She gave a tight nod. “He’s an honourable man.”

“Yes.”

Philippa looked at the sky as if a consultation with the moon would help her through whatever she was thinking. “Shall I make you a confession?”

He took a step closer to her. “You know you may.”

“I do not admire him as I ought.”

He didn’t answer right away and, when he found words, they weren’t the ones he’d planned to say to her. “Do you love him, Philippa?”

She walked away from the house. He went after her, stopping her with a hand to her shoulder. She halted, head bowed. In a low voice, she said, “Life is often more complicated than one wishes it to be.”

Dane stood behind her, scant inches between them. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t marry him, Philippa,” he said into the dark. “Not if you don’t love him. Not if he can’t make you happy.”

“There’s a great deal to admire in him.” Her voice stayed low. “He commanded a ship of the line and was twice commended for bravery, you know.”

Again he trailed his index finger along the top of her shoulder. He watched the tip of his finger moving along her skin. So soft, her skin was. “More unvarnished truth for you, Philippa.” He breathed in. “I didn’t like him.”

More lights inside the house had been extinguished. They were now standing in full darkness, with the moon bright in a cloudless sky casting shadows on to shadows. And he was touching her as a lover might.

“I’ve met officers who served with him.” She didn’t move. No shrug to dislodge his fingers. No step away. “They were sincere in their admiration of him.”

He thought of Captain Bancroft, his dreary grey eyes and the disdain that oozed from him whenever he smiled. Daring you to believe the smile when the truth was in his eyes. “He’s a prig.”

Philippa turned around and they gazed at each other in the dark, with moonlight and the quiet falling soft around them. The light silvered her hair and deepened the shadows beneath her collarbones and between her breasts. Her mouth twitched. “I daresay he is.”

He slid his finger along the side of her throat and by now there was really no denying his caress. She didn’t move. He didn’t stop touching her; the rest of his fingers followed. Along the side of her jaw, the top of her cheekbone. Beneath the ripeness of her lower lip.

“I ought to marry him.” She turned her head away, towards the darkness, and Dane drew a finger along the neckline of her gown and, after a moment more, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to the side of her throat, breathing in the scent of verbena that clung to her skin. After one more moment, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Three

Frieth House, the Rose Garden

Philippa thought she was doing quite well, managing her conversation with Alec. He had, after all, given her his honest opinion of Captain Bancroft, and that was something. She had successfully ignored the trip in her pulse when he touched her or when their eyes met. Her reaction was not proper. They were friends. Not lovers or even potential lovers. So she had suppressed all her inconvenient admiration of his person.

And then, well, things simply went wrong. How it happened, she didn’t understand. But Alec, whom she had known since he was a boy, who was still, in her mind, unconscionably young, took her in his arms and kissed her.

Not on the cheek. Or the forehead.

On the mouth.

There really wasn’t any misunderstanding his intent.

She’d been thinking about kissing him for some time. And, when it happened, God save her soul, her stomach took flight.

She had a single moment of clarity during which she understood the enormity of her mistake in coming out here with him. One moment when she might have put a stop to whatever madness took her over. One moment, and all her good intentions dissolved like sugar into tea.

She was caught up, swept along by the way he wrapped his arms around her as if he had every right to, as if this was something they ought to do. As if doing so was actually a good idea. Surely it wasn’t. But if he thought so, who was she to object when she was so lonely without him?

He felt delicious. Warm and strong and certain of what he was doing. And she, she didn’t feel quite as alone any more.

He fitted his mouth to hers and, in her last moment of sanity and good sense, she recalled that he wasn’t even twenty-six and she was six years his elder, a mature woman who ought to know better.

Alec cupped the back of her head with one hand and slid the other tighter around her waist and, for the first time in her life, she had to lift her chin in order to be properly kissed. He was taller than her husband had been, and he was kissing her increasingly as if he wanted to do more than just kiss her. Something inside her wanted that. And more.

She gave up because Alec had grown into a man, and he knew, she quickly discovered, how to kiss. She had not been held like this since William died. Until this very moment, she hadn’t known how terribly she’d missed the physical intimacy, the knowledge that someone found her desirable even though she was no longer young.

Not to mention the unsettling discovery that she could be aroused by another man. She’d begun to think she would never want anyone but William. In Alec’s embrace, the greyness that had enveloped her since her husband’s death vanished. Her body came to life with a selfish desire to be touched, caressed, and even, Lord save her soul, to be penetrated. She was mad. She must be mad. Lulled into foolishness by the moonlight.

She wanted Alec Fall inside her, this young man who had grown up and become so much more than the handsome boy he’d been.

His mouth opened over hers, and she responded in kind. His chest was solid against hers, his arms strong, and she melted against him because he felt so good, because she missed a man’s embrace. He smelled of bergamot and lemon and — oh, how lovely — he wasn’t tentative at all. His tongue was in her mouth, and she wasn’t sure she could support her weight on her trembling knees. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

She was aroused. Sexually. Carnally. Wickedly, thoroughly aroused for the first time in months and months. All this time, she’d been afraid Captain Bancroft would do more than kiss her cheek, to the point where she’d concluded there was something wrong with her. Alec forced her to confront the lie of that. She wanted him to do more than hold her. A very great deal more.

Somehow, she found the strength to push away. “Alec.” Her mouth felt bruised, her body alive. She swallowed. “My Lord.”

He kept his arms around her as if he had no doubts. “Mm?”

She closed her eyes, shivering. “You are so young.”

“But not too young.” He kissed the top of her cheek, just below her eye. “And not too inexperienced, I hope.”

“I didn’t imagine you were.” There was no way on earth a man could kiss like that and be a virgin. The thought of Alec in bed with a woman shocked her into stillness. But he had been. Of course he had been. Some other woman had been his first. And there had been others after that, she was certain. He seemed to have guessed what she was thinking because his beautiful mouth curved. She tried for dignity and suspected she’d failed. “You must have been very much in demand in London.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, a laugh in his voice. His fingers splayed over her lower back and kept her close. “All the young gentlemen are put to stud in London.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” The whole time, she stroked his face, tracing the outline of his mouth, the slant of his cheekbones, the soft depression just beneath his eyes. She wondered about the woman who’d been his first and imagined him touching her, kissing her body, the very first time he slid into a woman. “Was she very beautiful?”

His hand on her waist slipped to the small of her back and his fingers angled down. Tonight, of all nights, she’d worn a short corset and there was, in fact, very little material between his hand and the side of her hip. “Yes. But not as beautiful as you.”

Alec kissed her again and she buried one hand in his lovely, thick dark hair, while the other clutched his shoulder. Her shawl was tangled between them with one corner dangling to her feet, which she knew because she was stepping on the end. She let her neck relax until the moment his palm supported the weight of her head, and imagined how the moonlight must be silvering her face, seeping into her blood, into the marrow of her bones.

His breath felt warm on her cheek. “Philippa.”

Her name was a whisper. Soft as a petal. Calling to her in a way that made her heart feel too big for her chest. No one had whispered her name like that since William. An endearment, his whisper was. So achingly sweet. She did not release him. In such moments of inaction were momentous decisions made.

He lowered his head again, and his lips slid down her throat, trailing soft kisses. Gentle kisses. Needful kisses that brought tears to her eyes. His hand on her hip moved away, but only long enough to gather up her shawl and drape the end over her shoulder. He took a step forwards, holding her, moving them, she realized, deeper into the garden.

Philippa’s eyes fluttered open and her gaze locked with his. She understood the look in his eyes, the touch of his fingertips, the reason they were now standing completely out of the circle of light from the house. If one of the servants happened to look out the window, they would not be seen.

She shivered. Not because she was cold. These feelings were wrong, but, oh, since he’d been away he’d become a lovely man. Not a boy any longer. A man, fully grown. And her friend, too. They had written to each other, holding back so little of themselves. She knew so many of his secrets, and he hers. She trusted him. She knew him to be thoughtful. Principled. A gentleman.

“Don’t go home tonight,” he whispered. “Stay with me. Even if only for a while, Philippa.” His voice slid between them, a low, enticing whisper. In the dark, in just the light from the moon, she had to strain to see him. He wrapped his fingers in the folds of her shawl and pulled her closer.

She missed the passion of her marriage and now that this so very young man had awakened such longing in her, she wanted to say yes. She wasn’t sure she could do anything but assent. Seconds ticked away.

“Christ,” he said, his voice low and dark. And he sounded like a man who knew what he wanted and intended to have it. “Don’t say no.”

She cupped his face in her hands, leaning against his torso. “Alec, how can we?”

“The usual way,” he said. “The way any man and woman do.”

She shook her head then realized he probably couldn’t see her. Not well enough. His cheeks were smooth, but since he was so dark-haired, he’d probably shaved before he came downstairs for the ball. Once again, she didn’t step away. She didn’t even let go of his face.

“Good.” He kissed her again, sweetly, cajoling her, keeping her close against him, and, Lord save her, she kissed him back again. Foolish. So foolish. Even while she thought that, her hand slid around to the back of his neck, and she wished desperately she wasn’t wearing gloves. She pulled back, and he drew in a quick breath.

He let go of her and dug into an interior pocket of his coat. “There’s a private entrance round the back. The stairs exit directly into my room. We can go there now and see where this leads us.”

“No,” she whispered. She pressed her palm over his hand, trapping it in his pocket. She could salvage this. Save them both the awkwardness of a moment lost to moonlight. “No. Alec,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I never meant for that to happen. To let you kiss me like that.”

He worked his hand free of his pocket and caught her hand in his. “Lie to me if you like, but don’t lie to yourself.”

Good heavens, he was throwing her own words back at her. Words she’d said to him years ago whenever he said something dishonest. She took a step back and shook out her skirt. She was horribly aroused. Her body tingled with anticipation and desire. “Touché, My Lord.”

“I’m sorry you lost William.” He caught her other hand in his and held both hands tight. Her heart gave a twist in her chest. “I am sorry. Believe that if you believe nothing else I ever say to you. If he were still alive, I’d be happy for you.” He lowered his voice. “But he isn’t, Philippa. Don’t live as if you’d died, too.”

“I thought I had.” To her horror, her voice hitched.