He crowded her with his body. “I should have taken matters into my own hands from the first. Confound you, I could have closed down your bloody school anytime in the last six months, but I vowed to let you come to me of your own accord. No more!”

His arms forcibly drawing her into his embrace, Evan brought his lips crashing down on hers. Unprepared for his assault, Heather could only struggle impotently. She had been kissed only twice in her life, both times by young gentlemen her own age. Evan’s violence stunned and frightened her.

When at last he raised his head, still keeping her imprisoned, his dark eyes glittered with anger and something else she was woman enough to recognize as savage lust.

“There is a remedy for your reticence, my dear. One night in my bed, and you will be singing a far different tune. Your paragon will not want you then. No man wants damaged goods for his wife. I might not even have you then.”

Her heart leapt in fear at the look in his eyes. She tried again to pull away, but he was too strong for her, too fierce. “No … don’t!” When Evan bent to her again, she fought back a scream.

She tasted rage in his kiss, rage and ruthless determination. Her hands came up to pummel his chest futilely.

She was suffocating; she couldn’t breathe.

Through her daze, she heard a low warning growl, like that of a predatory animal.

Then suddenly Evan was no longer holding her.

“What the—” he uttered as he was wrenched off her.

Her release was so abrupt, Heather’s knees almost gave way. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched, stunned, as Evan was flung across the parlor to land face-first with a thud on the carpeted floor, barely missing the tea table.

Feeling faint, she clutched at the mantel to keep from falling. Evan rolled over and lay holding his jaw, staring up at his assailant.

Shaking, light-headed with relief, Heather shifted her gaze to her savior.

Her eyes went wide. It was he. The bold stranger who had rescued the runaway carriage in the street a short while earlier. He wore his hat now, and the dark brim shadowed his eyes as he stared down at Randolf.

“I believe the lady told you to let her go.”

“Who the devil are you?” Evan demanded.

The stranger tipped his hat back, his eyes as hard as ice. “The name’s McCord.” He shot a glance at Heather, who stood trembling, one hand still gripping the mantel. “I believe I’m the lady’s fiancé.”

Heather’s heart seemed to trip over itself.

Her future husband.

There was almost a visible force about him. He looked dangerous and intense as he gazed fixedly down at Randolf.