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“I’m avoiding someone, sir.”

“Avoiding someone?” Mark prompted easily, as though the incongruity of conversing with her in a musty office in the City rather than in an elegant drawing room in Mayfair had not occurred to him.

“Yes,” Emily breathed. “The door was open and I just quickly darted in, as I didn’t want to speak to him anymore.”

“If he’s making a nuisance of himself I’m sure I can persuade him to desist.” As Mark drew level to her, a frisson of something akin to excitement jolted through her. The corridor was narrow and shadowy, and a musky sandalwood scent seemed to emanate from the warmth of his body.

Mark felt blood thicken his veins. He had an almost undeniable urge to trap her against the wall and kiss her senseless. She was the most unbelievably desirable little minx, even garbed in a voluminous cloak that disguised all her sweet curves. Miss Emily Beaumont might not like him, but he feared he might like her…a little too much….

The Wanton Bride

Harlequin^®Historical #894—April 2008