And she bent to pick up her sketchbook and went back to the manor.

It was a small and peculiar twist of fate that the path Daisy chose should take her beside the bachelor’s house. The small residence was set apart from the main house, close enough to the riverside bluff that it provided magnificent views of the water. A few of the male guests had elected to take advantage of the privacy of the bachelor’s house. Now it was empty since the hunting party had ended yesterday and most of the guests had taken their leave.

Except for Matthew Swift, of course.

Preoccupied with her thoughts, Daisy trudged along the path beside an ironstone wall that edged the bluff. Her amusement melted into moroseness as she thought of her father, who was determined to marry her to Matthew Swift…and Lillian, who wanted her to marry anyone but Swift…and her mother, who would be satisfied with nothing less than a peer. Mercedes was not going to be happy once she learned that Daisy had rebuffed Llandrindon.

Thinking over the past week, Daisy realized that her attempt to capture Matthew’s attention had not been a game to her. It mattered desperately. She had never wanted anything in her life as much as the chance to speak to him sincerely, honestly, holding nothing back. But instead of forcing his feelings to the surface, she had only managed to uncover her own.

When she was with him, she felt the promise of something more wonderful, more exciting than anything she had read or dreamed about.

Something real.

It was incredible that a man she had always thought of as cold and passionless had turned out to be someone with so much gentleness and sensuality and tenderness. Someone who had secretly carried a lock of her hair in his pocket.

Becoming aware of someone’s approach, Daisy glanced upward and felt her entire body quake.

Matthew was coming from the manor, looking dark and surly as he walked in ground-eating strides.

A man in a hurry with no place to go.

His momentum stopped abruptly as he saw her, his face turning blank.

They stared at each other in the charged silence.

Daisy’s brows rushed downward in a scowl. It was either that or fling herself at him and start weeping. The depth of her yearning shocked her.

“Mr. Swift,” she said unsteadily.

“Miss Bowman.” He looked as though he would rather be anywhere but there with her.

Her nerves crackled with expectant heat as he reached for the sketchbook in her hand.

Without thinking, she let him take it.

His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the book, which was open to her sketch of Llandrindon. “Why did you draw him with a beard?” he asked.

“That’s not a beard,” Daisy said shortly. “It’s shadowing.”

“It looks as if he hasn’t shaved in three months.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my artwork,” she snapped. She grabbed the sketchbook, but he refused to release it. “Let go,” she demanded, tugging with all her might, “or I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Draw a portrait of me?” He released the book with a suddenness that caused her to stumble back a few steps. He held up his hands defensively. “No. Anything but that.”

Daisy rushed at him and whacked his chest with the book. She hated it that she felt so alive with him. She hated the way her senses drank in his presence like dry earth absorbing rain. She hated his handsome face and virile body, and the mouth that was more tempting than any man’s mouth had a right to be.

Matthew’s smile vanished as his gaze slid over her and lingered on the torn seam at her shoulder. “What happened to your dress?”

“It was nothing. I had a sort of…well, a scuffle, you might call it, with Lord Llandrindon.”

It was the most innocent way Daisy could think of to describe the encounter, which of course had been harmless. She was certain no lurid connotations could be attached to “scuffle.”

However, it appeared that Swift’s definition of the word was far more expansive than hers. Suddenly his expression turned dark and frightening, and his blue eyes blazed.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said in a guttural voice. “He dared to—where is he?”

“No, no,” Daisy said hastily, “you misunderstood—it wasn’t like that—” Dropping the sketchbook, she threw her arms around him, using all her weight to restrain him as he headed toward the garden. She might as well have tried to hold back a charging bull. With the first few steps she was carried bodily with him. “Wait! What gives you the right to do anything where I’m concerned?”

Breathing heavily, Matthew stopped and glared down into her flushed face. “Did he touch you? Did he force you to—”

“You’re nothing but a dog in the manger,” Daisy cried hotly. “You don’t want me—why should you care if someone else does? Leave me alone and go back to your plans for building your big sodding factory and making mountains of money! I hope you become the richest man in the world. I hope you get everything you want, and then someday you’ll look around and wonder why no one loves you and why you’re so unh—”

Her words were crushed into silence as he kissed her, his mouth hard and punishing. A wild thrill shot through her, and she turned her face away with a gasp. “—happy,” she managed to finish, just before he clasped her head in his hands and kissed her again.

This time his mouth was gentler, shifting with sensuous urgency to find the most perfect fit. Daisy’s hammering heart sent a rush of pleasure-heated blood through her dilating veins. She fumbled to grip his muscled wrists, her fingertips pressed against the throb of a pulse that was no less frenzied than her own.