“Three.” She lifted her foot and swung it back, hard. There was a solid thunk as the heel of her boot hit his bare shin. His arms loosened instantly. Kat was on her feet and across the floor before her captor finished a rather colorful string of invectives.

Once she reached the door, she wasted no time hurrying out and slamming it behind her. Then she continued on her way down the steps, through the great hall, and out the door, where she hurried on to the stables.

She didn’t think Mr. Devon St. John would follow—he’d have to stop long enough to find some clothes. But still, her heart was pounding as if he were hard on her heels. And perhaps, in a way, he was.

Kat found the stables thankfully quiet. She hurried by the nearly empty stalls, the scent of hay and oats mingling in the cool air. She went straight to the tack room, where she locked the door and then stood with her back against it, fighting for breath and the return of her usual calm thinking.

In all the times she’d fended off the groping hands of Kilkairn guests, never had Kat allowed anyone to touch her, much less hold her in his arms and kiss her. This man had merely caught her by surprise with his soft words and smiling eyes. But now she’d be cautious around him; very cautious indeed.

Certainly Kat had never enjoyed the attentions of any of Malcolm’s other miscreant friends, yet this time she had to admit that she’d felt a definite trill of excitement. In fact, she’d felt many things while in Devon St. John’s arms, and none of them was safe.

That thought firmly in mind, she waited only until her breath returned to normal before leaving the tack room and finding her horse. Then she mounted and left, riding through the forest and hills as if the hounds of hell were indeed following her.

Chapter 3

I am not here to argue, sir. I am here to inform you of my wishes and to see to it that you consent in all matters forthwith.

Viscountess Mooreland to her mirror, practicing for an upcoming “conversation” with His Lordship regarding his wasteful gambling habits

The chit had kicked him. Hard. Devon’s temper went from amused interest to astonished outrage in the space of a few seconds, his irritation complete when she swept from the room in seemingly righteous indignation, slamming the door behind her.

All told, it was a new, and unpleasant, experience. Women rarely refused his requests for a dalliance and never bothered to kick him before leaving the room.