The soft nicker of a horse behind him urged him to turn around. His gaze moved upward from the snow-covered ground, following the lines of a massive horse. His mouth fell open as he perused long, shapely legs encased in breeches, a slim torso framed by a spread cloak, stunning green eyes, and rich crimson hair. He gaped, at a loss for words, deciding he would’ve been better off avoiding the blasted tea, because it certainly couldn’t be a woman who sat astride the hulking beast. And wearing breeches no less!

“My lord,” the fantastic vision murmured from her high perch. And it was a her. No man could bear that beautiful face or stunning, feminine bedroom voice. A voice that curled around him in the deepening dusk and heated his blood.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“You are . . . ?” he growled rudely. Hugh knew he was suffering from a deplorable lack of social grace, but truly, there were only so many bizarre things a person should be expected to tolerate in one day, and since this afternoon, he’d had more than his share.

“Charlotte,” she replied as if that were explanation enough.

“Right.”

He frowned, his gaze narrowing as it raked her lithe form for the second time. Her manly attire delineated every soft curve of her legs. The cropped, form-fitting riding jacket, though somewhat out of date, showcased firm, high breasts and a trim waist. Impossibly he felt overheated again, although just moments before he’d been shivering. He studied her intently, noting her perfect posture and uplifted chin. “What are you attempting to do out here in this miserable weather?”

“I’m here to assist you, my lord.”

“Right.” He should argue further, and would, as soon as his brain was working again. At the moment it was completely occupied with the stunning redhead in breeches, leaving not one thought process free to refuse her.

Charlotte was not young, nor was she old. Five and twenty would be his guess. She was a classic beauty, with skin as clear as the finest porcelain. Her mouth was wide—too wide, some would say—and her lips full and carnal in their plumpness. She had lovely clear green eyes, and they met his with an easy forthrightness he admired.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The infinitely kissable mouth curled in a smile, and his gut tightened. A few moments ago he would have been alarmed. Now he was merely resigned. Apparently, he was getting aroused by all of the female inhabitants of the area.

“I thought we resolved that already,” she murmured, her throaty voice threatening to shove him over the precipice of aroused into thoroughly erected.

“A servant?”

“Hmm . . . More of a companion. I’ve been asked to accompany you.”

“For what purpose?” he scoffed. “I must make haste if I’ve any hope of reaching the next posting inn.”

“It’s already too late for that, my lord. You’ll have to remain here for tonight at least, perhaps even until the storm blows over, if it’s as wicked as the skies herald.” She chuckled, and his cock twitched.

“Hell and damnation!” It had been years since he’d been troubled by an unwanted cockstand, yet this unusual female had him throbbing in his trousers with a simple bout of amusement.

Her eyes widened at his curse.

“My apologies,” he corrected quickly. “My manners seem to have flown.” Along with the common sense of every individual he’d had the misfortune of meeting today. “I cannot possibly remain here overnight.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” he repeated.

“That is what I inquired,” she said dryly. “Why can you not stay?”

“There’s no room, for one,” he pointed out.

“There’s plenty of room. The manse is quite vast.”

He scowled. “How much of it is inhabitable?”

Charlotte laughed. And Hugh was captivated. He decided in that moment he would have her, and suddenly the storm he had cursed mere moments before became a blessing. It would trap them together, giving him the opportunity to seduce her into his bed. His mood brightened. Unlike the rest of his life, he made no stumbles in the bedroom.

“Oh, my lord. Don’t be fooled by the apparent neglect. There are several available rooms, all clean and ready for guests.”

He arched a brow.

“Truly.” She flicked the reins with casual ease, and the huge brute of an animal moved toward the lopsided gate. “We should make haste.”

“What exactly can you offer in the way of assistance?” he asked, vaulting onto the driver’s seat of the cart, while the two young men jumped into the back.

She patted the bulging saddlebag he’d been too distracted to notice before. “I heard your footman has a broken arm. I can set it and tend to him, while you attend to your carriage.”

Hugh nodded, resigned. It would save time, and if she couldn’t help John, at least she’d be pleasing to the eye in the meantime. Damned if the sight of her in those breeches didn’t make every thought leave a man’s head.

He urged the horses forward, and she moved aside to allow him to lead.

Charlotte’s hands were quite literally shaking on the reins.

She’d never been studied in such a manner in her life, in a way that made her skin hot and her palms itch. She was no ingenue—her attractiveness had been the backbone of her existence for many years. But it had been a novel experience to be raked by Montrose’s warm brown eyes. She felt looked at, truly seen, for the first time in years.

At first glance he appeared nonchalant, but she wasn’t fooled. He’d perused her in detail, and liked what he saw. It had been thrilling. Arousing. And she wanted the handsome earl, who was an obvious libertine, to strip her with his eyes again.

Charlotte had hoped he would be fine of face, but the reality was far more devastating than she had imagined. He exhibited none of the signs of ennui and dissolution common to men with a marked predilection to excess. Montrose was, in fact, youthful and quite fit. More than fit. Vigorous, actually, and virile. Potently virile.

His mode of dress was understated, almost reserved, which suited him because his physical beauty alone was attractive enough. Any further adornment would simply be too much.

There were varying forms of male arrogance: the arrogance of wealth and privilege, the arrogance of intelligence, and the arrogance of attractiveness. The Earl of Montrose bore all of those traits, and a little bit more. The intensity of his stare, the way his hands had tightened the harnesses, the leisurely, seductive grace with which he moved—it all betrayed him. A man that comfortable in his own skin would know all about sexual pleasure and wouldn’t doubt his ability to bestow it. He was a man who fucked often and well. A man few women could resist.

Charlotte watched him closely as they left the grounds and moved onto the snow-covered lane, noting the easy expertise with which he held the ribbons. She was a woman who appreciated men who had a way with horses, because she liked them so well herself. Quite frankly, she respected men who took the time to become experts in the things that interested them. And Montrose was just such a man.

Glancing up, she noted the rapidly darkening sky. Yes, he would definitely be spending the evening with them, and if the turbulent wind was any indication, he might be staying much longer than that. Blizzards could sometimes last for days, with the roads being impassable for weeks after they passed.

She would have to be careful or he could learn more about them than she wanted him to. She would have to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t sneak around in his boredom.

And she liked that idea far more than she should.

Chapter Two

“Will he recover?”

Hugh glanced over his shoulder and found the lovely Charlotte lounging against the stall door. “I expect so. A minor sprain, I think.”

Returning his attention to the task at hand, he continued to apply salve to the scraped and swollen front legs of one of his carriage bays. Unlike the main house, the stable was warm, well tended, and in excellent shape, a fact that didn’t surprise him at all.

“Allow me to have a look,” she murmured, coming toward him.

In the tight confines of the stable stall, there was no room to avoid her. She squeezed in between where he knelt and the front of his horse, her breeches stretching deliciously over a lush derriere. Hugh’s mouth dried at the sight, his entire body hardening as her scent, a soft mix of flowers, enveloped his senses.

“I agree.” Her tiny hands soothed over the raw scrapes, and the animal breathed a soft whinny. Watching the caressing strokes of Charlotte’s hands, Hugh swallowed hard. It was a common enough task she was performing, and yet his interest in her was so unusually strong, it made the everyday action startlingly erotic.

Earlier, while struggling to remove his trunks from the disabled carriage, Hugh’s gaze had continuously strayed to the beautiful redhead as she set his footman’s broken arm and tended to his abrasions. There was a quiet confidence to her deportment and an unflappable air of control that he admired. He’d struggled most of his life to find that sort of confidence in himself, but to Charlotte it seemed innate.

Most women of his acquaintance would have been no assistance at all, but Charlotte had been invaluable. With her help they’d finished quickly and returned to the Kent estate with barely a moment to spare. Outside the wind howled and blew around with such force it was hard to see. Even now, her gorgeous red locks were dampening, the snow in them melting in the warmth of the stable.

“You shouldn’t have ventured out here,” he said.

“I wanted to be certain you found the salve.” Still crouched, she turned to face him, bringing her ripe mouth within inches of his own. Across her nose was a light dusting of freckles, the bane of most women’s existence, but a trait he’d always found charming.

Hugh studied her with a frown, trying to reason out why he found her so desirable. Charlotte was beautiful, yes, but no more so than he was accustomed to. The revealing breeches could have much to do with his constant state of arousal, although he’d never before considered men’s clothing particularly enticing. Of course his brother-in-law would beg to differ.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

She arched a brow. “I told you—”

“No. Not here in the stables, here in Derbyshire.”

Charlotte sat and crossed her legs. Hugh did the same.

“I grew up here. I left for a while and then returned.”

“Your family is here?”

Hugh reached for a nearby towel and rubbed the salve from his palms. Then he picked up her hands and cleaned them as well, taking note of the calluses and ink stains that marred her fingers. The nails were trimmed to the quick, neat and without vanity, similar to the way she comported herself.

“No,” she murmured, a bit breathless. “I have no family.”

Finished with the cloth, he set it aside, but kept her hands within his. She didn’t protest, for which he was grateful. He enjoyed touching her, relishing the way it made his entire body prickle with a singular sensual awareness.

“Tell me about the duchess.”

If he hadn’t been holding her hand, he wouldn’t have known she tensed at his query. Her adeptness at hiding her feelings intrigued him. She was too young to be so expert at evasiveness.

“What would you like to know?” she asked, looking away.

He snorted. “What wouldn’t I like to know? Is she mad, like they say? Does she mistreat you? Why does she live like this? The horses live better than you. Why—”

Charlotte covered his mouth with her hand. “No, no, and she doesn’t have any other choice.” She stood and tugged at their joined hands. He rose to his feet.

“Allow me to show you to your rooms, my lord. You’ll see things are not so dreary as they appear at first glance.”

“You’re avoiding my questions.”

She smiled, a potent mixture of sweetness and allure, and his stomach clenched in response. “Not so,” she assured him, releasing his hand. “I simply want to answer some of your questions without words.”

There was a bit of promise in the sparkle of her eyes, a hint that told Hugh she found him attractive. He was glad of that, for it made his goal much easier to attain. It was bloody freezing outside, and he’d be trapped here for days. The time would best be spent in bed with a lovely companion, and he wanted Charlotte with a sharpness he’d not experienced in a very long time, if ever.

Hugh stepped closer, gauging her reaction, and smiled when she stood her ground, her emerald gaze neither frightened nor wary. “I thank you for your help today,” he murmured, reaching for her hand.

She lifted hers to meet his, startling him. “It was nothing.”

“It was wonderful. The way you handled James’s injuries and set his broken bone . . . I don’t know that I could have done it.” He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and felt her shiver.

“You might be surprised at the things you can accomplish when the need is dire enough.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.”

“Perhaps.” Charlotte tilted her head and frowned, studying him with a far-too-perceptive gaze. “And you?”

He shrugged. “I never seem to reach the dire point,” he confessed, attempting to make the words light but failing miserably. “I’m always rescued before it progresses that far.”

Her grasp tightened, giving him a comforting squeeze. “I think you did well enough today, barging into the house and cornering Her Grace. There was no one to rescue you or your servants, yet you managed quite nicely on your own.”

Hugh’s eyebrows rose.

Charlotte touched his mouth where he was attempting to curb a smile and said softly, “I am a very good judge of character, my lord, but I misjudged you.”

“Oh? In what way?”

Her smile matched his. “I was very impressed with you today. Earlier, I wouldn’t have thought you’d need to hear that. But apparently you do.”