I sat there for a full five minutes, staring at him in silent shock, wondering if I'd heard right. Finally, Mr Ambrose pulled out his pocket watch, let it snap open and gazed at the clock face.

'Will this hibernation take long, Miss Linton? We have to get going if we want to reach the inn halfway between here and Gretna Green before sundown.'

Slowly, very slowly, I opened the mouth that didn't feel like mine right now. 'Marriage?'

The word echoed as if someone else had spoken it on another world, millions of miles away. It couldn't actually apply to this place. To us. To me.

'Matrimony, Miss Linton. Also known as wedlock. A common social custom in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, if I'm not mistaken.'

His words helped me shake off some of the shock.

'I'm not going to marry you!'

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally.

'No?'

'No, Sir! Most definitely absolutely a hundred and twenty per cent no!'

If I had expected a reply along the lines of 'Argh, argh! How could you? You have shattered my heart! I shall live the rest of my life in hermitage in the woods and pine for you among the pines!' I would have been severely disappointed. Mr Rikkard Ambrose was no Romeo or Tristan. He simply steepled his fingers and regarded me over their tips with icy concentration. When he spoke, his voice was as cool and composed as ever, and ten times as implacable.

'Wrong.'

I blinked. 'Did you just tell me that I was wrong?'

'Indeed.'

'Fascinating. So you know more about what I'm going to do than I do, Sir?'

'Likely, since the same is the case with most subjects, Miss Linton.'

My hands clenched into fists. All right...if he had been planning to get on the top ten of most ruthlessly chauvinist proposals, he was off to a good start.

'Why on earth would I want to marry you?' I growled.

Maybe because you love him, Lilly? a little voice inside suggested.

True. But he didn't know that yet. And if he stayed on this course, hell would freeze over before I'd tell him!

'Why wouldn't you?' He cocked his head quizzically, as if any woman on the street would instantly be willing to marry him.

Which was probably true. Damn!

'Well, for starters,' I ground out between clenched teeth, 'you haven't even asked me!'

'And I'm not going to.'

'What?'

Dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into me with a force that could make a king's knees buckle. 'Why ask when I already know it's going to happen?'

The bloody arrogant son of a...! How dare he! How dare he...

...be right?

No! I told my inner voice. Shut up! He's not right! He's not!

I wasn't going to marry anyone. Never! Husbands had complete power over their wives. Power the like of which tyrants only dreamed of. Images flashed through my mind of countless reports I'd read, stories I'd heard from my friends, of women being dominated, tyrannised or even beaten by the men they had bound themselves to. I clenched my teeth. Not that I believed Mr Ambrose would ever raise a hand to me. But dominate and tyrannise? Hell, yes! That was his favourite pastime!

Well, but if he's doing it already, why not make it official?

Shut up! I snapped at that annoying inner voice of mine as, for just a moment, the gruesome pictures of newspaper headlines were replaced with an image of Mr Ambrose's hand in mine. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Slowly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose rose from behind the table and started to stalk towards me.

'Why?' he demanded.

'Why what?'

'Don't play dumb with me, Miss Linton. Why won't you marry me?'

'What does it matter? I simply won't! The reasons are of no importance!'

'Oh yes, they are! A no is just a problem to be solved. Tell me!'

His command slammed down on me with all the cold force of his voice – the powerful voice of a man who knew how to make men obey.

Well...how fortunate for me that I wasn't a man, then.

'No!'

He took another step closer. His eyes roamed my face, searching for clues with perfect attention to detail.

'You're afraid.'

Crap!

'No, I'm not!'

Another step closer. He had almost reached me when suddenly he veered sideways and began to circle me. I felt like a shipment of prized goods being evaluated for purchase, or a company analysed before the big takeover. Well...maybe, to him, I was.

'What are you afraid of, Miss Linton?' his whisper came from behind me, cool and in control of everything. In spite of this, no, because of it, it was the most seductive thing I'd ever heard. 'Just tell me. Problems exist to be solved. Let me solve yours. Marry me.'

'Marriage is the problem!' I snapped. 'I will never marry!'

'So...' He appeared in front of me again, his dark eyes glittering with knowledge. Knowledge is Power is Time is Money. His words echoed in my mind as I stared up at him, unable to break his gaze. 'It's not marriage to me you object to. It's marriage on principle.'

Bloody hell, he was quick! Why did I have to fall in love with someone who wasn't just too smart for his own good, but mine as well?

Hard hands slammed into the chaise longue on either side of me, caging me in. Leaning down, Rikkard Ambrose brought his perfect, chiselled face within a few inches of mine.

'Marry. Me.'

'No!' Quickly, I ducked under his arm and jumped to my feet. Taking a few hasty steps backward, I threw my arms into the air. 'Why would you want to marry me, anyway?'

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. 'Humility? From you?'

'Ha! You wish!' My eyes narrowed as well. And not just a bit. 'I know that I'm fantabulous. I'm just not sure why you would agree. Knowledge is Power is Time is Money, remember? A marriage with me won't bring you power or money, that's for sure. And I'll probably take up lots of your time, particularly at night!'

'Miss Linton!'

'That leaves knowledge.' I took a step forward, one corner of my mouth curving up. 'Is that it? Would you like to know me, Sir? In every sense of the word?'

The only warning I got was a growl an instant before he pounced on me. His fingers buried themselves in my hair and pulled me helplessly towards him. His mouth hit mine in an explosion of a kiss. A hard kiss. A dominant kiss. It proved every word I'd thought and spoken. And still...I couldn't stop. We kissed and kissed and kissed until the world was sparkling with imaginary stars and the blood was burning in my veins.

When we finally broke apart, my knees felt weak and I had to cling on to him to remain upright.

'Why?' I demanded. 'Why me?'

His face was a mask of stone and ice. How could he look as cool and composed after a kiss like this?

Easily. By being Rikkard Ambrose.

'Why?' I repeated in a whisper.

'For simple reasons,' he told me, his voice just as cool and composed as his face. 'I had always planned to marry at some point in the future. Contrary to my preferences on the matter, I shall not live forever, and I need an heir to my fortune. You seem as capable of producing one as any other woman of marriageable age.'

Why, thank you for the compliment, Sir. You are too kind.

'Besides,' a muscle in his throat moved as he swallowed. 'After what I told you on the bridge...'

He left the sentence hanging in the air.

I promptly grabbed it and rammed it into the ground. 'You mean the fact that you love me?'

'Shh!' He let go of me as if I were on fire. Hurriedly taking a step back, he glanced around to see if anyone was in hearing range. 'Silence, Miss Linton!'

'What?' I blinked. 'You mean about the fact that you're in love with me?'

'I said silence!' Dear God, was it my imagination, or did Rikkard Ambrose actually look nervous? He did! Rushing to the door, he ripped it open, glanced outside and slammed it shut again. Was he checking for people listening at keyholes? Oh my Lord, this was too good! A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Capping my hands around my mouth, I took a deep, deep breath. 'Hello? Anyone around? Mr Rikkard Ambrose loves me! He is head over heels in love with me and wants to marry me! Anyone interested? He loooves me! Would anyone like details? No? Good, but I'll repeat it anyway just in case anyone hasn't heard yet! He loooommmph!'

A masculine hand slapped down across my mouth.

'Mmm! Mmmph!'

'Miss Linton,' he enquired in a very calm, very controlled voice. 'Do you know the meaning of the word "discreet"?'

When he carefully removed his hand from my mouth, I told him with a cheeky smile: 'Yes. It means "separate".'

Cold fire flashed in his eyes. 'You...! We'll be lucky if no one heard you.'

'Don't worry,' I reassured him. 'The walls of this house are at least as thick as your head.'

Sliding his grip from my mouth to my chin, he turned my head to face him. The cold fire was still burning bright there.

'I want you. I even...well, you remember what I said on the bridge.'

I batted my eyelashes at him. 'That you love me?'

'Do not push me, Miss Linton. Don't. Use. That. Word.'

His tone was such that, for once, I did as suggested.

'I want you,' he repeated. 'I even...care for you to some extent.'

Some extent my rosy smelling foot!

'So why not marry me? My offer is the best one you are ever likely to receive.'

Oh, thank you so much for pointing that out. That was really wonderful to hear.

'It would be useless to deny these facts,' he told me. 'Marriage is the logical conclusion. Once we are wed, you will belong to me fully and completely. I will owe you my protection, and you will owe me your love and obedience. It is the perfect agreement. Why will you not consent?'

I gazed up into his cold, calm, unbelievably beautiful face and wondered how a man this intelligent could be so dense.

'You just listed all the reasons,' I whispered. 'There's more to life than belonging to a man. I will not sign my freedom over to anyone – not even you.'

Especially not you. Because you're the one person that might be able to make me forget to regret.

His grip tightened. His eyes bored into me with renewed force, trying to subdue me with sheer force of will – and nearly succeeding. 'Marry me!'

I swallowed. I had to gather all my strength to squeeze out the one syllable that saved my life and chipped a tiny, but very important piece off my heart.

'No.'

Then, suddenly, a grin curved up one corner of my mouth. 'There's always an alternative, you know.'

He blinked. Mr Rikkard Ambrose actually blinked.

'Alternative?'

'Yes. We could try living in sin.'

Only on very few occasions had I been privileged enough to see something akin to a facial expression flicker over that stone mask he called his face. Never before had it been as sweet as this one.

'I beg your pardon, Miss Linton?'

'You have it,' I told him generously. 'So, would you like to take my clothes off now?'

The temperature in the in the room instantly shifted. But did it go up or down, or all over the place? I had no idea. His eyes were suddenly burning into mine in an entirely new way, and shivers were shooting up and down my spine. I was hot and cold and everything beyond, all at once. When his hands dug into my arms, pulling me hard against his chest, my breath hitched.

'Have you lost your mind, Miss Linton?'

'I don't know, Sir. Would you like me to check my pockets?'

His sea-coloured gaze devoured my eyes, my face, my entire body. 'I am a gentleman, Miss Linton. I have done many things in my life – fought, threatened, even killed when it was necessary. But never have I ever taken advantage of a woman.'

One corner of my mouth quirked up. 'Only because you thought it would be a waste of your precious time.'

'Well yes, but–'

'Thought as much.'

His grip tightened even more. For a moment, it became almost painful. Almost. 'My motivation is not the issue here!'

'Isn't it?' Slowly, I leaned toward him until my breath was skimming over his skin. I felt him stiffen under my hands. 'There's no need for promises or lifelong commitments. You want me. I want you, and have given up wondering why. Let's do this. Right here. Right now.'

'No. Marry me!'

'No. Seduce me!'

'That,' he ground out between clenched teeth,' is what you are doing to me, Miss Linton.'

'Oh? Well... I guess I am.' I grinned. 'Is it working?'

'No!'

'Too bad.' Riding up on my tiptoes, I brought my mouth to his throat, skimming my lips over his skin, up to his ear. 'Are you sure?'

A muscle in his jaw twitched with the effort to remain immobile. I kissed his neck, and his entire body shuddered. 'I. Am. A. Gentleman.'

'What,' I whispered, sliding one hand up to the top button of his tailcoat, 'if I don't want you gentle?'

Something snapped. Maybe something in him. Maybe something in both of us. In an instant, I was pushed back against the door, the hard surface heating beneath me. Grabbing my hands, Mr Ambrose slammed them against the wood.

'These are too dangerous to be allowed to roam free,' he growled.

Breathing heavily, I gazed up into his mesmerising eyes. 'I could say the same of you, Sir.'

'No, you couldn't.'

'Oh? Why not?'

'Because you can't say anything while I do this,' he told me, and claimed my mouth with a kiss. My knees buckled. If he hadn't been holding me upright, I would have fallen flat on my face. This was a kiss unlike any we had shared before. We had kissed with need; we had kissed with passion. We had even – when Mr Ambrose had temporarily taken leave of his senses – kissed with tenderness. But never ever before had he kissed me in a way that sent a message: you're mine. And it's only a matter of time before you realise that.

He tore his mouth away and stared at me, a cold ferocity in his face that made me shiver inside.

'Marry me.'

'No.' My eyes were just as fierce as his, and just as full of fiery need. 'I'm free, and that's how I'm going to remain! But...' Stretching up, I leaned into him, running my lips along his collarbone. '...that doesn't mean we can't finish what we started.'

His hands tightened around my wrists. 'Don't! Don't, I...'

'Just say yes,' I whispered. 'There's no need for a ceremony. Just you and me, and a few hours that will remain our little secret forever.'

Through my clothes and his, I could feel his heart pounding against me. He wanted this. Wanted me. Badly. I nearly had him. Rising up further, I skimmed my lips over his jaw, towards his mouth, and–

–and suddenly he was gone. I stumbled forward, barely able to keep standing. Blinking through a haze of need, I just saw the ends of his tailcoat disappearing through a door at the other end of the room. Then it slammed shut, leaving me alone.

He had run.

Mr Rikkard I-Can-Vanquish-Anything-Or-Anyone Ambrose had run from me, little nineteen-year-old feminist secretary me. Dear Lord. I wasn't quite sure whether I should feel angry at him or proud of myself. Panting, I leaned back against the door – just in time to have the doorknob jabbed into my generous derriere.

'Hello?' came Lady Samantha's worried voice from the other side. 'Hello, is someone in there? Miss Linton? Adaira? The door won't open! Is it jammed?'