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Georgie dreamed about Rafferty. Of course, she did—in the twilight minutes between sleep and waking, she could feel the strength in his body as he carried her, remember the feel of his hands as they rubbed her feet.

Who would have thought that would feel so delicious?

She’d tried to rub her own, but the effect left a lot to be desired.

She wanted his large, strong hands on her. On places other than her feet.

She wasn’t going to think about that. She knew perfectly well what went on between men and women—living in the country had dispelled any mysteries, and Bertha had explained the rest. It seemed a strange thing to actually want, but then, women didn’t want it, or so she gathered.

They endured it, for the sake of their husbands, and so far, she had yet to see anyone who would make it tolerable.

But Rafferty was a different matter. She couldn’t imagine him committing such indignities, but the thought didn’t fill her with horror. She had the firm conviction that Rafferty would somehow make it all right. Rafferty could make everything all right.

She stared into the darkened bedroom, her eyes wide open, watching as the curtains fluttered in the night air.

It was late—she’d gone to bed early, hoping to get back to her enormously satisfying dreams, and now it was well after midnight and she couldn’t sleep.

Something had woken her, a scratching sound near the hearth, and she wondered if some kind of nasty vermin had gotten into the chimneys.

It wouldn’t be that unexpected in this shabby old place.

The problem with living in the city was that everything felt grubby.

Shabbiness in the countryside only felt cozy to her; shabbiness in the city felt like dirt.

In the countryside, the dogs would get rid of the vermin.

Their house didn’t even employ a cat, and she missed both of them, particularly her cat, Bottom.

She’d tried to bring him along when they moved to the city, but her father forbade her, and she’d given in with good grace since everyone seemed so upset about the move.

She wouldn’t mind living in the city half so much if she had Bottom with her.

She heard another clanking sound, and she sat bolt upright in bed, squinting through the darkness.

That was no mouse, or even a rat. Sliding out of bed, she landed on the floor in her bare feet and caught up the shawl she used in lieu of a night robe.

She knew what she ought to do—call Rafferty.

There was a bell she could ring, but he was probably sound sleep, and even the biggest rat couldn’t hurt her.

Just to be on the safe side, she picked up the fire poker and headed for the door.

The room directly beneath her was her father’s library, a dusty, musty old place with books on finance and animal husbandry and not a play or a novel in sight.

When they’d bought the house, they’d bought the contents as well, and whoever had lived here had the most boring library imaginable.

She moved through the empty hallway toward the back stairs, clutching the poker, telling herself she ought to go back to bed.

Whatever it was wouldn’t hurt her, as long as she kept out of its way, but she admitted to the grave character faults of curiosity and stubbornness.

There was no way she could sleep until she found out what was causing the noise.

The door closed silently behind her as she stepped out into the second floor hallway, but this time the darkness was not absolute, and she realized with a little thrill of danger that there was a light on in her father’s library, and someone was moving around in there.

Gripping the poker, she moved forward, counting on the element of surprise, and then she suddenly shoved the library door open, announcing, “Stand and deliver.”

It was an incredibly stupid thing to say, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything else, and Rafferty simply looked at her. “Are you a highwayman, Miss Georgie? Come to rob me of my earthly goods? I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

She lowered the poker as she felt embarrassment flood her face. “I couldn’t think of anything else to say,” she admitted. “What are you doing in here in the middle of the night?”

He stood there by her father’s disorderly desk, and she swallowed. He was in shirtsleeves, open at the neck and rolled up at the elbows, his long hair rumpled about his beautiful face, and he looked absolutely...

No, she wasn’t going to think of him that way. Before she could say anything else, he answered her question.

“Tidying up. I didn’t trust the girls in here, and it seemed like a good thing to do while your father slept. I’m sorry if I woke you, but you really shouldn’t come after strange noises with a fire poker. What if I’d been a thief?”

“You’d never be a thief,” she said, breathing in her sigh of relief.

There was something ironic about his answering grin. “What if I had been? I don’t think ‘stand and deliver’ would get you very far. Neither would that poker.”

“I was curious,” she said. “What are you doing up at this hour? Aren’t butlers allowed to sleep?”

“I couldn’t. I’m not accustomed to a warm bed. I’ll get used to it, I suspect, but tonight seemed like a good time to catch up on things.”

She looked around her. “You could always borrow one of the books. They were here when we got here—in fact, most of the furnishings were. We were told when we took possession of the house that anything here would belong to us, and I thought maybe there’d be a lost treasure or something, but I searched and couldn’t find anything more interesting than this incredibly tedious library. ”

“You searched the house?” There was a strange note in his voice, one she couldn’t read.

“I did. Everywhere but the cellars.” She gestured around the tedious shelves. “Are you interested in animal husbandry?”

“It’s not outside the realm of possibilities,” he allowed. “Now why don’t you give me that poker and go back to bed?”

She moved toward him in the darkened room, an odd feeling in her stomach, and handed him her weapon. Her hands were sweating, and she felt absurdly vulnerable, though in a surprisingly good way. “Is there something wrong with the hearth?” she said. “That’s what woke me up.”

He smiled blandly. “A loose brick or two. I’ll have the mason come in and check all of them, just to be on the safe side. Don’t worry—I won’t be ferreting around it again. Go back to bed, Miss Georgiana.”

The shadowy room with the one lit lamp felt disturbingly intimate, and she knew she should simply agree and disappear. “I’m Georgie,” she said.

There was an odd, almost gentle expression on his face. “Go to bed, Georgie,”

She went, back up the dark flight of stairs, an odd flutter between her breasts.

By the time she got back to her room, she was shivering in the cool night air, and she was half tempted to set the fire herself, something she’d learned to do out of necessity.

Instead, she leapt into bed, burrowing beneath the covers and closing her eyes.

Because she knew what she would see when she did.

Rafferty, standing there in breeches and shirtsleeves, looking like some Greek god.

Smiling at her. If she were Bottom, she’d be purring.

Instead, she slept, and she didn’t dream at all, curse the luck.