Dark as midnight and just as dangerous.

He looked very…foreign.

He was also stunningly, knee-wobblingly handsome.

Violet was suitably stunned. And her knees dutifully wobbled.

Just her luck that she'd emerged from the shower pink of face, with her hair in its usual wet tangle, and with nothing between her and decency but a film of moisturiser and a faded pink bathrobe that could only be described as…functional.

'Miss Hamilton?'

Oh, and guess what…? He had a voice like melted chocolate, delicately flavoured with an exotic, barely there accent.

Whatever he was selling, she was buying it by the crate…

Except, of course, that he was far too expensively dressed to be a door-to-door salesman. She knew clothes. And what he was wearing did not come off a peg in the high street.

Oh, well. She was expecting a visit from a representative of the finance company to call any day, with the release papers for her to sign so that they could sell the house, recover their money.

This had to be him.

'Miss Violet Hamilton?' he repeated, when she didn't answer.

'Who?' she asked, just to hear him say Violet again. Long and slow.

Vi-o-let.

Pronouncing every syllable, turning a name she loathed only slightly less than the hideously shortened "Vi" into the most desirable name in the entire world.

'I'm looking for Miss Violet Hamilton.' And, taking the newspaper from her hand, he held the front page up for her to see. 'I believe I've found her.'

No point pretending to be the lodger, then. Asking him to come back when she'd gussied herself up, straightened her hair, applied some make-up, was decked out in one of her more creative outfits. Oh, well…