“Good evening, oh, fair, fey creature,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand, bringing it up to his lips. “I have sought you for an eternity.”

Then he kissed her fingertips and sent a tremor of desire racing through her. Ella willed herself not to snatch her hand back, for she’d never felt anything like it. And it seemed she wasn’t alone. He looked at her anew as if the sensation had been something he had hardly expected.

“You … you have?” she stammered as she looked down at her fingers, which still tingled. Biting her lip, she hazarded a glance up at him.

“How could I not?” he said, bowing slightly. Then he leaned closer. “I believe they are about to start the dancing. If you are not already engaged, may I have the honour?”

She nodded wordlessly and he led her through the crowd.

Again, a thrum of desire raced through her as she walked alongside him and out on to the floor. Couples were taking their places, and soon they were surrounded, but Ella couldn’t shake the sensation that they were all alone. When the music began, they moved through the steps that pulled them apart and pushed them together and then separated them yet again.

“Your costume is lovely,” he said, as he returned to her. “Are you Titania?”

She blushed. “Goodness, no. I am merely one of her court.” Out of the corner of her eye she spied Lady Osborn watching her, then turning her gaze on Ella’s partner. Once she’d taken his measure, she turned to the lady next to her and got to work. To discover whether or not he was an eligible parti.

Not that any of that mattered to Ella. She’d never danced at a ball, never held a man’s attention, never even been kissed. Not that she expected such a thing, but stealing a glance at the firm line of his lips, she had to imagine a kiss would be heavenly. This was her own fairy tale, one she doubted very many ladies in her position ever lived. And instead of being cautious, instead of remembering her place, she allowed herself to believe that this night was hers to discover her heart.

“I feel as if I have met you before,” he confessed, as they moved around each other, their hands entwined and his gaze never leaving hers.

“I you.” Ella wasn’t about to play coy, or engage in all the elongated trappings of courtship. She hadn’t the time. She knew if she was ever to have a night, this one was it.

This one night. Her night. Their night. And then it would be off to the country to Lord Percy’s family estate in Shropshire. Certainly, there were no such men there — no knights like this, capable of sweeping a lady off her feet.

The dance continued and they said little, just stealing glances at each other, and revelling in the moments when his fingers entwined with hers, when his hand would come to the small of her back and guide her through the steps.

When the music ended, Ella held her breath. For she didn’t want this dance, this night to ever end.

Apparently, neither did he.

“Have you seen the conservatory?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“It is rumoured to have oranges blooming right now. Would you like to see them, my lovely fey creature?” He held out his hand to her.

“Oranges?” she said. “Oh, I do love orange blossoms. The fragrance is heavenly.”

“Then come along and indulge yourself.”

Ella smiled and twined her fingers with his. “Do you think we should?” she asked, as he led her from the ballroom. Stealing one last glance over her shoulder, she could see Lady Osborn with her gaze fixed on the dance floor as she searched for some sign of her daughter.

“Certainly. Lord Ashe is a particular friend of mine,” he confided. “He won’t mind in the least.”

It was exactly from this sort of scandalous adventure that she’d been hired to keep Pamela — and then again, here she was disguised as Pamela so her charge could run away with Lord Percy.

So she might as well fall into her own mire.

“I can’t help thinking that we’ve met,” he was saying.

“I feel the same, but I can’t think of where or when.” Ella looked at him again, searched for something familiar, wondering if he was an officer who might have served with her father. For certainly he had the confidence and bearing of a man used to being in command. But she could hardly ask who he was, for then he would ask for her name.

And she would have to lie. The one thing Ella didn’t want to do to this man was tell him half-truths and fabrications. She couldn’t. But the truth? That she was naught but a pauper hired by Lady Osborn because her services could be had for very little?

Would that matter to him? He was a few paces ahead of her, leading the way to the back of the house, and she glanced at his back. His pace reminded her of a lion’s, the surcoat doing little to hide the muscled strength beneath it.

“Whatever are you smiling at?” he asked, as they stopped at the door to the conservatory, which had been built in the gardens behind the house.

“Your costume. I can’t determine if you are Galahad, Richard or Percival.”

“I would prefer a Templar,” he said, taking a fighting stance and grinning wickedly at her.

She laughed. “You do realize that most of them were nothing more than expert brawlers, men trained for naught but waging war.”

This took him aback. “You know of the Templars?”

“Certainly. My father was in the army, and adored military history. I have no brothers, so I grew up on a steady diet of books featuring the campaigns of Hannibal and Alexander, and ever so many histories — including the Templars. My mother feared I would be quite unmanageable from such an education.”

“No, I think you are most surprising,” he said, opening the door. The warmth and moisture of the air inside swarmed over them. “But I suppose I must leave the unmanageable part for further discovery.”

“I am hardly unmanageable,” she told him, as she stalked past into the warmth of the conservatory.

His brow arched.

“Well, I do make my mistakes from time to time. And I fear I don’t always exhibit the demeanour expected of a lady.” Which is why she’d been fired by Lady Gaspar and Lady Preswood.

He folded his arms over his chest and eyed her. “Let me see how outspoken you are.” He paused. “What do you think the likelihood of the Americans joining France against us?”

“Very,” she told him. Forgetting Lady Osborn’s dictum that ladies never discussed politics. Never. “But it will be a dangerous situation.”

“Yes, well, I doubt the Americans have much sense over the matter. A hot-headed rabble is all they will ever be.”

“No, sir, you mistake me. I mean it will be a dangerous situation for us.”

“For us?!” he sputtered. “I think your mother was right.”

“No, sir, you aren’t looking at it from a military vantage,” she said, feeling the thrill of debate outweigh any dictum by Lady Osborn. “We will be spread too thin. If we make war in the Americas, we weaken our ability to defeat Bonaparte quickly.”

“So you think we cannot defeat the French?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, pacing around him. They were circling like cats, but to Ella it was exhilarating. “It is just that every military leader in history who has spread his troops over greater and greater distances thins his lines to the point where gaps are created. Dangerous gaps.”

He paused for a second and eyed her, an astonished respect in his gaze. “But Napoleon is faced with the same problem. He called for Spanish recruits last month and the bloody Spaniards raced for the hills rather than be conscripted.”

“And yet there are eighty thousand Frenchmen who have been conscripted, and another forty thousand in the waiting. And how many able men are in America? We are but one island.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

Her knight scratched his chin. “But there are the Spaniards who are joining our troops in Majorca — they will fight at our side.”

“Yes, in Spain, but not in New York, or Maryland, or the Carolinas. Will they defend our hold in Canada?”

He grunted and paced in front of her.

“Bonaparte knew exactly what he was doing when he gave the Floridas to the Americans, and stirred their wrath against our Navy — as well deserved as it is.”

“So you would criticize the might of the Royal Navy, you bold minx?”

She nodded emphatically. “When they anger a sleeping bear, yes. Not one of those captains thinks of the consequences of taking a single American ship, but what will they do when that country’s Congress acts? When that country begins to build ships? Fleets of ships. They have a continent of forests. They can build frigates for the next hundred years — and man them. Can we?”

He threw up his hands and strode away a few steps. “I can’t believe I am arguing this with a lady!”

“And being bested,” she pointed out.

“Routed!” he declared. “Your mother was entirely correct — you are unmanageable.”

Ella didn’t feel the least bit insulted. “I daresay, you don’t mind.”

This gave him pause and then he grinned. “No, I actually don’t. But if you tell anyone I’ve conceded—”

She shook her head and crossed her fingers over her heart. “Never! I swear.”

“It shall be our secret,” he told her, moving closer again. As he passed an orange tree, he reached and plucked a blossom from the branch and handed it to her. For a moment all Ella could do was gaze down at the delicate blossom cradled in her hand, for she didn’t dare look up at him.

“Does your father still read you military tracts?” he asked.

She shook her head. “My parents are both gone.”

He paused and gazed at her. “I am so sorry. You have sisters?”

“No, I am … I am all alone now.”

“Not any longer,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her down the long aisle.

The conservatory was glassed on three sides, running the length of the garden wall. A stove provided extra heat and lamps overhead illuminated the wild, exotic collection of plants flourishing in the artificial tropics. As they drew closer to the middle, the intoxicating scent of oranges in bloom curled around her, enticed her to come closer and inhale … deeply.

“It is just like our garden in Portugal,” she told him, reaching out to touch the narrow leaf of a palm.

“You lived in Portugal?”

“Yes. Though not always. I was born in the West Indies. Then my father’s regiment was sent to Portugal.”

“I imagine you find London quite different.”

She laughed. “I find London ever so cold.”

They both laughed.

“Is it still a cold place?” he asked, drawing her into his arms.

“No,” she said, shivering, and definitely not from London’s notorious chill.

His hands, firm and warm, pulled her closer, until she was nestled right up against his chest. Her hands splayed over his surcoat, and marvelled at the hard plains beneath.

Like a Templar reborn.

“I don’t even know your name,” he whispered as he lowered his head, drew his lips closer to hers.

“Does it matter?” she whispered.

“No. Not really,” he said, his breath warm on her lips. And then that breath became his lips, covering hers and stealing a kiss.

Ella didn’t know what to expect, but this … this invasion … this breach of her defences, left her breathless. His tongue sallied over her lips, teased her to open the gates, to let him storm forth. Everything she knew about defences gave way to his very expert onslaught.

Besides, how was she not to let him in, when he was creating this breathless storm inside her?

Desire, new and exhilarating, raced through her, as his hands held her even closer, began to explore her, running down her sides, curving around her backside.

Ella was starting to burn.

His kiss deepened and, instead of being frightened — as she supposed she should be, as she ought to be — she welcomed him, drawing him closer, her arms winding around his neck.

She had to hold him like that, for her knees, her legs, her insides, had become ever so unreliable, quaking with need, with desires, leaving her shaky and unsettled … and eager for more.

He drew back from her, lips parted for a moment, and gazed at her, a wonder in his eyes that startled her. For even in her innocence, she knew this was different. This wasn’t what he had expected.

Or had he known all along, just as they had found themselves drawn to each other in the middle of the ballroom?

“Ahem,” came a polite cough from the doorway of the conservatory, breaking into their intimate moment of wonderment. “Sir?”