She captured Killian herself. He was a rogue, a poacher, a commoner trespassing on her land, a man she would press into service on her late husband's estate. For Aimee needed his help. With her chateau about to be forfeited to the king, the silvery-eyed, raven-tressed beauty would do anything to save it. She had even brazenly offered herself to the foppish Duc de Montchamp. Indeed, Aimee, the widow of an aged aristocrat who had never claimed his marriage rights, thought she could easily share a loveless bed. But she was still an innocent. Then, one apple-scented night, the mysterious cavalier called Killian laid her beside him in the sweet meadow grass--and made her shiver with desire. Only later would she wonder: Was it all part of a cruel game of power and vengeance, or the beginning of a glorious new love?