Have You Any Rogues? Read Free Page A

the rest of her life basking in his admiring gaze. To be the spark that illuminated such a passionate glow.
    To her amazement, he seemed caught in the same spell, gazing down at her with a mixture of awe and amazement on his face, as if she were suddenly the nymph he’d called her earlier.
    And she wasn’t wrong about that.
    “Well, I seem to have found my very own Calypso,” he teased as he looked her up and down, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of her hair back up into her bonnet.
    “I’m hardly—” she protested, trying at the same time to breathe.
    Not that she had much of a chance to say anything more, not when he stopped her by putting a finger to her lips. “That and more.”
    Henrietta drew a steadying breath, undone by the magic that was his touch.
    “How is it that you, O Goddess, came to be lost in my woods?” he said quietly, as if his words might frighten her to take flight into the nearest glen. His finger moved from her lips to curve under her chin and tip her head toward him, even as he dipped down closer to her.
    Whatever am I supposed to do? Hen thought in a new sort of panic. He meant to kiss her.
    Right here, right now. Oh, it was beyond ruinous.
    Her heart did another of those galloping leaps of terror, for she’d never been kissed.
    And worst of all? She wanted him to.
    Very much so. Her hand rose up and her fingers touched the stubble on his jaw, grazing over the rough edges as she marveled at his ragged appearance.
    She’d never seen a gentleman in such a state—a plain jacket, worn breeches, scuffed boots. In the world of London, he would be considered undressed. Unsuited. Alarmingly gauche.
    Henrietta found him utterly desirable.
    He smiled at her innocent exploration, caught her hand and held it to his cheek, even as he bent down to kiss her. His lips curved into a tantalizing smile, one of conquest won, and filled with the thrill of discovery.
    She was his. That’s what the wry curve of his lips said all too clearly.
    His .
    That single word sparked an altogether different awakening inside her. What had he said earlier?
    His woods.
    How could that be? The only property that abutted Owle Park belonged to . . .
    Henrietta’s mouth fell open. Which was probably both unsightly and definitely not the proper pose for a lady about to be kissed.
    “Your woods ?” she managed. “No, this is—” And then she stopped and looked at him again.
    “Henrietta? Henrietta, where are you?” Her father’s deep commanding voice rang through the trees.
    This was followed by the estate steward’s cry, “My lady? Lady Henrietta?”
    The man before her stilled.
    There they stood, his lips so very close to hers, his breath mingling over her as if in tantalizing whispers that had only added to her desire.
    Then came that fateful question. “Who the devil are you?”
    But they both knew the answer to that, even as Henrietta knew without a doubt who he was.
    “No,” she whispered. “Say it isn’t true.”
    But it was. They both knew it, and he let go of her as if she suddenly burned, his features stricken.
    “Henrietta Seldon! Where are you?” her father bellowed, his voice growing closer.
    Not that it mattered, for Henrietta’s entire world was this little glen, where she stood facing her rescuer, her Lancelot. Or, as it turned out, her very own Romeo.
    For there it was, three hundred years of family animosity, a deep and binding feud that made them enemies, tore them apart before they’d even begun.
    Her vision narrowed until it seemed the circle of trees around them had turned into a whirl and she was trapped in the middle.
    Heaven’s sake, her heart was. Turning, that is.
    As the crash through the woods announced the impending arrival of her father, the man before her bowed and went to the edge of the glen.
    There he paused and took one last look at her. “Go, my little Calypso,” he whispered, nodding in the direction of her father. And then he turned briskly, snapped his