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snug gardener’s cottage. We won’t see them, but the horses are stabled, there will be food on the table shortly and for two days we can run away from the world.’

      ‘But Pru and Bates aren’t…I mean, I shouldn’t countenance…’ Decima followed Adam’s gaze to where the big bed stood, the sheets a rumpled testimony to an afternoon of lovemaking. ‘Oh.’ She could feel the blush mounting her cheeks and hid her confusion by burying her face in the thick silk of Adam’s dressing gown.

      ‘I do love you, Decima Ross,’ Adam murmured into her tousled hair. ‘And if you could think clearly after I’ve made love to you I would not take that as much of a compliment. Now, come and let me soap you all over while we congratulate ourselves on our excellent matchmaking skills.’

      Decima let him peel away the sheet and slid into the warm, scented water with a soft sigh of pleasure. ‘But everyone must get married soon,’ she said firmly, trying to resist a whimper of delight as Adam squeezed a soapy sponge over her.

      ‘Absolutely,’ he agreed seriously. ‘I cannot speak for Bates, or Freshford for that matter, but I have every intention of applying for a licence at the earliest possible opportunity. Meanwhile…’ he bent to nibble her earlobe ‘…meanwhile, I intend practising making love to you as often as I can.’

      ‘Yes, Adam,’ Decima agreed meekly. ‘It is regrettable that it appears to make us late for meals, but I cannot help but feel it is my duty to practise as much as possible to please you.’ She rather spoilt this pious wifely hope by turning to curl wet arms around his shoulders. ‘I do love you, Adam.’

      ‘And I love you.’ He got to his feet and pulled off the dressing gown. ‘Do you think this bathtub will hold both of us? Because I fully intend being very late for dinner.’

      Downstairs in the kitchen Pru shut the oven door firmly on a beef casserole, set the bread and butter on the table and smiled at Jethro Bates. ‘There, that won’t spoil, never mind how late they are. Now, what shall we have for dinner?’

       The Society Catch

      Louise Allen

      ‘Joanna, you simply cannot go around allowing yourself to be kissed because it is interesting!

      ‘How many other experiences do you think you might sample out of interest? You are playing with fire!’

      ‘Nonsense!’ Joanna got to her feet shakily. She felt as if her legs were going to give way at any moment, and she grabbed hold of the chair-back.

      ‘Nonsense? Joanna, I do not believe for one moment that you have any idea of the danger you are in when you trustingly let yourself be kissed. And don’t stand there looking at me like that with those big hazel eyes: there is just so much a man can take.’

      ‘You are trying to scare me for my own good,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t believe for one moment I am in any danger from you, Giles. I trust you.’

      Giles stood looking at the defiant, piquant face. Her eyes were huge in the firelight, and the shadows flickered over her mouth, swollen from the pressure of his. Her hair fell like black silk, rising and falling with her rapid breathing, and she said she trusted him!

      Praise for

       Louise Allen

      The Earl’s Intended Wife

      “Well-developed characters…an appealing sensual

       and emotionally rich love story.”

      —Romantic Times BOOKclub

      “I liked the unusual location of Malta in this sweet book.

       I look forward to what Ms. Allen will write next.”

      —Rakehell

      “A sweet romance and an engaging story…

       the sort of book to get lost in on a lazy afternoon.”

      —All About Romance

       Chapter One

      The encounter that led directly to Colonel Gregory being disinherited by his father and to Miss Joanna Fulgrave running away from home in disgrace took place at the Duchess of Bridlington’s dress ball on the sixth of June.

      It was a very splendid occasion. As her Grace fully intended, it succeeded in both marking the approaching end of the Season and ensuring that any other function held between then and the dispersal of the ton from town seemed sadly flat in comparison.

      Joanna progressed as gracefully to the receiving line outside the ballroom at Bridlington House as the necessity to halt on every step and to guard her skirts from being trodden upon allowed. Beside her Mrs Fulgrave mounted the famous double staircase with equal patience. The Fulgrave ladies had ample opportunity to exchange smiles and bows with friends and acquaintances, caught up as they all were in the slow-moving crush.

      As always, mothers of less satisfactory débutantes observed her progress, and in undertones reminded their daughters to observe Miss Fulgrave’s impeccable deportment, her exquisitely correct appearance and her perfectly modulated and charming manner.

      If Joanna had not combined these enviable virtues with a natural warmth and friendliness, the young ladies so addressed would have long since begun to dislike her heartily. As it was, they forgave her for her perfections while their mothers poured balm upon each other’s wounds with reminders that this was Miss Fulgrave’s second Season now drawing to a close and she was still unattached.

      That was a matter very much upon her fond mama’s mind. No one, Mrs Fulgrave knew, could hope for a more dutiful, lovely, conformable daughter as Joanna. Yet not one, but seven, eligible gentlemen had presented themselves to Mr Fulgrave, were permitted to pay their addresses to Joanna and went away, their pretensions dismissed kindly but firmly. In every case Miss Joanna was unable, or unwilling, to provide her harassed parent with any explanation, other than to say she did not think the gentleman would suit.

      However, that very morning Joanna had refused to receive the son of her mama’s dearest school friend, a gentleman of such excellent endowments of birth, fortune and looks that her father had rapidly moved from astonishment to incredulous displeasure and Joanna discovered the limits of parental tolerance at last.

      ‘How can you say you will refuse Rufus?’ her mother had demanded. ‘What can I say to Elizabeth when she discovers you have spurned her son out of hand?’

      ‘I hardly know him,’ Joanna had said placatingly, only to meet with a snort from her parent. ‘You hardly know him: why, you said yourself that you had not met his mama for over ten years.’

      ‘You met Rufus Carstairs when you were six.’

      ‘He pulled my pigtails and took my ball.’

      ‘When he was ten! Really Joanna, to turn down the Earl of Clifton because of some childish squabble is beyond everything foolish.’

      Joanna had bitten her lip, her eyes downcast as she searched for some acceptable excuse. To tell the truth, the reason why she would have turned down anyone from a Duke to the richest nabob, was quite out of the question, but she was hesitant to wound her mama with the specific reason why she would not have considered Rufus Carstairs in any case.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘I do not like him, Mama, really I do not. There is something in his eyes when he looks at me…’ Her voice trailed off. Those penetrating blue eyes were the only clue to something burning inside the polite, elegant exterior that filled her with a profound mistrust. ‘It is as though I have no clothes on,’ she finally blurted out.

      ‘Joanna! Of all the improper things…I can only hope that your

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