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the point.’ Gray was fast coming to the state of losing his temper. Something he rarely, if ever, did. As the eligible Lord Gideon Grayson, a man spoilt and fêted by the ton, both for his wealth and his unmarried status, he found there were very few occasions upon which his will was thwarted. Something that this reckless companion of his young ward must be made aware of. ‘I require a candle be lit immediately, if you please,’ he repeated grimly.

      ‘But—’

      ‘If you please, madam!’

      ‘I am sure there is no need to shout—’

      ‘And I assure you I have not even begun to shout.’ Gray glowered down at her darkly. ‘The candle, madam!’

      Deciding that it would perhaps be imprudent on her part to incite this man’s displeasure any further, Amelia turned obediently to where she kept an unlit candle in readiness on the table that fitted so neatly into the niche at the top of the stairs, her hand shaking slightly as she struck the tinder and lit the taper before holding it over the wick. She drew in a deep, steadying breath before lifting the candle in its holder and turning back to face the man whose forceful arrogance was rapidly giving her the impression that he might just have a perfect right to have entered Steadley Manor so confidently in the dead of night after all …

      One look at that handsome but harshly hewn face, dominated by piercing grey eyes, and Amelia knew he did indeed have that right. No one more so, in fact, when his likeness to Lord Peregrine Grayson, the previous owner of the Steadley estate and Amelia’s own deceased stepfather, was so blatantly obvious.

      ‘Lord Gideon Grayson …?’ Amelia prompted with a sinking heart, even as she made an elegant curtsey. Something not easily achieved in one’s nightgown and robe!

      ‘Ma’am,’ he confirmed with a terse bow.

      Oh, dear! Amelia inwardly cringed as she realised—acknowledged—that she had not, as she had assumed, fired her pistol at a burglar, but at the man who had inherited the title and Steadley Manor on his older brother’s death some two and a half years previously!

      Those grey eyes continued to glower down at her. ‘Not your husband, after all …?’

      Amelia felt the colour burn her cheeks. ‘I only said that because I thought it would—well, that a husband would be more of a deterrent.’

      ‘A deterrent to my taking further “liberties”, no doubt?’ he drawled.

      ‘Yes!’

      ‘Hmm.’ Lord Grayson scowled darkly. ‘Now that we have dispensed with the formalities, perhaps you would care to tell me why there appear to be no grooms in my stables and no servants in my house?’

      Amelia was more than happy to have the conversation directed elsewhere other than her impetuous claim of being married to this man! ‘There are but two servants left on the whole of the estate, My Lord,’ she informed him ruefully. ‘Mrs Burdock, the cook, has been here for so many years now that she has assured me she is too old to find new employment. And Ned the gardener refuses to be parted from his prize roses.’ Her tone softened with affection as she spoke of the elderly gardener.

      Gray eyed the young woman disapprovingly, more than ever convinced, now that he could see her clearly, that she could not be a suitable companion for his ward.

      Her hair was indeed the rich, deep colour of gold, and fell in gloriously thick waves over and down her shoulders and spine above the thin white robe that was all she wore over her nightgown. The eyes that looked up at him so curiously were the deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea on a clear summer’s day, her complexion as white and unblemished as alabaster, and her lips a full bow, as red and inviting as the ripest of berries.

      The robe—a flimsy and totally inappropriate garment for a paid companion to wear!—was draped over her nightgown, but not fastened, and revealed the full and deliciously tempting swell of those pert and creamy breasts that had been pressed against Gray’s own chest only minutes ago.

      Circumstances being what they were, Gray had not as yet had the pleasure of meeting his young ward, but he could see at a glance that the woman standing before him was too seductively beautiful to be the paid companion of any young and no doubt impressionable girl.

      In fact, after having enjoyed the lush curves of her body being pressed intimately against his, Gray believed her to be far more suited to being the paid ‘companion’ of any male member of the ton who might be on the hunt for a new mistress!

      Considering that Gray’s older brother Perry had been married but a few months before he died, and by all accounts happily so, Gray could not help but wonder what his brother could have been about, hiring someone so young and so seductively feminine as companion to the young stepdaughter he had acquired upon his short but sweet marriage.

      Gray’s mouth thinned as he looked down at the woman from between narrowed lids. ‘You have forgotten to list yourself in that number.’

      Those blue eyes widened, before a frown of consternation appeared between those fine eyes. ‘Oh. Yes. I am here, too, of course.’

      Gray nodded tersely. ‘Of course.’

      Amelia worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she pondered how best to extract herself from this disastrous situation. Especially as the man in front of her did not look like a man capable of losing even one ounce of that arrogant pride that fitted him as perfectly as his impeccably tailored clothing!

      An arrogant and wickedly handsome man who had held her in his arms only minutes ago …

      Amelia moistened her lips before speaking. ‘I am unsure as to whether your bedchamber is suitable for habitation, My Lord. It is so long since anyone last slept in that particular bedchamber that I am afraid that even if the bed is made the sheets upon it are sure to be damp—’

      ‘I will see to my own sleeping arrangements shortly, thank you, madam.’ His pale eyes shimmered down at her in the candlelight. ‘At this moment I am more interested in why there should be only yourself and two other servants remaining on the Steadley estate?’

      Amelia blinked her surprise at what was surely an unnecessary question. ‘Because they have all departed …’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because, My Lord, they had not been paid in six months or more …’

      ‘What?’ Lord Grayson glared down at her ominously.

      She shook her head. ‘Mr Sanders had not been able to pay either the household staff or the gardeners and grooms for many months before he was forced to depart for greener pastures himself only days ago.’

      Gray recalled that Sanders had been the name of his estate manager he had written to the previous week, informing him of his intention of arriving at Steadley Manor today …

      Having deliberately stayed away from Steadley Manor these past two and a half years, Gray had never met the estate manager who had replaced Mr Davies upon the latter’s retirement a year ago. He had, in fact, put all the dealings of the estate, including the hiring of a new estate manager, into the capable hands of Worthington, his lawyer.

      Because Gray had not wanted Steadley Manor, nor the estate, nor any of the other responsibilities—such as Perry’s recently acquired stepdaughter—that had been left in his charge when his brother had died. The only thing Gray had wanted was his brother back safe and well from the Battle of Waterloo. Something that was never going to happen now Perry had been left broken and dead on the battlefield.

      Steadley Manor, the estate, even Perry’s dratted stepdaughter, were all just reminders to Gray that he would never see his beloved brother again. Easier by far, then, to ignore them all and simply continue to live his own life in London.

      Until, that was, Gray had received a letter a fortnight ago, delivered to his London home one morning, from Daniel Wycliffe, the Earl of Stanford. The Earl’s estate was but twenty miles from Steadley Manor, and Daniel had been a childhood friend of Gray’s brother Perry. The fact that

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