She was one of the celebrated Sirens of Ireland, a captivating creature of fiery spirit. Bronwyn Edana stunned titled society with her courageous exploits and daring adventures. Yet in nobleman Adam Keane, she met her match. From the moment they first clashed, the headstrong Bronwyn was swept away by a breathless desire. Betrothed to Adam, a man branded by his haunting past, Bronwyn soon found herself at the center of a shocking conspiracy that could rock the British realm. From the dangerous streets of London to sweeping Boudasea Manor, she followed her most passionate dreams—and risked everything for the only man she would ever love.

"We're ready to start the Midsummer Night dancing, m'lord."

"Our signal to proceed, my dear." Adam offered his arm.

When Bronwyn laid her hand on it, he captured her hand with his. He held it like a man with his sweetheart, fingers curled together, palms together. The simple contact brought her gaze to his again. Again she found herself unable to breath, to move, to think. Something about this man made her common sense collapse like a house of cards.

"The dancing?" John urged.

Adam drew her outdoors, into the heated darkness. A great bonfire leaped in the middle of the square, answering the flames atop the hill, calling in the summer. A swarm of instruments, violin, flute and harmonica, squalled on a platform. The players cajoled off-key bits of melody, then whole bars of music, and at last, inspired by the occasion, a rollicking song. Although Bronwyn had never heard it before, its concentrated rhythm set her foot to tapping.

With a tug of his hand, Adam had her in the center of a circle of clapping villagers. "I don't know how to dance to this," she warned.

"Nor do I," he answered, placing his hands on her waist. "Have a care for your toes."

She had no need to care for her toes, for Adam lead with a strength that compensated for his limp. He kept his hands on her waist as he lifted her, turned her, swung her in circles. Under his guidance, she relaxed and began to enjoy the leaping, foot-stomping gambol. The community cheered, not at all distressed by the innovative steps, and the whole village joined them around the bonfire.

Girls with their sweethearts, men with their wives, old folks with their grandchildren, they all whisked by as Adam twirled Bronwyn around and around. Bronwyn laughed until she was out of breath, and when she was gasping, the music changed. The rhythm slowed, the frenetic pace dwindled.

She saw Adam's amused expression change as he drew her towards him. His heavy lids veiled his gaze, and she knew he'd done so to hide his intention. She wondered why, then felt only shock as their bodies collided.

Shutting her eyes against the buffet of his heated frame against hers, she took a long, slow breath. The incense of his skin mated with the scent of the burning wood, and beneath the shield of her eyelids fireworks exploded. She groaned as her own body was licked by the flames.

Before she was scorched, he twirled her away, then back in accordance to the rules of the dance.

There were people around, she knew, but she pretended they weren't watching their lord and lady. She pretended Adam and Bronwyn were alone.

Ignoring the proper steps, Adam wrapped himself around her, one arm against her shoulders, one arm at her waist.

Her hands held his shoulders. Her fingers flexed, feeling the muscle hidden beneath the fine linen. She could hear his heart thudding, hear the rasp of his breath and his moan as she touched his neck with her tongue. She only wanted a taste of him, but he mistook it for interest, for he scooped her up.

Her eyes flew open. He'd ferried them to the edge of the dancing figures, planning their escape like a smuggler planning a landfall. A whirl and they were gone into the trees. Looking back, she could see the sparks of the bonfire, like a constellation of stars climbing to the sky, but she knew no discomfort at their leaving.

This was what she wanted, what she dreaded, what she longed for. Since she'd met Adam, she didn't understand herself. His gaze scorched her, and she reveled in the discomfort. His hands massaged her as if he found pleasure in her shape; they wandered places no one had touched since she'd been an infant, and it excited her.

Christina Dodd's novels have been translated into ten languages, won Romance Writers of America's prestigious Golden Heart and RITA Awards, and been called the year's best by Library Journal. Dodd is a regular on USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and New York Times bestseller lists. Some Enchanted Evening is the first book in her classic new series The Lost Princesses.