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The manor house's outlines were eerie in the overpowering darkness as Paige Blackmoor pulled the car to a stop at the front entrance. A bolt of lightning illuminated the manor's high roof for a brief second before pitch dark descended again. Thunder cracked through the air. Apart from the rain, there were no other sounds. She had a sense of déjá vu that warned her she had been here before, but to her recollection, she had never been in the area. The impression stayed with her, frightening her more than the day's happenings had.

She gritted her teeth and decided to leave the headlights on. Those comforting orbs of yellow light kept her from turning the car around and racing down the unfamiliar, winding road. She needed this job, and although the circumstances appeared strange, Paige felt reassured that good things did happen to those who waited long enough. It wasn't every day a woman got a job in a ritzy place-even if it was only maid's work.

She bent her head over the steering wheel and looked at the manor, able to discern only a dim outline. Earlier that morning as she'd sipped her black coffee and read the classified section in the newspaper, her gaze had landed on the perfect employment.

Maid wanted at Rosebury Manor. Excellent salary, benefits and room and board. Only serious woman need apply.

The misuse of 'woman' rather than 'women' had immediately caught her attention but she attributed the mistake to a copyeditor being asleep on the job.

Paige had almost spilled her coffee into her lap as she'd pushed back the chair from the kitchen table and ran for the phone. The job had sounded so perfect, she couldn't have let someone apply ahead of her. With shaking fingers, she'd dialled the number and asked for the person named in the ad. The person had asked what her name was and had said, with a great deal of repressed excitement Paige couldn't fail to hear, that the job was hers as long as she arrived at Rosebury before eight p.m. that day.

It had meant a bustle of activity, but she'd managed to get everything cleared with the apartment manager from whom she rented her small bachelorette. Now she was here, irrationally afraid of the surrounding night and what might be waiting for her. After she had made the call to Rosebury and returned to the newspaper and her coffee, she had searched and searched for the ad, but was unable to find it again. Any number of reasons why she hadn't been able to came to mind, but the most prominent one was that the ad had simply vanished. The whole day had been filled with apprehension as she'd remembered the ad's misspelling, the manner in which she had been hired on the spot and not even asked for a résumé, and how the ad had disappeared as if into thin air.

Now that she was actually parked next to the manor, her instinct to flee fought with her good sense, which was telling her she was imagining this whole scenario.

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The airplane was about to land, bringing Kane Solovich closer to home and nearer to forbidden territory. If only he could get his mind off his housekeeper, he would be able to stop his torment. And maybe that's why he was getting home two days earlier than he'd planned.

The Please Fasten Your Seatbelts sign flashed on and the people around him fastened their seatbelts, lifted up the trays and closed their briefcases. If only it were so easy to put a stop to all those erotic thoughts about Erin Manta, who he'd hired right on the spot, an act for which he'd never forgive himself. He had tried to ignore those almond-shaped eyes and luscious heart-shaped lips, to focus on her resume, which clearly stated she had no experience as a cook and live-in housekeeper. After a quick assessment of her shy nature and her innocence, he'd immediately hired her. Then she'd had the temerity to throw her arms around his neck and tell him he'd never regret his decision. The body to body contact had thrown him off his game, and he'd wanted to hold onto her longer.

He buckled his seatbelt, hearing the satisfying sound of metal snapping together. As the Boeing 727 started its descent, he closed his laptop and set back the desk on which it had been sitting. The weeklong trip to France had been an especially long one, but he'd managed to negotiate for a specific beachfront property for one of his luxury condominium projects. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. Now, it was time to get home and relax as much as a workaholic CEO and billionaire could.

His mouth watered thinking about the treat Erin would have waiting for him. She cooked and baked extremely well. She could have been a chef at a five-star restaurant. Delicious filet mignon, rare as he liked, with mashed potatoes that were creamy and laced with parsley, and of course her fantastic apple pie, which was out of this world. The apples, Kane had learned, were grated, not sliced, and her crusts were never soggy. What was her secret? If he was ever hungry for a snack, Erin kept the fridge well stocked with cold shrimp and made-from-scratch cocktail sauce, her own homemade bread for sandwiches, and a variety of other tantalising temptations.

The plane made a smooth landing, but Kane hardly noticed since he was so intent on analysing Erin. She wore a black housekeeper's uniform, which was a couple of sizes too large for her, creating a tent-”like appearance. He couldn't tell if she was slender or not underneath. Her hair, a lustreless light brown, was always done up in a knot on the top of her head, and her eyes were a fawn brown. Her whole appearance leant itself to the notion that she always kept her place. But first impressions could be wrong, as he'd learned a few times.

The terminal wasn't busy at three in the afternoon so he went through customs and grabbed his luggage, a large suitcase, in record time. His limousine waited on the kerb outside as per his orders. Rafe, his chauffeur, greeted him enthusiastically with a huge, welcoming smile, unlike Erin who rarely did. He wondered uneasily if she ever cracked a grin.

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1875: Oldham, Vermont

Don't you know? She's Barrington's mistress.

Mark my word, but she's his paramour.

She's ravishing and young. She'll lose her way.

I'm telling you, but he'll force her to marry him soon.

Cringing at the unkind remarks, Sara Parkman whirled around with hunch backed William Seward in the latest Strauss waltz. She wanted to shout at those who were so mistaken about her. She wasn't Anthony Barrington's or any other man's mistress. Barrington was simply her guardian. She suspected none of the old biddies would understand. Once they had their minds made up, there wasn't much anyone could do to dissuade them, so why try?

The stately ballroom, gaily decorated for Fiona Seward's betrothal announcement, glittered with dozens upon dozens of gaslight lamps. Sweet smelling flowers adorned the area. Their scent, along with the countless perfumes of both the elegantly dressed women and men were overpowering. As soon as the waltz ended, Sara thought, she'd run out into the gardens for some fresh air. If she didn't, she'd swoon, and she didn't want any conjectures about why. The matrons would start to speculate she was pregnant by Barrington. The notion repulsed her. She was only twenty-two compared to Barrington who was in his early seventies. Indeed, what would a young woman do with such an old man?

"You're so pretty tonight, Miss Parkman," Seward cut into her musings. His rheumy eyes glittered, but she didn't know why. Was he perhaps seeing in his mind's eye his own days of youth? He was a kind man with a shock of pale grey hair, and long ago, he must have been a handsome man. Reputedly, he was kind beyond his means, but Fiona couldn't be luckier to have such a doting father.

A devilishly fine-looking man caught her eye. With stylish grace, he leant back against a pillar near the open doors to the extensive gardens and the trickling water fountains swathed in late evening darkness. His arms were folded across his chest as he slowly surveyed the room from his vantage point with smoky grey eyes that seemed to penetrate everything, including her. Her gaze caught his, and emboldened for a few seconds, she stared back at him. He was so much like a hungry, lone wolf, feral, primitive, and so very appealing. Wasn't he every woman's dream of a sexually charming man? Tall, broad-”shouldered, and with a face that lent itself so explicitly to passionate kisses?

Just for her, sensuous lips curved in a small smile. Sara's bones turned to liquid gelatine. The man kept staring at her, appraising her. Was he undressing her? Her face flamed.

"Are you all right, Miss Sara?" Seward asked politely as she swiftly looked away.

All-consuming arousal burned through her veins. She noticed that many other women in the ballroom were glancing at the man by the pillar with lowered eyelashes.

"Yes, of course," she breathed, her heart pounding in her chest.