His voice startled her because it was deeper than she would have thought. Like a bear’s growl. In fact, he looked like a bear emerging from a winter’s sleep, she thought irrelevantly. Coming into the world and looking for a nice rabbit to eat.

She was not a rabbit for any man’s consumption. She had no need of a husband, and no desire for a lover either. Still less did she want to nurture a flock of motherless children, no matter how sad that was.

Given that her own cousin thought of her as a baker, people would know exactly why he was courting her—to turn her into a glorified governess.

“Excuse me,” she said, allowing impatience to leak into her voice. Then she gently pulled her arm from his grasp and walked away.

Behind her, a moment of silence.

And then, to her horror, a shout of laughter.

Chapter Three

She was a delight. Hugo’s heart was pounding in his chest in a way it hadn’t for years.

Nineteen years, to be exact.

When he had walked into a drawing room in Windsor Castle and had seen Marie being fanned by a couple of impertinent puppies babbling nonsense and making her laugh. His future wife, his first wife, had been reclining on a sofa, a perfect lady from the tips of her scarlet shoes to the top of her extravagant, pearl-bedecked hair.

Marie was the one young lady whom every bachelor in London—and most of the married men as well—wanted for his own. She was a minx who delighted in every flirtatious glance and trill of laughter.

Remembering her made Hugo feel a nostalgic flash of love for those heady days. He had known from the moment he entered that room that he had to have her.

This lady was Marie’s opposite. She didn’t look as if she indulged in flirtations. No, she looked fierce, like a warrior, a curvy, beautiful warrior blessed with masses of red hair. She’d powdered it as fashion demanded, but only lightly.

He made his way over to the woman who had been accompanying the lady before she ran out the door as if the Hounds of Hell were after her. “Who is she?” he asked, without preamble.

A hint of defiance showed in the woman’s eyes. “Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a curtsy.

For Christ’s sake. All the same, he bowed and then lifted her hand to his lips. “Good evening, my lady. I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage. I believe we haven’t met.”

“You are acquainted with my husband, Lord Penshallow,” she said.