‘I have a proposition to put to you, Lord Stainton, that may benefit both of us.’

      ‘Mrs Brody, the last time you had a proposition to put to me it was to apply for the position of nursemaid to my children. What is it this time?’

      ‘Well—I—I would like to ask you—in all humility—to marry me.’

      ‘What?’ He was incredulous. The startling pale blue eyes swept over her face. ‘Mrs Brody, I think you must have taken leave of your senses.’

      Eve straightened up and walked towards him. ‘Please have the good sense to take me seriously.’

      ‘I do,’ he ground out, angry now, and insulted. ‘And the answer is no.’ It was an instant response. Unconsidered. Automatic.

      Eve met his eyes. This man was sharp, intelligent, and he was observant. ‘The marriage would merely be a business arrangement. You need someone to look after your children and financing. I need a home for myself and my daughter. It will be a marriage in name only—an affair of convenience.’

      Lucas gazed at her unblinkingly—a sudden interest seemed to appear in his eyes, and then it was gone.

      Helen Dickson was born and still lives in South Yorkshire, with her husband, on a busy arable farm, where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.

       Recent novels by the same author:

      THE PIRATE’S DAUGHTER

      BELHAVEN BRIDE THE EARL AND THE PICKPOCKET HIS REBEL BRIDE THE DEFIANT DEBUTANTE ROGUE’S WIDOW, GENTLEMAN’S WIFE TRAITOR OR TEMPTRESS A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE WICKED PLEASURES

      (part of Christmas By Candlelight)

      FORBIDDEN LORD

      SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

      FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE

      Helen Dickson

      Chapter One

       1820

      The young woman paused to look around. It was early morning and most people were still abed. There was not a sound in this great London park, shrouded in the kind of thick fog the city was famous for. It was as if she were alone in the world. This was the time of day she loved best.

      But then, somewhere in the distance, she could hear the pounding of a horse’s hooves. She could almost feel the ground tremble beneath her feet. She resented the sound, that anyone should disturb her solitude. Turning full circle, she strained her eyes, listening to the thundering crash coming ever closer, when suddenly a sharp shout rent the air and a huge black shape of a horse and rider descended on her.

      She cried out for him to stop and threw herself to one side, landing on the grass in a tumbled heap. The rider jerked at the reins and the beast reared, its hooves flashing like quicksilver, its coat glistening as the muscles beneath it rolled and heaved. Flared nostrils and blazing eyes gave him the look of a demented dragon. It missed her by mere inches.

      The woman saw the man as if through a long tunnel. A small cry came from her throat as she saw the black apparition swing himself from his mount in one quick, effortless bound. With his cloak flying wide behind him he resembled a huge bat swooping down toward her. Seized by terror, she scrambled to her feet; brushing down her skirts she glared at him, her heart pounding fit to burst.

      ‘You damned fool,’ he roared. ‘What the hell are you doing on the track? I could have killed you.’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ she retorted sharply, setting to rights her bonnet, which had been knocked sideways, and trying to smooth away the mixture of terror and anger that had taken hold of her. He was so tall she was forced to look up at him, and she found herself confronting pale, snapping eyes. Black hair accentuated lean cheekbones and a resolute jaw, and his mouth was compressed into a stern arrogant line.

      ‘If you had been any closer you could have been trampled to death. Is there no room in that brainless skull of yours for common sense?’

      ‘Why, how dare you?’ She was incensed, her face pink with indignation. ‘And will you please not wave your crop about like that as if you were going to thrash me.’

      The stranger slapped the offending weapon to his side without relinquishing her eyes. ‘I am sorely tempted. Don’t you know not to walk on the track? It’s for horses, not ladies to stroll on.’

      She raised her chin belligerently. ‘I do know that, but I didn’t think anyone would be foolish enough to be out riding with the fog as bad as this. And I was only following the track so that I wouldn’t become lost.’

      ‘Which is a dangerous thing to do at the best of times.’ Abruptly the man interrupted his tirade to say with a touch of concern as a thought occurred to him, ‘Are you hurt?’

      She glowered at him accusingly, her face showing no sign of softening. ‘No—no thanks to you. If you had been riding with more care and attention, this would never have happened—or perhaps your horse got the better of you and you haven’t taught it who is master.’

      ‘I assure you he knows who is his master.’ He looked at her closely, seeing a gloriously attractive young woman whose whole manner spoke of fearlessness, of her need to let him see that she was afraid of no one, and certainly not of him. Even if she had not jumped out of the way as she had done, he would not have run her down. He was too good a horseman for that, but it had been a close shave. He smiled lazily. ‘What a firebrand you are. Are you sure you stumbled and didn’t just swoon at the sight of me and my horse?’

      His hollow chuckle held a note of mockery. A flush of anger spread to the delicate tips of the woman’s ears and icy fire smouldered in her deep blue eyes. ‘Why, you conceited, unmitigated cad. You are arrogant if you believe I would ever swoon at your feet. Thank God I’m not afflicted by such weakness.’ She stepped away from him, finding his closeness and the way he towered over her a little intimidating. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

      Not yet ready to be dismissed, he touched her arm to delay her. ‘At least let me escort you to your home.’

      Her chilled contempt met him face to face. She slapped his hand away. ‘Do not touch me. I am quite capable of taking myself home. Go away and take that vicious beast with you,’ she snapped, glancing irately at the black stallion that had begun to snort and stamp impatiently, its vigorous temperament reminding her so very much of its master.

      ‘Aren’t you taking a risk? You might be set upon by footpads or worse. Anything could happen to a young woman walking alone at this hour.’

      ‘It just did, and I’m of the opinion that I’m in less danger of being set upon by footpads than I am from you. At least they may have better manners.’ Turning her back on him, with her head held high she began to stalk away.

      He sighed in feigned disappointment, slowly shaking his head. ‘Such ingratitude.’

      She spun round. ‘Ingratitude?’ she gasped. ‘You call me ungrateful? You almost trample me to death and I am supposed to be grateful?’

      His eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Have it your way.’ He set his tall hat securely on his head and swung himself back in the saddle on his prancing beast. ‘Good day to you.’

      He kicked his horse into motion. His laughter drifted back to her, his mockery infuriating her yet further. She stamped her foot and glared after him, muttering all kinds of threats under her breath.