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Oh, this is why he had been acclaimed as the next Silver Duke. His was a mature and manly body, all meat and muscle.

He held her with gentle strength and confidence, displaying utter perfection as he slowly ground his lips on hers and sank them deeper to plunder her soul.

And this was only kiss number three.

How was she ever to survive the next seven without falling in love with him?

“Open your eyes, Ailis,” he whispered against her ear, his lips still temptingly close.

It took her a moment to realize he had drawn his mouth off hers because her lips and even her tongue were tingling.

Dear heaven.

Their tongues had tangled.

“How was it?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and stared up at him.

Unable to speak, she made a mewling sound somewhere between an eep and a meow . It was an appallingly kittenish sound that had him grinning in smug conquest.

“Ailis?”

She took a deep breath as he released her. “It was all right for a third kiss.”

He laughed. “Your blush gives you away. Admit it, number three was a great kiss.”

She nodded. “All right, you insufferable man. Yes, it was sheer perfection. I had no idea kisses could involve tongues as well.”

An odd look came over him as he studied her.

“Is something wrong, Your Grace?”

“No, it’s just… Gad, Ailis. No, nothing’s wrong.”

She ought to have known he would never confide in her.

“But I think we are beyond the need for formality now. You may call me Jonas whenever we are in private.”

She inhaled lightly. “Jonas? Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, frowning.

“It is too familiar, isn’t it?”

He arched an eyebrow. “And that kiss was not?”

She blushed again, as she often did because he had a way of disconcerting her. “Well, yes. It was thoroughly shocking…and fun.”

He laughed.

“But our kisses are for charity. That’s all they are ever meant to be, is this not so?”

“I’ll write out that third bank note for you after breakfast.” He appeared suddenly tense and sounded brittle.

Was he possibly disappointed?

She sighed. “May I call you something less intimate than Jonas and not so formal as Your Grace? A suitable compromise?”

He let out a soft breath and his tension appeared to ease. “Ramsdale will do, I suppose. I truly hate being called that, however. Even my mother insists on calling me that.”

“Why does it displease you?”

“It signifies my title and has nothing to do with the man I am.”

“What about my calling you Langford? You were Lord Langford for most of your life. Did they call you that when you were in the army? Or were you Colonel Langford? Or Colonel Lord Langford?”

He rubbed a hand along the nape of his neck and stepped away from her. “Does it matter? I am not the same man who came out as went into the army. Ah, never mind. Just keep to Your Grace.”

Now she felt awful. “The name suits you. Jonas . It is strong and succinct, just like you. But it saddens me.”

“Saddens you?” The admission obviously confused him. “Why?”

“Because our friendship is momentary. A mere illusion. It will all come to an end once I have received my ten kisses. To be honest, your kisses are affecting me more than I ever expected.”

He smiled and gave her cheek a light caress. “Why is that bad? I want you to enjoy them.”

“I am enjoying them quite a bit too much,” she admitted with a mirthful laugh that was also tinged with regret. “But I am one of many to you while you are my one and only. You will likely remain the only man I have ever kissed.”

“And you think I will move on to kiss others?”

“Won’t you? Do not deny that you will. So, for us to take these charity kisses further by allowing me the privilege of calling you by your given name… I think this will hurt me all the more when I return to the vicarage and am soon forgotten by you.”

“I am hardly likely to forget you, Ailis.”

He was looking at her in that smoldering way he had looked just before kissing her. But this was just the way of rakes, wasn’t it? They had a natural ability to make every woman feel desired.

“Sadly, that is not true,” she said. “You will forget me. The memory of the kisses we shared will melt away just as this snow will melt away once the sun comes out.”

“And you? How will you remember me?”

“Quite fondly, Your Grace. These kisses will always remain a beautiful dream for me.”

His expression turned odd again, perhaps a bit wounded. “I see. I never thought of it that way. You are right, Temple.”

Ah, he had gone back to thinking of her as the priggish vicar’s niece, his Miss Temple of Virtue.

But her name… Ailis …had sounded awfully sweet on his lips.

Martha returned with his breakfast plate and pot of coffee, effectively ending their conversation.

After setting out the cups, silverware, and table linens, Martha asked the duke if she should leave. “Stay,” he ordered her.

“Of course, Your Grace.” She took the chair beside the bed and waited quietly while he ate his eggs and kippers, and Ailis had some warmed bread with jam.

She hardly managed a bite, for the effects of his kiss lingered and left her unsettled.

Her shoulder began to throb, but it tended to do so constantly throughout these past days, so she ignored it.

“You are looking pale again,” the duke said, frowning. “Have you finished? Shall I help you back into bed?”

“Yes, I would appreciate it. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” He rose and set his table linen aside.

“Could we postpone those exercises, too?” she asked, for she was starting to tremble and her stomach was suddenly roiling.

“Of course. Nothing needs to be done today. We can start tomorrow. And only very mild exercises. There’ll be no serious stretching or rotation movements for a month at the least. Your shoulder is still too raw and needs to rest in that sling for another week or two.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and assisted her in standing up, for getting to her feet was the worst and caused her the most pain.

“You are wobbling, Temple,” he said, and lifted her in his arms to carry her to bed. He set her down gently on the mattress as soon as Martha turned down the covers.

“You’ve had enough of an adventure for the morning, lamb,” Martha said.

Ailis grumbled, “I hardly moved.”

“Nor should you,” the duke said, stepping back while Martha tucked her in and settled the pillows at her back and under her arm to make her comfortable. “A dislocated shoulder is no small injury.”

“Are you serious about my having to wear a sling for another week or two?”

“Yes. You’ll do yourself permanent damage if you think to take it off earlier.”

“This seems a bit extreme. Just by taking it off?” How was she to prepare for the Christmas charity ball?

He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at her from the foot of the bed.

“Do not even think to lift anything, or raise your arm to string holly or place mistletoe above an entryway. You won’t be able to do it.

Do you wish to spend Christmas in agony in bed?

Because that is where you will be while everyone else in Broadmoor enjoys themselves at your charity ball. ”

“Fine,” she said, knowing she was pouting like a child.

She never pouted. But this was due to her frustration. How would anything get done in time for the day of celebration?

“Stop making faces at me, Miss Temple,” he said with a rumble of laughter. “It will do nothing for your recovery. Resign yourself to taking on a supervisory role. Write out a list of all that needs doing. I will have my staff assist you.”

“Most generous of you,” she said, still grumbling when she knew she ought to have been grateful. “But will they not be needed here once your mother and her party arrive?”

“Perhaps, but we shall work it out.”

She tried to settle in a more comfortable position but yelped as pain shot through her.

“Ailis! Blast it, let me help you,” he said, settling her more securely.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She tried not to let him see that she was still in pain. “My greatest concern is the baking. Just about everything else can be done earlier, but the baking itself must be done that morning.”

“Do we not have an excellent bake shop in Broadmoor?”

She nodded. “But we cannot afford to have them make all the cakes and pies for us. They are expensive and—”

“I’ll pay for the baked goods. Hire them. Tell them what you need. Have them put it all on my account.”

She and Martha gasped.

Then Martha had the biggest grin on her face.

Ailis sighed. “Thank you, Your Grace. That is very good of you, and most appreciated.”

“Then what still troubles you, Miss Temple?”

She cast him a wincing smile. “Only my own stupid pride,” she assured him.

“I love preparing for our annual charity event and especially setting up all the booths and games for the children. I love decorating the rectory, and having the scent of warm apples, cinnamon, and cherries fill the air as we bake all those cakes and pies. I love the dancing throughout the day and the more formal dance at night. But this year, I can only watch as all of it is accomplished without me.”

“Oh, lamb,” Martha said sympathetically.

“Miss Temple, you will still be directing others,” the duke added.

“I am sure you will have no lack of volunteers who will pitch in to help. But you are and shall always be the heart of this event. It is your ideas, your planning. Your organization. Your direction. This celebration does not happen without you. All you will miss out on is the dancing. Unfortunately, that is something I cannot fix for you. But I must stand firm on this. You cannot risk damaging your shoulder while hopping about to a lively reel. No dancing.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “No one will want to partner with me anyway, not while my arm is in an unsightly sling.”

She heard his release of breath, for her eyes were still closed and she suddenly felt too tired to open them.

Not that she had done anything but walk to the window to look out upon the snow still falling and piling up in drifts upon the ground.

Then she had eaten breakfast—another exertion, apparently.

She hated feeling weak.

“I shall look in on you later, Miss Temple. Count on my joining you for an early supper.”

“All right.” She would apologize to him then for her petulance. However, for now, she wanted to wallow in pity. It was a completely indulgent and petty thing to do, but their third kiss had left her undone.

What had seemed fun—kissing a duke—no longer felt so harmless.

She hoped the butterflies still fluttering in her stomach were merely a sign of indigestion.

But what if they were a sign of something more? Would it not be a disaster if they signified she was falling in love?

With the duke?