Excerpt:

Embarrassed at finding herself trapped in his arms she tried to wiggle free. She couldn't get away. "Did you push me?" she asked in an accusing tone.

He frowned. "No! Why are you in my library? Does that chair resemble a tree?"

She felt herself flush as she glanced at his black hair. It tumbled over his forehead and she wanted to reach up and touch the lock of wayward hair. Then she caught his sea green eyes glaring in reproof. She wanted to see him smile. Her behavior was unbecoming, but she raised her chin and demurely murmured, "You were not expected before tomorrow, my lord."

"A good thing I returned," he snapped, breaking the tenderness of the moment. "That would have been a nasty fall. Why didn't you use the ladder."

"It's broken." She tried to look away from him so he couldn't see her disappointment. "Thank you for saving me."

"You've turned sweeter than when I saved you from falling out of the old oak tree." He sounded decidedly top lofty.

"I was almost twelve," she parried defensively. "You scolded me and made me cry."

"You kissed me," he grinned.

"You kissed me first."

"Just to make you stop crying."

"I'm not crying."

"No you're not." He cleared his throat.

How odd! His anger had disappeared from his eyes and she still struggled to slow her heartbeat, and keep her arms from creeping around his neck to obtain the kiss she suddenly craved. His eyes darkened to the green of a midnight sea. What was he thinking? Aware of her heart pounding and heat building in her midsection, she had to get away from him before she made a fool of herself. "Put me down!"

As though James just realized he held her in his arms, he hastily set her down. Then backed away a step. "You're all grown up," he added in a whisper. He quickly cooled her ardor with his next words, "I've talked to Aunt Shredda about finding you a suitable husband."

Not knowing what else to do, she countered back, and threw in a smile she was far from feeling. "She can try, but I'm not interested in marrying any dandies. You will do."

"We will talk about that later. You are not dealing with a fool. I'm certain you were not in my bed when I climbed in the window."

Julia shrugged her shoulders in a show of indifference. She had no intention of admitting her true feelings. "Aunt Shredda agrees with me. You are quite suitable."

He stepped toward her, but she would not be intimidated. "Surely Aunt Shredda could line up a man who isn't a dandy."

Julia could hardly breathe when he moved closer. Yet she could not let him defile anyone as kind and thoughtful as Aunt Shredda. "They are not my style. They are all..." she shrugged before adding, "libertines."

He raised a brow. "What do you know about libertines?"

"Enough to know I don't want to marry one. I don't fancy I want to marry any rogue running around London."

"Have you met any rogues?" he demanded, though she could see he bit his lower lip to keep from smiling.

Why did he have to stand so near that she felt the heat of his body? "Only you."

"Me?" His attempt to look innocent failed on her. "Nearly five years ago I spent maybe a month at Hawkthorn. Unforgettable days they were, too. I rescued your cat, saved you from falling out of a tree, and I taught you to swim. Now I've saved you from falling and breaking your foolish neck. How can you call me a rogue?"

She flinched at the suggestion of being foolish, even though to him it might appear to be true. "Aunt Shredda says you're a lovable rogue." She tried to soften her earlier accusation. "Also that you need to marry for an heir. But you have Robert." Her hand reached her mouth too late to stop the words. She had said too much.

Author BIO: Patty Deans' talent for imaginative, believable premises showed early when, as a sub-teenager, she wrote, rehearsed and produced stage shows by the neighborhood children for the enjoyment of a captured audience of their parents. At twenty-one, supervising sixty people at a midwest armed services records center punch-card operation (forerunner to computers) exposed her early on to personalities of future characters. At Harvard University, she taught computer science, including programming, writing manuals, evaluating software, while managing the computer library. She has written numerous reviews published nationally of non-fiction books for writers and aspiring writers. In Iraq before the Gulf War, she lived near the Tigris River serving as liaison between the Baghdad/Iraq police officials, U.S.Embassy, and her architect husband and his multi-national staff overseeing construction of 122 major university buildings. Doing a job usually done by a man in their society, she earned their respect and accolade of "Mister Madame!" She knew the best way for western expatriates to flee the country in case of encroaching war or insurrection. She learned a culture, logic, and religious attitude different from the west's and, again, enriched her store of character traits. In her words, "it was my trip on a flying carpet!"