Fascinated

Chapter One

Sherburne House, Hertfordshire, England Spring season, 1812

She was spoiled and she knew it, and she wanted what she wanted when she wanted it, and she was very well aware of that vice, too.

She had said she wanted Marcus Raulton, a careless comment publicly made, even knowing his libertine reputation superseded the attraction of his wealth and station, and now the pitch was in the fire and Drastic Measures were About to be Taken.

Her father had overheard.

Blast it all.

What demon of misfortune had put him within earshot the very moment she was making idle party conversation with her dearest friend, Ancilla, she would never comprehend.

But the end result was a disaster: her father believed she wanted Marcus Raulton, that she was in hot pursuit of Marcus Raulton, and he meant to do everything in his power to stop her.

No wonder he had been in such a tear to return to Sherburne House this weekend. He wanted her out of London, and he wanted to see Jeremy-Jeremy Gavage, of all people. Her father had not been in a hurry merely to take care of business as she had just painfully discovered.

No, he had been intent on sticking his nose in her business-and enlisting Jeremy's help in the process.

How fortunate she had eavesdropped on him!

Otherwise she wouldn't have known, wouldn't have gotten wind of this crack-brained scheme of her father's to have Jeremy distract her. It was enough to make any woman insensible with rage. It was ludicrous; it was insulting, as if she weren't old enough to know what she was doing.

That was the whole of it: her father still thought her untouched and unsophisticated-still ten years old in his mind no doubt.

Blast the fates.

No wonder he had called upon Jeremy to try to contain her.

He certainly couldn't. She had trained her father well, in the absence of a mother's constraining influence. He knew that she would do the exact opposite of what he wanted. So why should he risk confirming his worst suspicions by asking her if her sights were set on Marcus Raulton. He probably wouldn't have believed her anyway, and for him, it was easier to try to restrain her than to dissuade her.

And so his appeal to Jeremy, who had his own ax to grind after his disastrous liaison with that nasty Marguerite deVigny.

She felt herself boiling up again. Jeremy. Tall, dark, elegant, reserved, indulgent Jeremy. Her neighbor her whole life. The boy who had been like a son to her own father. Who had taught her to ride, who had endured her clumsy flirting, who had been the object of her affections when she was twelve. Who had destroyed all her romantic illusions when he had taken up with the Lady Marguerite three years before.

Grown-up, wounded Jeremy, who was perfectly willing to pretend to-what had he said?-lust after her to keep her away from Marcus Raulton.

She ground her teeth. There had to be some heavenly retribution for men like that. Men who would letch and leave and count the experience as no more than a roll of the dice.

Ah, forget about heaven when there was a fury right here on earth. It would serve them right if she exacted vengeance on them. Both of them. Her father and Jeremy.

Jeremy… She couldn't even picture him. But that was only natural: she hadn't seen Jeremy in over three years. He had spent those years abroad licking his wounds over the fair Marguerite, and now he was back home to see to overdue business concerns and, by the sound of it, meddle in hers.

Well, he ought to mind his own business, she thought testily. But no-he had no compunction at all about pitching himself right in the middle of her business without even trying to see her.

She might be a pudge-pot, for all he knew. She might be totally at her last prayers. The rumormongers were saying so anyway. Out two years, going on three, and no offers. Surely there was something amiss with the beautiful Lady Regina Olney, they whispered, that no man wanted her. Oh yes, she was well aware of the gossip. And the sly little snipes in the society columns of Tatler:

What Beauty of the previous two seasons, not yet caught in the parson's noose, still fully expects to rope in the Eligibles this season, just to prove she is still attractive enough to do it?

And so Jeremy too had assumed that she had the sensibility of a turnip, and that she would just gratefully fall into his arms when he came to rescue her from Marcus Raulton.

Because, of course, she had no discrimination whatsoever.

About anything.

Their faith in her was positively overwhelming. Oh, revenge would be so sweet: she had her pride, after all. It was only a matter of deciding what-and how.

Maybe-a thought occurred to her-just maybe this ridiculous scheme of her father's would quiet the gossips. Maybe they would think she had been waiting all this time for Jeremy to come to point.

Wouldn't that be perfect, to turn the tables on Jeremy and use him to distract her father all the while she pretended to pursue Marcus Raulton?

She contemplated that lovely idea for a long moment. Exactly the thing. Overlay the forbidden with a healthy helping of respectability. Make everyone think it had been Jeremy for whom she had been waiting.

And… and… oh, this was most excellent: somehow put him in the untenable position of aiding her pursuit of Raulton.

How delicious was this?

But she had to think it through and plan it thoroughly and completely.

Wasn't she her father's daughter?

Poor Jeremy. He hadn't dealt with her in years. He had no idea what he was in for.

Oh, God she was as bad as her father.

And the Season had only just begun.

London, Spring 1812

The next big event this early in the Season was the Skef-finghams' ball.

This was the one it was most likely that Raulton and Jeremy might both attend, and so Regina had carefully dressed in her favorite pearl-encrusted jonquil yellow crepe, the matching pearl necklace and earrings that had belonged to her mother, and a lustrous strand entwined in her raven black hair.

But this was too soon, she thought edgily, plucking at a curl. They had been back in Town a mere two days, and they had already been to dinner at the Tatums' the night before, and now this. It was too much, especially on the heels of the tiring trip to and from Hertfordshire and the fact she hadn't yet wholly formulated A Plan.

"You look all the thing, my dear," her father told her, wrapping her shoulders in a matching gauze shawl. "Are you ready for this?"

She was ready for nothing, let alone a crush of dozens and dozens of conveyances crawling up to the Skeffingham house at the far end of the elite enclave, Bromley Close. Its gates were thrown wide now, and an openly curious crowd gawked as carriage after carriage drew up and discharged passengers dressed in the height of fashion who vanished inside the front door of the stately three-story brick residence as if the footman had waved a magic wand.

They crowded into the reception hall and wound their way down the long hallway lined with gilt-framed portraits of generations of Skeffingham ancestors and into the two-story ballroom.

It didn't seem possible, but the room appeared full to overflowing already, the stuffiness thankfully mitigated by long french windows at either end of the room that were wide open to the cool fresh air.

Candlelight glimmered everywhere, reflected in dozens of mirrors, the light softening every detail and giving the room an intimacy and a most flattering glow. Chairs lined the walls on two sides, and already the matrons who would not be dancing had gathered with their bosom-bows for an evening of exquisite gossip.

Servants hovered, accommodating every request, and on a balcony ten feet above, a string quartet played under the discreet hum of conversation. And ten feet above that, angels hovered, flitting in and out of puffy clouds on the beautiful painted ceiling.

But no angels here on earth, Regina thought irritably, as she and her father paused at the threshold of the ballroom to be announced, just Jeremy and her father, devils both of them. Since there was nothing yet she could do, she moved through the crowd on her father's arm, greeting friends and acquaintances she had seen a mere five days before.

She was grateful, finally, to see Ancilla Hoxley-Marshall, her dearest friend, who was obviously on the lookout for her. Ancilla was the best person, as sweet and self-effacing as a nun, and yet she was always a repository of the most current on dit, especially in a gathering this size.

Regina grasped Ancilla's hands which were cold as al-abaster. "Ancilla! What a crowd. Have you seen Marcus Raulton?" Time to go forward. She had thought of a strategy, it couldn't even be called a plan, but it involved feeding her father's worst fears by making sure she was seen with or near Mr. Raulton as often as possible. It wasn't a perfect scheme, but it was something, and it just might serve for this evening until she thought of something better.

"So many people," Ancilla murmured. "But I say that every year, do I not? No, I have not been aware of Mr. Raulton's presence. Good evening, by the way, Regina. Oh, look! There's a new face. Could that be-could it-? Jeremy Gavage? After all this time…?"

Blast it. Regina whirled, and her breath caught. Blast! Her heart started pounding. Jeremy... She hadn't expected him, not this quickly, not this soon and… looking so different- and so much the same.

She felt as if she had taken a header. So much for plots and schemes. How like a man to just show up and throw everything top over tail.

She couldn't take her eyes from him. Even through the crowd the faint halo of smoke, the water-light music, and Ancilla's sweet voice droning in her ear, her whole attention was fixed on Jeremy.

She didn't expect this reaction to Jeremy. Oh, God. Jeremy. Father's knight errant. Purged by the battle of loving a woman who loved her sovereigns more. And now willing conspirator to save her innocent self from taking a pounding at the hands of the most notorious bachelor in London. So appropriate. Truly-errant was the word.

He seemed taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader, his hair longer, his frown utterly forbidding, but that could be the effect of the high ceilings and low light. Certainly the dark look on his face reflected the fact that he was not pleased, not with anything. Especially not her.

But why should he have any opinion in the matter at all?

She could not take her eyes off of him.

Nor could he stop staring at her.

He had been thinking all along he would be dealing with the artless child she had been, only a few years older, of course, and instead he was looking at a woman full grown and aware of her power, a woman with presence and passion. A woman old enough to wed.

It was the most stunning revelation.

Reginald should have warned him. Damn him-Reginald should have told him. He felt as if he had fallen off a steep cliff, as if everything-every preconception, everything he knew-had been wrenched out from under him.

And to make matters worse, there was Raulton, strutting and preening around the perimeter of the room, accosting the ladies who would speak with him, and commanding her avid attention as she seemed to follow his every move.

Damn, damn, damn. Those eyes. As bright and blue as ever he remembered. But not that womanly body, or that beautiful face. He didn't remember her looking like that at all. Damn Reginald. Damn him.

And standing next to that pale blond woman in white, she positively glowed. Did he not see Raulton slide a proprietary look of interest her way?

Damn it damn it damn it…

Thank God he had come tonight; thank God he had seen her before he had started any intervention, because he couldn't trust himself to go to her now, knowing what he knew.

And he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Or Raulton.

Things could heat up at the instant, he thought, watching the man warily. Raulton meant business, and there was no more beautiful business in this ballroom than Regina.

And from the way she was looking at Raulton, Reginald had it exactly right. Regina didn't care a fig about his reputation or any improprieties. All she saw was the virile cock-of-the-walk.

So like a woman, he thought mordantly. Never looking beyond the outward appearances or the size of a bankbook.

And Raulton looked ripe to feed on a frisky virgin or two.

But it mattered not. Regina would not be one of them. If Jeremy had been ambivalent before about this ridiculous charge he had undertaken, he was not now. Reginald had not overstated the case. And he had been right to come to Jeremy.

Raulton was the enemy, and he would never have her, not if Jeremy could help it. His mission was perfectly clear: he had her father's full faith and trust, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

"They say she left him because he wasn't rich enough."

Ancilla's words finally registered, and Regina swung her gaze back to her friend, though she would much rather have gazed at Raulton. He was fascinating to watch, the epitome of cool disdain as he circled the room, dropping a greeting here, a word there, a bow to a lady. Perfect. Impeccable. One would have thought he was the most welcomed parti in the world, instead of a man who was bent on mending his reputation.

She reached frantically for the topic of conversation. Yes. "Jeremy, you mean."

"Jeremy, I mean. And doesn't he look the brooding hero now, with that deep frown and dressed all in black?"

"Ancilla!"

"No, no, no. There is a man I would not suit, not in the least. I could never get past that woman."

There was always a that woman, Regina thought critically. Witness Raulton. And the that woman always seemed to have a great deal more fun, too.

"What about Mr. Raulton, then?" Best to keep her attention there; then she could gaze at him with impunity and fuel the fire, which, given Jeremy's complicity in her father's scheme and the way Jeremy and her father were glaring at her she was more than wont to do at the moment.

It was like having two bulldogs nipping at her heels, blast them both.

"… how much of a man's more primitive nature ought a woman support," Ancilla was saying. "And yet, the Skeffing-hams had no compunction about inviting him here tonight," she added, voicing what many guests must be privately saying.

Well, yes, there was a consideration, Regina thought. He had been at any number of events already, hosted by personages who seemed to be lending their countenance to his efforts to-what?-reinstate himself in society's good graces? Reform? What did anyone know of Raulton's motives?

Or any man's for that matter?

"Strictly speaking, he is as eligible as anyone," Regina pointed out. "His wealth must make him so. And morality doesn't enter into it once a man is serious about finding a wife. Every man goes off hall-cocked until he gets leg-shackled. You must admit, he's a most intriguing man, and any one of us would be curious if not interested."

"Not this one of us," Ancilla said tartly. "And yet-he's so very good about doing the Proper. That is Harriet Soames with him. She's a very great heiress. She need not even consider anyone of Mr. Raulton's station, and yet there she is. She cannot be above sixteen years. Who could have so ill-advised her as to stand up with him?"

Regina's ears pricked up. Stand up with him? The thought settled in her mind, light as air. "Are you sure?" Stand up with him… oh, the very thing to make Father go around the bend.

"Oh, we are no great friends and she is as aloof as a choir stall, but yes, she is among those everyone is watching to see where her interest lies. Oh, but surely it is not with Mr. Raulton."

"Do let's move closer to see," Regina murmured. It was a really bad suggestion, verging on ill-mannered, but she had to make sure that he noticed her. For how else would he know she was there? And how else would Jeremy see them when Raulton came to ask her to dance?

"Regina!"

"Come, haven't you a lick of curiosity about Miss Soames?"

"Not even a lap."

"Well, I do. Do come with me, Ancilla. You know you want to."

Ancilla followed her reluctantly. "It is far too noisy," she whispered crossly as they edged their way to the forefront of the onlookers.

"Oh, but do look. You are so right. Miss Soames looks as though she just let down her dresses and put up her hair. What would a man like Mr. Raulton want with such a milk-and-water girl?"

"Oh, these men!" Ancilla muttered disgustedly. "Why is there not some kind of guide, some kind of tutoring for a girl as young as this to deal with a man like that…"

Regina was only half listening as she watched them, but then Ancilla's words suddenly penetrated, taking shape, and taking on life, and she grasped her friend's hand urgently. "What? What did you say?"

"I said a girl as young as Miss Soames ought to have some kind of guide or tutor so she could learn how to deal with a man as experienced as Mr. Raulton."

"Oh, exactly!" And why hadn't she thought of that herself? Because Ancilla was a genius, and she was a dolt was why. The answer had always been before her. But now, it was a plan, sprung fully formed from Ancilla's trenchant observation, perfect for diverting Jeremy and accomplishing her own ends.

Yes. Once she got Raulton to dance with her. "Women are always the last to know anything," she added roundly, "especially anything having to do with men."

"Well, poor Miss Soames, in any event," Ancilla said dampingly. I don't envy her if it is Mr. Raulton on whom she seeks to fix her interest."

"Oh, nor I," Regina said hastily as the music ended and the dancers bowed to each other. And now, and now-she needed to catch his eye, but he was busy returning Miss Soames to her mother. He did have manners.

But she really really needed just this one more piece of the pie. Mr. Raulton must dance with her before the evening was done, so she could set her Plan in motion.

However, it became apparent that this night, among the Skeffinghams' refined company, Mr. Raulton was after only those girls who were very young, and very pristine, the ones who perched with great sangfroid on the sideline chairs and waited like queens for each escort to humble himself and come to her.

And so it must be, Regina decided. A woman must always wait. It was one of those things. If a man wished to renovate his name and reputation, he must act impeccably, and seem at the outset to require the most chaste, the innocent, who would be uncritical, malleable, and utterly inexperienced in the ways of the world; those he would be able to control and manipulate by their affection and their desire to be wed, for what else was there for a girl, or even a woman? And so, they must wait. She must wait. Wait for a man to notice, to speak, to come. But he would come for her, she was certain of it, when he was tired of all those green girls and their insipid conversation, and at a point in the evening when his choices would not be so much remarked upon.

She sat on the sidelines with Ancilla and patiently waited. "Your Mr. Raulton shows no favorites," Ancilla commented acidly. "He goes to every sixteen-year-old equally. How democratic of the man."

Regina suppressed a smile. Ancilla's observation was not quite true; as Raulton worked his way around the room, Regina had seen his covert looks at others, and the hesitating step he had taken toward her once or twice.

He had been watching her, amused that she, too, played the game of propriety by sitting on the sidelines and waiting, always waiting.

"My lady?" And then his voice startled her, because she had been so deep in thought, and she hadn't been expecting him, not just then.

"My lord?" She looked up at his lean face that only now was showing some of the ravages of his excesses. Pleasant enough, up close, but what really attracted her was the humor in his expression, as if he knew what was said about him and didn't care, as if he were tweaking the mores of the very society into which he sought entree, and she, at least, was in on the joke.

He took her hand, and she made a moment's show of reluctance before she allowed him to lead her to the floor for the reel. It was perfect for her purposes: there would be minimal conversation, and she could gaze at him as if her heart's soul were in her eyes.

One dance, one intricate interlacing of hands and steps and things unsaid. She couldn't have planned it better. She hoped Jeremy and her father were both watching. She hoped they both felt as powerless as she.

And it worked. She couldn't believe how beautifully it worked. When Raulton finally led her back to her chair, she found Ancilla had gone, effectively voicing her distress and disapproval. Her father was waiting for her, grim as a bear, and the best thing of all was when she finally caught her breath and looked around the room, she saw Jeremy by the door, his expression as black as a thundercloud.

So now the stage was set. She had only to sit back and wait for Jeremy to dance attendance on her, and then pay him back for his presumption.

She dressed accordingly the next day, in simple white muslin trimmed at the bodice and hem with demure pleating, and a matching lace-trimmed cap. Virginal. Innocent. What everyone expected to see.

She made herself comfortable in the library until, as she knew he inevitably would, her father wandered in.

"This season is too fatiguing," he began, dropping into the wing chair opposite the sofa where she sat. "Last night… too crowded, too many undesirables. I don't know what the

Skeffinghams were thinking. That Raulton-there is a man who ought not be received at the docks let alone in polite society. What is the world coming to?"

"Oh, indeed? He seemed quite the thing to me."

"Well, he ain't. And you should have known better than to take his hand willy-nilly like that," Reginald grumbled

"I did no such thing," Regina said indignantly. "I just danced with him. A reel, for heaven's sake. We were barely face-to-face throughout the whole. But"-she lowered her voice insinuatingly-"he did cut quite a fine figure. And his manners were impeccable…"

"Re-gina…" Reginald began, but the butler interrupted.

"Mr. Gavage, my lord."

"Thank God," Reginald muttered, rising from his chair and relieved as a ninepence that he didn't have to pursue the question of Raulton one moment further. "Send him in."

And there he was, framing the doorway, glowering.

"Jeremy, my boy-here's Regina."

Jeremy cast a dark glance at her. "So I see."

Well, Regina thought, that wasn't too promising. She had better reconcile with him right now, or Jeremy would never fall for her plan.

She uncoiled herself from the sofa and went to him, her hands outstretched. "Jeremy, it's been ages too long."

"So it seems," he said in that deep burnished voice of his.

Oh lord, he was tall, taller than he had seemed last night; she didn't remember him being that tall. Or those hands being so warm. Or those eyes so penetrating. Nor had his face been that old. She remembered the youth of that face, before the lines now there had been etched that deep.

He wasn't going to help her either.

"Do sit down. Father, go see to something to eat. Or drink. Would you care for…?" She couldn't even think what this early in the morning.

"Tea and toast will do. I assume you've eaten."

"I could eat some more," Regina said staunchly. She wasn't some faint-away female. And anyway, food in hand helped. She didn't know how, she just knew it would. "I'll take the same. Father!" She had to get him out of the room. "Do see to it."

"I'll ring"-Reginald looked from Jeremy to Regina. Lord, she looked so sweet and innocent this morning. And yet she had danced with Raulton the night before and looked at him as it he were a god.

Jeremy eyed him meaningfully, and Reginald changed course. "Of course, my dear, I'll see to it." Anything to get out of the room and leave her with Jeremy. He could trust Jeremy. Thank the fates Jeremy had come and none too soon.

Regina closed the door behind him and whirled around to face Jeremy.

"Oh, Jeremy. Did I not see you last night at the Skeffinghams'? Why didn't you come to me? Oh, no matter, you're here now. You cannot know how grateful I am that you came."

She came toward him and edged him farther into the room. This was the moment; she could not fiddle around with niceties or building the story up any further than what Jeremy had seen with his own eyes. She had to preempt him.

She had to take action now.

"You must help me." She looked up at him, her eyes wide and beseeching, the very essence of femininity and innocence. She hoped.

"Must I?" Jeremy said repressively. "Are we not to have a moment's civil conversation before you beg a favor of me? After all this time?"

Odious, odious man! Anyone else would have been at her feet, promising her the moon if she wanted it. "We could have done so last night," Regina returned tartly, "but you chose not to. In any event, I will not ring a peal over your bad manners-today. This is serious. I need your help, Jeremy, and I haven't a moment to lose. You cannot refuse me."

"Oh no? Appearances are deceiving: here I thought to bask in the company of a childhood friend, and instead I find a spitting hell cat. If I hadn't walked in the door, who might you have dragged off the street to abet you-a sniffing torn?"

Blast it. It was as if she was fifteen again and they were back snipping and sniping at each other. "Jeremy! Be serious. Sit down."

"I have a feeling I will want to be standing." This wasn't going quite the way he had planned either. He waited stoically for the ax to fall.

No choice now. She must dive into it and hope she didn't land half seas over. "There's a man."

He hadn't expected that-that she would immediately confess to her interest in Raulton. It undercut everything.

"Isn't there always?" he said dryly, warily.

The bounder! Of course he would make it as difficult as possible. Which made her all the more determined. And besides, hadn't he had enough time to ask her about Raulton? Any man with guts and gumption would have, immediately. Blast him. He deserved the torture she was about to inflict on him.

"Jeremy, be serious. Here's the thing. I want you to teach me…"

"Teach you…?"

Yes, he was looking a little green around the gills. It was time to toss the bouncer.

"Well," she went on as artlessly as the child he thought she was, "he's an experienced man, much more so than any man of my acquaintance. Well, I mean-except you, of course. But I haven't seen you in years. Not that it matters. He is the man I would marry. So all I want you to do is teach me everything I need to know-everything a worldly woman would know-so I can fix his interest."

"That's all?" Jeremy said in a strangled voice.

She was immensely heartened by his anger, she had gotten to him, as she intended, and she felt a wash of triumph that she had scored on the first gambit.

It was a game, after all, even if he didn't know it yet.

She smiled at him brightly. "That's all."

He was thunderstruck. This was the last thing he expected her to say; but he couldn't let her see that, so he turned away from her to collect his thoughts.

This was Regina, grown-up, God help him, beautiful, spirited Regina, handing herself to him on a silver salver, giving him the reason and wherewithal to carry out Reginald's plan, and she didn't even know it.

What man could resist that offer? A man wouldn't even care that he was not the ultimate object of desire. A man was a man, and a willing woman of good breeding was the stuff of dreams that brought him to point at night.

Ah, but she didn't know what she was asking. And he was bound to go forward with Reginald's best interests in mind.

His own didn't enter into it. He had made it plain to Reginald: he wanted no woman, no entanglements, no more being in love. In short, he was the perfect man for the job. No matter what it was, no matter what it took, he was the one who could remain detached, removed, and indifferent.

He turned to face her, his consent to her wild proposal quick and intended to shock her to the point of crying off now. "Very well, Regina. Lock the door. We'll start your lessons now."

Chapter Two

Now? Now? It was too soon, too soon. She hadn't thought he would make a move this soon, blast it.

Oh lord, here he came, stalking her as though he was the fox and she was the hare. Wasn't it just like a man to take advantage? He didn't give her a minute to think.

Blast him.

"Jeremy…" Never show weakness, never. Whatever would happen would happen. She was no green girl, after all. She had been kissed. She had made this proposition to him. She knew what she was getting into.

"Exactly what did you have in mind?" Jeremy asked, when he had her backed up against the door and stood but six intimidating inches away from her.

She raised her chin, diving in head first, and knowing she might crash hard against his obdurate arrogance. "Everything."

"Delightful thought," Jeremy murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth. Everything. She hadn't the faintest idea what everything meant. "And all for your irresistible mystery man. It seems such a waste."

"All," Regina repeated resolutely, mesmerized by the movement of his lips. They were very nice lips, she noted abstractedly, firm and curved, with just the hint of fleshy curve to the lower that made her want to bite it.

What!?

"If we are indeed to have lessons, I must know everything," he said.

She raised her eyes to him, feeling heat flare up between them. What was this? He was too close, that was what. She had to get used to him being this close. And closer still. That was what everything meant. She knew that. She did.

She felt a tremor go through her body. She had asked for this; he had every right to demand some cursory knowledge of her experience if he were going to teach her.

"I daresay you do know everything," she said spiritedly. "But the point is, I know nothing, and why should I be at such a disadvantage when the remedy is at hand."

"Why, indeed? Here is the answer to everything. I have met my destiny, lived all my life in preparation for becoming a remedy."

Now she felt impatient. The thing was as obvious as glass. "My dear Jeremy. Look at it this way: you just gave your ladylove her congé. You cannot be looking for another liaison this soon. You won't get involved. And I've known you all my life. Who would be safer than you, Jeremy?"

"Probably not the person you've known all your life," he said sourly. "You give me too much credit."

"No, I merely want to credit what I must know to deal with a man of experience," Regina said briskly, wishing he would move a step or two back. Jeremy up close was nerve-wracking. Looming. Overwhelming, even.

No. She must get used to this. This was what it was like with a man.

"He will not be easy. And I will be competing with two dozen sweet innocents he will devour like candy. So do let's begin before my father interrupts us."

"Aren't you in a tearing hurry?"

"Jeremy…"

"Oh, I'm perfectly prepared to carry on…" But he wondered if he was. This was not going to be simple. There were no instructions on how to teach the seductive arts while distracting the seductee from the object of that person's desire.

It was going to get complicated. At the very least, he had to convince her that she attracted him, as indeed she might have, were she not someone he had known forever and were he not one and thirty and she twenty. Young, artless heiresses were not his cup of tea. But Marcus Raulton seemingly had acquired a taste for them, and for some ungodly reason, Regina wanted him.

"Well then-carry on," Regina said brusquely.

Time to come to point. He moved a step closer and cupped her cheek. She had the smoothest skin, the bluest eyes, the sweetest mouth. She lifted her head defiantly against his touch, almost as if she were pulling away. But she could not escape him. Subtly he moved closer, simultaneously lowering his head and brushing those soft virginal lips with his own.

It was the barest breath of a kiss; he hovered, waiting, watching her response. Her eyes were closed, her lips curved in a faint smile.

She had been kissed then, at least as much as this. Good. Maybe.

He touched her lips then, imprinting himself there, pulling away in a long, slow movement in which he took her lower lip gently between his teeth.

But not kissed quite as much as that. Her eyes flew open. "Oh…!"

"That," he whispered, "was the kiss of a boy." She swallowed. "Oh." Of course, of course-there had to be more to it, or men wouldn't get so stirred up about the whole thing. Or have mistresses for that matter.

"And this…" He lowered his head again pressing her lips, slipping his tongue between them forcefully, and shocking her to her toes.

What was this-this heat, this wetness, this forbidden invasion-ah! She wrenched away from him, her heart pounding wildly.

"… is the kiss of a man." "Oh!" She rubbed her hand against her mouth. "And the least of what you might expect from a man like Marcus Raulton," he added brutally, just as Reginald pounded on the door.

"Open up, open up…" he sang out. "I've got tea and toast and hot chocolate and cake."

Jeremy stepped back, and Regina sagged against the door for one revealing instant. Then she turned and unlatched the door and held it wide to admit her father and the maid who was pushing the tea cart behind him.

"Here we go. Sustenance for the morning," Reginald said brightly, motioning where the maid was to situate the cart and waving her away. "Have some tea, my boy. Regina, you look slightly flushed."

"Flushed out," Regina said tartly, turning her back on them to pour herself some chocolate, her brains utterly scrambled from just that one overwhelming moment of male domination.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she castigated herself as she sank into a chair in the farthest corner to examine her feelings. She should stop this right now. She wasn't equipped to handle this-either Jeremy or Marcus Raulton. Oh, especially the likes of Raulton.

She took a deep sip of the chocolate and rimmed her lips with her tongue. Dear God, what kind of kiss was that? She felt like a fool. Ancilla was right: why didn't women know anything? Why wasn't there a tutorial for kisses?

She cast a quick glance at Jeremy, who was sitting in the wing chair and jawing away with her father over inconsequen-tials. Men didn't go all topsy-turvy over a kiss, she thought resentfully, and it made her even more furious. Jeremy was as cool as a cucumber, and she was just as green.

She might just as well get it over with now; confess the whole to the both of them and that would be the end of the game.

She gripped the chocolate cup so tightly, she almost broke it. She just couldn't do it. Looking at the two of them sitting there, Jeremy so smug and unmoved by what to her had been a gross invasion of her person, and her father acting as if nothing had gone on behind closed doors when, in fact, he was probably congratulating himself for engineering it-it made her blood boil.

She could just picture them the day she had overheard them at Sherburne House, toasting the success of their little scheme to have Jeremy pretend to lust after her. High-handed wretches, the two of them.

That memory alone ought to keep her on her course. Jeremy must be punished for his complicity and her father for his presumption, and who cared what indignities she had to suffer.

She would make Jeremy suffer, too. But how-how? What if… Another thought struck her. What if… Could she? In spite of that awful kiss? What if she could make Jeremy fall in love with her?

Wouldn't that be too delicious? Oh, it would serve him right. It would be such a triumph, to set her sights on Jeremy, captivate him, and then throw him over.

And all in the course of pretending to pursue Raulton. What a scheme.

If she could get past that horrible kiss. And anything else he had in store for her. Nonsense, she could get past anything. What was a kiss, after all? It was the rest of it that gave her pause-the part about it being the least of what she could expect from Raulton.

What was the most?

Well, she had some idea. She lived in the country, after all. She had been to the barn. Of course, animals didn't kiss so that didn't enter into it. Blast it, would she never stop thinking about that kiss?

Probably not. And maybe it was best to initiate another one, and another so that she would not be so shocked next time. A person could get used to anything, she thought stringently. And how unpleasant could it be after that?

"Well," Reginald said suddenly, loudly, putting down his cup with exaggerated care, "I beg you'll excuse me. I have some letters to write and, of course, Almack's tonight. Have you secured an invitation, Jeremy?"

He slanted a glance at Regina. "Not yet." "Oh do," Regina urged him. "I fear I am fatigued and will want only to stay home tonight. But every matchmaking mother will welcome you with open arms, dear Jeremy."

"I think," Reginald said carefully, "I will leave now." He got up slowly, as if his bones ached, or maybe it was just his sensibilties, because he was exhausted dealing with his daughter. But sometimes he did look rather small and frail, Regina thought, watching him depart, and even she perceived it was not the burden of the Season weighing him down.

All would be fine in the morning, she was certain of it. Her father was nothing if not resilient. The question to hand now was Jeremy. What to do about Jeremy lounging in the wing chair and looking insufferably arrogant and male, like a lion who has cornered its prey. She felt cornered, constricted, and somehow he made her feel all that while he was still sitting some ten feet away from her.

The power of a man on the hunt was something to be reckoned with, she mused, an excellent lesson for any woman to comprehend.

"And so," Jeremy murmured, "you eschew Almack's tonight, knowing full well Raulton will be there. I would think you would want to put yourself in his way whenever you could."

"Do I? You tell me, Jeremy dear. Does a man like a woman who is obvious? Do I want to look as if I am chasing him? Or would it profit me more to continue on with our lessons so I will have the wherewithal to handle him when the time comes?"

A faint smile played around his mouth. "Yes, yes and yes."

"Thank you for nothing," Regina snapped. "You are of no use this morning whatsoever. Perhaps you ought to go." And in fact, she hadn't expected him to stay. So now what?

"I'm very comfortable where I am, thank you. And we have a long way to go. I don't think I've ever seen such aversion to my kisses. Obviously, I have much to learn myself. Or perhaps I should present some testimonials next time I want to kiss you…?"

Her chin went up. "You took me by surprise is all. And how many women have you kissed, by the way?"

"Enough to know not to confess my sins to you," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

Oh, and now he was laughing at her. She had never felt at such a disadvantage before. Blast him. Blast the strictures of a society that kept a woman ignorant of everything.

The real question was, how far she would go in her spurious quest for carnal knowledge. She eyed Jeremy consideringly over the rim of her cup. That kiss notwithstanding, there was nothing dislikable about Jeremy except that he knew her too long and too well. Not a disadvantage, except-that kiss. And maybe that was why it had shocked her so. If she had feelings for him, it probably would have been wholly different.

So, it was just a matter of getting used to it. A woman could get used to anything. At least, that was what her father kept telling her, and this was obviously what he meant.

He meant the forbidden things. The things no one talked about, except men in their clubs late at night as virgins slept and mistresses waited and anticipated.

Her instinct was utterly right about that: even to pretend to tame a man like Raulton, any woman had to know things. Carnal things. Forbidden things. Things that mistresses knew.

Well, here was she, with a man at her beckoning who was willing and ready to show her everything she needed to know. And Jeremy was not unattractive, in his cocksure way.

So there could be no more shriveling up at his kisses-because for all she knew, he had a new mistress, so she must be every bit as eager and responsive to even keep him interested enough to continue with her plan.

How hard could that be?

She bit her lip. Deuced hard, when a woman didn't know what she wanted or how to ask for it. No, she had asked for it, and then she had gone and reordered the rules, forgetting there was another component of the game: her father's scheme to circumvent her pursuit of Raulton.

And he had just gone and left her and Jeremy alone.

So, she thought, new gambit and Jeremy's move.

"Well, at least you didn't faint dead away at the word sins," Jeremy commented dryly, watching her intently. "Perhaps you can be educated after all."

That fired her up. "I'll have you know I had an excellent education," she retorted indignantly. "Just not in the more- carnal-things in life. You are supposed to give me the… the Grand Tour."

"Believe me, I'll love to give you the grand tour," Jeremy muttered, "but that's neither here nor there to your desire to attract Marcus Raulton. Which, by the way, is totally incomprehensible to me."

"Truly? But it is so simple: he's rich, well-favored, romantic, and interesting. A woman of spirit and intelligence could never be bored by him. Which is as reasonable a basis for marriage as any other I know. Do you not think, Jeremy?"

"I think I don't want to think," Jeremy said with teeth-clenching restraint. "It's enough to know that you are the veriest innocent and you are playing with fire when it comes to Raulton."

"Then I will get burned. But I will have him, by hook or by crook. And if you won't help me, I warrant he can teach me to kiss as well as anyone else." She slanted a derisive look at him. "Certainly as well as you."

And there he was, between the devil and the dawn, with his honor at the sticking point. How easily her taunting words rolled off her tongue. He could think of better things to do with it than just sit and listen to her. But he couldn't just take her. So it was time for some decisive action.

It was a calculated risk, granted, but he knew how to handle skittish virgins who were too full of themselves, in spite of what she thought.

"Fine," he said, levering himself out of the wing chair.

Immediately she was up and on her feet. "What do you mean fine?"

"I mean, make your proposition to anyone else-or Mr. Raulton, if you must. It is nothing to me."

This was not going the way she had thought, and how was it that Jeremy was giving up on Reginald's scheme already? Blast him.

But perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps he was playing the opposite field to bring her up to the fore. What was this game? Was she not in charge? He couldn't just change the rules. Blast it, she would be in charge.

"Jeremy…"

He held up his hand. "Don't play at cross purposes with me, Regina. I'm not some choice spirit you can wind around your little finger."

"So I see," she murmured.

"Perhaps we know each other too well," Jeremy went on, ignoring that. "Perhaps it was ill-considered of me to consent to such folly."

He was leaving, he was leaving. Blast, blast and blast. How would she, how could she stop him…?

She swallowed, hard. "Perhaps we should try again…"

He stopped in mid-step. "Excuse me?"

"I said, perhaps we-I-should try again."

"Try…?" He wanted to make this as hard as possible for her.

"… kissing…"

"Kissing. Kissing? You who quaked and trembled and rubbed your lips as if you had kissed a frog, you want to kiss me-again?"

"Jeremy-don't…"

"My lady wants to humiliate me yet again?"

"Jeremy…"

"You don't know your own mind, Regina. If you can't bear to kiss even me, however are you going to deal with Raulton?"

How, indeed, Regina thought mordantly, watching him warily. She couldn't tell just which way his sentiments lay or how he would react if he knew Raulton was beside the point altogether.

"That is what I want you to teach me," she said, reasonably, she hoped.

He wasn't feeling reasonable-or responsible, even. He was feeling primitive, brutal. Male. "High-strung virgins don't ap-peal to me-or to any man," he growled. "You wonder why men keep mistresses. Here is a case in point. Mistresses freely want a man, and never shrink from any sensual experiences with him. A mistress welcomes him and offers herself to him for his pleasure.

"Why would any man waste his time and energy coaxing and coddling a cowering innocent when his mistress will willingly give him everything he wants? Things you can't even imagine, my lady. Things that would put you in a dead faint for a week if they were demanded of you."

Oh, that was cold-blooded. He had shocked her, as he had intended, and more than that, even. She was as still as a statue, her eyes blazing, and some devil in him pushed him to elaborate further.

"And that's the reality of it, and something that can't be taught. Raulton must keep a half dozen mistresses with whom you cannot hope to compete. Give it up now, and eventually some dandy with exquisite sensibilities and no animal desires will ride up on his white horse and carry you off and immure you in the castle where no one will ever have to touch you-or kiss you."

She felt as if she had turned to stone. She hated him. She hated the game. All she wanted in that fraught moment was to be a mistress, a woman who was versed in the erotic arts, and who knew exactly how to fascinate and keep a man.

"Do you have a mistress?" she asked tightly.

"I think that is none of your business."

"Do you?"

He turned away. This was the last thing he thought he would have to confess. "What if I did?"

"And yet you consented to teach me…"

"A game, my lady. Men play it all the time."

Didn't they just? she thought furiously. They did the dirty with some delicious and willing woman, and they put every other woman up on a pedestal. But not her. Not her.

"Then let's play, Jeremy." Her voice was strung as taut as a bow. "I have too much at stake and too little time. I want you to kiss me."

"Do you take me for a fool?"

"Kiss me, Jeremy."

Was he a fool? What man would turn down Regina, even at the cost of some wounded pride?

But then-there was his promise to Reginald to distract and divert, and they were at a convergence of wants and needs. It was just amazing how a man could find an excuse to do anything he wanted to do.

"Then come to me, Regina."

She almost thought she couldn't move. Her body felt stiff and awkward, but it was fueled by a new unexpected resolve, one that had nothing to do with Raulton or revenge. And so she put one foot after the other and went toward him, at his command.

"And now what, Jeremy?"

She looked as though she was going into battle with her blazing eyes and challenging words. He had a latent urge to conquer her, to subdue her, and make her beg.

Could he? The thought intrigued him. Would he?

He reached out and cupped her chin. "You're very beautiful, you know."

"That's not what I want to know," she said sharply.

"No. You want all the secrets, now. Things learned through my life's experience bedding women. You had better lower your sights, my lady. You can't know everything and you can only take one step at a time."

But she wanted to jump in headfirst and mire herself in a swamp of sensuality. "Then take the step, Jeremy," she said, her voice husky. "I'm waiting."

The magic words. I'm waiting. She could see it in his eyes. A man liked to have a willing woman waiting. One secret to stash away and examine when she was alone.

He tilted her head, holding her head immobile between his hands. Big hands, she noted distractedly. Warm hands.

He lowered his head. "It's more elegant this way; we won't bump noses. And then, as I approach you, you must open your mouth to receive me." He came closer and closer still, his gaze hooded, watching her response and reaction, and the emotion warring in her eyes.

I'm waiting. Every part of her must be waiting no matter how she felt. Another secret. Oh, how quickly these secrets revealed themselves in the heat of the moment. Another thing to analyze when she was alone.

She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and felt him swoop down into her, the movement even more shocking for the total domination of it.

His tongue enveloped her, probing, seeking, stroking. She felt inept under the onslaught, but at least she held her own; she didn't recoil at his touch. She didn't pull away. She leaned into him, inviting more.

But she hated her own passivity. How did a woman respond to such a kiss? What did a woman do?

A mistress knows what to do.

Hadn't he made that oh so clear?

A mistress welcomes a man and freely offers herself to hint for his pleasure.

A mistress willingly gives him everything he wants…

Secrets.

Mistresses never shrink from any sensual experiences…

More secrets.

Her body constricted. Never shrink.…

Offers herself…

Her body arched; she moved her tongue against his and felt the faint jolt of his body.

Another secret.

Willingly gives…

This isn't so bad.

Her body seemed to be responding all out of proportion with the observations of her mind. She liked this kiss. She liked the feel of him deep in her mouth, eating away at her. She liked dueling with him, and discovering that she could nip and lap and play with him. She liked holding on to his strong hard hands as she moved into the kiss.

He tasted good, tasted sweet. He was by turns gentle and masterful, and she found she could meet him halfway, either way.

Amazing where a little determination could take one.

Another secret.

He nipped at her tongue, before taking it between his teeth and sucking at it.

She almost swooned at the pulling sensation, giving herself to it willingly. Freely, willingly….

All she could do was hang on and offer him all he wanted.. • all he could take… for his pleasure-

He sucked at her more insistently, harder, deeper, harsher. She felt a deep twinge in her vitals, felt as if she were melting somewhere between her legs.

A mistress willingly gives a man everything he wants. Things you can't even imagine…

What things? A mistress knows.

Everything.

This?

She felt him tense, his hands tightened, and then the gorgeous heat of his mouth slowly, slowly, slowly eased away from hers, erotically pulling at her lips before he finally disengaged from her.

She made a little sound at the back of her throat. Don't… •

Don't what?

Don't leave me…?

No-

Don't stop.

Her body contracted somewhere deep within. / want more.

More.

He did too.

Her breathing constricted. They could be alone in the house for all Reginald would interfere with them. He could stay with her and kiss her like that all day. The whole long, long day.

Yes…

Stay with me.

He read every emotion in her eyes, every nuance of her body. The virgin in bloom. There was no more dangerous flower, no more poisonous dew than an innocent newly aroused.

He was susceptible, too. Just for a moment, he forgot who she was and where they were, and he had lost himself in the erotic heat of her mouth, and pushed aside all caution, all restraint.

Oh, a luscious mouth could positively destroy a man.

But not him. He understood the dangers now that she had tasted her power. It was merely a matter of harnessing his, and mastering her long enough to keep her away from ruin.

He was the man for the job. And the tightness in his groin-well, any woman could arouse him to that kind of pitch. It wasn't Regina; it was the driving heat of a succulent kiss. Any man would respond to that.

And yet, as he gazed at her soft mouth and shimmering eyes, all he could think was, I want more.

Not so indifferent, he thought wryly. But then, what was the harm? He would teach Regina what she wanted to know, enjoy what little she would give, and keep her out of Raulton's bed.

And in my own.

He shied violently from the thought. This wasn't what it was about, damn it. It was about obstructing her pursuit of Raulton. And teaching her a few things. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less.

The fact he was still breathing hard had nothing to do with anything. But if he stayed any longer, it would.

He could not make himself move. The tension escalated, along with her expectations. He wanted to, he did, and she wanted him to. It was just another step, and he could take her.

He could do anything with her he wanted; he saw it in her eyes. Willing. Waiting. Mirroring everything any man could want, everything a man could desire.

Damn damn damn… he couldn't let this get out of hand.

He thrust her away. "Enough, my lady."

She shook her head. "Let us take the next step."

"My next step is out the door, Regina."

"Why?"

"Because my taste does not run to foolish virgins," he snapped, out of patience with her-with himself.

She stiffened. How could he? After that voluptuous connection between them, how could he?

But that was a man. That was what he was trying to tell her, and what she had already seen: it was nothing to him and everything to her.

And that was the reason why she must cultivate a different sensibility. A man did not like to be tethered and cobbled. A man wanted to walk away and never regret anything-but who was to say a woman couldn't feel the same? It was just a matter of learning how.

Oh, it was making so much sense, so much sense. But she had to ensure he would not go back on his promise to teach her.

Blast him. "We will continue with our lessons," she said, keeping her tone expressionless.

"If you will," he answered in kind. God, it was getting complicated. If only Raulton were not in the picture.

"Excellent. Do remember, Jeremy, it is not you in my lowered sights: it is for Mr. Raulton that I must be on the mark."

His body tightened, just thinking of it. "As you say."

"And today, I performed well, did I not, for a foolish virgin?"

"No man could complain." And no sane man would walk out on her either without taking advantage of what she so obviously wanted to give. How did that first lesson take so well?

"Then we are all right and tight, and we will go on."

"I said we would."

"When?"

"When your delicate sensibilities dictate, my lady."

Oh, but her sensibilities were delicate no longer. She knew what she wanted now and exactly what she had to do.

"Do you go to your mistress now?" She had to know, and she would know, if not today, then tomorrow or next month, but she would know.

He grit his teeth. "I fail to see how it is your business."

But it will be, dear Jeremy. It will be.

"Friday will do," she said insolently, dismissively, ignoring his sharp tone.

He cringed. Lady of the manor now. She knew how to play that role very well. What had Reginald gotten him into? What had he gotten himself into?

"Friday, then," he agreed curtly, and she turned away from him to hide her triumphant smile.

She followed his progress out of the room by his footsteps, through the hall, a pause for his hat, the slam of the front door, and she watched him covertly from behind the library curtains as he took the front steps and signaled for his horse.

Dear, dear Jeremy… you've taught me so much already. You have no idea. In one afternoon, you have turned everything I thought I wanted inside out. And now, I will keep up the pretense of chasing Raulton for one purpose and one purpose only, as the means to get what I want.

And what I now know I want is to be your mistress.

Chapter Three

So this is the secret to enslaving a man: think like a mistress, act like a mistress. Know what a mistress knows.

All the carnal secrets. All the feminine tricks. All the male vices.

She mentally ticked off the points one by one as she stared at herself in the bedroom mirror.

Be welcoming. Be willing. Every part of you must be willing with all that means. Offer yourself freely for his pleasure. Never ever shrink from anything he wants of you. Act as if you crave it, too. Be determined you will do whatever he asks of you.

An excellent bargain for the reward of a man's loyalty and carnal fidelity, and wealth and freedom besides.

Who was Jeremy's mistress? Who among all the beauties had attracted him and even now was giving herself to him willingly? The thought was not to be borne. Not after that kiss.

She would find out. Tonight, at Almack's, among all those women there would be seductive mistresses, known only to the lovers who kept them. She would try to discern who they were and how they behaved to better understand what she must do to take Jeremy away from his mistress.

And she would further the pretense that Raulton was her mark.

There was a full plate for one evening, she thought, and she must dress the part besides.

Nothing pleased her. Every dress she took out of her closet seemed insipid and virginal, and for this evening, this moment, she wanted something much more daring.

She might be turned away because of it-it didn't do to cross the patronesses at Almack's-but tonight was one night she would take the chance.

She pulled out a dress of blue satin with an extremely high waist and low-cut neck and blond lace trim at the hem and sleeves. Here was some sophistication. And she liked the way the knots of cream-colored flowers on a rouleau of blue ribbon fitted tightly to her midriff, shaping and emphasizing her breasts. There were matching faux flowers to entwine in her hair, which was styled a la Grecque, and matching shoes, gloves and shawl. To finish, she chose to wear a pair of pearl earrings and a long pearl necklace.

She motioned her maid to one side, and stood away from the mirror.

Ah, this was more like it. This was not the reflection of a green girl. This was a woman, whose body tantalized from beneath the sensual drape of her dress, who was covertly, seductively on the hunt.

Was she really this daring, this foolhardy? Or was it just the game?

"Time to go, Regina." Her father knocked at the door. "You look lovely. New dress? Very becoming. I'm so glad you changed your mind."

"No one should miss a moment at Almack's if they have the entree," Regina murmured. "I was remiss not to have considered my good fortune this afternoon." The irony was lost on her father, who believed every social event was a command to attend.

He was just as happy to have her company, particularly during the long wait to debark from their carriage at the door, and then again inside during that first awkward moment of greeting friends and acquaintances.

Everyone was there. The crowd was six deep by the velvet cordon. Regina could barely pass, and she felt a distinct irritation that she wouldn't be able to see, or to carry forward her plan. And she was hoping Ancilla had chosen not to attend be-cause she did not need a Greek chorus naysaying her every move.

But that was a faint hope, blast it. There Ancilla came, in her usual turnout of white muslin, long white gloves, and, a new fashion trick, a matching demiturban in her hair confining her pale curls.

"Always a crush," Ancilla murmured. "How are you?"

"I'm well to do given we saw each other only yesterday," Regina answered in kind. "And you?"

"As ever. Marking time. Observing the absurd behavior of those around me. No, no, not you. But take note that your Mr. Raulton is here already and in fine fettle. I daresay he has his dance card down and is busily deciding which of the Untouched he will touch tonight. I do wish you would give over your fascination with him. He is not worthy of your consideration."

"He is still the most interesting man here."

"And what about Jeremy Gavage? There he is, scowling as ever."

"Does he look our way?" She hoped.

"He scowls our way."

"I ought to greet him, even if he had the bad manners not to come to me last night. Do you wish to come with me?"

"No. There is nothing for me there. But do you go acknowledge him."

Perfect. Now it remained only to find Mr. Raulton. Tonight she did not want to dance with him. She wanted, rather, to be seen talking with him, or perhaps pretending to follow him to the garden for a private moment.

Which meant he must always be in her sights, and she must try to be sure that Jeremy was watching. Although how she would manage that, she did not know.

Blast it. Why couldn't a woman control these things?

"Well, don't you look-different tonight?" Jeremy was behind her, where she least expected him to be.

She curtsied. "Do you like it?"

"I think your father should not have let you out of the house wearing such a dress," Jeremy said feelingly. He didn't know quite what it was: the low-cut bodice that molded her breasts, or the way the dress shimmered against her body with her every movement.

Or the look in her eye. He didn't like that the most.

"Is your mistress here?" she asked, all wide-eyed and innocent.

"Dear God…!" Jeremy exploded under his breath. He grabbed her arm and pushed her to a corner where they could have more privacy. "And just what is your interest in my mistress?"

Her chin went up. "I'm fascinated. Especially since you brought it up. And they know so much about love and men. I've been thinking that I would be one."

"WHAT?"

His anger was something to behold. This was a good tactic, an excellent ploy. "I… would… be… one," she repeated succinctly.

"God in heaven… what is this new thing?"

"I want you to teach me."

"I'm teaching you." God help him, he hoped no one was listening. What was he doing arguing such a thing with her here in public where every comma was food for gossip by morning. "And I won't talk about this nonsensical idea of yours here. You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what you want. First it's Raulton, then it's this…"

"Well, I reconsidered that. I think it would be much more interesting to be his mistress than his wife. He'd be generous and kind… and he's so experienced. A woman really must prefer a man with experience… and so, by the same token, ought not a man? Prefer a woman with experience, I mean."

Jeremy blanched. "I'm getting you out of here. You have lost your mind or you have a fever. Stay here until I inform Reginald…"

She felt a bubble of triumph well up. She had totally confounded him, and the more agitated he got, the more enamored she became with the idea of him teaching her the erotic arts of a mistress.

Now, if she could only find a way to have that moment with Raulton, it would just set the cake.

She couldn't believe that it turned out to be a simple matter of following him discreetly and seizing the moment. She slipped into the crowd and edged her way around the room, nodding to acquaintances, and feeling a spurt of resentment when she was detained to listen to a morsel of gossip or a tidbit of news. It was a chore just keeping track of Raulton, with all the distractions around him.

Ah, there he was, presenting another of his limp young things with some lemonade. Nasty stuff, but the girl didn't know it. She looked awestruck; this was probably her first go-round at Almack's.

And Raulton had had obviously enough of her, too. He excused himself quickly thereafter, heaving a thankful sigh as he withdrew and headed for the refreshment room.

She scanned the crowd for Jeremy, caught his eye as he searched for her and, quick as a cat, went after Raulton.

Nothing could be better. She could make up any story about her supposed assignation with Raulton. But Jeremy's speculations would be a lot more pungent. Well, so it should be, blast him. He deserved to suffer.

He wasn't that far behind her, and he didn't scruple to grab her and haul her back from whatever folly she was about to commit. "Damn it. Damn you. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Raulton suddenly appeared as if by magic, a glass of ratafia in hand, and Regina almost fainted at the sight of him. Now what? She was cooked; her deceit was about to be exposed.

But she should have known: Raulton of all people was not behindhand about anything to do with subterfuge. He took in the scene with one lightning look, and then he held

Regina's eyes meaningfully, handed her the drink, and murmured, "There, my dear Regina. A reward for your forebear-ance. I trust you will be all right?"

He was saying, I'// play. You play. It was so perfect. She bent her body toward him. "Quite, Marcus."

"I wish there were more time." He took her hand, he kissed her palm. Her breath caught as his tongue swiped her palm. "There's never enough time."

"Marcus…" Who was a better actress than she? "Can't we…?"

"This is the only way," he murmured, and then he was gone.

"Jesus," Jeremy muttered. "You are a menace." He took her arm, as she stared after Raulton, barely able to contain her glee at the scene he had just wittingly played out with her. "Tell me you didn't breathe whisper of that bird-brained scheme of yours to him."

"What scheme is that, Jeremy dear?"

"To become his mistress."

She looked horrified. "Never yet, Jeremy. I'm not nearly skilled enough. But you're going to remedy that, aren't you- and soon."

There was that word again: remedy. As though he were castor oil or something. "I'm taking you home."

"There's nowhere I'd rather go with you."

And that tone-he did not like that tone of voice. It was too reasonable. Too rational. So he kept silent during the ride back to Green Street and said not a word as they entered the house.

Here was the moment he ought to leave. He knew it. He felt trouble brewing in his bones if he took one step farther into that house with her.

"Would you like a brandy?" Regina asked.

"I would like an explanation."

"Well, it's all your fault. You're the one who started gabbling about mistresses and how you hate to coddle and coax reluctant virgins. And frankly, any woman who thought about it would much rather know about those things than not."

"Get in the library. We're not going to discuss this where your servants can overhear."

"I should think not. The brandy's in there; that should calm you down." She waited until he had entered the library and closed the door before she rang for the butler. "Ah, Bertram. That will be all tonight. My father will see to himself when he returns."

"Very good, my lady."

Better than good, dear Bertram. Jeremy is all in a twist over this mistress business. Nothing could be better.

But still, she paused a moment before she entered the library and latched the door behind her. This was the biggest step, the place where she must be willing to relinquish every inhibition, every stricture she had believed her whole life. She had to give herself over to him, no matter how scared she was, no matter what he demanded of her.

This was nothing romantical. And now that she was on the cusp of carrying through, she had to be certain she wanted to cross this threshold. If she entered that room and offered herself, she could never come back again whole and intact. But who would know?

Who would know?

Indeed, who would know?

I would know. I'd know everything, every mystery, every question answered, every feminine secret revealed.

And she could still live her life, and no one would ever have to know.

So how serious was she? Blast it. This was no turn of the cards, and ace takes the trick. This was no small thing: she would become no better than a queen of hearts, and in the end, she might wind up the fool.

No one has to know.

No one would look. How would anyone know?

It was the most tantalizing thing. Beyond that door, she would enter the alluring world of the forbidden, the world he had described to her so seductively she hungered for the experience of being a kept woman. And it was Jeremy, not a stranger. For all her fear, she trusted him. And at the very least, he did seem to care about her.

And no one would ever know.

The thought made her breathless. She girded herself and swung open the library door.

He was sitting in the wing chair, staring moodily into his brandy snifter, immovable as a king, and she wanted to play.

"Now we are alone. So tell me, Jeremy, if you were with your mistress tonight, what would you do now?"

"I'd tell her she's a damned fool," he said roughly, "and that she's as green as glass and twice as fragile, and a man would crush her to pieces just with his hands, she's so breakable."

"Well, we keep coming back to the main purpose: teach me."

"You don't know what you ask."

"Then tell me. Hold nothing back."

"And how honest shall I be?" he demanded violently. "Where they list you in Whoremonger's Guide depends on who is paying how much to fuck you. And for all that money, you have no life. You belong to your lord every minute of the day, even if he never comes to you. You must be willing to spread your legs at his will and whim, and he'll fuck you every which way he can think of, and ten more ways besides. He owns your naked body, every inch of it, and he's paying for what's between your legs. He'll make sure no one else can have you, and you hope to hell he never tires of you. That is the life of a mistress, my lady who has never been touched, barely been kissed, and knows nothing about anything. And there is nothing romantic about it in the least."

But there was, there was. Every word made her body twinge; every image made her shake with excitement.

"But you will show me how to please a man," she whispered, and his eyes darkened as his mouth thinned. She licked her lips, and the movement arrested his attention. She saw then the endgame was here. He was wavering-he wanted to, he didn't, he couldn't, how could he not-and she shrugged and turned away. "Or someone else will."

He jacked himself out of the chair in one explosive motion and grabbed her shoulders. "You do love using that threat, my lady. You'd come crawling home in a day, your innocence pounded to a pulp and so sore between your legs, you'd never want to leave your father's house in this lifetime."

"Then you do it. You. Teach me everything I need to know."

"Goddamnit…!"

She squared her shoulders and thrust out her breasts. And where did that come from? "Pretend, then. Pretend I'm your mistress. Do to me what you do to her."

He slammed his hand down on the nearby table. "I want you to do everything to me that you do to her." "You don't know what you mean," he growled. "I do know. I understand perfectly." She did, she did, and here was the moment she must make a commitment and back up her bold taunting words. "I'm saying I will be naked for you. Willing. Welcoming. You will own my body, every inch, to do with what you want. And all you have to do is show me everything you do with a mistress and everything a mistress knows."

Oh, God, she had said it, she wanted it, and she was stunned at her audacity and that her own words aroused her to such a fever pitch.

She wanted him to stop talking and start doing and bury his conscience when he knew he wanted to do to her all that he had described.

And that she wanted him to.

"You-or another man," she whispered, her body taut with her burgeoning desire.

"Goddamn hell…"

"Another man touching my naked body, another man between my legs…" Oh, this was so dangerous, and that insinuating voice she used was like setting a match to tinder. He was morally so much stronger than she ever imagined, but she had set the stage, she couldn't go back, and she needed him.

Now.

She waited, shivering with excitement.

Nothing.

"Fine," she whispered, turning away.

Two steps, and he had her, pulling her up rough and hard against his chest. "It is not fine, do you hear? It is not fine, but if you're aching to be fucked, then goddamn, I will fuck you to a faretheewell. I'm not a patient man in this arena, my fancy lady, and you'd better learn to please me quickly, because as of this moment, I hold you to every promise you made to me in this room."

"Yes," she whispered, her body shaking uncontrollably. "Yes."

He pushed her away. "Until then, well-I can handle two of you."

She stiffened. "Two of us?"

"Two."

Her excitement escalated again. "One, Jeremy. Just one."

"You don't know enough yet," he said harshly.

"So I practice with you and you spend yourself on her? No."

"I have enough juice, if that's what you're worried about."

"I have yet to find that out. So, one only."

"I'm hard, hot and juicy right now." He waited a long moment to see what she would do. "That was your first test, fancy lady. You failed. You don't know anything about a man's need. But you can be sure my mistress knows exactly what to do about it. So…" He turned toward the door. "I'll be back…"

Lesson one: he is in control and can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants anytime anywhere.

Lesson two: I must be willing to do anything he wants, anywhere, anytime even if I don't know what it is I'm supposed to do.

"If you leave, you will still have a mistress, but you will never have me." Bold brassy words. Some women didn't have that choice. It was implicit in all he had told her: never challenge the lord who paid for your body. She knew it. And by those words, she was testing him.

But it stopped him, and he turned, bracing himself against the door.

"Oh, the fancy piece thinks she's a lady, making threats like that. It's fortunate I haven't fucked you yet, because I would own you, and if you spoke to me like that even once, I would never fuck you again."

"Then we are at an impasse."

"There is no impasse. I have the length, strength and juice for two. Make up your mind if you want it." He turned away, and she heard him unlatch the door.

Bluff called. "I want it."

"Tell me again?" He latched the door.

"I.,.want… it."

He turned to face her again. "And again?" He began to pace toward her.

She started shaking again. "I want it." The length and strength and juice-I want it. Whatever it means, whatever it entails, I want it.

Juice enough for two…

"A lesson well learned, fancy-piece."

Goddamn, nothing scared her. He cupped her chin, and then slid his hot hand down her neck to rest on her heaving breast. Not even that. "I won't make many demands tonight, tempted though I am." He slipped his arm around her and slowly moved her to the wing chair and onto his lap.

She felt it tight against her bottom, huge, hot, hard, flexing and nudging her. It was so big. As though she were sitting on a bar of iron.

And every mistress knew what it looked like and exactly what to do with it.

Why didn't she?

What could she tell from how it felt against her buttocks? That it was long and thick and it moved of its own volition. And it elongated with his escalating male need. She could feel every little spurt beneath her thin dress.

Length and strength and juice.

I want it.

His one hand still spanned her breasts, and he studied her face with the intensity of a scientist before he lowered his head and captured her mouth.

Here was a kiss, dominating, sensual and conquering. And then there was the sensation of his fingers playing across her breast, sliding into her dress and seeking her bare hot skin and one taut pointed nipple.

She almost bolted at the contact where no one… no man… had ever touched her before.

I asked for this. I want whatever he will do to me, no matter what it is, no matter where it leads.

And she ached for that kiss-first and all, that kiss. And anything he could think to do to her after.

Deep in the kiss, she felt a jolt of streaming pleasure as he squeezed the very tip of her nipple, gently at first and then more firmly. It was the most exquisite sensation, spiraling right down between her legs, molten, wet, wondrous, endless. Unspeakable.

Shamelessly in thrall to the feeling, she mutely begged for more, and he gave it to her. She squirmed, she writhed almost as if she were trying to get away from it, and all the while she arched herself into him so that he did not relinquish the pressure of his fingers on her nipple.

Instead, he broke the kiss, and with his free hand, he tore away the bodice of her dress to bare her breasts altogether.

"Luscious nipples." He cupped her other breast and slid his thumb back and forth across the taut nub. "Nipples made to be naked, made to entice a man." He lifted her breast, bent his head and closed his lips around just the hot, tight thrust of it and sucked the pointed nub hard into his mouth.

Her body jolted at the gush of sensation that engulfed her. The pleasure and the heat were unremitting, one long slippery silvery flow that pooled deep in her vitals. She couldn't get enough of his avid sucking. She arched against him, seeking and trying to separate the sensations: his steady pressure on the one nipple, and his firm, rhythmic sucking of the other- too much, too much, too much… not enough, not enough, not enough-

She felt his mouth disengage from her nipple and his hot tongue trace circles of wet heat all over the swell of her breast, all the while he kept up that erotic pressure of his fingers on the other nipple.

Her body swooned with a hot yearning. He came back to her lips again and again, grazing them with hot, hard kisses. She couldn't keep still; the feeling of those fingers squeezing her nipple was so voluptuous, so sumptuous, her body began to swell, to reach, to unfurl.

"Maybe you're right," he whispered, lapping at her lips. "Maybe you were born for this. I can't get enough of this nipple." His mouth closed over hers, rough, hard, demanding, devouring. His fingers flexed, compressing it harder. "I'm going to make sure you never forget this sensation," he growled into her mouth. "When I'm not here, I want you to feel my fingers fondling your teat, squeezing it, rolling it, making it…" He ground down into her mouth. "… hot for me…" Another rough kiss. "… hard for me…" Deeper into her mouth he went, bruising her, crushing her lips, grinding into her wildly with his tongue.

Dear God, there was nothing like an untried virgin. You could stoke them and they heated up like a blast furnace. Once you primed them for pleasure, they begged you for it every hour of the day, and they were adoring and uncritical to boot.

And you couldn't scare them off with a goddamn jackham-mer. No wonder men paid astronomical sums for them.

He had one in his hands if he wanted it. If... hell, he needed it. He was ready to explode all over her and drown her in the backwash of his thick boiling cream. He wanted to spread it all over the hot thrusting nipple between his fingers and then make her suck the residue off of his rampaging penis.

And that was just the beginning. She couldn't pump the half of all his cream. He had plenty to go around, plenty to ram between her legs and spill into that hot, tight hole.

Goddamn, goddamn hell. I am goddamn crazy for letting things get this far… she makes me crazy with all her brazen talk. Who wouldn't want to fuck her? She's so goddamned determined, who knows what the hell she'll do-or who with.

He wrenched away from her mouth suddenly, his fingers still holding her nipple with that same erotic pressure.

The air was tight with tension. Damn damn and hell. He was in control, not his unruly manhood. Not her, with her hard responsive nipples, her lush virgin's body, and her wild untutored mouth.

"You play the pleasure game so well for such an innocent," he said, his voice harsh with his effort to restrain himself.

She closed her eyes as he gently removed his fingers from her nipple and roughly pulled what was left of her bodice over her breasts.

This was it; this was the end for today. She hadn't pleased him. He would leave her now and go to the knowledgeable woman who knew exactly what to do about a man's needs, and whose body he would engorge with all the cream she could pump out of him.

"You're going to her, aren't you?"

"Maybe I don't have to if I can get what I need here." His unruly penis speaking, damn damn and damn.

"I can give you anything she can."

"But I bought her. She has to."

Her body shifted and squirmed at the thought. "If you have enough juice for two, you have enough money for two," she whispered. "Pay for me, Jeremy. Buy my body. And then / have to."

His groin tightened painfully. He didn't think he could walk out of that room. Never in his life had anyone demanded he buy her. Never in his life had a virgin begged to be fucked like this. Never had he had a woman whose nipples responded like this. How could he resist her?

But he had to. Damn it. He was supposed to be pretending interest, not trying his best to get her naked and in his bed. Well, he wasn't pretending anymore, but neither was she.

He had to give it another shot. Maybe if he intimidated her, and laid down the most inflexible rules, the most impossible restrictions, she would give up this insane idea, and tonight would be the end of it.

For her.

He had to try, the most demeaning terms and conditions he could think of.

"If I buy you, miss wants-to-be-a-fancy-piece, I buy your life. I dictate everything. I come and go as I please. I fuck you when I feel like it, not when you want it. And if I don't feel like fucking you, it's your bad luck. I don't like begging. I don't like disobedience. The mistress I pay for is welcoming, compliant and always ready to spread her legs. I have a lot of expectations, which, living in your father's house, you will have to manage to comply with somehow-if I decide to buy your body. Is that understood so far?"

Her throat constricted. Her body writhed voluptuously as if to entice him to make the decision. She nodded, wholly unable to speak.

"Everything you promised before holds the same. I own you, I own your body, every inch of it, especially what's between your legs. You can withhold nothing. You can never refuse me, no matter what I ask, no matter what you want. This is not your willingness to play at being a mistress. These are the terms to be a mistress. This is what a man buys when he buys a woman's body: she is his vessel, his convenience, his toy. And he can take her out and play with her whenever he wants."

She licked her dry lips, her body quivering at his evocative words. He knew exactly what she wanted, and she must convince him.

"I want that. I want to be to you everything you said."

Damn and blast. "You still need some priming."

"I don't care. Pay me, and you can play with me." She arched her back so that the tattered bodice of her dress slipped down her breasts and caught on her distended nipples. She shimmied her shoulders, and the bodice fell, baring her breasts. "If I become your mistress, no one else will ever suck them."

His penis jolted and pearled. Damn right no one else would ever suck those lush teats. Goddamn hell, could he not control his damned penis? And what was he teaching her… that other men would pay for her? That she could sell her naked nipples to the highest bidder? Oh, she did like to use that bludgeon. And he was not immune to it. The thought of another man even touching her was pure agony, because any other man would have banged her up and down the Thames by now, and here he was, his penis painfully at point, trying to scare the bejesus out of her-and succeeding not at all.

What was wrong with him? He had virgin ass on his lap, two succulent nipples to feast on, barely two layers of material between his hard meat and her hot hole, and she was begging him to fuck her, and he was hesitating?

She was asking for it. And there wasn't a man alive who wouldn't give it to her now, as hot and hard as she could take it.

"These are my expectations. Nothing impedes me when I want to fuck you. That means you learn to live without wearing undergarments. That means that when you have no social obligations, you are to expect me anytime of the day or night, and you dress accordingly. Simply put, you are naked and ready to take my penis every minute of your day. That's all I care about, just getting inside your naked body the minute I arrive. And for the privilege of being the only man who roots in you, I will pay you according to how well and how quickly you learn to please me. And when you agree to these terms."

"Have I pleased you so far?"

"Your nipples please me. But you are still dressed, and that doesn't please me."

"You haven't bought me yet."

"A mistress on the hunt generally shows the merchandise before a man pays for it. After all, how does he know what he's getting? All I see are your nipples, and your breasts could be your only prime attribute."

"Let me get ready for you, then."

"Learn this lesson, fancy-piece: a mistress lives to be naked for the man who buys her. If you can't strip off your clothes in front of me, well, you still have a lot to learn, and perhaps I don't want to pay for the privilege of teaching you. Unless, of course, you show me that your naked body is worth my attention-and my money."

Big mistake to taunt her like that, because to undress, she had to slip off of his lap, and then he didn't have her tight, round virgin ass undulating against his penis every time she moved.

But he did have a front row seat as she pulled down the sleeves of her dress and let it fall to the floor to reveal the thin silk garment underneath. It was so sheer he could see the thick enticing bush of dark hair between her legs; and for the rest, her stomach was flat, her breasts high and full, her body beautifully curved, and her nipples tight with excitement.

She ripped off the slip and flung it at him; he caught it and held it to his face to breathe in her essence.

Yes, he wanted it. He wanted it more ferociously than she.

She eased herself onto his lap again, naked but for her stockings and slippers, and wriggled against his penis as though she had discovered a place to root.

"Do you want what you see? Jeremy?"

"One part of me definitely wants it," he muttered as he felt another spurt of cream erupt.

She slipped off again and paced the room, circling in front of him, posing for him, enticing him. 'Will you pay for my body, Jeremy?"

"Do you accept my conditions?"

She wet her lips. "I do."

He had taught her too damned well, and now be could not back down. "Then, I will buy you." He dug in his pocket for a handful of guineas and tossed them carelessly onto the floor "You are mine now, wholly and completely." He began to unbutton his bulging trousers. "Get on your knees."

She knelt in front of him as he freed his rampaging manhood. A monstrous thing, a wondrous thing. With this, he would own her, and she would enslave him.

She put out her hand to touch it. It was so hot, so hard, so undeniably his life force; and as her fingers grasped it, a little gush of pearly cream erupted from the tip, and she swiped it with her forefinger and licked it

He waited, containing himself, hellaciously hard with those innocent fingers squeezing him and exploring him and… and… sliding him between her breasts, coddling him there, stroking him there… and… now rubbing the bulging tip of his penis against her erect nipples, one after the other, again and again and again.

How did she know to do that? Damn damn damn-he didn't want her to stop; he didn't want to stop.

She loved the way the hard rock of him felt against the thrust of her nipples back and forth, back and forth, back and forth… back… forth… back-she caught her breath as he thrust upward suddenly, violently and erupted like a geyser, spuming his thick hot cream all over her breasts.

Not enough cream for two-not tonight...

He grasped her shoulders and pulled her up onto his lap and ground his tongue into her mouth, massaging his essence into her breasts, her hot nipples, whatever part of her he could reach. He wanted to envelop her, devour her, contain her.

He cupped her buttocks, pressing her thigh and belly into his sticky wet penis that was still hard and randy as a goat. He could have taken her there, just spread her legs and embedded himself forcefully and possessively into her hot velvet innocence, but he resisted tenaciously.

Still he couldn't stop tonguing her and fondling her; every inch of her aroused him to an unbearable hardness, as if he hadn't shot himself all to hell all over her nipples. And her round, tight little ass-he wanted to mark his erotic possession of every part of her body-hard little bites so she would remember to whom she had sold her body.

And then common sense prevailed; Reginald would be home soon. And then what? His naked daughter in the library and the man he trusted most rooting voraciously in her mouth with his cannon of a penis on display. Shit.

He thrust her away. "We're done."

She wriggled more tightly against his spurting shaft. "Do more to me." She stroked the head, her fingers innocently- maybe not-rimming the tip of him and stroking it just where it would arouse him the most.

He got a firm hard grip on reality. It wasn't just Regina discovering sex in a public place; it was the fact that Reginald could come in the door at any moment. "My terms, fancy-piece. You have no wants or desires. You agreed to abide by that."

"Are you going to her now?" She refused to move from his lap, and she held his penis in tightly, lightly, stroking him, stoking him as if she didn't want to let go.

"It's not your business."

"You don't have to spend it on her. You have enough to do more to me."

He removed her hand. "Go upstairs."

"Then, come back."

"Go upstairs now."

She slipped off of his lap and bent over to gather up her dress and the money, of course the money, which provided him with a tempting view of her ass and the lush tuft of pubic hair between her legs from that reverse position. It was almost enough to make him capitulate to her-but that wasn't the point. The point was to push her and push her until she stopped this nonsense-or until he pushed himself into her tight, hot little cunt.

She turned to look at him, mutely begging for him to come with her even as he began tucking away his still jutting penis.

"I don't care what you want, fancy-piece." Did he not?

"Don't go to her. I can give you what she can give you."

"Not quite yet you can't, fancy piece. You can't accommodate me between your legs."

"When, then? When will you do it to me?" she demanded as she dressed, her body electric with arousal and jealousy of the mistress for whom he still had enough cream that he could go to her after everything they had done this night and still fuck.

"When I feel like it," he said callously. He had to get her upstairs-and soon. He took her by the arm. "You agreed." So tempting. So erotic, her standing there in such disarray. He wrapped his arm around her neck, draping it over her shoulder so that he could just compress her nipple, and he marched her toward the door. "This is what a man pays for. Not for your demands or your desires and wants and needs. His desires and needs. And now, Í don't need you any more tonight." He withdrew his fingers from her breast and turned her to pull her bodice back up to cover her nudity.

He was unspeakable, she thought; a monster to fondle her nipple like that and just leave her. But he didn't care.

"Upstairs, fancy-piece." He opened the door and pushed her through. "I know you'll have sweet dreams."

Chapter Four

She lay in her bed, naked, her body hot and taut with desire, her skin meltingly soft, her breasts still faintly sticky with his residue. And she could still feel the compression of his fingers on her nipple; she stretched, languid as a cat, as her body reacted to the sensation.

Why wasn't he here to play with her nipples?

She heard her father come home, not minutes after she went upstairs. She heard the clock strike midnight, one, two, three o'clock.

Blast him. Blast him. He was with that cheap piece of hay-market ware he called a mistress and wasting all that luscious cream on her. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. She could spread her legs as wide as any doxy. And if the only reason he wasn't fucking her tonight was her much vaunted maidenhead, well, she could take care of that easily-and it didn't even have to be with him.

Any cock would do, and it would serve him right if another man deflowered her. There were men who loved to go at a virgin full bang. And just to show him, she wouldn't even charge for the privilege.

And then he would never have a reason to root in that apple-wife's bang-box again.

Yes.

Her body went feverish with a heavy longing. Yes. She wanted his thick hot penis right now. And his wild wet tongue and devouring kisses. And his fingers constricting her nipple with just the perfect pressure that even the thought of it made her go weak. Yes.

She felt molten, liquid, breathless… yes...

She heard a sound, and she turned, startled, just in time to see him slip into her room, carrying a candle that he set down on the table by the door.

He turned the lock emphatically, and slowly he paced toward her, removing one piece of clothing at a time until he was naked and thick and erect, aroused beyond saving. And beside her suddenly on the bed, dangling the house key before her, the triumphant symbol of his power.

"I couldn't get your tight little ass out of my mind, so I came for it."

Her breath caught. Yes.

"Turn over."

She rolled onto her belly, and she felt his arm slide roughly under her hips and lift her onto her knees. And then-and then his hands, his big hot hands everywhere on her buttocks, feeling and squeezing and sliding into her virgin crease and exploring there, arousing her there. And then his mouth and tongue, licking, and nipping her curvy bottom, biting, sliding his tongue everywhere, working his erotic way down between her legs to her most secret place where he began a prolonged tonguing and sucking of her luscious slit.

She shimmied her bottom, working herself more tightly against the point of his taut tongue. She felt his stabbing movements coming closer and closer to penetrating her moist heat. She felt his hands on her buttocks, holding her, lifting her, positioning her so that she was canted at just the right angle for his tongue to take her.

Just… just… ahhhhh… the shocking moment when he slipped his tongue in, and then the luxurious lapping and sucking and pulling hard hard hard on her nakedness, riding her with his tongue, dissolving her, drawing her insides out… until she could do nothing but surrender in a long, low, gut-teral moan as a bolt of pleasure struck her down like lightning.

Slowly, he eased her down to the bed and turned her over so that she had full view of his nakedness as he bent over her and took her mouth in a hard, hot, possessive kiss that was permeated with the very essence of her.

He caged her with his body, his penis flexing between her breasts, and supporting himself on one arm so that he could take that one lush nipple between his fingers.

Her body jolted as she felt the erotic constriction of that thrusting point. His kiss was endless, harsh and rough with a man's uncontrollable desire, his need to possess her fueled by her pleasure, her nakedness, and by her squirming body enticing him as he played with her rigid nipple.

He couldn't get enough of that nipple. It was so taut, so responsive. He couldn't relinquish it as he pulled away from her mouth, a bare inch, and growled, "I'm never letting go of this teat."

And with those words, he knew there was no going back: he would take her, take her at her word, take her kisses, take her body, take her sex, because this was a battle he never could have won.

She writhed at the words, arching her upper body more tightly to his fingers. "Keep doing it. Harder. Do it to me."

"I intend to, fancy-piece. You've been cock teasing me for a good week now, and my patience just ran out. I paid for you and I'm taking what I want. Tonight. Sit up."

She levered herself up slowly so that she did not dislodge his fingers, and swung her legs over the bed, following his lead. He came around behind her, lightly twisting at the nipple to get his arm around her shoulder, so she was braced against his chest, and he rammed himself tightly against her bottom as he edged over to a small, armless boudoir chair.

He lowered himself into it, with her, back to front, on his lap, straddling his hot penis with his fingers still holding the point of her nipple.

She arched back languorously into his demanding kiss.

Oh, his kiss, his hot, voracious kiss. Her hands on the bulbous head of his penis, stroking it and playing with it as he suckled her tongue and held her nipples and made her want to surrender every naked part of her body to the mastery of his hands.

Somewhere in that kiss, he relinquished one nipple. Somewhere in that kiss, she felt the fingers of that hand probing her velvet heat, penetrating this way, one two three, twisting that way, one two three. And his fingers playing with her nipple, and his greedy, engulfing kiss…

Her body spasmed, seeking surcease, but he only intensified the pressure, the penetration, the kiss. She felt as though she was melting, her whole body just dissolving in his hands. She wanted his fingers to thrust deeper, tighter, harder between her legs, his kiss deeper, harder, hotter in her mouth. And his fingers squeezing her nipple… how did he know just the perfect pressure that made her want to run away from it, that made her want to lean into him because it was still not enough.

He pulled a breath away from her lips, as ferociously aroused as she. "I need this nipple. But I need to fuck you more."

"Do both," she whispered.

"You couldn't stop me." He pushed harder against the soaking heat of her cleft. She was wide open to him, her body squirming and writhing on the hardness of his shaft, pushing insistently against the hot penetration of his fingers. "Oh, you do like it when I'm inside you."

She made a little noise at the back of her throat.

"You like it," she whispered.

"I'll like it more when my penis is there." God, who would have guessed she was such an easy piece and ripe for the taking. He had wasted three hours before he came back for her. Three hours and he could have had her primed, and on her knees, and he could have been embedded in her, making her beg for him.

Shit. But he loved her squirming ass against the cradle of his hips, and her innocent fingers squeezing his penis head. That was worth having, too. She wanted it, and she wanted it bad; but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction-not yet-and he wasn't going to succumb to her virginal blandishments either.

Not till he could fully and completely ram himself home.

Except for the temptation of that nipple. God, he wanted that nipple. He could arouse her to a fever pitch before he even walked in the door because of that luscious nipple.

"When?" she breathed against his mouth.

"When what?"

"… fuck me…"

"You can't wait for it, can you, fancy-piece?"

"If it feels like your fingers inside me…"

"But it's much longer and thicker and harder. How do you think it will feel?"

She shimmied against his fingers. "Big, thick, hard."

"That's just how it will fill you."

"Yes…," she whispered. "Now."

"Soon."

"Don't move your fingers…" as he began to inch them out.

"Have to.

"Don't… nipple…"

"… never-"

She was so ripe down there, so ready. A moment's distress-if that-and he would possess her fully.

It was a moment to savor. And a moment that gave him pause. He was at the sticking point where, up until now, this had been but a pleasure game willingly played by both participants.

But now… now… something more was at stake: not only her virginity, but her father's trust in him.

Once he went past that point, he could lose everything, and worst of all, he could never get it back.

She knew enough now, his fancy-piece, he had taught her too damned well. They didn't need to do anything more than they were doing to play the pleasure game. As it was, it was almost too much.

"Jeremy…" Her voice was mute, pleading, made him think of a half dozen other ways to carry on.

Shit. Too late for scruples. Or to recover his fifty guineas.

She was too hot, too wet, too irresistible. He caught her up again in a deep dark possessive kiss, shifting her body slightly so that her legs were spread farther apart and he could angle his hard shaft against her nakedness.

Ah…! She felt his penis head then, as he slid it all along her moist cleft, back and forth, and then a little deeper, and a little deeper, deliciously prodding, probing, pushing, pushing, pushing, penetrating inch by slow, hard inch, fingering her hot nipple, mirroring her uncontrollable excitement as he slowly embedded his throbbing penis head in her wet, tight sheath.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…

Just there. Just crowning her entry, just the head of him. She felt it so intensely, she wrenched her mouth from his because she had to see the rock rigid shaft of him buried between her legs.

He let her feel it, feel his power, his heat, his possession. She wriggled tentatively, as if she were trying to get away, and he pushed deeper.

Let her wriggle and writhe, he thought, the more she shimmied, the deeper she took him into her. She was so slick, so tight, so hot, he was that near to ejaculating. And the feeling of her undulating ass against his hips, and the vision of his male head rooted in her, didn't help his effort to maintain control.

He couldn't move; she didn't move. He still held her nipple between his fingers. He tilted her head to feed on her lips. The tension was hot between them, explosive.

She lost herself in that kiss. This was what it meant to be possessed by a man. He had not lied. It meant this deep, dark invasion of the secret places of her body. It meant his having full carnal knowledge of every inch of her. It meant surrendering her whole body, her feminine mystery, her soul. And it meant power. The power that only sex could confer, and that mistresses had known since time began.

Her instinct had been right; she wasn't going to let him hold back. She couldn't. His magic fingers on her nipple made her wild with excitement. The feeling of him between her legs was unspeakably voluptuous; when was he going to ram himself home? She wanted it, more than ever, every thick, rigid inch of him rooted right where he belonged.

She pulled away from the heat of his mouth to whisper, "You feel so good. I want all of your penis inside me."

His body jolted upward, and he felt himself spurting.

"Who would have thought it would feel so good," she breathed, loving that her words had propelled him to erupt. "I can't get enough of it." He thrust again, feeling himself spinning out of control. "More-harder… more-"

And he was gone, his whole body involuntarily jacking upward and exploding his hot spuming cream into her untried virgin body.

It was a wondrous thing, a man's body, that even words could excite it beyond endurance; and his penis, as he withdrew it, still in a high state of arousal. It excited her to see it still rigid and slick with the essence of her.

"Oh, we're not done yet, fancy-piece," he murmured. "I have enough left for you." He levered himself out of the chair, holding her around the waist so that she was not an inch away from him, and tumbled her onto the bed. "Spread your legs, mistress. You begged for this."

She was soaking now, from his semen, from her quivering arousal, and he thrust his penis head hard into her, as deep as he could go without tearing her. She eased onto her elbows to look, to see him deeply embedded in her, joined to her in the most erotic way.

"You want my penis inside you. This"-he thrust at her and she flinched-"is my penis inside you." He drew back meaningfully, thrust just the ridged tip into her, pulled it out, thrust again, pulled it out, thrust again, pulled it out, and this time, with no niceties, no further play, he rammed himself home.

A pinch, a tear-what… oh God, he's inside me to the hilt… oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… it's so naked, it's so hard... it's so THERE...

"You wanted it," he whispered. "Never fuck with a man in heat."

She had to rally; there was no time to examine what was happening, or how she felt, she wanted to get out from under him immediately, and she wanted to stay, and all she could do was react in a way that mirrored this hard-hearted possession that she hadn't quite expected. "You're hard as a bone," she whispered, "so how long do I have to wait for you to fuck me to a faretheewell."

Hell. Bitch. How much money had he thrown at her?

"It would serve you right if I just got up and walked out forever," he growled. "Some mistresses are appreciative of anything they get." It was a game, after all. But he was damned if she was going to call the shots. Virgins were hell after they discovered pleasure. Why hadn't he taken that into consideration? "And the fact this is your first fuck-you should be grateful as hell it's not some stranger! On second thought, I am leaving…" Deliberately, he wrenched himself out of her body, so she could see the rock-hard jut of his throbbing sex. "I'll get it somewhere else."

Oh, God, no no no. Never did she think she would feel this empty, this bereft. And the worst was over. He could never hurt her again that way. And the pleasure was too much to give up out of hand. A mistake to bludgeon him with his own words like that; if she wanted to follow through on her own expressed intentions, which she did, she would have to swallow her mistake and beg.

"Don't."

"Don't. Too late for don'ts, my would-be mistress. Remember? You agreed to my terms. My needs. My wants. My pleasure. When I want it. How I want it. If I want it. That's what I paid you for. Your nipples. Your ass. Your cunt. Not when you want it. When I want it."

"Come get it, then," she said softly. "I'm ready for you." And she was. She felt the loss of him keenly, and the power, on every level. Once the initial deed was done, the rest wasn't hard at all. She wanted him, that was clear and true. And everything that implied.

He kneeled back on the bed between her legs. "That's the only thing that's keeping me here-that you're naked and I can take you this minute."

"Good," she breathed. Oh, good. She watched through knowing, hooded eyes as he inserted himself up to the rim of his penis head. She loved that, the barest tip of him rimming the folds of her sheath with the promise of all the heat and force behind it. He wanted her to feel it, his power, his strength, his virility. He had more than enough for her five times over, let alone two. He was as hard as a poker, and he wanted her to feel every thick hot inch of him as he slowly slowly slowly pushed himself into her wet tight core.

So slowly. He was so long, so strong as his hips flexed and he thrust himself inside her. And when she thought she had wholly encompassed all of his massive length, he pushed yet another inch tighter inside.

"This is what a mistress does, fancy-piece. This is how her lover likes to see her, flat on her back and dominated by his lust."

God almighty-it was too damned late to shock her. What the hell did he think he was doing? Nothing fazed her, not even his insensitive taking of her virginity. A man had to be made of iron to resist her.

"That's what I want," she whispered-and she meant it.

And that was nearly the end-of him. She loved it, every stroke, every thrust, every minute; she moved with it, she begged for it, whispering hot words in his ear, grasping his buttocks, raking his back. She felt him, every juicy inch of him, and she worked him as though she was born to be on her back and at his mercy.

And he gave her none. His control shattered, and all he wanted to do was pound them both to oblivion.

She was insatiable. There never was such pleasure, such feelings, such fullness in her. Her body had been aching for this unspeakable forbidden possession by the most devastat-ingly potent part of a man.

How could anyone live without it after experiencing that secret pleasure? She couldn't stop taking him. His mouth bruised hers, his body rammed into her savagely, pulling her with him, pummeling her until she was swamped by waves and waves of purling, rolling sensations. Never stop never stop never stop never stop… something stopped… something broke, and nothing could stop the storm of feeling and emotion that crashed over her, into her, around her, hot boiling pleasure pouring through her body and between her legs. His pleasure, his cream, hot and blasting out of him like a cannon, and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't stop it, he couldn't, couldn't couldn't couldn't-

And then one last mighty thrust-and he pitched mindlessly over and into her arms.

Desire was an insidious thing. It crept up on a man at the least likely times. He thought he was dead exhausted, and a half hour after his forceful possession of her, he was still inside her, stiff as a board, and hot to fuck her again. She didn't have to do a thing. All he needed was a vessel, and she was still soaked, thick with his cream, an image that aroused him ferociously.

He eased himself more against her, burying himself so powerfully and so deep, he could feel her pubic hair scraping against his own. He felt himself contract, and then he spurted, not the full blow, but damn and hell, all he had to do was embed himself in her and he went off half-cocked. Shit. He couldn't control anything, not her, not sex, not his unruly penis.

He rocked against her, pushing, pushing, pushing. Her body was so pliant, taking him deeper and deeper as he ground his hips into hers. He wanted to root between her legs forever.

He had been at her so long, the candle was guttering, burned to the nub and suddenly gone, throwing the room in total darkness.

There was something about the dark. Forbidden things happened in the dark. Things that two people did to each other that did not have to be acknowledged in daylight. Things he wanted to do to her right now while she was naked and still coated with his semen.

He nudged her legs together and straddled them so that she enveloped him even more tightly. She stirred, and her sleepy, futile movements stoked him to the blasting point. He covered that one breast to feel her nipple shaping beneath the flat of his hand. He covered her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep within, concurrent with the sharp, thrusting movement of his penis.

She came languidly awake as she accepted his tongue. Her body arched under him as he fingered her nipple the way only he could, and he followed the movement with a hard thrust of his hips.

This was all he needed: his possession of her turgid nipple, the soft, hot accommodation of her supple body, the hot press of his penis deep inside her, her avid mouth voraciously feeding on his lips and tongue.

He didn't want to move. Couldn't move. If he moved… he spasmed, he spurted, and he ruthlessly got himself under control. He wanted this full bore possession to go on for hours, for days, for months, with no beginning and no end.

And all he had to do was wholly embed himself in her and not move.

He had to move. Had to move. His tongue, his hips, his fingers. Just to let her know he was there. Inevitably, indomitably there.

And that nipple. That hard, pliable nipple… it drove him crazy the way he could play with it, rub it, caress it, the way her hips shimmied and ground into him every time he manipulated it, the way her body got hot, stoked, languid with every erotic touch.

Don't move. Let her move. Let her squirm and twist and try to get away from me. This is my nipple. She will never get away from me.

Something else almost got away from him. The more he tried to contain her, the more she writhed and made hot little pleasure sounds in the back of her throat, and the more aroused he became. A man wasn't meant to feel this explosive, as if every part of him would blow apart if he gave in.

He was desperate to give in. His penis was bone-stiff with his lust to possess her. He thrust into her, short, sharp movements, because any more commitment and he would blast. And he wanted to prolong it, he did. He had all best intentions, just short jabbing thrusts, one two three. Feeding on her lips, one two three; feeling the caress of her tongue against his, one two three; a man had to be made of stone, one two three; well, part of him was, one two three-one last drive home and he burst like a dam, carried away by the gushing geyser of his release. One two three.

Light filtering through the curtains. Movement beyond the door, the maids scurrying to begin the morning. Morning. Damn and hell. Morning.

And here he was wrapped around her naked body and hot and hard and primed to go. Had they slept? He thought so. She had only been half awake at the most during the night.

And now she was this enticing bundle in his arms, her naked body his to do with whatever he wanted. And he wanted. He wanted. He would have to get used to his penis at full staff around her. She would have to get used to it.

He pulled her against him, spoon-fashion, and inserted three fingers of one hand between her legs and cupped her breast with the other.

She was still slick with his semen, still hot, still willing. Her bottom undulated against his hips, she parted her thighs to invite his fingers, and her hand grasped his wrist and pressed them deeper into her cleft.

He was coming closer, closer, closer to something, some pleasure point nestling just within her. There-oh!-there... her body stiffened. She pressed down hard against his fingers-oh now... He had her other nipple… Oh no oh no- too much, too much-

A knock at the door and she swallowed her dismay on a tide of wanton need.

"Good morning, my dear," Reginald called. "Come join me for early breakfast."

"Tell him you're exhausted, you're sleeping in this morning," Jeremy whispered.

She couldn't talk. How could she talk with his fingers doing what they were doing to her. "I-I'm still rather tired," she called back, her voice ragged. "I'm going to sleep in this morning."

"As you wish, my dear. We'll talk later."

Blast, blast, blast…

"I'm still here," Jeremy whispered.

"I feel so illicit."

"You're my mistress," he reminded her bluntly. "After last night, nothing"-he drove his quiescent fingers into her cleft- "nothing interferes with this

She felt herself quickening. He stoked her and stroked her, twisting his fingers deep inside her; she bore down on him, seeking that elusive thing that she didn't know what it was, and succumbing to the ribbons of sensation that skeined from the tip of her nipple to the pleasure point between her legs.

There it was, there, nestling just within her, that secret place waiting for a touch, a caress, a certain pressure that would send her spiraling out of control. She felt it coming. She felt her body reaching for it, yearning for it, closing on it- there, just there-there! Her body seized up, tightened, and then catapulted into a convulsion of unspeakable sensation that just didn't end.

She didn't want it to end. How could she bear it if it ended? And if Jeremy left, as he must certainly do before the morning ended.

Don't think about that. Think about how rock-hard he is and that he's in a fever for your body. That's all there is. And if you want to keep him in your bed, that's all there ever can be…

All, all, all, all, all, all-alllllllllllllllll-

A clock struck somewhere in the distance, and she forced herself to move. She didn't want to move. The morning was perfect, with Jeremy lying beside her naked and asleep, and the wonder of him was that when he slept, that rebellious other part of him didn't.

And what an amazing part it was, all muscle and heat and a life of its own. She touched him, sliding her hand down the long, hard shaft and into the thick thatch of hair at the base.

Soon, soon, he must leave her. And then what? She didn't expect this complication about being-pretending to be?-a mistress. She hadn't expected any of the realities, least of all the kind of bone-sapping pleasure of which she was capable.

No wonder coupling like this was forbidden, secret, immoral. It was so powerful, in so many ways, and so hurtful in others. If she even thought she had feelings for Jeremy, for instance, she might be devastated the moment he walked out the door.

It was so much better that she had initiated their intimacy for her own purposes, and that she was in control of her feelings and could and would play the pleasure game as often as he wanted.

Unless she tired of him.

A delicious thought, but truly, how could anyone tire of being the object of desire? It had all worked out perfectly, she mused, tugging lightly at his hair. He had fulfilled her father's mandate to distract and divert her, and she in turn had taken the best revenge on him by becoming his mistress.

And the game wasn't over yet, she thought. Her supposed obsession with Raulton could still be in play. It couldn't hurt to make Jeremy jealous while she enjoyed what he was willing to give. While she could.

A man wouldn't hesitate. And neither would she, now that he had taught her all the tricks worldly women knew.

The reward for capitulating was enough in itself: pleasure beyond words, knowledge beyond all that was knowable, and the sensual power to make any man come to heel.

Something hot enclosed him. Something wet that pulled at the very tip of his engorged member. Something that felt so good, he didn't want to make a move lest he interrupt the steady sucking of his penis head. And those erotic little noises she was making… she loved it. He loved it, and the way her still-innocent hands kept fumbling all over his shaft and his balls…

Damn… that tongue would set off a firecracker, the way she was using it on him. No one had ever licked him and sucked him so thoroughly and with so much enthusiasm, not even the lamented Marguerite.

Forget about that.

… Forgotten.

He felt himself swelling, his penis distending, his body tightening, gathering, pointing… right there, right to the very center of all that heat, all that wet and that rhythmic erotic pull that now compressed just the turgid tip of his penis.

He wanted to jam himself into her, to see if she could encompass his length that way, her way, his way. He followed the pull of her lips and tongue, his body lifting, grinding, thrusting toward the pulsing sucking of him. Just that, just there-never never never… it was too much, not enough.

Even he… he wanted more more more, just that little more deep in her mouth, stroked by her tongue-the whole head, nothing more… nothing ever more. And she took him, right to the ridge, and it was cataclysmic, the fury with which he came, the way she pumped and sucked it right out of him until there was nothing left. He spurted. Nothing. Another gust. Over now. Drained and gone.

No. Not over. Damn and hell, she was not getting it all. Not by hell. He wrested himself from her greedy mouth and levered himself up on one arm. Oh, yes, he was still hard and hot to spume. More than enough to blast inside her. And her breasts already smeared with his cream… He wanted those breasts in his hands now… and her flat on her back.

She looked so smug he wanted to mount her right there and ride her until the sun went down.

No. He wouldn't last.

Really?

"Lie down." That was about the best he could do at the moment, and he didn't like that cat-lapping smile she gave him; but she willingly lay down, and he rolled onto her and just plunged himself between her legs.

Control. Had to keep control.

He rolled onto his back so that she straddled him, and the expression on her face was wondrous. He was even deeper now, pressing against her pleasure point, and her breasts were there before him, her nipples tight and inviting. She leaned forward to offer them, and he took each one between his fingers as he thrust into her.

Startled, she ground downward to receive him, her hands braced against his shoulders. Was there ever such pleasure? Between his fingers voluptuously compressing both nipples and the short, heated thrusts of his penis, she thought she would dissolve altogether.

She looked like a goddess, with her wild tumbling hair, her pumping hips, her round, taut-tipped breasts, and her responsive nipples that were the only way a mere mortal could contain her.

And this-he drove into her with all his violent need- this… her nakedness, his; this... her nipples, his; this… her sex, his; this... his cream, his, discharging explosively between her legs…

This…

He had to cool off. It took every ounce of strength to leave her, and even then, he wasn't sure he should have. He didn't like the look in her eye, but she could ignore Reginald no longer; it was already well after noon.

He was still primed as a pistol when he slipped down the servants' stairway, and getting in deeper and deeper. He could have pinned her and popped her until she cried for mercy the way he was feeling, and it shocked him.

Damn, damn and damn. Taking a vestal vixen like that and making her his mistress. Was he sane? And because she wanted it. For how long? And when would the recriminations start? Could he believe anything she said? Or was his penis totally in control and he didn't care?

God, he needed a drink. He needed to sit by himself and stew in his own hot blood with a tot of whiskey to tame the rampant beast.

There was always Heeton's, that bastion of male dominance, the most select club in the whole of London, where men of influence and wealth conducted the business of the nation in the hushed sanctity of shadowy corners.

That was the place for a man to ruminate on his sins and excesses. And regain what little sanity he had left.

But it was not to be. He was accosted immediately by the aging quartet known as The Four Crack Hands, who presided over the Betting Book and the Calendar, and who dispensed any information about social venues as though they were meting out water torture.

But the Book at Heeton's was the be-all and end-all of the Club. It was infinitely more exclusive than the one at White's, private, secure and sacrosanct; nothing written in the Book ever went beyond the doors of Heeton's for fear of total ostracism, and The Four Crack Hands guarded it as if it were the crown jewels.

Bodley was the Keeper. "Here's a familiar face, gentlemen"-he raised a toast-"and not a wager as to when he might reappear amongst the living after dispensing with the fair Marguerite…"

Jeremy blanched as he shook hands all around. Marguerite? After all this time? Still?

"How did we slip up on that plum pot…?" This was Berkleigh already calculating guineas lost, a sum that didn't bear thinking about. "When did you get back to Town, exactly?"

"Three days ago. I didn't snuff it, gentlemen. I've been rusticating. And now I'm back in full cry. So what's to do?"

"Oh, you're a one," Fallowell now. "You think you ain't chatter broth already? Let me disabuse you of that notion. Even if we didn't know, every matchmaking mother in Town was aware to the instant when you stepped foot back in Port-man Square."

It was so true, he had to smile. An eligible man was nothing short of a bon bon, to be savored, chewed over, and eventually swallowed whole by one or another of the beauties of the Season.

It was every man's destiny-when he wasn't being a remedy; when he wasn't educating a virgin to be a mistress. When he wasn't being swallowed whole by her.

Oh, God____________________

"Speaking of that," he said, his voice raw, "what's the Book this week?"

"You won't believe it."

"Try me."

"Raulton."

Jeremy lifted a brow. Worse and worse. Damn damn damn….

"It's true. He's been prowling the sidelines and the on dit is he's out to hang up the ladle." The amusement factor was enough to send Bodley into transports. "And there's much interest in some quarters. They're pounding deep on this one," he added, patting the Book.

"Who's the front line?" Jeremy asked, casually, he hoped.

Bodley ticked off the names. "Miss Law, The Honorable Miss Garland, Lady Olney, Miss Soames. This week anyway."

"A tidy cat-patch," Jeremy commented impassively. Re-gina's name booked? Already? Damn, damn, damn and hell.

"Your presence could kick things up a bit," the reticent Rustington suggested

"I daresay it will." Jeremy took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. God, if he thought he needed liquid sustenance before, it was nothing to how he needed it now. Those bettors were among the highest flyers in the land, Personages who didn't discuss their business in public. Or their vices.

Raulton's matrimonial chances would be fair game at White's within days, by the looks of it. Too many people were talking already, and that inevitably and always led to book.

Damn and hell.

He had no time at all to get Regina out of the line of fire.

"And so how did it end with the fair Marguerite?" Berk-leigh asked.

Damn again. They were as insatiably curious as women. Better he dispense the story of his congé than let them speculate. At least his version would be all around Town by morning. "As you might imagine, gentlemen. She caught a warmer scent and she rode out of town without a backward glance." That they all understood. Who hadn't been given the mitten by a ladylove whose affection was sold to whomever was plumpest in the pocket?

"Ah, poor Jeremy." Bodley again. "It is ever the way with them dashers. Damned shame, but there it is. Well, welcome back, my boy. And let us toast the indomitable Marguerite, wherever she may be." He lifted his champagne flute. "May she be dished up and dashed down and never make another man miserable again…"

Chapter Five

So there it was. She had permitted a man to touch her, to possess her in the most intimate and erotic way, and she saw nothing different about herself when she looked in the mirror.

Maybe a little different. Her eyes were brighter; her skin seemed to glow. Perhaps she stood a little taller to emphasize her breasts. She was tellingly aware of her body and her capacity for sensual gratification.

She felt strong, powerful. There was a world of knowledge in her bearing and in her gaze.

And she felt no shame. Rather, every part of her felt sumptuous, carnal, untamed. Clothed, she felt her body spurt to life at her intemperate thoughts. Jeremy must must must come back to her tonight.

But that was not to the point this morning. She was so late to breakfast, her father would already have ordered his midday meal, and there was no ducking that.

It was just that he would be over concerned about her, about the pace of their days and their social commitments being too much for her.

And now they were, she thought irritably, as she checked her hem one more time and then made her way downstairs. Now she wanted every evening free for Jeremy, even supposing he would come to her every evening; anything else seemed insipid and banal.

But this game must be played as well. And she must contain her impatience and her clamoring body, which, even as she entered the dining room, was erect to all the possibilities of the day.

"Father." She seated herself and poured a cup of tea.

"Regina. Are you all right, my dear?"

"Oh, yes." She sipped. Easier not to talk.

"And Jeremy saw to everything last night? He said you had a headache."

"He was solicitous as ever you would be, I promise you. I spent the night in bed." Not a lie. Not wholly the truth. "And I'm up to the mark for whatever's on tonight." Yes, yes. She had to be, because she saw clearly she couldn't be lolling around waiting for him. That would be the height of folly and confer far too much power on him and his prowess.

Her body stiffened.

Don't think about it…

"I'm glad to hear it," Reginald said. "It is but a small party at the Petleys'-cards, refreshments, perhaps some dancing. Nothing onerous. Everything amiable and early home. Do you feel the thing? Will you come?"

"I'm happy to," she murmured. Anything to preserve the pretense that nothing had changed.

Everything had changed, and she became more aware of it by the minute, not least her consuming impatience over the trivialities of the day. Receiving guests. The ride in the park. The hour calling on friends and acquaintances. Another half hour shopping for furbishments at Clark and Debenham. Over to Hatchard's for a book that she likely wouldn't read. A nap, fruitless by herself alone. A bath, which only served to heighten her awareness of her body.

And a sense of herself observing, taking mental notes about what she felt, what she did and how her everyday life was impacted by her new knowledge.

She had grown up and, in the course of a day, grown away from virginal pursuits. When her maid laid out her gown, her only concern was whether it was adult enough, revealing enough, something a bold and coddled mistress might wear.

And indeed, where would someone virtuous come by clothes like that? Still, her maid could quickly alter a neckline, pare down a puffed-up sleeve, damp down her thinnest under-slip, find a patch to emphasize her best attributes.

And she had to be careful, so careful, that her father found nothing amiss with her appearance. For the party at the Petleys', she chose to wear a dress of cream-colored glacé silk overlaid with lace and trimmed with silk flowers. Innocent, beguiling. A little daring around the oval neckline which was cut low. Slippers to match, shawl and gloves. Her hair done up in a knot with a ribbon of the silk flower trim banding her curls.

Not too formal, she thought critically, surveying herself in the mirror.

Not too girlish. Not too fast. Passable for a private party.

Maybe.

She wrapped the shawl around her swelling breasts. Her father couldn't forbid it if he didn't see them beforehand. And if it was too much, she would just wear the shawl all evening.

And besides, there would be no one at the Petleys' who was not over the age of forty. This wasn't a night for pleasure games. It was simply an evening in which she was accommodating her father's desire to be with old friends.

That notion stood about as long as it took them to get to the Petleys' town house in Westcott Square, where it appeared the Petleys had issued an invitation to everyone in their set. By the time Regina and her father arrived, there were at least sev-enty-five guests crowding into the refreshment room, the card room and the grand parlor, and more guests coming behind them.

"Come, come-" Lord Petley at the entryway, a large, bombastic man whose satin waistcoat strained over his belly, a man with a good heart and an open hand to his friends. "Don't stand on ceremony here; there's plenty to do, food in the anteroom, and we're getting up an orchestra for dancing. Cards? To your left. Regina, my dear. Just your night. There's a game of loo about to start in chips. Mr. Raulton heads the table. I know your fondness for it. Do you join them."

Her heart almost stopped. Raulton, here? The man was everywhere. And it meant Jeremy might show as well. What luck. What good fortune.

"I would be pleased," she murmured. "Father?"

"Don't stay on my account," her father said, too heartily. "I can easily drum up some company or a game of cards." And drum Mr. Raulton right out of this house, but that was not his purview, nor could Regina refuse to join Raulton at the card table now without seeming churlish.

Events were conspiring against him, Reginald thought furiously, as he watched Regina glide into the card room and take her seat at Raulton's table. The man was too damned slimy and ingratiating, because if he weren't, the Petleys never would have invited him for the evening.

Nor could he stay and keep an eye on Regina. It was the most damnable thing. She was out to get Raulton, and like a plump plum, everytime she turned around, he fell into her lap.

He stalked into the refreshment room, not quite sure what he wanted to do, but vaguely planning to bring Regina something to drink and then spill it all on Mr. Raulton's head.

Not too subtle, that. He almost wished Regina had been laid low by her headache of the previous night. He hoped against hope Jeremy would come. He felt as helpless as only a father can feel when his beloved child has walked into a predator's trap.

He took a glass of lemonade and made his way to the card room. There was no way to observe them unnoticed. The honest thing was to present Regina with the lemonade and withdraw.

But when he caught sight of the table, with Regina, Raulton, and six other people besides, and saw that the cards had been dealt, and the first lead was in play, he changed course.

No use upsetting things. Nothing could happen there.

He needed a drink and something stronger than lemonade.

Damn, he needed Jeremy.

Jeremy was fighting his worst instincts, the invitation to the Petleys' crumpled in his hand, already a block from their town house and thinking it was the worst idea to spend an evening with all those browseabouts and bagpipes when he could be spending himself in his mistress.

But not this soon. Not after he had dressed her to the nines on the duties of a mistress to her keeper. Sheer folly to bend under the weight of his lust and give in to his clamoring penis. A man had to be stronger than that. Harder than that.

Damn hell.

A small card party with supper was just the thing to take his mind off of her. He would have to mind his manners and keep focused because Lady Petley had a great fondness for whist and for him as a partner.

Just the thing.

Maybe…?

He topped the town house steps and entered the hall. What the hell was this? A small, select group of what-a hundred?

And the noise! The music from the far parlor. The laughter in the card room. People playing cap-verses in the dining room, shrieking their clever rhymes above the din.

Typical Petley row. Damn. Hell. Now what?

He turned on his heel to leave, and just caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. Regina… Raulton… shit-

Damn her to hell.

He eased his way into the card room, every expectation met: there was Regina, sitting across from Raulton, beautiful, breathtaking, sensual, and the bastard couldn't keep his eyes off the swell of her breasts, which, with that abomination of a dress, she of course fully intended should happen.

She knew she would see him here, he thought venomously. Maybe she had even planned it. God knew, she had had the whole afternoon to weave her little web, to convince the Petleys perhaps to include him among the guests. Damn and hell, he never goddamned should have left her.

She was booked at ten-to-one at Heeton's. Hard in the running for that man's hand. Soames was fifty-to-one, even though everyone had seen them together at the Skeffinghams'. It was thought she was a little too green in the grass for him.

But Regina, with her breasts and her protruding nipples that even he could see from where he stood-Regina, with her beauty, her wit and her style-Regina with her newfound knowledge-Regina was perfect.

And Regina would never settle for being Raulton's mistress, no matter what she said.

Only his.

Well, by damn, that was enough. That was what they both wanted. He had paid for her, he owned her for as long as HE wanted her, and he would make sure that any other interested male could not mistake it.

He left to prepare, as her laughter rippled across the room.

"I don't like that Raulton," Reginald said, feeling as if he had had this conversation at least ten times already.

"He is an amusing man," Regina said. "Interesting. Excellent at cards. But I'm certain he was gentleman enough to let me win several hands."

"He wants to win your hand," Reginald said sourly, "and I tell you now, Regina, I will never countenance such a match."

She prickled up. This had been quite an evening, with

Raulton's attention all on her and her bosom, and Jeremy nowhere to hand. It made her positively irritable that he had not shown, and that Raulton was on her every moment, as if that little play they had enacted the night before entitled him to liberties. Blast him. Blast Jeremy.

"Is that so, Father? I wonder where you got the idea that any such thing was a consideration."

"Watching that damned popinjay is where. This was the first time in a month he didn't need to pay court to some milk and water miss, and he could seek out a woman of wit and guile. Who wouldn't notice?"

"He likes the cards," Regina said tautly, "and a partner with some gumption. There is nothing more to it than that."

"He may wish for that in a life partner as well."

"So do I," she said waspishly.

"Don't say that."

"I've said it. There's nothing more to say, Father. I heard you."

"I don't think so," Reginald said grumpily. "Not by half." And where was Jeremy when he needed him?

He was almost afraid to bid her good night. It didn't seem beyond possibility that she was capable of sneaking out and meeting Raulton, given how cozy they had been tonight.

The thought struck terror in his heart.

It was the worst thing in the world to have such a daughter; no man could resist her, and as was becoming very obvious, there was one man that she could not seem to resist either.

She climbed the stairs wearily. She had been soundly trumped; it was silly and childish, but nothing mattered when she felt as if she had lost the game.

And the heady moments at the card table opposite Raulton? All for show, did Jeremy arrive. And all of it, time wasted.

Tomorrow, she would end the thing and tell her father for true that she had no interest in Raulton whatsoever.

And then the game would be over, and she would move on.

There was a glimmer of light beneath her door, as faint as hope. What hope? A man had a choice of a dozen women who would copulate with him for the price of a carriage, a house and a thousand a year. Pleasure came cheap for a man of means at that price. And it was an excellent bargain for his mistress, who got to keep every pound she earned.

Blast it. What was she thinking? Raulton's presence at the Petleys' had her tied up in knots. It had taken an enormous effort to keep him amused and entertained.

But the end result appalled her: he had looked at her with new appreciation and new consideration, which a week ago would have fit into her plans and schemes admirably, and that was the thing her father remarked upon.

And if he had seen it, how many others had as well? Blast and blast.

Yet another tangle in the web, and she was far too tired to unravel it tonight.

"Not too tired for me?" Jeremy said from the depths of the room.

Blast him. She shrugged off her shawl. "Cards do wear one out. All that mental calculation. And then, to play with a man with the finesse of Mr. Raulton-well, need I tell you, dear Jeremy? It fair kept me in high gig just to keep up with him."

"Indeed, you need to tell me, dear Regina. That dress, flaunting your breasts, your nipples, what I bought, what I own, in another man's face so he can salivate over what he can't have. Do tell me, Regina. What was that all about?"

"That was about I have a life and you have a life and sometimes our interests cross, and sometimes they don't," she said rebelliously. "I didn't expect you tonight."

"Obviously. Maybe you thought Raulton would arrive to take my place."

"Oh, please…" Oh, he is jealous… he is-

"Oh, please what, since your express intention all along has been to attract his notice. Well, let me tell you, he noticed and he will come sniffing around you. Only he will find me in your bed, or barring that, he will find irrefutable evidence that someone owns you."

"Truly," she murmured, thrilled to the bone by his possessive tone. "And what will he find?"

He held up his hand, and dangling from his fingers there was a thin gold chain at the end of which was a tiny lock. "You will wear my chain as a symbol of my possession so no other man can penetrate you."

She held out a shaking hand to take it. It was such a fine, thin chain that it was a barrier to nothing, and it excited her beyond all measure because it was a tangible sign that she was his mistress indeed and he wanted her body to the exclusion of any other woman. Who would not enchain her body for the pleasure of the man who owned her?

"I will wear your symbol," she said huskily, "but he will not come."

"He was riveted by your breasts, fancy-piece. By your nipples. I saw him."

"You were there?" She felt triumphant. Not all for naught. Not a waste when it had resulted in this unleashing of his undeniable lust for her.

"Watching you. Watching him. I think this game is over, fancy-piece. I am the only one whose interest you must fix." He reached out his hand and hooked his fingers in the bodice of her dress. "The only one for whom you ever reveal yourself." He pulled, and the bodice gave, freeing her breasts. "The only one…" He took her nipples one in each hand as her dress dropped to the floor. "These are mine…"

She caught her breath as he took them, expert now as to how much pressure, how light, how tight, and both at the same time which sent her senses spinning, made her molten with need.

She wanted nothing more than this, to be half naked with his fingers playing with her nipples; from pure innocence to pure passion on the tight hot pleasure points of her nipples.

Just like that, just like that… harder, softer-desire and lust rippled through her body, fusing deep in her core, centering on the skeining sensation from her nipples as he fondled them.

Just her nipples. No where else?

No.

Hot gold now, the feeling, sliding down down down down… yes… hot and thick and bright-gold-enfolding her, enslaving her, pooling deep deep deep, breaking in the center like stone hitting water, and radiating explosively outward, yes, all that heat, all… that… thick, all… that… go-old…

She wrenched away from him, covering her turgid breasts with her hands, and she sank onto the bed. What was that-? What WAS that?

He lifted her hands and pulled the dress away from her breasts, and then knelt so he could remove all her clothes, one piece at a time. Her dress, her undergarments, her slippers, her stockings, the band in her hair.

"A mistress is always naked."

"When she knows the man who keeps her is coming," she said tartly, to rip the mood. She wasn't sure she could bear any more this evening.

What he had done to her was more than enough. Her nipples felt irritated, used.

"He is always coming," he muttered, pushing her on her back and removing her undergarments. "He is always there." He dangled the chain in front of her. "Like all men. Thus, we claim the one we fuck." He slipped the chain around her waist, and it was then she saw that there was another chain hanging vertically from it. And that chain he looped between her legs just tightly enough so it caressed her there, and he attached it and locked it at the small of her back.

"Stand up."

She stood, feeling the thin strip of chain keenly. It didn't hurt. It was barely there; but she knew it was there, and that was what made the difference. He had the key, and another man could not get to her while she willingly let him bind her body.

He made her walk around the room. The enchainment was perfect, settling just on her hips and encompassing her lightly between her legs and enticingly in her crease. Now she was wholly his, her nipples, her body, her cunt. And when she was dressed, she would feel him, and when she was naked she would feel him, and never would a moment pass that she wouldn't feel him possessing her in some way.

The thought made him wild. He was hard to bursting to get to her. But the excitement was heightened by his restraint and by her submission to his will. The chain glimmered in the candlelight which cast erotic shadows all over her naked body as she paced around him.

And those breasts, those nipples… he would never get through an hour without touching her. Without… shit-he came. Damn and hell. He ripped open his trousers and let it come, let it spume all over to show her just what she did to him with her nipples and her compliant naked body.

She licked her lips as she watched him. Such a waste when he could have pumped it all into her. But he always said he had enough for her and more. And it would dry. By morning, it would dry, and by morning, he would be dry-if she had anything to do with it.

She pushed him onto the bed and began to undress him.

How many times had he fucked her? She couldn't even remember. All she knew was that it was morning, he was gone, and the slender chain was locked just between her legs where he should have been.

This mistress business is wearing. He's not here enough. I can't get enough. And now this.…

This was Reginald pounding at her door. "It's nearly noon, Regina. I'm worried about you. You never sleep in."

"… right there," she mumbled, grabbing for her clothes.

Five minutes later, she was downstairs in the dining room once more pouring tea, as if it were the second night of a play in which she was a performer.

And that was just what she was doing: performing.

She felt the containment of the chain, and she shivered. Jeremy knew just what he was about. He wanted to make her hunger for him, yearn for him, and what better way than this erotic reminder.

Which she didn't need. She craved him enough already. Her nipples were stiff with wanting his touch just from the memory of him touching her.

Desire was the most insidious thing.

"… theater tonight and… after…" her father was saying.

Oh, it was too much. She didn't care a whit what her father was saying, and she felt so disgraceful, she couldn't even look at him.

"What day is it?" she muttered, her voice muffled.

"Friday, of course," Reginald said, thinking that the best course was just to ignore her lapses this morning. Better than censuring her anyway, and he hardly had the heart to do that as it was. "The papers have come, my dear. Do you wish to have one?"

She was scared to death to have one, given the gossip columns, but she took one anyway. Friday. Four days… five?… since she had formed her ill-considered plan to wreak revenge on her father and Jeremy. And look at the end result: her father still believed she was interested in Raulton (did she not predict it?) and she had willingly become Jeremy's mistress.

How had this train of events happened? How had she gone from virgin to vixen in the space of less than one week? And how had she ever lived without that explosive pleasure?

It was enough to make her brain burst, to think about it. All of it. Or plan what to do next. Or deal with the fear there might not be a next.

Well, there would be a next because Jeremy had claimed her. But when he tired of her-it didn't bear thinking about… She opened the paper instead.

The morning line had opened at White's, and marriage prospects were all the talk, his, Raulton was amused to see, in particular.

It wasn't as if he weren't aware of it, but the fun was in seeing who made the Book. It was always vastly entertaining.

White's echoed Heeton's line but one. Soames was there- insipid little whelp-and Law, who at least had some countenance if nothing else to recommend her. But the interesting one was the Olney. She who had kept up with him at loo this past evening, and who eyed him with more than passing curiosity whenever he saw her.

She was the only one Raulton would not have predicted. She was too outspoken, self-aware, self-sufficient. And not in the least malleable, or one who would be accommodating to his needs.

But beautiful, yes. The most beautiful among this year's London belles, despite the fact it was her third turnout. And well-spoken, witty, stylish, shapely, with plump full breasts and neat taut nipples that she had practically presented to him on a platter last night.

Olney with her thick dark hair and her knowing blue eyes. Silvery laugh. Elegant hands. Exquisitely dressed. An only child, and her father's heir. Fascinating. A woman any man should want to marry.

And the Book made her at ten-to-one.

Why had no one told him about her?

He wasted no time finding out. And he liked what he heard: a productive estate in Hertfordshire waiting for the man she would marry. Money in funds. London town house. Best circles.

The woman was surely a treasure. What was wrong with her?

Why had no one snapped her up heretofore?

Did it matter? If no one wanted her, she must be desperate this third Season, and thus, fair game. And he was as eligible as anyone, and mending his reputation daily. It was time to suck it in and throw his preconceived ideas out the window and sniff around a woman he could actually stand to live with.

One who looked like an excellent fuck, judging by her breasts and nipples. And if she was, so much the better. Things-or at least one thing-were certainly looking up.

Ancilla came to call. "What's to do, my dear Regina? I missed the Petleys' party last night, and apparently it was the place to be."

Regina rang for tea, and they settled in the library. "It was a card party and supper for a few friends. A few hundred friends, that is. Their house cannot accommodate such a rout. But there we were, and so was everyone else they had ever met in all their years in London. I ensconced myself at loo and did not need to bother with the rest."

"No, just with Mr. Raulton. Really, Regina…"

She sighed. "Is that out and about already? You would think these people had better things to talk about." She motioned the maid to bring in the tea cart and set up the table. "Like food, for instance. Well, the Petleys do better than most at table, but where can you find anything like this? She filched one of cook's scones from the cart and popped it in her mouth.

A strategic exercise really so she would not have to answer Ancilla's questions. But Ancilla was never deterred, and if anything she was too patient by half, which was probably the way in which she got most of the good gossip she always seemed to have.

"They've booked his matrimonial chances at White's," she said off-handedly. "Father told me this morning. Which means it's been on at Heeton's for at least a week. Would you care to wager whose names are on the line?"

"Soames," Regina said promptly, because it stood to rea-son that anyone Raulton had paid that much attention to would instantly come on the line. "Other than that, I couldn't begin to guess."

"Well, for today-Soames, but the odds are off the sheet on that one, Miss Law, Miss Babbage-a dark horse-and a certain Lady Olney."

It took Regina a moment to grasp that last. "ME?!"

"Your very self, Regina. Now, how did that come to pass? Did you throw yourself at him last night?"

"I played cards for hours and hours and hours. With six other people alternating," Regina said indignantly. "We had not a moment alone, or a conversation that was not overheard by a half dozen onlookers."

"It must have been very interesting conversation," Ancilla said.

Had it been? Or was it just the usual card table rousting and jousting? For the life of her she couldn't remember, and all because she had been so furious that Jeremy was not there.

But he was here with her now. She could feel the light touch of the chain around her hips and between her legs. Her body reacted, stiffened.

She belonged to him. She hungered for him. She wondered where she even got the patience to sit with Ancilla this morning. She didn't care about Raulton's stable or whether sane men were willing to lose massive sums of money wagering on which impeccable innocent he might marry.

But the fact her name was on the line shocked her.

God, if her father found out…

Of course he would find out. One round at the clubs and it was over: his every nightmare come true. His daughter's name on the lips of every gabble grinder in the whole of London, and worse than that, scandal broth for the Tatler, too.

"I thought you should know," Ancilla said. "Although what you might do about it, short of leaving Town, I don't know." She bit into a scone. "These are excellent, Regina. I must come to tea more often."

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, Regina's mind racing nineteen to the dozen trying to think of some way to cope with this awful news.

"I never encouraged him." Not really. Only Ancilla and her father had overheard her imprudent and indiscreet comment about her desire to marry him. Only Jeremy believed that she would have become his mistress, had she not become his. And now this. Irreparable, irreversible THIS.

"I did not want him."

"Well, he now has cause to think just the opposite."

Jeremy would know soon enough, too. And after last night when he had ridden her to midsummer and over. How would it be once he heard this news? All the chains in the world could not bind him to her if he believed she truly wanted Raulton. Worse and worse, she had said it often enough.

"My lady." The butler at the door.

She looked up, hard put to even think of receiving anyone else on the heels of this news.

"Mr. Raulton, if you please."

I don't please. Blast blast and blast. With Ancilla right in the front row, lapping up every word.

She slanted a look at Ancilla, whose pale eyes were avid with curiosity; she blew out a hard breath and bowed to the inevitable. "Have Nellie bring more tea, and send in Mr. Raulton."

And there he was, tricked out for a morning visit, doing the Proper with the requisite bowing and scraping and every attempt to curb his natural cynicism as she introduced him to Ancilla and he seated himself in the wing chair opposite the tea table.

"I hope our sojourn at the card table last night was agreeable to you," he murmured.

"Indeed." She motioned to Nellie to set down the teapot and tray, after which she poured him a cup and handed it over. "I'm very fond of cards, and a whole night at it would barely tire me."

"Ah… a woman with stamina-good to know." He sipped as she stared at him, appalled.

Even that innocent comment, he turned into something salacious?

She slanted a look at Ancilla, feeling as if she were drowning. She wasn't half awake even, and she must deal with him? Ancilla shook her head, so no help there. All Ancilla wanted to do was observe him like an insect under a magnifying glass. How comfortable it must be to remain so detached from everything. She could resent it if she did not care for Ancilla so much.

"Does not any woman need a certain amount of stamina just to cope with the rigors of the Season?" she asked lightly, seeking to put a less sexual connotation on his words.

"But you're a woman of experience," he came back instantly, "and familiar with all the ins and outs. Are you not?"

What was this conversation about? Her head was spinning. She was not used to speaking in double entendres. And for some reason, he assumed she was.

"Am I not which? A woman of experience, or familiar? In both cases, Mr. Raulton, I am not."

"But you are very clever with words, Miss Olney." He rose then and took her hand. "I look forward to seeing more of you." He bowed to Ancilla and withdrew.

What?

Ancilla was fanning herself. "My dear Regina-he is quick off the mark. Complete to a shade. And not too bracket-faced for one of his experience."

Regina bridled. "Do you think so? Well, put yourself on the line for his experience, Ancilla, because he will in no way ever see more of me."

Chapter Six

And that was not the end of it. Ancilla left just as her father came home fresh from his rounds of the clubs, fresh with the news, and a fresh rage over her lack of propriety.

"Everyone is talking about the Book," he fumed, "and the worst of it is, all but one of you were booked at Heeton's this past week as well. The wagering is astronomical, but to hear my daughter talked about like a piece of prime flesh is beyond anything a father should have to bear. And it is too late now to dump the broth, my girl. Why could you not be as restrained and proper as Ancilla? There is someone who keeps her counsel, speaks not an ill-advised word to anyone, and is universally loved by everyone."

"Except a man," Regina muttered, and immediately hated herself for even voicing such an ill-mannered self-serving comment. "Then, by all means, I shall certainly try to emulate our saintly Ancilla."

"You may mock me, but there is something to be said for a woman of taste and restraint, Regina. And you have proved you have neither…"

Oh, if only he knew…

"And that you cannot be trusted to know your own mind."

That stopped her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your thoughtlessness, your cavalier dismissal of my wishes and my concerns-well, I had thought that all the product of a high-spirited, but at bottom, properly raised daughter. And here instead is the bottom line: she is the talk of the Town, named on the line in two of the most notorious betting Books in London, and is pursued right into her home by the most debauched man in England, a man she professed she wanted to marry, and who now apparently may not be averse to marrying her, especially if he can line his pockets in the process. Heaven help me, does everything you wish for come true? And yet you denied the whole straight up and down last night. So what is a father to make of that? I ought to lock you in the cellars at Sherburne until this stink blows over."

Was there anything more humiliating than this? Her father's anger, his assumption she had been carrying on secretly somehow with Raulton to cause all this furor with the betting Books… what would he do if he knew she was living a secret life as Jeremy's mistress?

He would die. He would just die. He looked about ready to pop right now, and on the cusp of meting out some kind of punishment that would surely involve her banishment from London.

She didn't know how to make him believe that she had never had a moment's interest in Raulton. It was past doing: the betting line said it all.

And her father would believe that, sooner than her.

And it was all her fault to begin with. Blast it.

She was so tired. "Just don't send me back to Hertfordshire," she murmured.

"It is exactly where I wish you would go, my girl. You understand all the ramifications of this, do you not? Your name associated with Raulton? Bets being placed on our good name as to whether he will offer for you. Who in conscience after his decision is made would even want to marry you after this debacle? This is your third go-round with no reliable offers. After this Season, you will rusticate until you die, an unwed spinster. There is no other redemption for actions as careless as yours. And perhaps that is the best punishment of all."

Jeremy came later, and Reginald met him at the door. "So you've heard the news?" "The news?" "The Book." White's had it then, and Reginald was aware of the whole, damn it. He hadn't been in time to shield him from the worst. "I just heard."

"So our little scheme didn't work," Reginald said snappishly.

"My dear Reginald-we barely had any time. It's been three weeks or so since she declared. A week and a half since we made the decision, and this week did I begin to implement it. Events were out of our control. The card party last night. Everyone was talking about the repartee between them."

"You should have come," Reginald said sourly. "You could have taken her away and prevented this."

He could have prevented nothing, least of all his own wanton secret life with Regina. "No. This was booked at Heeton's last week. There was no way to avoid it after that, Reginald."

"Well, let me tell you-Mr. Jack Smart came to her here in her own home. What do you make of that?"

"The bastard was here? She let him in?" Damn and blast to hell. If he even breathed the same air, he would kill him. He would.

"Ancilla was here; she had no choice in good manners. But still and all-talk to her, Jeremy. I am at wit's end."

You are not the only one, Reginald.

Reginald stalked out, and Jeremy settled himself in the wing chair to wait for her. He rose restlessly when the thought occurred to him that Raulton might have been in this room, sat in this very chair. Damn damn damn. Why hadn't Ancilla stopped her? But what did Ancilla know? Plenty, probably, knowing Ancilla. Damn and hell.

And where was Regina anyway?

"Ah, and here is my lord to ring another peal over me." And suddenly she was there, standing defiantly on the threshold gowned in virtue and bile. "Father wasn't content to beat me to snuff; he had to summon his great good friend to put me further down-pin. Well, go ahead, Jeremy. I'm all to pieces already anyway."

"He was here."

That brought her up short. "He?"

"Raulton-here, in this room…"

"So was Ancilla. It was all perfectly proper."

"He was in this room. With you. Which chair?"

"Jeremy…"

He wasn't angry. Well, yes, he was. He was furious, fairly simmering under all that impassivity, and she couldn't tell him anything about Raulton's visit that he wanted to hear.

"Where was he seated?"

Time to divert and distract. "Why does it matter?"

"It matters."

He was too cool, too collected. She ought to run scared. She ought to just run and hide, and lock herself in the cellars at Sherburne House.

But she was already shackled-to his desire-and his fury was nothing to her hunger for that.

"Ancilla and I were on the sofa; he sat in the wing chair."

"In the wing chair. In this room. In your home. I see. And what was so urgent that he must fly to your side the moment the betting line at White's is announced? Do you guess?"

"I-" She hadn't thought for a moment about what he inferred. That Raulton's appearance was not just a social call, and that perhaps he wanted to be seen coming and going from their town house in order to increase speculation as to where his interest lay, and thus manipulate the odds.

So much for vanity. But these were the things men always knew and women did not.

"He has all the tricks," she said finally, "and all the experience to influence everything to his design. I should never have let him in. There is no excuse, because now Father believes nothing I tell him and is ready to send me to Coventry for my deceits."

"Not all your deceits," Jeremy murmured, feeling his anger ebb at this uncharacteristic show of humility. He bore some of the blame as well; he had done next to nothing to carry out the original scheme that Reginald had proposed, which, had he done so, might have prevented this Raulton imbroglio.

"Not the most important one," she whispered, her words like flame to tinder. Instantly she wanted him, and she knew he wanted her. In the morning, in the library, together, alone. At the instant, and tonight be damned. Tonight would be another story.

"I need to know you wore my chain."

"I wore it. I felt it every minute in that other presence."

"I need to see."

Yes, yes, yes… "Now? Here…?" Yes. Yes. To be naked for you now. Dangerous. Thrilling. On the edge… yes…

"Lock the door."

She threw the latch.

"Pull up your dress."

She lifted the hem up and up until she was bare to the waist, dressed only in the thin, glimmering chain that defined what she was for him. What she willingly offered for his pleasure.

Let him take his pleasure…

His chain, binding her hips, her cunt, her sex to him. He knelt down and buried his mouth in her thick feminine hair, kissing and sucking her essence, and the chain that symbolized his possession.

He grasped her bottom and pulled her more tightly against his avid mouth. Just this, not even enough of this. She was wet for him already, open to him unquestioningly, wore his chain of possession in willing submission to his desires. And he had been but a morning without her, and he was hungry, ravenous for her.

Oh, there. There. Inserting his tongue insistently, feeding on her, sucking at her with his lips and tongue. Feeling her grinding and the movement of her ass in his hands. He couldn't take her this way fast enough, hard enough; he found the distended nub between her legs and lapped at it, pulled on it, and pulled her with him into the abyss.

Down she went, down, on the floor, his mouth still voraciously sucking her, down into the sworls of pleasure never-ending. Down, on her back, where he drove his aching penis into her still spangling body and, in that one shot, poured every ounce of his cream into the hot wet mystery of her.

Down. Down. Down.

Breathless. More.

He pulled her to her feet and then unlocked the door and turned to her.

Heartless to leave her like this.

"Tonight. All you can take of my penis-and more."

She caught her breath. He was warning her. Her body quickened with anticipation, arousal, hunger.

Already.

Tonight. More. More.

And even more.

Waiting for a lover was the most voluptuous thing in life. In the interim between the time she expected him to come and his actual appearance, her imagination played a dozen scenarios in her mind, each one more carnal and salacious than the last.

She lay in her bed, dressed only in the slender gold chain, her breasts heavy and taut, her body turgid with lust. The hours chimed by; her fantasies grew hotter, wilder and more lascivious until all she wanted was his penis right then, right there, all she could take-and more.

But did not this prolonged waiting heighten her desire? Oh, he knew so well what he was doing to her, making her hunger for the fulfillment of his erotic promise. Making her wait until she was ready to explode.

All you can take. And more.

Her body squirmed with arousal; she had thought of nothing else all day, all night. Her whole consciousness was fixed on the feeling of that chain encircling her body and her sex. His symbol. His possession. And tonight, all she could take- and more.

The waiting only increased her desire, made her wet and hot and greedy to have him rut in her, a mistress to her core.

The door cracked open, and he slipped into the room. He had removed his coat already, and his shirt and trousers were undone. It took but another minute for him to strip himself naked and to pull her from the bed and against his heated, jutting length into his hot, devouring kiss.

"Tonight," he whispered against her lips. "You are all mine."

She shivered.

"This is what I want…" He stepped back and showed her his wrists which were tied with a soft material. "Give me your body to do with what I want." He kissed her again, hard, harsh, full of explosive excitement. "Let me tie your hands." Another kiss, deep and wet and rooting. "Let me have your body." He sucked her lower lip. "Let me give you all you can take-and more."

She melted under the onslaught; she wanted it. He was talking too much, and his lusciously hard penis was going to waste rubbing against her belly and midriff when he could be fucking her. Anything he wanted, anything, to get him inside her to keep his erotic promise.

"Anything you want," she whispered, stretching out her arms.

He unwound the one length of material from around his wrist and lifted her arm to the bedpost and tied her wrist. And then her left arm, so that both arms were splayed and bound just above her head and her body with that soft, giving material that would keep her firmly in place without injury.

Now she was completely his; now he owned that incredible body that he had bound in chains. He couldn't get enough of just looking at her.

And she couldn't get enough of him. There was something enthralling about being bound and on display for him. Her body arched toward him, her breasts heavy with lust and excitement. She quivered at the knowledge that he could fondle her, anywhere everywhere, he could fuck her any which way, and she could do nothing to stop him.

And she knew this, too: that by her willing submission, she owned him; her body was everything to him, willing, submissive, greedy, insatiable for his penis to rut in her.

All he could give, all the time.

He was like a caged animal now, ready to pounce. Every inch of her body belonged to him. He wanted to look at her bound and chained this way forever. And he wanted to jam himself deep inside her and never come out.

Oh, and then, her nipples. With her arms spread, and her body arched toward him, her breasts seemed rounder, heavier, her nipples tighter, harder.

He needed her nipples now.

He came to her. He reached out and took them, and immediately she spasmed at his touch. Instantly, he reached around her to unlock the chain with the key he had wound around his wrist. A minute more, and he rammed himself home, deep home, the angle of his penis perfect to penetrate her as she stood, and he rocked himself into her so deep he didn't know where she began and he left off. And then they were body to body, hip to hip, with her nipple tips tight against his hairy chest.

Don't move don't move don't move… he nipped at her lips… don't… he moved his hands down to her curvy buttocks… don't… move… he jammed himself tighter, maybe a mistake… don't...

He kissed her deeply, and felt her body squirm against him as if she were seeking to take him deeper still… don't… yes… his penis was so strong, so virile, he could rule the world-he ruled her-and maybe that was his world…

Breathless… don't… can't take much more-all she could take… don't.… just tight sharp little… don't move… have to… have to… have to have to have to have to...

… have to

And gone. Pounding her like a piston and discharging himself in one blasting cannon shot.

Stay.

More.

Not yet.

Soon.

He was still embedded in her in this erotic upright position. He held her tightly against him, tight, tight, tight. He kissed her long, hard, deep. He felt himself flexing, hardening, elongating in her tight, soaking sheath. He felt his strength and his power rising.

He wanted more, but she had wrung him out.

This was the test; this was her power. And the evening was still young.

He liked this the best: he owned her nipples, and he could feel or feed on them however he liked all this evening long. And he could fuck her anytime he wanted all this evening long. He liked the freedom of penetrating her at his will and fondling her nipples whenever he felt like it.

He came to her again and again, to fondle and fuck and sometimes both. All she could take. And more.

She was as greedy as he, ravenous for his penis and his possession, and enticing him to take her nipples with every shimmy of her body.

He couldn't keep away from them. He couldn't keep his hands off of her. He felt up every inch of her body, everywhere he could reach. He made her come with his fingers in her cunt, and at her nipples; and he took her from behind, all the while she stood, submitting to his every desire.

"You need to be locked up, fancy-piece. You're dangerous."

"How so?"

"Those nipples. The way you flaunt them."

"Because I want you to make them harder."

"I'm sucked out, my lady."

"Really? After all your boasts of having enough for two? You hardly have enough for me."

"It sounds like my lady is ready to fuck again."

"You said all I could take. I want more."

It was all he needed, her voracious command.

"I rise to the occasion."

He came to her again, and stood so his jutting penis could root just inside her cunt. She never got tired of watching him at the cusp of penetration. And neither did he. "Ready to take it?"

She drew a sharp breath, and he plunged his hips, plunged himself back into the hot depths of her. God, all night she had been so stoked, so hot, so soaked with his cream. Nothing fazed her, not even this willing submission to him or his binding her arms. It was enough to storm all his defenses. All he wanted was to root in her. They had been at it for hours, and he couldn't even count the number of times.

He was sapped; he had just enough in him to push another explosive ejaculation. Just enough to untie her hands and tumble her into the bed. Just enough to kiss her and pull her against his quivering body. Just enough to cup her breast, and to fall asleep with her nipple shaping beneath his palm. Just enough… it was… just enough-he needed nothing more.

Voluptuous. Her whole body felt swollen, languid, satiated; she wanted to just wallow in bed with him after her father left for his morning calls. She wanted to lounge in the circle of his body all day, all night, forever. The last thing she wanted was company in the morning or even to leave the house for her usual morning carriage ride.

But there was Ancilla at the door with news of the morning line, and there was no way to turn her away, even knowing Jeremy was in the bedroom above dressing-blast it-and slipping down the back stairs.

"They say Mr. Raulton will make his determination within the month," Ancilla announced as she settled herself on the couch and poured a cup of tea. "The odds on that are twenty-to-one. Father said, anyway."

"You are remarkably well informed on Mr. Raulton's comings, goings and matrimonial propensities," Regina said, barely absorbing this up-to-the-minute information.

"The whole of London is agog at his new diversion. Imagine him desiring marriage at all. He wants a wife who is wealthy, who wishes to be married, who is not carnal, and who will allow him his digressions. That is not you, my dear Regina."

"No," she murmured, "that is not me. Whoever wagers on that will go down hard." And what would she wager that her affair with Jeremy would last beyond the end of the month as well? How did a woman sustain a carnal life hour by hour, day by day? After this morning, she wasn't sure she wanted to live that way any longer; only her father's dire prediction of her fate stopped her.

And now the morning line, putting Raulton in church and walking down the aisle in less than a fortnight.

Well, people had very little else to do between private parties and the weekly Assembly Rooms. Why not elevate Raulton's private affairs to public property? It amused everyone and harmed no one, except the innocents whose names were in play.

And she, Regina, was no longer an innocent.

She rang for the carriage and brought with her the books she must return to the lending library, the most innocuous place she could think of where running into Mr. Raulton would not be the prevailing sport of the day.

And yet, there he was, and she could have inferred that perhaps he had been watching for her and following the carriage.

He was all politeness. "What a pleasant surprise. You frequent Hatchard's, then? They do have a fine selection. What authors do you favor?"

And Ancilla watching this all with her skeptical eye. Regina fumbled over every word, her mind wholly on Jeremy and not even attending to Mr. Raulton's attempts to engage her.

She felt crowded, suddenly, and too much the center of attention when he was around.

Not so Ancilla, who was critiquing his manners later that evening when they met at the Weydeanes' house for a sit-down dinner. "He can be very pleasant," she observed as they were being seated. "Come to think, he has been exceptionally pleasant at every function."

But here, Regina thought thankfully, was one place he would not be.

That hope was short-lived. He arrived late, profuse with apologies, somehow having wangled his way onto the Waydeanes' guest list. How, how, how? And yet the answer was almost immediately clear: two eligible heiresses were at table, two whose names were linked with his.

The following Wednesday it was Almack's where he prowled, and eventually came around to Regina, Sally Jersey in tow to give permission for Regina to engage in a waltz.

"Mr. Raulton."

"Come." He smiled at her, held out his arms, and she stepped into them warily as the music began.

"This is outside of enough," she whispered fiercely. "What will the odds makers give on the prospective with whom you waltz?"

"At least another half percent," he answered amiably. "But what do you care, Lady Regina? You're a little bit of the rebel as it is."

Not anymore. Never again. It was too draining maintaining a facade of indifference to all this attention.

"Do not offer for me, Mr. Raulton. I am far too demanding and outspoken for you."

"That is the very thing that attracts me."

On the sidelines, Reginald watched. They were having conversation. Everything she had vowed not two weeks ago was coming true. His reputation mattered not. She would tame him, and she would have him, and there they were, dancing like partners of old, the raciest of dances in which he must hold her. And they were close enough to talk.

"Reginald." Jeremy, thank heaven.

"Well, there they are, and the Book makers are rubbing their hands with glee. He will offer for her for sure, and then where will I be? There is nothing ahead but ruination and degradation."

Jeremy stared at them as they whirled around the perimeter of the room. It was almost as if Raulton wanted everyone to see them, almost as if he were declaring himself. Or using her.

His hands clenched. Raulton would not have her. Damn him to hell.

"He's using her only. Imagine how deep his wagering against the Book. Come now, Reginald, it's not as bad as it looks."

"It looks like she's enjoying every moment, Jeremy, and by damn, I'd sooner immure her in a convent than see her marry him. Hell, I'd sooner see her marry you…"

And he stamped off, leaving Jeremy utterly at point non plus.

Marry her? MARRY her?

He will never marry me… here is the endgame of all my folly… it is ever as women have been warned: a man will not commit to what he can have for the asking…

And there is always a woman waiting to be asked…

Even marriage to Mr. Raulton is preferable to being a spinster and alone-

Being a mistress is not all glitter and gold.

The only best part is, no one ever has to know…

It colored everything, the whole muddle about Mr. Raulton.

"But you will have everything you said you de-sired,"Ancilla pointed out. "You said you would tame him and then marry him, and here he is, practically on bended knee, and you have reservations?"

"It was but a joke, party conversation, Ancilla. It never occurred to me it would go so completely out of control."

"His attentions to you are marked, now, even though he spreads himself between the two other possibilities. But he comes back to you again and again. There is no doubt he will offer for you."

If he offers for me, I don't know what I'll do.

Marry her?

What if he offers for her?

Damn and hell. Things are perfect the way they are-hut blast it, every woman wants to he married. Even her. Damn damn damn…

If he touches her, I'll kill him…

Or some other man touching her… taking all that voluptuous carnality for his own…?

He felt murderous. Hell and damn, damn and hell.…

… marry her…

… have her all the time, any time… only his… no worry about boring her, wearing her out, or the end of the affair and who would be fucking her next… her allegiance, her body, her nipples, her sex would be his, and only his...

How could he live without it?

Marry her-the natural continuation of the pleasure game-

Marry her…

"If he offers," Regina said tentatively-and there was no great assurance that he would-"I will accept."

Reginald closed his eyes wearily. "I suppose that is the only choice. It is not the one I would have made for you."

"It has all been given too much prominence; I can see noth-ing else to do, particularly since, as you pointed out, this notoriety will not die down anytime soon."

And there it was, out in the open. It was but two days till the end of the month, and Raulton supposedly was poised to make a declaration. London was holding its collective breath.

Blast it. That a man could force someone to accept marriage despite her wishes just because everyone expected it… it was by the force of society's wishes-and mores-that she had come to this pass.

And everything with Jeremy must end.

But if Raulton didn't come up to point? Must she relinquish Jeremy then?

She paced the library long after her brief conversation with Reginald. This was a hard-won lesson. The freedom she coveted, sexual or otherwise, was a fantasy of her own devising. She was not free. She was in thrall to the expectations of her social peers and to propriety.

And not to her dark, voluptuous nights with Jeremy.

At the end of it all, she still wanted marriage and children, and she did not want to spend her days and nights worrying about the hour, the minute that he would tire of her, and what would come next.

She wanted, she needed a life beyond the bedroom walls.

With Raulton or not. She had not the temperament to be a mistress, after all. Only the will, the body, the desire, the insatiable need…

But not the temperament… she was as prosaic as any country miss, and as provincial. She could not slough off those feelings, those fears, and that was the difference between her and a mistress.

And if it turned out to be Raulton, then so be it. And so she would tell Jeremy-tonight.

Marry her.

The idea was slowly sinking in, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was not seeing her as that pesky child he had known for years now that he had been bedding her.

He saw her as a woman, with a mind of her own, and with a spectacular beauty, presence and elegance.

And that was apart from her sexuality. That was a thing all its own that could not be quantified. And so, if just the thought of her aroused him to the point of ejaculation… how could he live with the idea of her giving herself, giving her nipples, to another man?

Fucking like that with another man?

Any other man?

Raulton?

By damn hell-NO…

No one else, not her, not that body, not those nipples…

Shit-he was erect, hard as bone. Her nipples got to him every time, even the thought of them in some other man's hands…

NO…

No.

Marry her.

And play with her nipples for the rest of your life…

He came, as always, like a shadow in the night, and like the mistress she was, she waited for him, this time for the last time, to savor him, to make indelible memories before she said goodbye.

He needed no foreplay; she was naked and hot for him already. He needed only to slip the key in the lock, and his penis into her heat, to bind her to him yet again.

…fuck her…

… marry her…

… fuck her again…

… and again…

… and again…

He spurted, he came, he fucked her again.

And again. And again.

And again.

He fucked her to a faretheewell, and then he fucked her again, forward, backward, on her breasts, on her nipples, in her luscious, endless pleasure hole, he took her.

And when they were both panting, satiated and utterly worn out, he took her again.

It was almost as if he wanted to imprint himself on her, to fuck her and fill her to the point where no other man could take his place.

… marry her...

Somehow, she thought, in a swamp of luxuriant pleasure, somehow he knew this was to be their last time.

He knew nothing except he never wanted to leave her.

Or leave her to another man.

He wanted to root in her. Play with her. Fuck her to the wall.

Marry her.

Dawn was coming far too soon.

"Jeremy…"

'Not now. I need your nipples."

"You always need my nipples."

"True, and it's something to seriously consider."

Light filtering through the curtains signifying a beginning and an end.

She caught her breath as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her distended nipple. "Jeremy…"

"Shhh…"

Now, she had to say it now-but she could barely speak because of those familiar skeining sensations unfurling inside her and causing instant fuck me now feelings…

Don't stop, don't stop…

He had to stop.

"Jeremy…!"

THUMP THUMP THUMP…

"Regina!"

"Oh, God-Father!" She made to cover her breast, but Jeremy would not let her go.

"Shhh…"

"Regina, are you there? Wake up! I have news… the most incredible news…"

"Jeremy!" She pulled away from him. "I have to answer him."

"Answer me first."

"What?" She swung her legs off the bed and grabbed the first thing to hand and wrapped it around herself. "Answer you what?"

And then words didn't come so hard after all.

"Marry me."

"What?"

"REGINA! Hurry…"

"What? Jeremy-"

"Just say yes."

"Oh, my God. Just a minute, Father! Are you crazy?"

He pointed his penis at her. "Yes. Say yes."

"REGINA! I'm coming in."

"I'm coming."

"And I'll keep you coming," Jeremy whispered, "over and over and over…"

"Yes, Father, yes, yes, yes… I'm coming, I'm coming…" Oh, God, I'm coming….

She pulled open the door shakily, shielding Jeremy from view. "Such noise, Father. What's to do? It has to be well before nine o'clock."

"Ha! This. Look at this." Reginald thrust an envelope in her hand which had a notation written on it. For Regina… from Ancilla. I've gone and married Mr. Raulton. See note.

"Oh, my God." Regina ripped open the envelope and pulled out Ancilla's note, scanned it, and then read it out loud.

Dear Regina, I hope you can forgive me; this made the most sense. I am in want of a husband; he is in need of a wife whose interests coincide with his own, but who is willing in the course of events to let him. lead his private life. My nature is such that I will be content to manage his estate and to be called his wife. We will be married by special license by the time you read this, and he is vastly relieved to both be finished with the marriage mart and to reap his reward at the expense of the betting Books. As am I.

Your friend, Ancilla.

She was appalled.

"I'm speechless," she said finally.

"It's over," Reginald crowed jubilantly. "Ancilla has made London safe for all womanhood. We owe her a debt of gratitude. You're not angry?"

"I?" Shocked was more like it. And feeling not a little like the carpet had been pulled out from under her after she had gone through such soul-searching to gird herself to accept him.

But now she had accepted Jeremy-or had she? What had just happened in there?

"No. I'm happy for her. She will run him like a top, despite what she says in her letter, and it will be a better bargain for her than for him. And maybe she will bring him to heel in the process. So, Father…" She handed him the letter and made to close the door.

"Oh. Oh, of course." He turned to go, and then turned back. "By the way, is that Jeremy in there with you?"

"WHAT?"

"My dear girl, I'm no greengull. Jeremy-you must marry her now."

"And so I will," Jeremy called back, with no compunction, no sense of her feelings.

"Excellent. It's what I had planned from the start. Everything has worked out right and tight."

Regina sagged against the door. "What you-planned?"

"My dear girl-a knight to rescue you, orchestrated from the moment I overheard your abominable desire to engage Mr. Raulton. Of course, I had thought Jeremy was a man to practice courtly love… but-ah, one can't expect everything, can one? Post the banns as soon as ever you can. I can't countenance what has been going on in my very own house for much longer. Congratulations, my dear. Jeremy is everything I could want for you in a husband."

Husband? Husband? Oh, God. Husband!

She slammed the door and whirled around to find Jeremy sitting upright, all of him upright. "I am top over tails here. What is going on?"

"Ancilla has run off with Mr. Raulton. I have asked you to marry me, and your father planned the whole from the start. It's perfectly clear. You were always destined to be mine. You are mine. Be mine…"

"You don't…"

"I do."

"You don't have to. Not here, not now. You don't have to marry me." She had to say it, and she held her breath. He couldn't want marriage now, not after everything she had given him. He didn't need to marry her. But she needed desperately to marry him.

"I do. You do. You know you do."

She was on the thin line, the sharpest edge. Everything would end here, and begin, did she say yes.

He didn't move; he didn't importune. This was the most delicate balance, between her need and her desire. His desire and his need. And there was nothing to stand between them now.

She wanted, oh, how she wanted. This was Jeremy. Well-known, utterly adored Jeremy. She should have no hesitation. And yet she did, because how did she cross the line from mistress to wife?

But he had asked her to marry him; he had no qualms whatsoever.

And he was waiting. Jeremy was waiting.

"Say you do."

"Do I?"

He smiled. "You can do nothing less. Say you do."

It was all right then. She smiled back, and she dropped her wrapper and climbed into the bed next to him. "Only if you do"-she grasped his penis and tugged it and pulled him between her legs-"this…"

He did this, driving into her meaningfully, passionately, and she took him, she rode him, and she sighed. "I do…"