A Stolen Season by Tamara Gill

visage.
    “How did you fare after our ride this morning? Not too sore I hope,” he asked.
    Sarah smiled. “No. I am very well, thank you, my lord.” She took a calming breath. After spending a fantastic morning with this man, it was odd for her to be so nervous. Lord Earnston had opened up a little more about himself — his preference for country living over the capital, what plays at the theatre he enjoyed, and his political views. With every moment she spent in his company, Sarah liked him a little more.
    She studied him as he stood next to her, his formal attire giving a different appeal tonight to the one he wore this morning. Not that he wasn’t as devastating in buckskin breeches as he was in knee-high satin breeches. Both pants showed off his delectable toosh very well.
    Sarah leaned against the balustrade. What was it that made his lordship different to the many boyfriends she’d had in the past? Underneath the nineteenth century attire he was just a guy like any other. Yes, he was wealthy and titled, but still a man. And yet, when she had his attention, she commanded it wholly and he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.
    He turned and looked over the garden and Sarah drank in his good looks. His chiseled cheeks and straight nose, lips that spoke with passion and thought. She wanted to kiss him and see what he was like. Sarah cleared her throat. “Beautiful garden, my lord. Are all London establishments so lucky to have an oasis in their backyard?”
    “Some, Miss Baxter.” He smiled. “Would you care for a stroll?”
    Sarah shook her head, confusion clouding her mind. The strong perfume of flowers surrounding the terrace tangled with his strong presence. This heady mixture was further weighted by the unnerving fact they were alone. Very alone. “I should not?”
    His lordship growled and pulled her into the grounds. “It is just a walk. I will not harm you, Miss Baxter.”
    “Very well,” she said.
    They ambled down the steps and walked along the gravel path and into the grounds as far as the lanterns’ glow stretched. Sarah stopped when the light gave way to shadow and sat at a stone bench just off the path. Lord Earnston followed her and sighed as he came to sit beside her.
    “I enjoyed our ride this morning, Miss Baxter. We should ride out together again.”
    Sarah crushed the image the word “ride” brought forth in her mind. She needed to get her mind out of the gutter. “I would like that, my lord. But I do not wish to cause trouble for you.”
    He ran a hand over his jaw. “I’m guessing you’re referring to my mother. No matter what her opinions and wishes are, my life is my own, and I’ll live it as I see fit, Miss Baxter.”
    “I do not doubt it. But I also believe your mother dislikes me, my lord.” Sarah turned toward him and again the seductive scent of sandalwood teased her senses. “I think she’s warning me off.”
    Lord Earnston met her gaze and Sarah’s stomach flipped. Everything about him was alluring and charming, and under a moonlit night it was hard to control the temptation to lean forward and taste those firm lips.
    “The question we should be asking is whether you’ll be scared off, Miss Baxter?”
    “I’m still sitting here, am I not?” Sarah asked.
    His eyes widened and time seemed to still about them. The sound of the festivities dimmed as all Sarah could hear was her own heart drumming. His lordship leaned in, gently brushed his lips against hers, and she was lost. It was wrong — so very, very wrong — and yet Sarah couldn’t form the words to halt where the slight contact was heading.
    His hands clasped her waist and pulled her against him. Sarah lifted her gaze to his eyes, sparkling in the moonlight and promising nights of pleasure should she only allow it.
    “Are you sure you wish to do this, Miss Baxter?”
    “Call me Sarah,” she replied before she threw her hands around his nape and pulled him down for a kiss. All thoughts