The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series by Vivienne Lorret

down the hall and then looked back at her, snuffing through his nostrils as if asking whether she planned to follow or stand there like a ninny.
    Beset by another rumble of her stomach and imagining a dog that size would know the precise location of the kitchen, Calliope followed.
    He headed down the curving main stairs, through the great hall, down a corridor, past the drawing room, and around a series of corners until he suddenly stopped in front of a familiar set of French doors. The map room .
    “This isn’t the kitchen,” she scolded quietly.
    Unconcerned, Duke sank down onto the floor, forming a rather large, dog-shaped, lumpy gray puddle. She had a mind to come up with her own name for him. Something far less noble to serve as a punishment for elevating her hopes.
    Pressing one hand to her stomach and contemplating which direction the kitchen would likely be, she let out a sigh—and promptly blew out her own candle. Then, she let out a second sigh because of her own stupidity.
    Now, she was completely immersed in darkness. Even down on the main floor, the wall sconces had been extinguished. Not to mention, the odds of finding flint and steel in an unfamiliar house without tripping over something first was remote at best.
    “Perhaps I should name you Prometheus and see if you can light this taper for me.” She glared down to the floor where she’d last seen the dog. That was when she noticed a faint glow, radiating through the gap beneath the bottom of the doors to the map room. If there was light, she thought, then there was a hearth fire enough for her wick.
    But just as she gripped the knob, it went stiff in her grasp.
    Suddenly the door swung inward, pulling her along with it. Too startled to make a sound, she tumbled forward— or nearly did . An instant before she fell to her knees, a pair of strong, warm hands caught her by the shoulders.
    “Thank you. I— Everhart !”
    His stunned expression matched the abrupt stillness that moved through her.
    Like that moment at the Randall ball, her heart and lungs seized when her gaze collided with his. She was trapped, mouth agape, unblinking. And standing far too close for propriety’s sake.
    Of course, it went beyond mentioning that unmarried women wearing nightclothes, thickly made or not, should never visit a gentleman in a secluded part of a dark house. Especially not a reputed seducer. One who’d abandoned his coat and cravat, no less. The dusting of fine golden hair emerging from the open neck of his shirt served as a potent reminder of this fact.
    She swallowed. “At this hour, I never imagined that you . . . In fact, I thought the house was . . . You see, I was hungry . . . But the dog . . . And then the candle . . . So I came in here to light it,” she explained in one breath, exhaling the last of her air. It was quite possible she would faint next.
    Calliope had never fainted before. Doing so would be a novel experience. Everhart was already holding her; therefore, she wouldn’t crash to the floor. In addition, if she fainted now, then she wouldn’t have to endure any reproach for disturbing him, or for being out of bed in the dark, or for any number of reasons.
    Unfortunately, it appeared as though she wasn’t going to faint. She distinctly felt her heart start beating again, albeit wildly. Her lungs filled, emptied, and filled again.
    Yet, Everhart still held her. Although his large hands had slid an inch or two lower. The tips of his fingers curled around to the underside of her arms, where she was certain no man had ever touched her before. That sensitive, undisturbed part of her tingled with awareness, just shy of tickling. His thumbs grazed her in tiny circles, as if he were worrying a coin-sized mark through the soft cotton.
    “That still does not explain why you are here in Fallow Hall, bewitching both man and beast in the wee hours of the morning,” Everhart said with the hoarse gruffness she’d come to expect from him. What she did