“Don’t you know that all’s fair in love and war?” he said, whispering the words one at a time, in between imprisoning my lips between his own. I felt the warmth of his body, pressing hard against me. Oh, God, I wanted him.

“Now, do you want me to kiss you or not?”

“All right, just shut up and kiss me,” I said and turned my face to him.

I was no longer conscious of time or space. When we broke apart we were both breathing very hard.

“Georgie,” he whispered, “is there somewhere we could go that’s a little more comfortable than a cold and drafty hallway?”

“There’s nowhere exactly comfortable in Castle Rannoch,” I said, “and the only place that could be described as warm is the linen cupboard. I used to curl up there with a book and a torch when I was a child.”

“The linen cupboard. Now that sounds intriguing.” He gave me what could be described as a challenging grin. “Do you think it’s large enough for two people?”

“Darcy!” I was half shocked, half excited.

“You could show me,” he whispered, pulling me close to him and nuzzling at my neck again. “Or surely Castle Rannoch must possess a famous bedroom in which Mary, Queen of Scots, was born or Saint Margaret died.”

I laughed uneasily, my sense of propriety fighting with my rising passion. “Neither. If you want to know, Castle Rannoch possesses the most uncomfortable beds in Scotland—probably in the civilized world.”

“It’s amazing that any Rannoch offspring were ever conceived then.”

“I was conceived in Monte Carlo,” I said. “I don’t know about Binky. I think Rannochs always go away to get that sort of thing done.”

“Then you’ll just have to show me the linen cupboard.” He slipped an arm around my waist, holding me very close to him as he steered me to the back stairs. We went up one flight, pausing for a couple of kisses along the way. My heart was really racing now. Darcy and I, alone together just as I had pictured it. I was not going to get cold feet this time!

We were just starting on the second flight of stairs when a piercing scream echoed through the castle. Then another. The screams were coming from the floor above us. We broke apart and rushed up the next flight of stairs, Darcy leading the way and taking the steps two at a time. Feet echoed below us as people came up the main staircase.

We were halfway up the second flight when we met the countess, staggering toward us, her face a mask of pure terror. “I saw her,” she gulped. “The White Lady of Rannoch! She came wafting down that hallway.”