The red-gold hair…that lush rump. Was this what the arse of pure temptation looked like? It was certainly well rounded, he decided, cupping his hands at the approximate size of her cheeks. Lush. Sensual. Generous. Fleshy enough to make even his sleepy body stir to life. His manhood tightened in anticipation.

His curious gaze dropped lower. Her rump, in addition to being full and curved, was attached to a very long pair of legs. An instant image began to form in his mind—of the maid’s firm, well-fleshed body against his own, of holding that rump while those long legs clutched at his waist. Beneath the covers, his manhood hardened even more.

A warm smile crossed Devon’s face. This was something indeed! He’d gone to bed with the desire to pursue only the most ineligible women available, and then had awakened to find the perfect candidate within arm’s length—a simple housemaid with hair the color of fire and a rounded, curvaceous body. She was so unlike the sophisticated, petite women he’d pursued in the past that she could well be his salvation. He’d be so busy entertaining her in his bed that he’d have no thoughts of love or anything else, for that matter.

He eyed her with new appreciation, suddenly anxious to get through the awkward first moments. She was deliciously different from his usual flirts. Not only was she a good head taller, but she was also wider of shoulders and hips. Quite a magnificent specimen, if he said so himself. Better yet, he’d never bedded a woman with quite that shade of red-gold hair. All told, it would be a daring, exciting new experience.

“St. George’s dragon,” the woman muttered, her voice rich and husky, like the smoky roil of fog across a morning moor. She kicked the bandbox as if utterly disgusted before turning toward the door, her profile presented against the deep cherry wardrobe.

Devon was given a glimpse of a straight nose, full, sexy lips; and long lashes shadowing eyes of an indeterminate color. Well! This was looking better all the time.

Grinning, he pushed back the curtains. “Good morning, love.”

At the first rustle of the velvet, the woman whirled to face him. “Who are you?” Her brows snapped lower as she seemed to regain her breath. “And who let you in here?”

She didn’t have the rich brogue he’d expected. Indeed, her tone would not be amiss in London. But what really caught his attention was her eyes—a deep and verdant green, they sparkled angrily.

Devon took the time to collect himself. “I am a friend of Strathmore’s.”

She returned his look with a flat one of her own, completely unimpressed. “Does he know you are here?”

Devon shrugged. “I sent him a letter, though it seems he kept the information to himself. No one seemed to know I was to arrive.”

“And who are you?”