Violet Fire by Brenda Joyce

arouse him. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be feeling lust for her. She was a spinster and a prude, somewhat shrewish, and on top of all that, a crazy, man-hating suffragette. She was also as cold as ice, certainly a virgin. Rathe always stayed away from virgins, just like he stayed away from proper ladies. Just like he knew he should stay away from her. He was leaving Natchez soon anyway, wasn’t he?
    The only time he had ever seduced a virgin was when he was thirteen. Lucilla had been the fifteen-year-old daughter of their closest neighbors. In the back of his mind, Rathe had known better, but he wasn’t exactly thinking with his mind. They’d been together a dozen hot, sweet times before being discovered, and he had gottenthe thrashing of his life. His father had been furious. He had shouted at him, and Rathe would never forget his words: “What if it was your sister who had been taken by some young jackass?” The lesson had been very clear, and Rathe had avoided innocent, well-bred young ladies ever since.
    Technically, Grace fit into that category. On the surface she might be cold and prim—but as a man, he knew instinctively that the ones who were the hardest to thaw flamed the brightest.
    Next to Grace, the thought of Louisa Barclay somehow annoyed him. She’d been pursuing him ever since they first met several years ago at a Natchez ball, his willing mistress whenever he rolled into town. But now he felt as if he’d prefer Grace’s haranguing to Louisa’s manipulations any day. Perhaps he’d best avoid the widow Barclay in the future….
    Still, at noon, instead of tossing his valise on the stage as he’d planned, Rathe found himself riding out to Melrose. Only this time, it wasn’t the dark-haired lady of the house he planned to visit—it was her fiery-headed employee.
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    Grace decided to explore at dinnertime.
    She left the girls eating, with a feeling of freedom and relief. For one thing, the morning had been difficult. Both girls seemed to go out of their way to circumvent her efforts to be a good teacher. And Louisa’s curriculum drove her to despair, insulted her. To have the bulk of their studies devoted to medieval pursuits like embroidery infuriated Grace. She intended to broach the subject of a change with Louisa Barclay at the first suitable opportunity. The girls simply had to learn arithmetic, as well as stitchery!
    She strolled beneath a pair of willows and tried not to think about her charges and the difficulties facing her. Although it was quite warm, it was a beautiful day, and Grace took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of magnolias. She was wearing a loose brown cotton dress with a hint ofembroidery at the cuffs and neck. The color was dark for this climate. She felt hot and damp. She removed her glasses to wipe a small amount of moisture form high on her cheeks. From somewhere to her right, a male voice said, “You should break those glasses in two.”
    Grace jumped in surprise.
    Rathe smiled his broad, dimpled grin from the back of a big, black stallion. “Good day, Gracie,” he drawled softly, his blue eyes caressing her face, sweeping quickly over her bodice, then lifting to lock with her gaze.
    She felt herself flush and hated the reaction.
    â€œWhat…” She slipped on the spectacles, frustrated. Her heart had already taken wings. “What are you doing, sneaking up on me?”
    He laughed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His look was pointed.
    Grace knew he was thinking about their conversation yesterday, and the question he had posed: Are you afraid of me? Of course she wasn’t, but why was her heart beating so uncontrollably? “Let me reiterate,” she said. “You didn’t—and don’t—frighten me.”
    Her back was stiff and straight, shoulders squared, lips pressed tightly together. “Good day.” She nodded shortly, turned her back,