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June 1818

Miss Lucy Hartford wondered at the wisdom of breaking into the Earl of Selborne's mammoth estate on such a cold and dank evening. More specifically, she questioned her degree of intelligence in general. Scaling a tree in the dead of night while somehow managing to hold a small lantern to light her way, all for the sake of helping one adorable, outspoken little boy named Tom, was certainly not one of her better ideas. And though the earl and his evil second wife were on holiday, she still ran the risk of discovery. In fact, she would rank this idea right up there with the time she'd disastrously experimented with gunpowder. Fortunately, the only casualty that day had been the chamber pot.

She grimaced as her booted foot slipped off the branch, knocking a combination of leaves, bark, and twigs to the grass-covered ground nearly thirty feet below. A gentle puff of wind caressed the branches around her and caused the lantern to sway and the candle inside to flicker. She held her breath as she waited to be plunged into darkness, but, with a hiss, the candle flared to life again.

At that moment she contemplated turning back. Contemplated, but decided against it. Her glance darted from the window that was her goal, to the ground, then to the window again. Her friends always told her she had more courage than sense. Lucy looked at her surroundings and grinned. They were right.

Still, that didn't change the fact that she knew this would be her one and only chance to gather dues, perhaps even evidence, proving Tom was really the long-lost son of the earl of Selborne. Unfortunately, in her experience, knowing something to be a good idea andactually implementing the notion were two different things.

Bother.

Leaves and small branches tangled in her hair, which she had tied behind her head. She swatted them away, then gasped as the hot lantern glass scalded her breeches-clad leg.

Rot and bother. There were at least thirty trees dotting the gently rolling hills that surrounded the earl's Tudor-style home, many of which looked far easier to climb-not that she could see much outside the rim of the light-but with her luck tonight, she'd probably fail out of this one.

No sooner had the thought sprung to her mind than something creaked. Undoubtedly the sound of her stays popping as her chest heaved up and down in agitation. Then she remembered she wore men's clothes. Her eyes widened. She heard one last, loud, ominous crack.

And screamed.

It didn't help, not that she'd expected it to. It felt as though she sailed through the air forever, colliding with something as she landed, a something which grunted in a very masculine way.

"Bloody hell," she finally groaned as she sat there, stunned, and took a mental survey of her limbs to assure herself nothing had broken.

"Not hell," the man gasped beneath her. "Not yet."

Lucy stiffened, suddenly realizing she sat across a man's chest as primly as a lady sat for tea. Good heavens. She pushed herself to her feet, too hastily as it turned out, for her foot thrust into him in the process. in horror she heard him gasp, then let out a long, agonized moan. She clasped her hands over her mouth, for it was the same groan her brother had emitted the time she'd accidentally struck him in his unmentionables with a billiard cue.

"Oh dear," she squeaked.

Something snapped. She turned toward the sound, her hair having escaped from it bonds to partly shield her face. She shoved it away impatiently.

Things went from bad to worse in that instant ... very bad.

The grass had caught on fire.

"My lantern!" she wailed, watching as a great puff of smoke wafted overhead.

Flames shot up toward the sky like a bonfire on All…