The Earl of Linton, 35, had never been prone to sentiment. Only boredom could have led him to rescue Danny, a filthy street urchin, from the clutches of a drunken brawler. Once rescued, however, the spirited ragamuffin proved a handful even for the usually unflappable nobleman. Not only did a simple bath require force, but the squirming brat imprisoned in his arms turned out to be a winsome young lady—and a strangely familiar one at that.

Danielle, 17, was grateful for the Earl's timely intervention, but not for his arrogance and bruising strength. She had fended for herself quite well until now, against dangers more far-reaching than anyone imagined. That she had won the Earl's considerable protection only made it more vital that she keep her wits about her—and never give in to the quickening of her heartbeat every time his deceptively lazy eyes bore into hers.