A Baron in Her Bed by Maggi Andersen

a generous nature. A passionate one? She tried to silence her thoughts. “Is there a chance Napoleon might escape from St Helena?”
    Guy shook his head. “He is a beaten man. The world will not see him again.”
    She wondered what his true feelings for Napoleon were. She almost asked him but was afraid of the answer. Somehow she knew he would answer truthfully. He must care deeply for the country of his birth. Could he come to love England as much?
    “Are you all right?” He clasped her hand tightly. “I am not dancing too fast?”
    “No, of course not. I’m hardly in my dotage.” She looked down to the swell of her bosom, pale in the candlelight. Her chest gave her feelings away, rising and falling as if she’d run a mile.
    “I’m glad you told me. I should never have known.” He chuckled. “Why, you must be well past twenty. If I can be allowed to guess.”
    “You are not allowed, my lord. And I’m shocked you would mention it.” She wished she could whip the offending net from her hair.
    “I do apologize; I seem to have a knack for annoying you.”
    “Not at all.” She was not just out of the schoolroom admittedly.
    His graceful moves made her dance well. They spun around and around. Her head, already a trifle woozy from the wine, spun too. She counted under her breath as his hand tightened at her waist. Their bodies were close again, too close for propriety’s sake and her peace of mind. There was nothing she could do about it, so she gave herself up to the sensation. Once she did, she found it very pleasant. She lifted her gaze to his and found his expression had become earnest.
    “If you permit, I shall call on you and your father,” he said. He turned her expertly. “I desire to see Simon again. To thank him,” he added, sotto voce . “I worry he may get into difficulty on my account.”
    Horatia’s heart sank to her dancing slippers. At this precise moment, she had no idea how to deal with such a request. To refuse him would be considered bad mannered, and in his arms, the urge to fight him had deserted her. Her wits lost, she scrabbled for some excuse. “Simon is a modest fellow; I doubt he would wish you to pursue this further. You will embarrass him.”
    “ Tiens ! That is not my intention.”
    She almost sagged with relief.
    He sought her gaze and held it. “I promise to be prudent. Monday at two o’clock. If it is convenable ?”
    “Of course,” Horatia said in a high voice, her mind blank with horror.
    The dance ended, and he escorted her from the floor. “Would you care for refreshment?” he asked. “The room is quite warm.”
    She settled herself into a chair. “No thank you, my lord.”
    “I see you do not have your fan.”
    She slanted a look at him and caught his sympathetic smile. Somehow she didn’t trust it. Hot and extremely bothered, she determined to rescue her fan at the first opportunity.
    He signaled to a waiter and returned with a glass of Madeira. “I see the musicians are threatening to play again.” His eyes danced with amusement, and she wondered if he found them all terribly parochial. “I must go and ask another lady to dance.”
    Horatia watched him bow to Fanny. She curtsied and blushed prettily as he led her onto the floor for a cotillion. What a handsome couple they made. She wished Fanny would not giggle so.
    With a quick look around for rivals, Mr. Oakley approached. Suppressing a sigh, she rose to take his arm. His hopeful gaze settled on her as they danced.
    As soon as the dance ended, Horatia excused herself and slipped from the room. She hurried to the salon, relieved to find it deserted. Plunging her hand into the urn, she straightened with the fan in her hand.
    A deep voice came from the doorway. “Ah, you have found it.”
    She spun around. “Why yes, it must have fallen into this vase.”
    “How extraordinary you thought to look there.” The baron leaned against the doorframe.
    “Yes, wasn’t it?” She snapped it open and glared