She struggled to sit upright, but when he refused to loosen his hold, she merely sighed, her breath sweet, brushed with cinnamon. “Every time Strathmore has a guest, I get mauled. I am damned tired of it.”

Devon’s lips twitched. The maid’s breath might be sweet, but her language was not. “If you don’t wish to be mauled, then perhaps you should try to be a little less tempting.”

“Tempting? Me?” Kat Macdonald blinked into the blue, blue eyes of her captor, fighting a losing battle to appear unaffected. Her mind whirled around the fact that the handsomest man she’d ever beheld had swept her into his lap and bestowed an expert, passionate kiss on her astounded lips. Then she’d had to fight the fact that her body had immediately softened, her heartbeat had tripled, her chest had tightened with an unfamiliar emotion.

It had been all she could do to appear bored, though she’d managed. It was the best way to depress unwanted attentions, something Kat excelled at. Something she was far too familiar with, as it was. But in a way, that was her own fault. She’d sold her reputation for something that had seemed far more important, only to discover that she’d been wrong, dead wrong. Now she was forced to deal with the repercussions of that decision, one made so hastily eight years ago.

He lifted a finger and traced the curve of her cheek, the touch bemusingly gentle. “You are a lush, tempting woman, my dear. And well you know it.”

Kat’s defenses trembled just the slightest bit. Bloody hell, how was she to fight her own treacherous body while the bounder—Devon something or another—tossed compliments at her with just enough sincerity to leave her breathless to hear more?

Of course, it was all practiced nonsense, she told herself firmly. She was anything but tempting. She looked well enough when she put some effort into it, but she was large and ungainly, and it was way too early in the morning for her to look anything other than pale. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, and she’d washed her hair last night and it had dried in a most unruly, puffy way that she absolutely detested. One side was definitely fuller than the other, and it disturbed her no end. Even worse, she was wearing one of her work gowns of plain gray wool, one that was far too tight about the shoulders and too loose about the waist. Thus, she was able to meet his gaze and say firmly, “I am not tempting.”