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Chapter 1

North Yorkshire, Christmas Eve, 1825

THE CRASH OF shattering wood and the terrified screaht like a knife

Sebastian Sinclair, Earl of Kinvarra, swore, brought his restive mount under control, then spurred the animal around the turn in the snowy road With icy clarity, the fullthe disaster before him

A flashy black curricle lay on its side in a ditch, the hood up against the weather One horse had broken free and wandered the roadway, harness dragging The other plunged wildly in the traces, struggling to escape

Swiftly Kinvarra disnal, and ran to free the distressed horse As he slid down the muddy ditch, a hatless man scrambled out of the smashed curricle

“Are you hurt?” Kinvarra asked, casting a quick eye over him

“No, I thank you, sir” The effete blond fellow turned back to the carriage “Co Let me assist you”

A graceful black-gloved hand extended froed with more aplomb than Kinvarra would have believed possible in the circumstances Indications were that neither traveler was injured, so he concentrated on the trapped horse When he spoke soothingly to the terrified beast, it quieted to panting stillness, exhausted with thrashing While Kinvarra checked its legs, er helped the lady up to the roadside

The horse shook itself and with a few ungainly ju the road toward its partner Neither ani that the curricle was beyond repair

“Madam, are you injured?” Kinvarra asked as he cli crop under his ar snow froht Christmas tomorroould be a chilly affair But then of course his Christmases had been chilly for years, no matter the weather

The woman kept her head down With shock? With shyness? For the sake of propriety? Perhaps he’d stu

“Madaain, more sharply Whatever her fear of scandal, he needed to know if she required medical assistance