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She should walk away. Turn on her heel and
return home. She should tell him that she could no longer continue
working under his roof. Possibly smacking his face for good
measure.

What she absolutely, categorically should not
do was encourage him at all.

"Yes," she encouraged anyway, "I do."

Time seemed suspended. Mariah could not have
moved away if the Prince Regent himself had demanded it.

She waited in breathless anticipation.

She was not disappointed.

With a muttered oath, Mr. Haverton pulled her
roughly toward him, grasping her waist with one strong hand, the
other burying itself in her hair.

Mariah gasped at the feel of his strong,
solid body pressed so closely to her own.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew
this should not be happening.

But then his lips crushed her own and all
rational thought was silenced.

Mariah had never felt pleasure like what she
was feeling right now.

His lips were hard and demanding and fuelled
her need even more.

She gasped in shock at the sensations that
burned through her and he took the chance to deepen the kiss.

Mariah's knees almost buckled at the feel of
his tongue against her own and she was quite sure that it was only
his strong arm holding her up that stopped her from melting to the
ground.

A curious mix of satisfaction and a visceral
need for more was surging through her, the fire that had ignited in
her belly spreading through her so that even her toes tingled with
the heady sensation.

As inexperienced as she was, she did not know
if this was the usual way of things but she knew on some level that
it could not be.

If this was how every kiss felt, nobody would
ever stop. She felt right now that she would never stop.

Feeling emboldened by her desire, by the
evidence of his own, Mariah tentatively mirrored his actions and
the result was as immediate as it was intense.

Haverton growled and pulled her tighter
still. Mariah could barely breathe but she didn't care. How could
she, when he was making her feel more alive than she'd ever felt in
her life?

He dragged his lips from hers but before she
had the chance to feel the loss, he moved to trail them along her
sensitive neck, raising yet more sensations.

Mariah moaned as her head tilted back almost
of its own volition, giving him further access to her skin, pushing
her even closer to his chest.

His hands, which had remained in place, began
to move and he grabbed her hips, tilting her towards the evidence
of his need.

Mariah rejoiced in the proof of her effect on
him. Felt powerful and seductive and more like a woman than she'd
ever felt in her life.

She had no idea what was happening to her but
whatever it was, it wasn't enough. She wanted more, quite
desperately.

"Please," she whispered brokenly, though she
knew not what she was begging for.

Her plea had the exact opposite effect on him
than she wanted.

He stopped immediately, froze stock still
before her, with an audible curse, he pulled away. The movement was
so quick that Mariah stumbled and his arms shot out to right
her.

As soon as she was steady, he snatched his
hands away.

Mariah felt their loss keenly.

"Dear God in heaven," he muttered, his
breathing as laboured as her own.

Mariah could do nothing but gaze at him,
still caught up in the dreamlike feelings he had created.

She didn't know what he was thinking but the
glazed look in his eyes led her to believe that he was as surprised
by what had happened as she, and he had enjoyed it just as
much.

"What the hell am I doing?" he said, his tone
guttural, his face a picture in self-recrimination.

Mariah dropped her eyes to gaze at the floor
before her. His shame made her feel terrible. No doubt he had not
meant for their kiss to go as far as it had. He had not meant for
them to kiss at all, she would warrant.

He must think her an absolute wanton. Perhaps
he even assumed that she gave her favours lightly. She would not
blame him, not after her behaviour.

To her horror, she felt the beginnings of hot
tears prickle her eyes and she turned her back so that she could
dash them away.

"Oh hell, I've made you cry." He sounded
miserable about it, which made her feel slightly mollified. "Miss
Bolton, please do not cry. You have no need to be scared of me. I
am sorry, truly sorry. I should never have touched you as I did,
and the blame lies with me and me alone."

"I'm not scared. That's not why I am crying,
you dolt," she snapped, so caught up in her upset that she did not
even care that she was calling him names.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked horrified.

"No" she sniffed.

"Then what –"

"You must think I am a brazen harlot, and I'm
not," she blurted, feeling even more tears coming and powerless to
stop them.

The sound of his choked laughter had her
whipping round to glare at him.

"What's so funny?"

"You are crying, not because I have taken
advantage of you, not because anybody could have seen us, not
because I was more forceful than I should have been, but because
you are worried of what I think of you, is that right?"

She nodded miserably.

"Unbelievable," he muttered before marching
back to the side table and pouring more brandy. This time, two
glasses.

Coming back he thrust one toward her.

"Here," he snapped gruffly, "drink this."

"I don't want it."

"It's for the shock."

"I'm not in shock," she argued, stomping her
foot.

"Well then, you're the only one," he said
before swallowing the entire contents of his glass.

He stared sternly at her until she finally
gave in and took a tentative sip. The amber liquid burned down her
throat and warmed her instantaneously but the taste was
horrible.

She grimaced and gave it back to him.

With a wry smile he took it and moved it
along with his own, back to the table.

"Not to your taste, hmm?"

"It's disgusting."

"You get used to it."

"Only if you want to," she answered.

He laughed softly then asked, his voice
quiet; "are you alright?"

Mariah was beginning to feel thoroughly
embarrassed about her behaviour and at his question her cheeks
flamed.

She nodded but avoided his eyes, looking
instead at the floor.

"I am sorry," he said now, cupping her chin
and tilting it so that she had no choice but to look up into his
dark eyes.

"You do not need to be," she said licking her
lips, "truly."

She could not in good conscience allow him to
feel that she hadn't been a willing participant in their kiss.

If anything, she was convinced that it would
have been a lot more than a kiss had he not stopped it.

She told herself not to feel so excited at
the thought.

"I don't know what came over me," he said
now, sounding bewildered, "I mean, anyone with eyes can see how
incredibly attractive you are. But that." He shook his head now.
"That was – different."

Oh God! Did that mean she was bad at it?

The thought was even more embarrassing than
anything else she'd felt up to this point.

And in her embarrassment, she found the
strength to be angry. Angry was good. Angry meant she wouldn't cry
again.

"Yes, well, apologies if it's not up to your
standards, but contrary to what you must think of me now, I am not
accustomed to kissing gentlemen I've only just met. In fact," she
continued, trying to inject her tone with some haughtiness, "I'm
not accustomed to kissing anyone."

"Miss Bolton, I can assure you I do not think
you are anything other than an innocent."

His words, instead of calming her down, only
incensed her more.

"Oh, so I am so terrible a kisser that it is
proof of my innocence?"

"What? No, that is not what I meant. I
merely—"

"Oh I know exactly what you meant. Perhaps
they do things differently in London, sir. But here in the North we
tend not to insult each other at every chance we get."

Mariah spun on her heel and practically ran
from the room.

Never had she been so embarrassed, never had
she been so angry and never had she been so convinced that her life
had just changed forever.

"Mariah, are you
unwell?"

Her mother's short, sharp question sounded
from the doorway.

"I did not hear you knock, Mama," said Mariah
sarcastically. She was far from in the mood to deal with her mother
today.

"That's because I didn't," said her mother
without apology, peering at her with eyes that usually missed very
little. "Why are you still abed? You missed breakfast and I am sure
you should have been at the Manor long before now."

Mariah sighed and sat up. Apparently, her
plan of hiding in her room for the rest of her life had been foiled
already. Before she'd even aged a full day.

"I did not sleep well last night," she
explained now.

It was a gross understatement. The truth was
she had not slept at all last night and had only dozed off when the
cockerel from the neighbouring farm made his presence well and
truly known.

"Well that's no reason to stay in bed all
day. Mr. Haverton will be expecting you."

At the mention of Brandon Haverton's name,
Mariah felt a strange mixture of nervousness, lust and shame spread
through her.

He was the most confusing and handsome man
she'd ever met. The combination did absolutely nothing for her
sleeping habits.

"Mama, I have been thinking and perhaps you
were right yesterday. It does seem unfair that Papa should be left
to do everything by himself and, well, it is rather unheard of for
a young woman to be taking on a job like this one. Besides—"

"Nonsense, Mariah. Your father is more than
capable of handling the patients alone, as he has been doing since
long before you came along. And as for my objections, though I
stand by my concerns, it's no use worrying about them now since
you've already consented to do it. Now—" She bustled over and
pulled the covers from Mariah's head. "—up you get and off you go.
It will do you no good to have his servants tell him that you did
not do a good job."

Last night when Mariah had returned she had
purposefully neglected to mention that Mr. Haverton was in fact in
residence at the Manor. If she had done, no doubt she would have
been sent off with Lillianne trailing behind her, especially if she
were to tell her mother that Mr. Haverton was unattached. And
devilishly handsome.

She did wonder momentarily if she should tell
Mama about her kiss. Just to watch and see if her head would
actually explode. But then, she reasoned that on balance it
probably was a scientific impossibility for a human head to explode
from anger and all she'd be left with is a lifetime of pious
sermons and quite possibly a demand that she marry the man.

And as much as the thoughts of marriage
appealed because it meant she could do all sorts of things with
him, there were plenty of reasons why she didn't want that.

For one thing, she did not know him. For
another he was an arrogant brute. And though she had become too
preoccupied with his lips to think overly long on their
conversation yesterday, throughout her sleepless night she had
thought about everything he'd said in great detail.

His life was complicated, he'd said.

He had dependents coming to live with him,
Mrs. Yates had said.

It didn't sound good. Intriguing, but not
good.

Perhaps she should tell Mama now that Mr.
Haverton was here. No doubt Mama would insist that she cease
travelling to the house of a single gentleman immediately and then
all her problems would be solved.

Tempting though the thought was, however,
Mariah knew she would not do it. Not least because her mother would
berate her for having spent the day there yesterday.

Besides, she couldn't avoid the man forever.
But for today at least she most certainly could. At least until she
worked out how to act normally around him and not throw herself at
him the moment she saw him.

As well as that, she should probably
apologise for her tantrum yesterday evening.

Thinking logically about it, Mariah guessed
that he had meant no insult when he had said she was obviously an
innocent. No doubt he was only trying to reassure her that he did
not think she was the most light-skirted hussy he'd ever come
across.

But to apologise meant having to face him and
that was something that would have to wait, on account of her
excruciating mortification.

Her mother had marched out of the room
calling for Martha to come and assist Mariah as she went.

So, she was getting up then, thought Mariah
snippily before sighing in defeat.

Fine. She would get up and dressed but she
would not, under any circumstances whatsoever, see Brandon Haverton
today.

"Miss Bolton," Mariah's heart almost gave out
at the sound of a now familiar masculine voice.

Looking up from the book she'd been reading,
she felt the breath leave her body at the mere sight of him
standing there.

He looked so dashing in his tight breeches,
dark blue coat that did nothing to hide the broadness of his
shoulders and shiny Hessians.

Mariah had been convinced that staying at
home meant she would not have to face her brooding, irritating,
gorgeous employer. But fate, it seemed, had a sick sense of
humour.

"How did you find me?" she blurted out.

"Were you in hiding?"

"No, of course not. But—"

"I went to your father's surgery cum
apothecary first. A very unusual setup, I must say. I have never
seen the two professions combined."