the stairs, one hand on the stone wall, she started down.

It had been just a kiss, a part of his silly game. No matter what he’d said, he wasn’t-couldn’t be-seriously intent on seducing her.

If she repeated that statement often enough, she might again believe it.


“Fancy forming your own private gentlemen’s club in London, just so you have somewhere where society can’t bother you.” Edmond glanced up the breakfast table at Madeline. “Neat, don’t you think?”

“Better’n neat,” Ben opined around a mouthful of sausage, relieving her of the need to reply.

Just as well; in her present mood, any response she made regarding Gervase Tregarth and his doings was bound to be laced with frustrated ire.


She sipped her tea, and tried to shift her mind from that irritating gentleman, and his effect on her; unfortunately, in the present company that appeared a lost cause.

Bad enough that the interlude Gervase had engineered on the castle battlements, and all that had transpired there, had laid siege to her mind throughout the previous evening and disturbed her night, but his outing with her brothers and the exploits with which he’d regaled them had been the principal subjects of their conversation ever since.

Normally she could rely on her harebrained trio to distract her from any inner brooding. Instead, their speculation and comments about Gervase only reinforced his presence. Reinforced the reality that he was there, and she was going to have to deal with him.

“Do you really think what Joe and Sam said is right?” Ben turned to Harry, seated at the head of the table. “That there’ll soon be lots of men with no work and things will be bad around here?”

Madeline blinked to attention; she looked at Ben, then up the table at Harry.

Who was frowning. “I don’t know. It seems strange that if there’s such trouble brewing, so few people have heard of it.” Harry looked at Madeline. “Have you heard anything? Are the mines at Carn Brea really closing?”

What? was her instinctive reaction; she swallowed it, and frowned. “I haven’t heard any whisper of such a thing. Where did you hear that?”

“In Helford,” Edmond said. “We went there after we got back from fishing.”

“We went down to the docks to watch the boats come in,” Harry said. “Sam and Joe were there. Sam’s father keeps the tavern in Helford and Joe’s dad is the blacksmith. Both Sam and Joe said their fathers were worried about what would happen in the district when the money from the mines dries up.”

“Both Sam’s and Joe’s older brothers work at Carn Brea,” Edmond added.

When she stared, gaze distant, down the table, Harry shifted. “Could the mines be closing? It’ll be bad for the district if they are, won’t it?”

She mentally shook herself. “Yes to the latter question, but I know of no information that suggests the mines are even in difficulties, much less that they’re on the brink of closing.”

She’d done as she’d told Squire Ridley she would, and had written to her London contacts; she’d heard back only yesterday that all was as she’d thought. She looked at Harry. “I heard from London yesterday that the tin mines, including those locally, are doing very well-in fact, exceeding expectations-and the outlook is rosy.”

“Perhaps I could tell Sam and Joe that, so they can tell their fathers. It seemed they were truly worried.”

She nodded. “Do. In fact, unless you have something pressing to attend to, I think you should go back to Helford today.” She paused, then added, “You”-she tipped her head at Harry-“could drop by and speak with Sam’s and Joe’s fathers directly. That would be the neighborly thing to do. You may tell them I’ve checked very recently and everything’s as it should be. We don’t need rumors of that sort spreading and frightening people.”

Harry, his expression unusually serious-much more adult, she saw with a pang-nodded. “I’ll ride that way this morning.”

“We’ll come,” Edmond said.

Ben, still eating, merely nodded.

Madeline watched while Harry drained the cup of coffee he’d recently graduated to, Gervase’s words about including him more in estate business whispering in her head.

“One thing,” she said. Harry looked inquiringly at her as he set down his cup; Edmond and Ben did, too. “Keep your ears open on the subject of the mines. There might be someone deliberately spreading rumors. We know there’s some London gentleman interested in buying up mining leases, and it’s possible the rumors are in some way linked.”

It took Harry but a moment to see the connection; Edmond was only a heartbeat behind. Ben remained fully absorbed with his last slice of ham.

Harry and Edmond exchanged glances, their features assuming the same expression, one she’d never before seen on their faces.

“We’ll listen.” Harry nodded, quietly grim. “We’ll tell you anything we hear.”

Gervase had been right; they were growing up. Despite the pang she felt near her heart, she couldn’t help feeling satisfied that both boys-youths, young men in the making-clearly possessed real interest in the district, in the industry and people that were part of their patrimony.


Regardless of Harry’s evolving maturity, Madeline did not press him to attend Lady Moreston’s ball that evening.

Her ladyship’s event was one of the many held over summer through which the local gentry and aristocracy entertained themselves through the long, mild evenings. Gowned in mulberry satin, feeling suitably armored as the Honorable Miss Madeline Gascoigne, she greeted Lady Moreston with her customary assurance and followed Muriel into the ballroom.

The long room was bedecked with summer greenery, rather more to Madeline’s taste than ribbons, silks or gilded decorations. Halting at the top of the ballroom steps, she surveyed the room-searching for one curly dark head.

But Gervase wasn’t there, at least not yet.

Descending the steps in Muriel’s wake, Madeline inwardly frowned-then realized and banished the underlying emotion, whatever it was. She couldn’t possibly be disappointed; it was simply irritation at having to remain tense, on guard, until he appeared. Once he was there she would know what he was up to, and she wouldn’t feel so off-balance, trying to imagine what he might do.

Might take it into his devilish mind to do.

The man was plainly dangerous, but she wasn’t some silly witless girl to allow herself to grow too curious for her own good. She was her own person, in charge of her own life. What decisions she made would be her own.

With that determination ringing in her mind, she set herself to make use of the evening in her customary manner. She circulated through the guests, chatting with the gentlemen, listening for any confirmation of the rumors her brothers had heard; she hadn’t yet decided how to proceed on that front.

“I met Penterwell today,” Gerald Ridley told her. “He’d been approached by that agent, too. Not that he has any intention of selling, but like me, he’s wondering what’s behind this.”

“I’ve checked again since we spoke, and everything I hear suggests that all is going well and expected to improve even further. Perhaps this London gentleman simply thinks we’re naïve?”

Gerald snorted. “Well, it seems he’s had no takers, so he must by now realize he’ll need to think again.”

Madeline smiled and inclined her head in parting, but the squire’s words lingered. The gentry weren’t the only ones who held mining leases. She was idly circling the dance floor, pondering that, when Gervase suddenly appeared before her and trapped her hand in his.