Her Secret Affair by Barbara Dawson Smith

plan for a promenade in the park.”
    She tensed, her step faltering. For the barest instant, she feared he had found out about her investigation of murder. But no, he thought she wanted a rich husband. She continued briskly along the pavement. “If you’re concerned about scandal, then ride away and quit calling attention to me.”
    “I want to know where you’re heading.”
    “Nowhere in particular.”
    “Indeed.” His voice hardened, deep with suspicion. “Have you an assignation with Mobrey? The least he could have done was to send his carriage for you.”
    She fisted her fingers beneath the cloak. Damn Lord Kern for always thinking the worst of her! “How astute of you to guess my secret,” she said scathingly. “His carriage awaits me in the next street. So you may leave me now in good conscience. I’ll ruin myself and be gone from your life without an ounce of effort on your part.”
    Keeping her gaze focused ahead on the misty row of town houses, she marched along with her chin held high. There, that should satisfy the earl. If he had any sense in that haughty head of his, he would abandon her to her fate.
    He swore viciously under his breath. Then his big dark shape swooped at the edge of her vision. She started to turn, but his muscled arm clamped around her waist as he hauled her up into the saddle.
    She found herself wedged sideways in front of him, her legs dangling high above the ground and her bottom squashed between him and the pommel. The twisting of her cloak lashed her in place within the circle of his arms. Any attempt to move only nestled her more intimately against his hard body.
    Her rage at his audacity burned deeply, sizzling low in her belly. She tilted her head back, intending to demand her freedom. But the caustic words died in her throat. His face was stark and compelling in the shadows. Against her shoulder, his heart beat a strong rhythm. With every breath, she drew in his male scent: leather and musk, darkness and danger. She felt consumed by the impulse to lift her arms and draw his face down to hers, to touch his smooth-shaven cheek, to taste his masculine lips …
    She stopped herself in dismay. This was sexual desire, the carnal longings she had heard her aunts discuss when they thought she wasn’t listening, the secret ache she’d felt alone in her bed in the dark of night. She had sworn not to follow her mother’s path, sworn not to give herself indiscriminately. She had vowed to save her passion for the man who earned her respect and trust.
    So how could she desire this blue-blooded brute?
    Isabel punched his arm. “Let me down.”
    His embrace tightened to the verge of pain. The horse pranced along, jolting her forward against the pommel. “Stop your squirming,” Kern snapped. “You’ll frighten my mount.”
    “Where are you taking me?”
    “Back to Hathaway’s. So you won’t bring shame onto him or Lady Helen.”
    She thought of Persephone, weak with illness, calling for her. “Wait! You don’t understand.”
    “If you’re worried about Mobrey, I doubt he’ll give up on you so easily. He’ll be groveling at your feet come morning, bringing you posies and begging for your favors.”
    “If you must know,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’m not off to meet him. So release me.”
    Kern reined the horse to a halt. The palatial facade of Hathaway’s town house appeared through the mist. Other than a faint, flickering light in her own second-story window, the house loomed like a dark and silent sentinel. But it was not so imposing as the man who held her hostage.
    The very real danger of her situation gripped Isabel. If he knew the memoirs lay only inches from his grasp, he would wrest up her skirts and seize the book. She caught her breath at the image of his hand sliding over her thigh …
    His gloved fingers tilted her chin up. His eyes glittered through the gloom. Again, she felt that heated quivering inside her, the shocking desire to melt against