“Mrs. Berkley?” 

Elise turned to face a lean man a few years older than herself. “Lord Druesdale.” 

“Wonderful to see you after such a long time. You look lovely as ever.” He bent over her hand. 

“How kind of you to say.” 

“Druesdale, on the prowl already?” came a deep voice. 

Elise looked up into a pair of aqua eyes set in a handsome face. And caught her breath. Her heart stalled. 

The man she’d rescued from hanging—and who’d so boldly kissed her—grinned down at her. Drawing a shaky breath, she stepped back. 

His dark hair had been styled in the latest fashion; short at the sides and back, tousled and curly on top. She knew first-hand his waves were his own and not the result of a valet’s hot-iron. Meticulously dressed in a suit of superior quality, so unlike his attire in the woods at the time of the near hanging, he watched her, completely poised. All signs of the man struggling to draw his breath vanished. Even the bruises had faded. She wondered if his rope burns had healed or if they still marred his skin underneath his cravat. 

For an instant, she almost preferred the opened shirt. Then she flushed at her own brazenness. 

His eyes glinted as if her discomfort pleased him in an unwholesome way. She remembered the feel of his lips against hers. Her face flamed in embarrassment and in another, more secret fear. 

Lord Druesdale turned to the gentleman. “Whenever I have the attention of a beautiful lady, you always appear. I liked you better when you were abroad.” 

The newcomer chuckled without taking his eyes off Elise. She swallowed, reduced to a state of speechlessness under this handsome, virile man’s stare. 

Lord Druesdale cleared his throat. “Mrs. Berkley, may I present the Honorable—” he coughed delicately, as if he found the term amusing “—Jared Amesbury.”  

Ah. So this was Jared Amesbury. Elise found it difficult to believe that the man she had saved from near death could be the same respectable gentleman of whom Lily Standwich had spoken so fondly. The knowledge left her with more questions than answers. 

Mr. Amesbury’s teeth flashed white in the dim light. “Mrs. Berkley.” He looked far too pleased. 

“Mr. Amesbury.” Her cool tone should have discouraged him, but his grin widened. 

Appallingly flustered, she almost refused his offered hand but relented to avoid making a scene. He kissed the back of her gloved hand, and when he straightened, his fingers remained closed over hers a second longer than they ought. She remembered his touch without the protection of her gloves, and the warmth that contact had invoked. Her face burned. She hoped the garden’s darkness would shield her expression. 

“Lord Druesdale, may I have a word?” someone outside her line of sight called. The lord scowled at Mr. Amesbury as if he had designed this need for his absence, and bowed to Elise. “Forgive me, Mrs. Berkley, I appear to be wanted. I hope to see you again shortly.” He shot Mr. Amesbury an indecipherable look and moved away. 

Mr. Amesbury moved closer to Elise. Her heart pounded as he neared. His smile turned smug as if he knew her thoughts. 

“Despite your earlier refusal, I’m glad to finally learn your name. At least, part of it. What is your Christian name?”

“Missus,” she said through clenched teeth, and turned to leave. 

“Wait. Please don’t go.” 

The desperation in his softly spoken words arrested her movement. Slowly, she turned back to him. His disconcerting eyes traveled over her face with such intensity it seemed a physical touch. She wondered if he looked at every woman thusly. He probably did. The rake! 

“I wanted to thank you again for your assistance in the woods.” A seductive tone rumbled his voice. 

“You’re welcome,” she snapped. Her own rudeness shocked her, but this womanizing cad deserved to be brought down a peg or two. 

“And to apologize,” he added, unperturbed. “I offended you that day. I do not wish to destroy any chance I might have in the future to become better acquainted.” 

“I believe we are too well acquainted already.” 

“But I’m in your debt. Please allow me to thank you properly.” His lazy smile and smoldering eyes made her wish she had worn a dress with a higher neckline. 

She nervously touched the cameo on the ribbon at her throat. “It’s not necessary to thank me. Besides, I doubt I can trust your definition of ‘properly.’ ” 

He laughed softly. “You’re a perceptive woman, Mrs. Berkley. However, I have something less nefarious in mind.” He executed a courtly bow. “I thank you, madam, from the bottom of my heart, for coming to my rescue.”  

From an inner coat pocket, he retrieved a velvet drawstring bag, opened it, and inverted it in his hand. A perfect pearl lay in his palm. 

He held it out to her. “There is an island in the Pacific where the natives harvest these from the ocean. You can’t see it in this light, but it’s pink. The chief gave this to me to thank me for saving his son. So, to thank you for saving the boy and me, I hope you will accept this token of my gratitude. And, I hope, as an apology.” 

She stilled at his unexpected words. 

He added, “I offended you with my impulsive behavior, and I humbly beg your forgiveness.” A smile lurked around the corner of his eyes despite the contrition in his tone. 

Had a man ever left her so thoroughly confused? He was a muddle of a perfect gentleman and an incorrigible tease. Truly he was a cad. She’d just have to ignore those annoyingly strong elemental stirrings he aroused in her; they would be extremely inconvenient if she, as a mother and widow, followed them. 

She indicated the pearl. “Truly, this is not necessary.” 

“Please take it.” He grinned with roguish charm. “Otherwise, I’ll be honor-bound to find some other way to thank you.” 

Something in his tone dispelled her guard. Laughing softly at his audacity, she picked up the pearl and admired it. “Very well, I accept, lest you become even more outrageous in your expression of gratitude.” 

A place in her heart was touched that he’d be so thoughtful as to have brought her a gift that possessed sentimental value, rather than merely one of monetary worth—not that she should be accepting either one from a stranger, but somehow, she could not refuse. 

Archly, she said, “And as you were clearly not in your right mind after such a terrible ordeal, I forgive you for your misconduct.” She wrapped the pearl in a lace handkerchief and put it in her reticule. 

His smile appeared both wicked and relieved. “I cannot express how much that means to me. I have thought of you often since that day.” 

“You, sir, continually breach the boundaries of propriety.” If only she could slow down her traitorous heart and force it to accept her decision to dismiss him as beneath her notice. But she couldn’t simply dismiss someone whose very presence filled the entire garden, and whose thoughtfulness touched her more than she cared to admit. 

She almost uttered a sound of disgust. When had she become so easily ensnared by the charms of a libertine? She took another step backward and lost her balance. With a cry, she teetered at the edge of the pond. 

His hand shot out to catch her by the arms. Laughter leaped into his eyes while he slowly pulled her closer to his broad chest. His clean and earthy and so very masculine scent crept into her senses. For one brief moment of insanity, she enjoyed his nearness, his arms around her making her feel safe, protected, desirable. 

Where had she left her wits? 

“Thank you,” she whispered, dropping her eyes and shrugging off his touch. 

He dropped his hands to his sides. “Do you really fear me so? Or is it that this isn’t proper, either?” 

“Of course this isn’t proper. And I’m wise to mistrust a man whose conduct and intentions are questionable, at best. Unless I have my gun, of course.” 

His lazy laughter rang out, filling her with slow warmth. 

She barely controlled the impulse to smile. Instead, she raised her chin while trying to look appropriately irritated. “You laugh at me, sir?” 

“You are a sheer delight.” He enclosed one of her hands between both of his. Though terribly, terribly improper, the sweet possessiveness of his gesture sent giddy little thrills through her. “Do you know that in many countries, once a person has saved the life of another, that person must remain with his savior until the debt is repaid? If we were to honor that, then I must be with you, watching over you, every minute of every day.” 

She considered remaining in this man’s presence every moment of every day. Definitely not. Her good sense would never survive it. 

She disentangled her hand and said primly, “Fortunately, we do not have such an inconvenient custom in England.”