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suitable connection for Sophy would have been in their best interests
    as well as everyone else's. Without a respectable marriage settlement to fill
    the family coffers there was little hope of a pension for aging servants.
    No one in the household could be expected to understand Sophy's staunch refusal
    of Ravenwood's offer. Rumors, gossip, and grim tales aside, the man was, after
    all, an Earl—a wealthy and powerful one at that. He owned most of the
    surrounding neighborhood there in Hampshire as well as two other smaller estates
    in neighboring counties. He also had an elegant house in London.
    As far as the local people were concerned, Ravenwood ran his lands well and was
    fair with his tenants and servants. That was all that truly mattered in the
    country. Those who were dependent on the Earl and who were careful not to cross
    him enjoyed a comfortable living.
    Ravenwood had his faults, everyone agreed, but he took care of the land and the
    people on it. He may have murdered his wife but he had refrained from doing
    anything truly heinous such as throwing away his entire inheritance in a London
    gaming hell.
    The local people could afford to be charitable toward Ravenwood, Sophy thought.
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    They were not faced with the prospect of marriage to him.
    Sophy's glance was drawn, as it always was on this path, to the dark, cold
    waters of Ravenwood Pond as it came into sight through the trees. Here and there
    small crusts of ice dotted the surface of the deep pool. There was little snow
    left on the ground but the chill of winter was still very much in the air. Sophy
    shivered and Dancer nickered inquiringly.
    Sophy leaned forward to pat the horse's neck reassuringly but her hand froze
    abruptly in midair. An icy breeze rustled the branches overhead. Sophy shivered
    again, but this time she knew it was not the chill of the early spring afternoon
    that was affecting her. She straightened in the saddle as she caught sight of
    the man on the midnight black stallion coming toward her through a grove of bare
    trees. Her pulse quickened as it always did in Ravenwood's presence.
    Belatedly Sophy told herself she ought to have immediately recognized the little
    frisson of awareness that had gone through her a moment earlier. After all, a
    part of her had been in love with this man since she was eighteen.
    That was the year she had first been introduced to the
    Earl of Ravenwood. He, of course, probably did not even remember the occasion.
    He'd had eyes only for his beautiful, mesmerizing, witchy Elizabeth.
    Sophy knew that her initial feelings for the wealthy Earl of Ravenwood had no
    doubt begun as little more than a young woman's natural infatuation with the
    first man who had captured her imagination. But that infatuation had not died a
    natural death, not even when she had accepted the obvious fact that she stood no
    chance of gaining his attention. Over the years infatuation had matured into
    something deeper and more abiding.
    Sophy had been drawn to the quiet power and the innate pride and integrity she
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    sensed in Ravenwood. In the realm of her most secret dreams she thought of him
    as noble in a way that had nothing to do with his inherited title.
    When the dazzling Elizabeth had succeeded in turning the fascination Ravenwood
    felt for her into raw pain and savage rage, Sophy had wanted to offer comfort
    and understanding. But the Earl had been beyond either. He had sought his solace
    for a time on the Continent waging war under Wellington.
    When he had returned, it was obvious that the Earl's emotions had long since
    retreated to a cold, distant place somewhere inside himself. Now any passion or
    warmth Ravenwood was capable of feeling appeared to be reserved for his land.
    The black suited him well, Sophy decided. She had heard the stallion was called
    Angel, and she