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"Your sister will remain where she has been placed."

Olivia's stomach twisted. "You cannot simply separate us."

Lady Jane ignored her protest and marched her up the staircase. "You will get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, you shall begin making yourself useful."

Olivia stopped on the stair.

"Useful how?"

Lady Jane turned and regarded her with a thin smile that Olivia immediately distrusted.

"Tomorrow," she said, "you will meet your husband."

Chapter Three

"Blasted evening. I do not need this in my own home," James said.

James Delves had reached the point in the evening when he would have gladly exchanged his dukedom for a quiet cottage and a locked door. The ballroom of Glenmore Manor glittered behind him, overflowing with candlelight, music, jewels and ambitious young women whose mothers had spent the better part of the evening maneuvering them into his path.

James had endured enough smiles, curtsies and remarkably transparent conversations about the virtues of marriage to last him several years.

He slipped through the terrace doors and into the gardens, drawing a deep breath as the cool night air replaced the suffocating warmth of the ballroom.

He walked quickly along the gravel path, passing couples strolling beneath the trees, and kept going until the sounds of the orchestra faded behind him.

"These power-thirsty women are intolerable," he muttered, running a hand through his long dark-brown hair. "They have no idea that I could never marry them."

The thought of explaining himself to yet another woman who had decided she would make an excellent duchess made his jaw tighten. His father had been dead for only a month, yet the old duke's final demand still seemed to haunt him, produce an heir or watch Glenmore slip beyond his control.

James had done his duty in hosting the ball. He had not promised to enjoy it.

By the time he reached the stables, his irritation had begun to ease. The familiar scent of hay and leather was infinitely preferable to perfume, and the quiet was almost blissful.

Then he heard a commotion from one of the stalls. James stopped and listened, his brows drawing together as something scraped against wood. He stepped inside and saw a woman wrestling rather unsuccessfully with a saddle.

For several moments, he simply watched her, fascinated by the determination with which she attempted to make sense of a piece of equipment that appeared to be winning the battle.

"There," the woman muttered, tugging at a strap. "That ought to do it. There is no way I am marrying that old man merely because Aunt Jane has decided he is respectable." She paused and glanced toward the stable door before lowering her voice. "I shall escape."

James bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile. She was attempting to steal one of his horses, apparently, and doing such a poor job of it that he almost felt obliged to help her out of sympathy.

He failed to suppress the next sound. A chuckle escaped him. The woman froze.

Slowly, she turned around and regarded him with an expression of profound suspicion. She was plainly not a debutante he had encountered during the ball. Her gown was elegant enough, but there was nothing polished about the way she stood with one hand still gripping the saddle.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, attempting a nonchalant tone that would have been more convincing had she not looked as though she had just been caught committing a particularly imaginative crime.

James folded his arms, enjoying himself considerably more than he had expected. "I might ask you the same question."

"I am merely looking at the horses," she replied, releasing the saddle strap with exaggerated innocence.

"With a saddle in your hands?"

She glanced down at it. "I am very interested in saddles."

James smiled. He had never met a woman quite like her. "You sound as though you are from the south."

"Yes," she answered promptly, returning to her task. "And that is precisely where I intend to return. So, are you going to help me saddle the horse, or are you simply going to stand there and watch?"