Rosalind clutched her shawl tightly about her shoulders as Ashton offered to lift her down from the coach.

"Come on, darling," he teased. "Don't be frightened."

"I'm not." She held out her hand, but he stepped closer and caught her waist, lifting her down. Beyond him the lights of the house bathed the front lawn in a soft golden hue, a lovely contrast to the heavy darkness of the midnight hour.

"I'll have a footman bring us a bottle of wine. By the looks of it, ...