Now, she smoothed her hand over the fine gold silk of her gown and prayed that all would go according to plan. She intended to prevail upon her grandfather to allow her and Leo to live with him. She must not stay even one more night under the same roof as the Duke of Clayton.

The previous day’s incident had made it alarmingly clear how easily passion could spin out of control. She had believed herself to be strong and principled, capable of proper conduct with men. After all, she’d had considerable practice in her twenty-six years.

Yet she’d fallen straight into Hadrian’s arms.

She had been an enthusiastic participant in their torrid embrace, well nigh handing herself to him on a silver platter. Several times, he’d given her the opportunity to put a halt to their lusty encounter, most notably, when he’d left the bed to close the door. Instead, she had yielded to the wild beating of her blood, permitted him to reach beneath her skirts, and responded to his expert touch like a wicked wanton.

Even now, the memory of that splendid pleasure made her throb with the desire to experience it all over again. Every kiss, every whispered word, every alluring stroke of his fingers down there was branded in her memory. And how was she ever to forget that stunning burst of ecstasy?

She blushed at her wanton cravings. Although Hadrian had honored his promise to leave, the intensity of passion on his face had indicated a keen desire to stay. For a moment, she had sorely wanted to invite him to make love to her. But she knew a man of his rank would never offer her marriage—nor would she ever accept. The only other option was to become his mistress, and that was out of the question.

Therefore, the rational solution was to remove herself from Hadrian’s sphere. Then the siren call of temptation would be mitigated, and she could salvage her virtue before it was too late. Because if truth be told, she simply could not resist him. And if the prospect of departure hurt her heart, she would forget her longings eventually. He was an English duke and she was an American schoolteacher, and that made for an impossible situation.

On that dismal thought, Natalie felt the carriage begin to slow. She peered out to see a road lined by brick row houses. A group of boys playing a raucous game of ball almost knocked over an old woman, who shook her cane at them. Laundry flapped from the upper windows of several houses. The neighborhood was decidedly more rundown than the wealthy streets of Mayfair.

The carriage came to a halt, the footman opening the door and letting down the step before helping her disembark. She gazed up at the narrow house before her, noting how cramped and tiny it appeared, but she supposed anything would seem small compared to a ducal mansion. At least it looked tidier than the peeling paint and drying wash of the adjacent homes.