Pregnant!. Charlotte Hughes

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      ‘‘Clearly a fate worse than death.’’ He said the words lightly, but there was a note of rebuke in them, too.

      She shrugged. ‘‘Well, I have to tell you, a baby was just not on my to-do list for at least another decade or so.’’

      ‘‘Sometimes,’’ he whispered, ‘‘life refuses to go according to plan.’’

      They were quiet for a moment. From the corner of the yard, a cricket chirped steadily. And a block or so away, some lonely dog let out a long, sad howl. The night was clear. And warm. The white disc of a full moon rode high in the sky, partly obscured, from where they stood, by the branches of the oak overhead.

      As the dog’s forlorn howl faded to nothing, Finn laughed. The sound was low and achingly sensual. ‘‘I have an idea.’’

      She looked at him warily. ‘‘Oh, no.’’

      He put a hand to either side of her, resting his palms on the car behind her, trapping her gently between his outstretched arms. ‘‘Let me come with you to that house on T Street.’’ He smelled of lovely, tempting things. A hint of heather, a suggestion of musk…

      ‘‘How do you know I’m staying on T Street?’’

      ‘‘I asked your mother. She told me everything I needed to know—address, house phone, cellular phone. I have it all. I can call you or find you at my will.’’

      ‘‘You know no shame.’’

      ‘‘So I’ve been told.’’

      ‘‘And I have to ask…’’

      ‘‘Anything.’’

      ‘‘Don’t you have any responsibilities in Gullandria? Can you really afford to just take off out of nowhere and stay on for weeks in another country?’’

      ‘‘Liv darling, you’ve got your Puritan face on—your eyes narrowed, your nose scrunched up, that beautiful mouth of yours pinched up tight.’’

      She stuck out her chin at him, scrunched her nose harder and pinched her mouth up all the tighter.

      ‘‘Gruesome,’’ he said, and they laughed together. Then he explained, ‘‘I have estate managers. I pay them. They manage. And should there be a terrible crisis of some sort, they know how to reach me. I also expend a considerable amount of effort—much more than I would ever admit to any casual acquaintance—managing a hefty stock portfolio. For that, in the past few years, all I need is a computer with an Internet connection and a telephone or two. Your mother has been so gracious as to give me one of the upstairs rooms to use as an office during my stay in America.’’

      ‘‘You’re admitting then, that you actually do work.’’

      ‘‘Please don’t tell anyone.’’

      ‘‘My lips are sealed.’’

      ‘‘Ah. Your lips…’’ He leaned a fraction closer.

      She brought a hand up, palm out, between his mouth and hers. He made a low, impatient noise in his throat. But he did back off. And she asked, ‘‘What about family? I seem to remember, at some point during the time we spent together in Gullandria, you mentioned a sister and a grandfather?’’

      ‘‘Yes.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘My sister, Eveline, is sixteen. She lives at Balmarran. She’s utterly unmanageable, I’m afraid. She drives tutors and companions away effortlessly, usually on the day my grandfather hires them. And then there was the recent upheaval over the groundskeeper’s boy. The two decided they were in love. The boy is totally unsuitable for her, of course.’’

      Egalitarian to the core, Liv put on her most socially superior expression. ‘‘Because he’s a mere freeman?’’

      ‘‘Not really. I think my grandfather and I are enlightened enough to accept that my sister might someday decide to marry a man without a title.’’

      ‘‘Then why?’’

      ‘‘You’d have to meet the boy. Cauley is completely uncivilized. He was ten when the groundskeeper and his wife adopted him. It was probably a mistake that they took him on. He was angry and aggressive, couldn’t read or even write his own name. He’s seventeen now. Under all the hair and the surly attitude, I’d venture to say he’s a handsome young man, if a trifle too thin. But he remains woefully undereducated and socially inept. He’s good in the gardens, though. His father has him working with his top assistant, Dag, learning the ropes, as they say.’’

      ‘‘And he and your sister?’’

      ‘‘She seems, I’m somewhat relieved to say, to have tired of him.’’

      ‘‘Only somewhat relieved?’’

      Finn shrugged. ‘‘I can’t help but pity Cauley. He’s hopelessly in love with her still. She’s hurt him terribly and he’s pulled into his shell even deeper than before.’’

      ‘‘Back to your sister.’’

      ‘‘If you insist.’’

      ‘‘How has she been allowed to become so unmanageable?’’

      ‘‘My mother died when she was born, and my father soon after, of a broken heart. My grandfather is her guardian. He’s never been able to refuse her anything.’’

      There was, she realized, so very much she didn’t know. ‘‘Your grandfather, what’s his name?’’

      ‘‘Balder.’’

      ‘‘A true Norse name.’’

      He laughed. ‘‘How would you know?’’

      ‘‘My mother taught us the myths—at least the major ones. Balder, as I recall, was the son of Odin and Frigg. He was much beloved by the gods. His mother fixed it so nothing could kill him.’’

      ‘‘Except a dart made of mistletoe.’’ He leaned in closer again. ‘‘Take me home with you….’’

      She breathed in the intoxicating scent of him, admired the shadowed shape of his mouth, felt the pull of his gaze through the darkness. His suggestion did tempt her—far too much. ‘‘Uh-uh.’’

      He bent closer. ‘‘Allow me the opportunity to convince you….’’ His mouth was an inch from hers. So far, she’d resisted the desire to kiss him. But she was weakening. And with his mouth so close, she couldn’t keep herself from thinking that if she were to move toward him a fraction, their lips would meet.

      ‘‘I don’t…’’ She hadn’t the faintest idea what she’d meant to say next.

      ‘‘Like this.’’ He leaned forward the necessary minute distance. His mouth touched hers—too briefly. And then he pulled back. ‘‘What would you like, Liv?’’

      ‘‘I…’’

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