Recollections of tales of some of his more outrageous exploits drifted through her mind; most such tales hailed from more than six years ago, but the perceived wisdom was that with maturity, he’d grown more discreet. Despite all, he’d remained a darling of the ton-Gerrard of Gerrard Park, as wealthy as he was handsome-but unfortunately for the matchmakers, his reputation was sufficiently enshrined in the ton’s collective psyche to render him ineligible as a candidate for their delicate daughters’ hands.

The Bilts arrived with plates, cutlery, napkins, and platters. She nodded encouragingly, then left them to set the small round table they pulled to the center of the room.

Standing before the fire, waving her gown’s hem in the warmth of the flames, she frowned. When, over the years, she’d imagined meeting Rogue Gerrard face-to-face again, she’d thought she’d see a different man, one on whom a licentious, hedonistic life had left its mark. Instead…when she’d looked at him, all she’d seen was the same man, just ten years older. He’d been striking as a younger man; now he was impressive-larger, harder, with a none-too-subtle edge that only underscored his innate strength.

As a young man, he’d made her heart race.

Now he set it pounding.

She heard his step on the stair. Turning, she discovered the Bilts had withdrawn, leaving all in readiness on the table. They’d laid two places although she’d already dined. Perhaps she’d have some fruit, just to keep Ro company. She crossed to one chair, looking up as the door opened.

Ro filled the doorway.

Not the Ro who had left, but one infinitely more intimidating. He was impeccably turned out, from the shining chestnut hair clustering in damp waves about his head, to the pristine, intricately tied cravat anchored with a simple gold pin, to the severe, almost austere lines of coat and waistcoat.