excerpt

            Charlotte stood quickly, her right ankle squawking in protest under the weight suddenly thrust upon it.  She couldn’t seem to draw a breath. 

            Her Black Knave rose with her, grasping her arm to steady her.  She tried to loosen herself from his firm hold, but her step was slightly unsteady.

            “Stand still a moment and let your head clear,” he murmured softly, his voice soothing.

            Charlotte didn’t think her poor head had a chance to clear, with of all people holding her arm, but her Black Knave!  Nevertheless, she quietly stood and let him support her, while she tried to adjust the weight on her bruised ankle. 

            Suddenly her head jerked up.  What was she doing?  Leaning into him like that?  And he stood over her as bold as a Viking out on a conquest.  She pushed herself to a standing position. 

            His firm grasp still clutched her arm.  “You should keep quiet.  You’ve had a shock---"

            "I'm fine, please."

            "I don’t believe you are feeling quite stout.  Your face paled when you stood." 

            Her eyes dropped to stare at his hand still clutching her arm. 

            He let go, spreading his hands regretfully, then shrugged.  “Feeling a bit better, then?”

            Charlotte nodded and gazed up at her rescuer.  He was more handsome than she remembered.  Standing tall and straight, he towered over her.  His broad shoulders filled his well-cut coat to perfection and his pantaloons fitted him like a glove.  Suddenly aware of the state of disarray she must be in, she looked around for her errant steed.  “Yes, thank you.  I will just collect my horse and be on my way.”

            He pointed over her shoulder toward her mare.  “Your horse is fine for the moment.”

            Turning to look, she saw the chestnut prancing around the black stallion, a horse as dark and handsome as its owner.

            Pointing toward a large rock, he said, “Maybe you should sit a moment and let your upper story clear.”

            “No," she shook her head, starting the reeling again, "I’ll just be on my way.  Thank you, sir, for your assistance.” 

Stiffening her spine, she lifted her chin regally and stepped toward her horse.  Charlotte realized her ankle was badly injured with her first step, yet she continued haltingly toward her mare.  She felt him watching her, but she refused to turn around and ask for his help.  Instead, she pushed through the pain, trying not to draw attention to her hobbling walk.  She wished her mare would start toward her and shorten the distance between them.  But the traitor stood nickering flirtatiously at the black stallion, leaving her mistress to fend for herself. 

What a pickle she was in.

            She sensed his presence behind her before his actual touch.  In one fluid movement, he reached down and scooped her into his arms.

            “You silly little fool,” he scolded mildly. “Do you want to injure it further?”

            He settled her, none too gently, on the huge rock then knelt before her to examine her foot.  When he reached for the injured limb, it disappeared under the folds of her skirt.

            “You may offer that ankle to me voluntarily or I shall come in after it.”  His expression was full of mischief.  “You may choose.”

            Charlotte ignored the warning.  “If you would just help me remount my horse, I’ll be on my way.”  Intently, she watched the man down on bended knee before her.  His black hair shone in the bright sunlight, reflecting the dark blue tones in his waistcoat.  His gray eyes, the color of storm clouds on a rainy day, glinted with humor.  A mass of self-confidence, he exuded an air of authority.

            Abruptly his hand shot out toward the hem of her skirt.  Charlotte realized, almost too late, the rogue was going to act upon his threat.  Forgetting her injured foot, she let out a squawk, jumping to her feet.  Her ankle gave out and she promptly fell into a crumpled heap, knocking him over in the process.  He caught her about the waist when she toppled down upon him, pulling her safely into his embrace.

            “In truth, this is much better,” he purred in her ear.  “Had I known you were so anxious to throw yourself at my head, I would never have let you up from the mud puddle you so conveniently plopped yourself into.”

            “Are you insinuating I purposely fell from my horse to gather your unwanted attention to my person?”  And for the second time that day, Charlotte found herself struggling to free herself from her Black Knave's grasp.

            His left eyebrow rose a fraction.  “I am not insinuating anything, Miss?”

            She pushed at his chest with both hands.  “Let me up!”

             “No name then?” he asked.

            His breath was warm against her cheek.  His nearness almost overwhelmed her.  A smoldering flame began where his hands encircled her waist.

            His steady gaze bore into her.   “Don’t you think under the circumstances, we should at least know each other’s name?” 

            Under what circumstances?  Did he remember her?  She shot him a quelling look.  “I am not a Lady of easy virtue.  I think under the circumstances you should let me up!”

            Slowly, his grip loosened from around her waist and they untangled from each other.  He rose to his feet, then helped settle her back on the rock.  His gaze boldly raked over her.  Reaching out, he pulled on a piece of grass tangled in her tousled curls.

            She eyed him with a calculating expression.  “You sir, are no gentleman.”

            “I don’t recall claiming to be one.”  He smiled slyly.  “You do have a name, do you not?”

            She raised her chin.  “Miss Charlotte Clermont.”

            A wicked smile quickly spread upon his face.  “Miss Charlotte Clermont, destroyer of young men’s hearts?”  His left eyebrow shot up again.  “That Miss Clermont?”

            Drat Lady Grey and her stupid article!  She never would have suspected this man, standing before her, of reading the Prattler Pages of all the silly bothersome things.

            “No, not that Miss Clermont,” with exasperation, she folded her arms across her bosom.  “That Miss Clermont is a figment of the author’s imagination.  But, yes, I am Miss Charlotte Clermont, daughter of Admiral Griffon Clermont.  And you, sir, I have not the honor of your acquaintance,” she lied.

            He stepped back, the look on his face almost mocking.  Bowing deeply before her, he said, “Viscount Sinclair, son of the Earl of Dunthorpe, at your service, Miss Clermont.”

            Charlotte gasped.  The Earl of Dunthorpe's son?  He was once-jilted Viscount?  Her Black Knave had once been jilted?  They couldn’t possibly all be the same man!  Who would possibly forsake this man?  What had Papa said this morning about Lady Grey’s dire warning?  If this Exquisite—and surely he was that—and societies daughters were seen together you may rest assured scandal would follow.  Scandal would certainly have followed two years ago if anyone had seen them.

            He looked up.  “Was that a gasp of recognition?  Perhaps in name only?  For surely I would not have forgotten meeting you, Miss Clermont.”      

He didn’t remember her then.  “Only that you, too, were mentioned in Lady Grey’s pages today.”

            Standing straight, he nodded.  “Yes, I believe so.”

            “So you know what it is like being at the other end of her wicked quill.  Fairytales and falsehoods made to entertain.”

            He cocked his head to the side.  “No truth involved then?”

            What did he mean by that?  Had he been jilted?  Or was scandal certain to follow in his wake?  Perhaps both?

            She viewed him openly while he stood before her.  His muscled body was clearly defined under the impeccably tailored clothes he wore.  The imprint of his embrace was still seared around her waist.  The heat from his touch had radiated through her riding habit, singeing her skin beneath.  She knew what that touch felt like.  He had reawakened a passion she thought had been lost two years ago on a cold February night.  The thought caused her to inwardly quiver.  She licked her lips. 

            Her reaction seemed to entertain him, but a hard, cold-eyed smile settled on his face.  “Shall I turn around?”

            In bewilderment, Charlotte caught his eye. 

            “I thought perhaps you would like to continue your appraisal from the other side.”

            The heat crept up her neck into her cheeks. 

            “Do I meet your expectations, Miss Clermont?” 

Although his tone was polite, she detected a cynicism in his voice.

 “Expectations?”

            “Oh come now, Miss Clermont.  Certainly we can stop the charade.”

            Completely baffled, she stared at him. “Pardon?”

            “You were looking me over like a starving man sitting down to a ten-course dinner.”

            “You arrogant–”  Her sense of propriety crushed the scorching expletive that sprang to her lips.  Lifting her chin, she bluntly met his stony gaze.  How could she deny it?  She had looked him over as if she would like to devour him.  Her cheeks were on fire.  “My apologies for troubling you, my lord,” she said with effortless grace.  

            She stumbled to her feet, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.  But before she could take more than a couple of wobbly steps, his fingers gripped her arm with tender dominance.  He pulled her back to her stone perch.

            “Please, let me look at your ankle.”

            Although she unfolded her injured foot from beneath her skirt and extended it toward him, she was wary.  He knelt on bended knee before her and gently removed her sodden, muddied boot.

            He examined the limb.  “Nothing is broken.  Only badly bruised, but you will need to rest it.”

            She watched in silence while he rose to his feet.  The knees of his trousers were damp with mud.

            “I’ll gather the horses and see you home.”

            “No need to bother, my lord.  If you can assist me into the saddle—”

            “No bother, I assure you,” he interrupted.  Turning, he tucked the soft, fawn silk boot between his shirt and waistcoat and stepped toward the horses.  He walked back to where Charlotte waited, leading their mounts.  He lifted her easily into her sidesaddle.  “Are you quite sure you will be able to stay in the saddle?”

            She stiffened slightly at his words.

            “Perhaps I should clear a path for you?”  There was a trace of laughter in his voice.  “Or better yet, tie you on?”

            Charlotte was so angry she could barely speak.  “Lord Sinclair, I believe you are the most odious man I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”  And the only one whose touch I hunger for, she thought.  “Please rest assured that if I feel the need of a second rescue, I will be certain to steer clear of you before flinging myself to the ground.”

            His left eyebrow rose in surprise, but his face split into a wide grin.  “Indeed?” 

“Nevertheless, please don’t trouble yourself over me.”  Charlotte wanted to snatch the leather straps from his hands and gallop away.  She reached for the reins, causing Lady Prissy to skitter.  Without control she began to slip, her hands clutching at the open air.  Quickly, she grasped for the edges of the saddle righting her balance.  “If you are planning to lead my horse all the way, perhaps you should tie me down,” she said, with mutiny. 

            A deep, mellow chuckle answered the crushing look she sent him.  He held the reins out toward her, his hand closing over hers when she reached for them.  “I can assure you, Miss Clermont, you wouldn’t get very far.  I am an excellent horseman.”

            She jerked the straps from his grasp.  “As am I, my lord.”

            He swung himself onto his mount.  “Yes, I believe I have just witnessed your expertise.”