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If there had been the slightest chance of a warm dry spot anywhere close, he would have pulled her close and devoured that delicious mouth. A pang seized his heart. Sweetly painful.

Another cold splat hit his cheek and brought him to his senses.

‘Hurry up,’ he said, his voice strangely rough. ‘Before we get soaked and you catch an ague.’ He took her hand and urged her forward, to the house. As they ran, the dog circled them, barking excitedly.

‘Foolish animal,’ she said, breathless and laughing.

He, Damian, was the foolish one. He wanted more of this.

But that wasn’t the plan.

They entered through the side door and discarded their outer layers and boots in the mud room while the dog remained outside, whining and yapping his disapproval at their disappearance.

Damian carried the basket through to the kitchen and set it on the table.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the vision of her glowing from exertion, windblown, and damp tendrils of hair clinging to her cheeks, robbed him of speech.

They stared at each other silently. The air tingled with unspoken longing. Not something he had ever experienced.

The dog scratched at the outside door. Dammit it.

‘I better...’ ‘You better...’ they said at the same moment and laughed.

‘I will see to the dog,’ he said. ‘I am looking forward to our dinner.’

‘Six o’clock,’ she said, smiling.

His heart felt the warmth of that smile all the way to the stables. He didn’t even care that the dog almost tripped him up twice.

It seemed he had reached a new understanding with Mrs Lamb and now he must use it to his advantage.

A pang of regret slid down his spine.

No. He regretted nothing. From here on, everything would go according to plan—as long as he remained in control.

Chapter Seven

Safe in her own room, Pamela unpinned her hair and set to work drying it with a towel. Inside, she was shaking. Mortified.

Alan had been right when he said there was something wrong with her. He’d been shocked at what he called her lasciviousness. He said her carnal appetites went far beyond what he would have expected from a lady. And this, after they had engaged in what she had thought was the most wonderous feelings she had ever experienced.

She recalled how in the throes of passions she had taken control of their lovemaking, rolling on top of him and...

She cut the thoughts off.

Terrified that he would not want to marry her, if he found her too unbridled, after that she had tried to restrain her unnatural passion, to be less responsive and more ladylike.

And now she had done it again. She had kissed Damian. The sensation of the brush of his warm firm lips against her skin remained like an indelible imprint.

On her lips. Humming in her body... Reminding her...

How could she feel so much when all he had done was kiss her cheek?

She went hot, then cold at the recollection of his look of shock and the way the atmosphere between them had turned awkward.

There really was something wrong with her. Some sort of aberration in her nature. Other women—other ladies, she corrected—did not rouse the way she did when kissing. Alan had assured her of this.

She had tried her best to control these sensations, to conquer her unnatural yearnings, but as demonstrated in those few moments with Damian, she had failed miserably.