Philomena felt a bubble of laughter. She fought to keep some semblance of dignity, but it was too late. Even biting her lips failed to prevent an answering smile. She knew her mouth was too wide and a row of white teeth must be visible, showing in a most unladylike way, but there was no stopping her laughter.

Lord Thatcham’s mirth died away. He regarded Philomena steadily, grey eyes dark as the infectious smile melted. The short hairs on the back of Philomena’s neck prickled. She gasped. Their eyes met and held.

Hugh took a step forward and took Philomena’s hand. “I beg your pardon. I also forget myself. Please forgive this unsuitable conduct. Very little time has passed since that sad accident. You must still, I have no doubt, suffer from its effects. Instead of allowing time for healing, I have behaved shamefully on several occasions, both yesterday and today. I am an unfeeling wretch and far too inclined to forget compassion and remember rank and fortune.”

As he bent towards Philomena, a sudden gust of wind blew a strand of fair hair across dark eyes. With a careless movement, Lord Thatcham swept it aside. Would that lock of hair feel as soft and silken to the touch as it appeared? Philomena’s hand moved. She clenched it against her breast. She could not speak.

“The evening approaches early at this time of year,” Lord Thatcham spoke as softly as a summer breeze. “We should follow Selena and John into the house to avoid the chill.”

Neither moved. They stood immobile, barely inches apart. Philomena’s breathing quickened. Her heart pounded. She was alone with this man. Lord Thatcham’s face, so close, made her pulses race. She had never known such desire. Her eyes travelled across every feature, as if she would learn it by heart. Strong, sharp planes angled below deep grey eyes. Lines ran from nose to mouth. Forbidding and frightening, Lord Thatcham fascinated her. Something seemed to melt inside. Philomena felt weak and her head swam.

A new light shone in the grey eyes as Lord Thatcham bent his head ever closer. She must move away. She begged her body to obey her. Instead, it leaned closer as though a magnet pulled the two together. She could not resist.

“Philomena,” Lord Thatcham murmured. “Is that name real? Who are you? What brought you here to make me—” He stopped abruptly and straightened a little, searching Philomena’s face. He lingered on the black curls, the blue eyes, and then his gaze slid down to rest on her mouth. His lips parted. “You are very beautiful.”

Philomena could not speak. Her body, responding to the hitherto unknown power of male magnetism, yearned for the first touch. Lord Thatcham’s breath escaped in a rough gasp. He surrounded her, his arms gentle, and eased her body forward until Philomena felt his heart beat in time with her own.