Lady Nicki Langley did not want to be engaged, but she also had no wish to die.

Heart pounding until it echoed inside her mind, she clung to the moisture-slick lattice and hoped the ancient structure showed equal tenacity in sticking to the brick facade of Rosewood Manor. The thought came to her that most young women would be strolling through the moonlit gardens below on the arm of a gentleman, not in danger of falling to their deaths in the midst of the foliage while attempting to visit one.

But then, at the age of two and twenty, she had accepted the fact she would never be like most women.

Nicki turned her attention back to the project at hand--her intention to meet with one gentleman in particular. Teddy Bartholomew, childhood friend and Nicki's first love, now returned to England after six long years.

A quick gust of wind gave her a nudge; the trellis swayed slightly.

With a gasp, Nicki tightened her grip. She pressed her face into the cool leaves of ivy and clematis and closed her eyes, waiting for the frantic beat of her heart to slow. Softly, she whispered a quick prayer. Please, Lord, I promise to show more restraint in the future. The wind stilled, as though in answer to her plea.

Falling two stories to her death might have appealed to Nicki when she awoke this drizzly Shropshire morning engaged to be married to an ogre, but now she was of a different mind. After all, this endeavor, if successful, would set right that insufferable wrong. All she must do is live long enough to reach the window above.

With a deep breath, Nicki released one handhold and fumbled through the ivy for another. That grip secure, she took a step up. Her arms and legs trembled slightly from the unfamiliar exertion, for dancing steps, lessons in etiquette, and corsets did not condition one for climbing.

Nicki risked a peek up toward her goal and could now see that the window to Teddy's bedchamber stood open, though the room appeared to be dark.

He must be here.

The note delivered to her this afternoon in the Langley Hall stables had instructed her to come to their "usual meeting place." Though he had been out of the country for six long years, Teddy would not have forgotten their daring escapades that always began by her climbing the trellis to his room.

With a determined breath, she continued on. For not having climbed up the side of a house in a good many years, Nicki made quick work of the remainder of the journey. Her success had a good deal to do with the last minute inspiration that had come to her when she stumbled over a pair of her brother's abandoned trousers. They fit her snugly, but hindered her less than petticoats and an empire gown cinched tight beneath her breasts. Besides, the filmy fabric would have been shredded by this point. Her attire would not shock Teddy--he knew her well.

The trellis ended abruptly several feet below the decorative wrought iron framing the window. Intimidated but not to be deterred, Nicki balanced herself on one of the topmost rungs and eased herself upward. The rough surface of the bricks caught at the sleeve of her linen shirt, but she grasped the frame and hauled herself up and over the casing.

"Ted--"

The heel of one riding boot tangled in the tassel rope of the velvet drapes, choking off her words. Nicki managed an ungraceful tumble to her hands and one knee on the bedroom floor, while her other foot remained securely snared by the cord.

Exasperated, Nicki jerked free of the rope and at the same instant heard a loud, ripping noise. She felt her derriere and sighed in relief. She had torn the curtains, but her brother's breeches remained intact.

As she rose to her knees, she dusted off her hands. Her hair, which she had hastily tied back before leaving home, fell in tangled curls over her shoulders and pins had scattered, hitting the carpet with soft thunks.

For several moments, Nicki groped about the frayed rug, encountering only several holes. No ribbon. No pins. She sighed. Her hair tormented both Nicki and her stepmother by refusing to remain tidy, but at this moment she had no time to waste on hair accessories.

She was on a mission.

After climbing to her feet, Nicki swiped at her trouser legs one last time and squinted into the darkness. "Teddy? Are you here?"

A heavy silence met her words. Could he be downstairs at this late hour?

Returning to the ceiling high window, she pushed back each side of the dust-laden draperies. At the sight of the moon, Nicki paused. Its radiance glimmered through clouds that wisped over its surface like coal dust.

Shivering, she looked down into the once-famous rose garden--the pride of this manor so long ago. Undulating patches of light and dark moved and flickered over the hulking shapes of overgrown rose bushes like the souls of creatures who had once dwelt in the sunshine, but now were banished to darkness. An enchanted place, fallen under a terrible curse. Nicki sighed in regret and sadness.

"I wondered if you would come. You have kept me waiting, my dear."

Nicki spun at the words, her gaze sweeping the dimly lit room. No matter how long she had been away from Teddy, she would recognize his voice. That certainly was not it. "Who's there?"

A movement from the farthest, darkest corner caught Nicki's gaze. Shivering, she backed toward the window. She could make out the shape of an overstuffed chair, then the silhouette of a man materialized into a standing position before the bulky piece of furniture.

He stretched languorously, raising long arms over his head. "I must have fallen asleep. Is it midnight?" His voice filled the room again. Deep, resonant--a heated blade slicing through wax.

Nicki's heart skipped a beat, then raced to catch up. She took another step back just as a sharp gust of wind caught the curtains, causing them to billow out. The heel of her riding boot snagged in the ancient fabric.

"Deuce take it!" she snapped.

Nicki struggled to jerk her foot free with as much decorum as possible. She certainly did not intend to turn around and bend over to extricate herself, thus providing the stranger with a clear view of her unseemly attire, not to mention the portions of her body the trousers revealed too well. A vibration started beneath her feet--and something else occurred. Almost like the air thickened.

Holding her breath, she looked up to see the man moving toward her with long, deliberate strides. She froze, completely at a loss.

As he approached her through dappled shadow and light, Nicki had the eerie sense that one of the tallest, most frightening specters from the garden had slipped into the room with her. She experienced a twinge of alarm, but had no time to further assimilate her reaction before the man knelt beside her.

Nicki, feeling like a complete and utter goose, lifted her foot so he could extricate her heel from the velvet. Looking down at him, she thought his hair appeared to be dark, and the longer ends at the back touched his shoulders. The scent of sandalwood, soap, and something else--brandy--surrounded her. Soothing, oddly hypnotic. If he was a specter, he certainly smelled better than she imagined one should.

"Forgive my lapse in manners."

He straightened and Nicki followed his progress with growing alarm. Never had she set eyes on a man so exceedingly tall.

"I am somewhat rusty at extricating ladies from my bedchamber curtains before a proper introduction." His voice sounded so close. Too close.

Nicki moved a safe distance from the window coverings--and the man--but not far enough to bar escape through the window if it became necessary. She strained to make out his features, but he had chosen a position in a patch of darkness--a living, breathing part of the night.

"I--" Nervously she cleared her throat. "I am truly sorry to disturb you. This is Sir Theodore Bartholomew's room, is it not?"

The man turned slightly to survey the surroundings of silhouetted bulky furniture, his hand going to his chin. Nicki heard the soft scrape of his fingers across whiskers.

"Hmm." He twisted back to face her, and she knew with absolute certainty she had never seen shoulders so wide. "I suppose it was. Once." He sounded amused.

Recalling her mode of dress, Nicki longed for the return of the curtains to hide behind. Self-conscious, she reached up to smooth her hair, then recalled the lost pins. She was a mess.

Nicki glanced to the window. She could flee. Surely he would not stop her. As quickly as the desire came to her, she swept it aside. She had come to see Teddy and would not leave until she had done so. Drawing on her inner strength, she clenched her hands together, startled to find them cold as the stones of the paths that wound through the gardens outside. Thank you, Lord, for sparing my life so that I might face this.

Then she realized what the stranger had said. Was Teddy's room? Impending doom lurked in his choice of words, but Nicki valiantly fought her rising panic. There had to be a simple explanation for this man's presence in Teddy's bedchamber and surely she would be informed of it at any moment.

"Please. I have come on a matter of the gravest import and Teddy is the only one who can save me. He sent a message only this afternoon. He must be here!"

"I have no doubt that your situation is desperate, but as you can see Teddy is not here. By the bye, I am Blake Dylan."

She took a steadying breath, which only resulted in a sudden light-headedness. What had her stepmother told her? A lady does not give her name to a man unless they are properly introduced. "Very well, Mr. Dylan. I shall await his return."

"I would prefer that you call me Blake."

Nicki might be a country miss who had never had a Season, but she knew she should not be speaking to this man, and she especially should not address him by his given name. "I said I shall await Teddy, sir."

Dylan chuckled softly and rested his hands on his hips. "Perhaps your odds of finding a man at home would improve greatly if you called during the daylight hours. Of course that would be quite mundane for a young lady with your obvious taste for adventure."

Nicki's fragile patience collapsed, releasing a spark of anger. "This is not a matter to be discussed over a cup of tea, Mr. Dylan, and I did not come here for a lecture on propriety! Please tell me where I might find Teddy Bartholomew."

"He is in America."

"America?" Her hopes cracked. In seconds they would shatter into tiny fragments. "That cannot be. The note..."

A long pause stretched the silence before Dylan's voice filled the room again, smooth as water tumbling over the stones of a stream bed--with the threat of rougher waters hovering just beneath that too-glossy surface.

"You are under a misconception, my charming little intruder. I last saw your Teddy in a saloon in Boston. He was quite indisposed. You see, the man has trouble holding his brandy and had just lost Rosewood Manor in a game of cards--to me."

A soft cry escaped her lips before Nicki could stifle it. She did not want to believe it, yet she knew better than anyone Teddy's three loves. Dylan spoke of two. Nicki was the third. In just that order.

Shrugging his broad shoulders, Dylan continued as though he heard nothing. "So you see, this is my room, not Teddy's."

She shook her head in denial. Teddy could not have lost Rosewood.

"It was I who sent you the message."

"You--!" Nicki's breath left her in a rush, cutting off her words.

She could not seem to draw air into her lungs. Why would this Dylan person send her a note leading her to believe Teddy had come back to Rosewood? She pressed her fingers to her temples.

Teddy still in America? Impossible. She had risked everything--pinned all her hopes on believing Teddy had most opportunely returned to England.

The room dipped alarmingly. Her knees threatened to buckle and she fought to remain upright. Air slipped into her lungs, but not enough. Mina, her younger sister, swooned quite adeptly over the slightest upset. Nicki had never been so afflicted. It must have been that blasted climb.

"There now, do not go fainting on me."

Dylan's warm, strong arms slipped about her rib cage, easing Nicki to the carpet. She closed her eyes, letting her head rest against his chest as she concentrated on breathing--in and out.

"Things cannot be bad as all that." His deep voice rumbled against the back of her head, compounding her dizziness.

For several seconds, her mind continued to spin as though she were caught in a maelstrom. Nicki grasped hold of the man's arms, as though such human contact would drag her back to normalcy. Gradually, the whirling subsided.

Having never experienced such an occurrence before, Nicki waited for whatever would happen next. Generally, Mina had to be revived with vinaigrette, but somehow Nicki's mind seemed too clear for such drastic measures.

"Are you conscious?"

Nicki thought she detected a note of concern in Dylan's voice. She kept her eyes closed as she weighed her options. Blast it all. What should she do now? He thought she had fainted. It served him right. Nicki wished she had not merely been overcome with dizziness, but had truly and completely swooned. Perhaps then her problems would disappear into shimmering mist.

But she knew when she awakened, the difficulties would remain and she would have done nothing more than make a cake of herself before a perfect stranger. A stranger who had apparently set out to purposefully deceive her. Why? She must learn the truth.

Twisting slightly within Dylan's secure hold, she reached around to push herself away. Only to touch warm, smooth skin...bare skin. Merciful heaven, she was being embraced by a naked man.

She froze. The heat of his skin infiltrated her fingertips, intensifying, projecting tiny pin pricks along her palm. Nicki snatched her hand away. Slowly, she raised her gaze to his face. In the dimness she could vaguely make out high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and it looked as though his hair touched his shoulders in the back. Brandy scented breath whispered across her cheeks, caressing, not entirely unpleasant. Nicki tensed and searched for something intelligent to say.

The note.

At that moment, a muffled knock sounded from across the room. After an agitated rattling of the door knob, the door flew open. Nicki opened her mouth to scream, but Dylan tightened his hold about her middle, nearly cutting off her air. She managed a pitiful squeak.

With growing horror, Nicki stared as the door rebounded off the wall several times before vibrating to a stand still.

A harried gentleman in robe and slippers, looking like a scalded cat, entered the bedchamber bearing a dip, the flame dancing wildly in its brass holder. Nicki recognized the Bartholomew's butler, Chester. Close on his heels came a man of medium height, brandishing a pistol.

Her mouth dropped open. Papa?

With his pajama pants pushed into his riding boots and an evening jacket thrown over his nightshirt, he looked very much like his sleep had been interrupted by an emergency.

Chester cleared his throat. "My lord, the Duke of Billington-"

Her father pushed forward, the tassel of his nightcap flying out to smack the butler across the mouth. "Unhand my daughter, you fiend from hell!"

Nicki's gaze snapped to the man at her side. My lord? Fiend from hell?

The moon chose that opportune moment to appear and, combined with Chester's rushlight, shone across a face seemingly chiseled from granite. Dylan's eyes were the color of rainwater on a misty pane of glass and as that pale stare locked on her father, the skin on Nicki's arms prickled. If this man's eyes had been weapons, Jonathon Langley would have perished on the spot.

"Ah--Billington. We've been expecting you. Lovely night, is it not?"

"Get your hands off my girl before I put a lead ball in you!"

"It would please me to no end to get my hands off your daughter, but she has just experienced a shock. If I release her, she might collapse and suffer an injury."

Papa's blue eyes bulged and his normally healthy complexion took on an alarming purple hue. Nicki's concern deepened. She could not recall ever seeing him in such a temper, and if anyone had, it would have been her.

"Devil take you, what did you do to Nicki? Your fight is with me!"

"I have no wish to fight with you or your daughter, Billington. She came here believing she would find Theodore Bartholomew--and found me instead."

Though Dylan's speech remained almost bored, Nicki felt his tension in the taut muscles of his powerful arms. It was then she realized she still clutched at the man's forearms. Heat scalding her cheeks, she jerked her hands away and clasped them together against her collarbone.

She looked up to see her father's gaze fastened on her, his expression softening when he made eye contact. Now this was the father she knew.

"If you'd come to me before charging out of the house, I could've explained Ted hadn't returned."

Tears welled up before Nicki could stay them. She used her elbow to push herself more firmly from the man holding her and this time he did not restrain her.

Why was this happening? She had only wanted to speak to Teddy. Nicki moved to stand several feet away from Dylan. Feeling suddenly chilled, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Curiosity won over embarrassment and she glanced at the man to find him still hunkered down with his elbows resting on his knees, his loosely clasped hands dangling between muscular thighs clothed in light colored fabric. Nicki thought she saw the wink of a gem on a ring he wore on his index finger. She raised her gaze.

Now that his naked torso was clearly visible to her, Nicki better understood her father's distress. At least Dylan was not naked, as she had first believed.

Her gaze continued upward to his face and Nicki discovered he had been watching her inspection. Heat flamed in her cheeks.

With a wry grin, he raised from his crouch, sleek as horse taking a jump. Nicki's errant gaze dropped to his hips, clad in fawn-colored breeches so snug he might as well have worn nothing at all.

The chill of only moments ago fled before the sudden onslaught of liquid warmth. Nicki struggled to bring her breathing under control. Completely at ease, Dylan turned and strode away from her into the shadows where he paused before an enormous bureau and removed the glass covering from a lamp.

Guiltily, Nicki realized she had watched the play of muscles across his...posterior...with flagrant fascination. She excused her behavior with the thought that she had a deep respect for Greek sculpture and this man was truly a masterpiece.

A crack of flint against stone caused Nicki to start. Dylan replaced the globe over the flame and the added illumination chased the remaining gloom from the bedchamber.

Unperturbed, Dylan turned to lean a bronze shoulder against the dark cherrywood bureau, crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his bare muscled chest.

"Chester, remind me to install more chairs in my bedchamber. I was unaware of the neighborly custom of visiting a man in the middle of the night, but then I have been out of the country for some time. Also make a note that I shall have to hone my climbing skills as well if I am to return the courtesy. It seems one enters the neighbor's house through the window--or through the door brandishing a weapon. The window seems slightly more civilized, though I am not certain yet which is the more dangerous."

"As if you were ever civilized, Dylan!" interjected Papa.

Nicki gaped at her father. Such rude outbursts were uncommon, even for him. "Papa, whatever are you doing here?"

He sputtered, the skin of his face reddening once again. "Well--I--the note--"

"I believe your father is here to protect your virtue, my lady. It seems you have landed in a...situation."

Papa glanced toward the butler uncomfortably, the tassel of his nightcap dropping over one eye. "It might be best to continue this conversation in private, Dylan."

One brief nod from his new master and Chester bowed stiffly and left the room, closing the door with a crisp click.

Calm as Lucifer himself, Dylan returned his attention to Papa. "Whether we speak alone or in the presence of an army of servants, the damage is done."

Her father looked at Nicki for an instant, then at the gun in his hand. Flushing, he stuffed the weapon into the pocket of his brocade jacket. "My daughter's betrothed to another. We'll take our leave now and just forget this matter. I don't know what game you're playing, Dylan, but I won't be a part of it."

"Oh, I think you will take part, Billington." Blake Dylan lifted his hand, curling long fingers to survey his nails.

Now Nicki could see the ring clearly in the lamp light. It looked like the head of an animal and it had two white jewels for eyes. Diamonds. Chills raced over Nicki's skin.

"The proper procedures must be followed. I have no desire to face an angry fiancé with pistols at dawn." Dylan looked up now, fastening his compelling gaze on Papa. "You know what must be done. Perhaps better than I."

Nicki stared from the stone-faced Dylan to her father who had gone deathly pale and appeared in danger of collapsing. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she had opened a book in the middle.

"Don't do this, Dylan. She has nothing to do with our troubles."

Stiffness claimed the handsome features of Dylan's face. "I beg to differ, sir. She is a threat to my honor."

The cold words sliced through the tension in the room and Nicki rubbed her arms. "But, sir, no harm has been done."

Both men ignored her, continuing to stare daggers at each other.

"What think you, Billington? Do you agree no harm can come from this night? Will you try to fob off a ruined girl to uphold a betrothal? I suppose you would, if your honor has no importance to you. But I will let it be known that I was willing to take the proper action. Will you do the right thing?"

"Yes, devil take it." Papa tugged at the collar of his nightshirt, the familiar gesture testimony to the extent of his discomfit.

"I now understand where your daughter gets her colorful vocabulary. At any rate, the matter is settled. I trust you will see to the other gentleman."

Papa nodded. He glared at the frayed Persian carpet, his jaw working spasmodically. Unnerved by her father's demeanor, Nicki returned her attention to the man across the room.

Silver. His eyes were silver framed with incredibly long, black lashes. Like the eyes in the ring. His gaze flashed to her and Nicki flinched. She stood mesmerized, incapable of movement.

Blake Dylan smiled, but without warmth--merely a baring of white teeth. "Congratulations, my lady. It seems we are engaged."