When she had put down the candlestick on the dresser, Anne was shocked to discover her guest leaning indolently in the doorway, that smile still on his face but somewhat lazier and more narrow-eyed. The strangeness of the situation was borne in on her with more force than before. She was alone in a bedchamber with a strange and very masculine guest, and they were alone in the house and likely to be for the rest of the night. She stared at him. The impropriety of the request that she turn down his bedclothes for him at first paralyzed her, but he was an important man from a world that was strange to her. It was easier to comply than to take issue with the request. Anyway, she did not feel herself at all equipped to cross this man's will. She moved to the bed without a murmur and folded down the blankets and sheets.

Anne felt, more than heard, that he had come up behind her. She was frightened. Terrified, in fact. She found it difficult to draw breath. And then his arm came beneath her own and his fingers feathered across her breasts. His touch was light. She hardly felt it, but every nerve ending in her body shuddered to life. She should have whirled around and smacked his face hard. Some remote part of her mind even suggested that she do just that. She should have been very frightened; there was no possible way she could have avoided ravishment if such had been the stranger's intention. But she was no longer afraid. She turned to the man who had just reminded her in a flash, as she had not been reminded in years, that she was a woman with the need to be loved and wanted for herself.

She read curiosity and desire in his eyes before his mouth lowered to hers. And the woman in her came fully awake again after four years. She had not been kissed like this since Dennis had ridden off to war. In fact, she had not been kissed at all since that time. And Dennis had never kissed her like this, she thought with wonder as the viscount's mouth opened over hers and his tongue created wonderfully erotic sensations across her lips. Anne began to lose all touch with reality. This man wanted her, and he was making her feel desirable again. And she wanted him. She wanted more of his kisses, more of his touch. Her body tensed with a nervous excitement as he pressed it against his own. She was going to surrender to him, she realized with a kind of lassitude over which she had no control. The thought of resistance did not really enter her consciousness at all.

But suddenly his face was above hers and he was talking to her. She stared up at him, dazed.

"Have you not been touched before, Anne?" he had said.

"My lord?"

And then he spoke words that brought her jolting back to the full and horrible reality of her situation, to the degradation of what she was doing and about to do.

"Have you had no man inside you, girl?" he said.

The words shocked her so deeply that she completely lost all control over her reactions. His words meant the same as if he had asked her if she were a virgin. But they so graphically described what she had been about to do-with a complete stranger.

She hardly heard the gentle words of reassurance, hardly comprehended that she was not going to be taken by force. The only fact that she did realize finally was that he had stood aside and was indicating that he expected her to leave. Anne fled. And it was many hours before she fell into a Fitful sleep. Her mind wrestled with her emotions. She had behaved with shocking impropriety, her mind said. She had almost given herself to a man she had met only a few hours before, without even a struggle. Indeed, she would have done so had he not held back. She had been found desirable, her emotions said, and by a man who could surely have his pick of any of the most eligible ladies of the ton. She had been held and kissed and caressed until she had felt alive and feminine again. She almost wished that he had not stopped.

She did not know what the morning would bring. In all likelihood Viscount Merrick would leave as soon as the snow had melted enough to make the roads passable. She would never see him again. But surely he had given her the incentive she needed to come out of the sleep that had lasted far too long. She was a woman and still young. She could never be a beauty, but she could make herself at least passable if she lost weight and if she made an effort to dress and to style her hair more fashionably. Anne fell asleep, somewhat comforted by her resolve.

"I-I don't understand, my lord," Anne Parrish said. Her hands were unconsciously twisting the sides of her gray wool dress as she stared at the viscount's straight back.

Viscount Merrick was in the library, standing at the window. His back was to the room. He stared out at the snow that still blanketed the gardens outside, even though water was already dripping from the roof. He did not immediately answer her unstated query. Finally, he turned to face her, a smile on his rather white face.

"I meant just what I said, Miss Parrish," he said. "Have you never had an offer of marriage before? I would be honored if you will consent to become my wife. Is that clear enough for you? And will you, ma'am?"

Anne continued to stare. The words, though repeated, still refused to register themselves fully on her mind. Marriage! He was asking her to marry him. She had dreamed of such an ending the night before during several waking spells. How wonderful it would be, she had thought, to be swept off her feet by this very romantic and very handsome stranger, who was a viscount, no less. How marvelous it would be if he fell in love with her and took her away with him to the large home and estate she was sure he must own, and to London, where she would find herself in the middle of the life of the haut ton. She would lose weight and he would buy her fashionable clothes. Suddenly, under the influence of his love, she would no longer be shy, no longer tongue-tied in the company of strangers. She would be vivacious and dazzling. His friends and acquaintances would envy him and want to know where he had found such a treasure.

Anne had actually chuckled aloud at herself when the dreams reached the point at which she was chatting amiably to an admiring Prince Regent, who insisted that she sit at his right hand during a dinner in Carlton House because he found all his other guests such bores. It was all very well to be a dreamer; visions of romance could help make a very dull life more bearable. But it was another matter to attach those dreams to a very live man who happened to be sleeping in a room in one's own house and whom one had to meet again in the morning.

But this was not a dream. She was fully awake in the library, the most familiar room in the house. The logs were crackling in the fireplace. And the breathless nervousness she was feeling was not the sort of reaction that she ever felt in her dreams. In those, she was always very much in command of a situation. Viscount Merrick had asked her to marry him. She took a deep breath.

"I do not understand," she said again. "You do not know me, my lord."

He moved from the window and came to stand a few feet in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back. Anne was very much aware of his intensely blue eyes looking into hers. "Not very well, it is true," he agreed, "but I have seen enough to appreciate your hospitality and your kind heart. I believe we will deal well together. And I have your brother's permission to pay my addresses to you."

"Bruce?" she said, dazed. "You have asked Bruce?"

"Yes, indeed," he said, and smiled anew. "Did you believe I was asking you to run away to Gretna Green with me?"

"Oh, there would be no need," she said seriously, a split second before she realized that she was being teased. "I am of age, you know."