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He gave a wry smile and bowed elegantly, in a manner that somehow belied the courtesy of the action.

Instinctively he admired this tall, slender woman who stood at her ease as if in the middle of a ballroom rather than caught in a blackberry patch.

Her piquant face was featured too sharply for beauty, with its thin, straight nose, defiant chin, and prominent cheekbones.

Her most arresting feature was the pair of slanting silver-green eyes that held speculation, intelligence, and coolness in their depths.

Meeting her, he now understood the sobriquet Ice Witch, the name bandied by gentlemen who felt her cool green gaze.

It was, however, a false description. She was not all cold female arrogance.

She was filled with a quiet, yet intractable, womanly self-confidence.

She didn’t give a damn about him. Neither his title nor his reputation affected her.

He’d met men with a similar self-assurance, but never a woman.

He granted she was not his typical flirt; nonetheless, he felt a perverse desire to shake her out of her complacency and see passion melt her green-ice gaze.

“Seeing you standing there thus, Miss Grantley, I find I am consumed with a desire alien to my nature. I would play knight gallant to your damsel in distress.” He paused to stroke his chin with one tan-gloved hand."I am awed by the novelty.”

Jane bristled."I assure you, my lord, I would not have you do anything untoward. It might be too damaging to your sensibilities.”

“Oh, you may rest assured on that note, my dear, for I have none,” he returned languidly.

Jane compressed her lips to keep from laughing at his sallies. It would not do to encourage this man, and she was confident that any relaxation of her guard would do so.

“Now, let us see how badly Mother Nature wishes you rooted to this spot,” he said, striding to her side and bending down to reach the brambles entangling her skirt.

His large hands had a surprisingly light touch as they gently worked her skirt free from the grasping thorns without damage to the fabric.

Jane scarcely dared breathe with him standing so close to her; his light touch was somehow too intimate.

When he was done and stood up, a deep sigh escaped her. She smiled at him.

“Thank you. Oh!” she screeched, as he swept her off her feet and into his arms."What are you doing? Put me down! How dare you!” She kicked her feet, squirming frantically against his rock-hard form. Her struggles only served to tighten his grip.

He laughed at her quick anger. "Calm down, you little witch. I am only assuring myself that my handiwork is not for naught,” he said, smiling easily, his dark eyes glinting with devil’s fire. Privately he congratulated himself on piercing the wall of her icy reserve.

He set her down by the side of the road, his hands moving up slowly, decisively, to cup her slender shoulders.

The pulse in her neck began to jump, and she stared bemusedly up at him, caught between indignation and strange excitement.

“And now I claim my right to reward,” he murmured, his voice low and resonant.

“I beg your par?—”

Her haughty words were lost in a searing kiss, his fingers tightening about her shoulders as he claimed his prize.

Jane, too stunned to resist, bobbed adrift in a wild sea of sensations.

When at last he let her go, she staggered backward, her cheeks flaming.

But she was the mistress of herself, and though her eyes glittered, her manner was cold, clothed in a mantle of aloof dignity.

“You, my lord, are no gentleman!” she pronounced softly.

“Yes, I am aware of that,” he said smoothly, and the raffish smile he returned sent warning shivers down her spine.

Though nettled as much by his cavalier manner as her reaction to him, Jane was determined not to reveal her lack of composure. Aware of a faint warmth in her cheeks, a lamentable mute testimony to the man’s disturbing influence, her black brows came together, and she continued to glare at him.

The earl crossed his arms over his broad chest and cocked his head, studying her. "You do that very well.”

“My lord?” she asked, chafing at his urbane countenance.

“Have you ever considered a theatrical career? No, of course not,” he drawled, lowering his arms to rest his hands on his hips and flashing her another of his relaxed, devilish smiles.

"Ladies of fashion and privilege confine their thespian instincts to that greater theater of human comedy: the Bon Ton.”

“And gentleman of fashion and privilege confine their brains to the lower half of their bodies!” Jane returned with asperity, then bit her lip in exasperation for allowing herself to be so drawn.

Her father and sister often teased her for the sometimes unladylike cast of her mind, but it was a tendency that she had, until now, kept carefully hidden from society.

His dark eyes flared wider, then sank to their habitual heavy-lidded gaze as he burst into appreciative laughter.

"A hit! There is a fire in our Ice Witch! Well done. But beware, my dear, when and to whom your temper betrays you, lest you melt away. Now shall we cry quits and be friends?” he inquired affably.

Jane stood rigid with rage and embarrassment; her skin now blanched white save for two bright flags of color flying high on her cheeks. "Friends implies a commonality of interests and taste. I hardly think that a possibility between us,” she regally assured him.

"And I remind you that we have not been formally introduced. Therefore it would be the height of impropriety to embroider upon this chance and slight acquaintance,” she added repressively.

“Ah, an Ice Witch with cold menace. Or is that your witch’s familiar, complete with claws?

I say again; you may find you are out of your league.

After all, what is a witch in comparison to a devil?

Good day, Miss Grantley,” he said curtly, his face a sudden study in granite hardness.

He tipped his hat, then turned on his heel, mounted his horse, and rode away without a backward glance.

The earl rounded the bend in the road and was lost from sight behind a tall hedgerow before Jane felt her breath expel in a long, pent-up hiss. She hadn’t even been aware of holding it in. She pursed her lips, and her eyes narrowed as she continued to look down the empty road.

So that, she mused, was the infamous Vernon Morecaster, fifth Earl of Royce: rake, betrayer of innocents and an inveterate gambler. The Devil’s Disciple. There could not be a more contemptible person. Millicent was welcome to him.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Jane brooded over her meeting with the irritating earl.

The man lacked any sense of social nicety.

In person and manner, he was the complete antithesis of Mr. Hedgeworth.

It was just as well that he remained on the continent for so long, for despite his rank, the earl did not belong in polite society.

But perhaps, she thought with asperity, she should foster his acquaintance.

That way, when Millicent arrived, Jane could include him in their social engagements and pair him with her cousin.

It was apparent the two deserved each other, a more self-centered couple she’d yet to meet.

So caught up was Jane in her ruminations that Lady Elsbeth had to address her twice before she was aware of her aunt’s presence.

“All afternoon you have been glowering at the world. I know you are not happy at the prospect of Serena’s visit, but please, dear, do not let her put you in queer stirrups.

If her coming bothers you that much, I will write to her to see if there may be some way of dissuading her from visiting,” Lady Elsbeth said.

Jane smiled. "I’m sorry, Elsbeth. I suppose I have been incredibly bearish today. But you do not need to write to my aunt. In truth, I am beginning to anticipate her visit.”

She laughed and drew Lady Elsbeth over to a yellow damask settee, urging her to sit beside her.

"It would be best, I suppose, to confess that I have met the infamous Earl of Royce, and if I have been brooding today, it’s because I have been attempting to strategize a way to throw the earl and Millicent together. "

“Throw them together?”

“Yes, for when I met the earl this morning, I determined that he is well-deserving of my cousin and she of him. They are like bookends, equally full of their self-worth and equally ready to do anything to achieve their goals.”

“Gracious!”

“Exactly,” Jane said dryly. "I will allow that in normal society, I would steer a wide path around the man, for I sense a wildness in him. He’s like a storm ready to break, a storm that, if it did break, would leave destruction in its wake.

His looks, coupled with that underlying turbulence is, I will admit, compelling.

That is until one has the opportunity to take the measure of the man.

Lady Tipton and Millicent will be intrigued and shall not look behind the surface image that I can assure you.

I shall be certain to include the earl on our invitation list during their visit.

He shall keep them busy and so they will spare little thought for me or my marital status.

Particularly if I pretend an interest in the earl myself. ”

Lady Elsbeth tsk-tsked and tried to look severely at her niece, but without success.

Her lively sense of fun appreciated Jane’s plans, though her position as chaperon demanded that she protest. "I believe you are espousing Machiavellian principles, which is very unladylike.

I cannot help but wonder what your mother would say. "