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He threw back the covers of Maria’s narrow bed and gently laid Leona in it.

She shivered, drawing herself up into a ball.

The sheets were like ice. He waited a moment, looking her, but her shivering didn’t stop.

The cold rain sapped her body of warmth.

She could not generate the heat to warm the sheets and herself, and it was a certainty that North and Jewitt would not offer a bed warmer.

She was perilously near to taking ill. She needed warmth.

An oath caught somewhere deep in his throat.

Quickly he shed his rain-soaked clothes and carefully laid them out to dry, then crawled into bed next to Leona, drawing her close to him, cradling her in his arms as he used his body heat to warm her and the bed.

He only intended to stay there long enough to ease her shivering, but a strange lassitude overcame him.

His limbs felt heavy. His last coherent thought before he fell asleep beside Leona was the hope that neither North nor Jewitt would come upstairs to check on them.

Leona, he thought to himself with a chuckle, would be mortified.

Leona drifted into wakeful consciousness. With her eyes closed, she savored the envelope of warmth that enclosed her. Her brow furrowed. She’d been so cold. She thought she’d never be warm again. At the memory, a shiver convulsed her body.

But now she was warm. Deliciously warm. She smiled as she stretched languidly.

Then she froze, her eyes flying open as her arm touched something warm and solid.

A muffled grunt greeted her touch. Slowly she turned her head, and her heart lodged in her throat.

In the gray, drizzly dawn light just beginning to come in the high dormer window, she saw black hair springing up from a tangle on a bare masculine chest. Her gaze tentatively inched upward.

She blinked, her mouth suddenly gone dry.

No. It couldn’t be. This had to be part of her dreams, part of the deliciously sensual feelings that lingered like wisps of smoke in her mind.

Brilliant blue glittered from beneath a veil of dark lashes. A slow smile revealed strong white teeth. “A man could get used to this.”

Deveraux’s voice rumbled along Leona’s nerves. Bright color stained her cheeks. She edged backward, but the bed was too narrow to put space between them.

Staring up at the ceiling, he sighed heavily, his expression twisting into one of disgust. “I knew it was a mistake to fall asleep.” He turned his head to look at her.

“Last night you were dangerously cold. I had to get you warm again. Sharing my body heat was the only way to do that.” His voice was matter-of-fact and strangely distant.

She nodded once, jerkily.

Angrily he threw off the covers and sat up. “Egad, woman! Must you look at me like some frightened rabbit about to be pounced on by the fox? I assure you your virtue is intact!”

Leona’s eyes widened when she realized he was entirely nude. Swiftly she closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow. Her face burned with the force of her blush.

Deveraux grabbed his shirt and breeches.

His shirt and stockings were dry, but the breeches were clammy.

He struggled into the damp breeches, swearing under his breath.

Damn, they were cold. He picked up his coat, but the heavy wool material was too wet to wear.

Regretfully he laid it down. The shirt was too thin to offer much warmth, and the room was freezing. He began opening and shutting drawers.

Tentatively, Leona raised her face out from the pillows. “What are you doing?” she asked.

He glanced at her, his face a set mask. “Looking for a blanket to wrap around my shoulders.”

“Oh.” She pulled the blankets up higher on her chest. "This is Maria’s room, isn’t it? I mean, we’re at Rose Cottage—try the trunk over there in the comer.”

He did as she suggested. Inside were neatly folded stacks of embroidered linens. He looked back at Leona, one eyebrow raised in mute inquiry.

She smiled gently. “It’s Maria’s hope chest.”

He nodded, both of them silent as they contemplated the tidy evidence of a spinster’s dreams.

“Under the sheets, you’ll find a hand-stitched quilt. Don’t worry, Maria won’t mind. She’d be more distressed to learn you wouldn’t use it.” She watched as he carefully moved the linens aside and pulled out the quilt. He wrapped it around his shoulders and sat down in Maria’s rocking chair.

“You’d best find something to wear,” he said gruffly.

Leona glanced down at the nightgown she wore, blushing anew.

She didn’t need to ask how she came to be wearing it.

She started to edge toward the side of the bed, the covers clutched tightly about her when they both heard a heavy tread on the stairs.

Deveraux rose and came to stand next to the bed, his body rigid with tension.

The key grated in the lock, and then the door opened to reveal a sour-faced Jewitt with a tray in her hand.

“Harry says it isn’t in our interests to let you starve.”

It was apparent she disagreed.

“Here. You can share what’s left of our stew from last night.

” She thrust the tray into Deveraux’s hands.

She turned to leave. At the door, she stopped and faced them again, a sly smile on her pinched features.

“Harry’s gone to send a message to the Castle.

He made sure to tell them you were safe, locked up as you are together in one tiny bedroom.

Sure you wouldn’t mind, as close as you two seemed yesterday.

” Her laughter cackled after her as she closed and locked the door.

Jewitt’s words were a knife cutting through the bonds that bound Leona in her timid, uncertain state.

She sat up on the bed, the blankets falling to her waist. A new, thrumming excitement traversed her body.

She would not be so defeated! She reached up to pull the last of the pins from her hair and shook the matted tresses out as she thought through the implications of Jewitt’s words. A cold rage grew.

“In that top drawer of the dressing table, I believe you’ll find a spare brush. Would you hand it to me, please?” she asked Deveraux in a coldly neutral voice.

Deveraux handed her the brush, his expression wary.

She methodically brushed her hair with long, fluid strokes.

What had come over her yesterday? She’d begun the trek to Rose Cottage with grit and determination.

How could she allow herself to slide into a sniveling, weak morass of missishness?

The rain was no colder than she’d suffered when she climbed the vines at Lion’s Gate.

True, her clothes were more of a nuisance, but nothing she shouldn’t have been able to control.

“You were weak last night. You should eat something.” His voice intruded on her thoughts, echoing her concern for her weakness.

She looked up at him, but he had the odd sensation that she did not even see him. He ran his hand through his hair. “She’s right about one thing,” he said with a forced smile. “At least for us, it won’t be an uncomfortable forced marriage.”

She blinked at that as if slowly registering his existence. “Are you inferring that I consider myself shamefully compromised? A woman who may no longer hold her head up proudly if she does not marry?” Her voice was frighteningly empty.

Deveraux’s heart twisted in his chest. He sat down at the edge of the bed, drawing her hands into his. “Leona,” he began gently.

“Would you stop treating me like I am some fragile porcelain!” she demanded angrily. “I am an intelligent, independent woman. I do not need your pity or your smothering protection! I do not consider myself compromised, and that is all that matters!”

“But society?—”

“Hang society! Our concern at the moment should be in extricating ourselves from this situation rather than wringing our hands and crying mea culpa, mea culpa!” Her green-gold eyes flashed, and a delicate high color that had nothing to do with her earlier embarrassment shone on her cheeks.

Deveraux’s lips twitched. It appeared Leona once again had the bit between her teeth.

Though he was glad to care for her yesterday, he had to admit he liked her independence.

It was a far cry from the heavy dependence his family placed on him.

A man could feel genuinely at ease with a woman like Leona.

He leaned back against the head of the bed, suddenly filled with admiration for the firebrand at his side.

At least life with her would never be dull.

“Well, General, what do you suggest?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Her glance raked him, but she saw no mockery in his expression. She slid off the bed and began pacing the room, barefoot, her eyes darting all about her.

Deveraux half-closed his eyes and watched her stride in circles about the small room, the flannel nightdress clinging to her curves.

She stopped by the window and looked out.

The dormer window was directly above the parlor window, which ruled out lowering themselves with knotted bed linens to the ground.

Too risky. She cocked her head, straining forward.

She could barely see the scarf tucked away in its secure corner, but at least she reassured herself it was there.

Her eye was struck once again by the construction of the thatch around the dormer.

She studied it pensively. A small smile appeared on her lips.

She nodded to herself, then turned to face Deveraux, her hands on her hips.

“We are going to escape!” she exclaimed triumphantly, her eyes shining and her lips widening into a cheeky grin.