had? Who had they been?
She perched a hip on the mattress, a palm braced on either side of his lap. The front of her nightgown was loose, and he could see to her navel.
In a practiced move, she licked her bottom Up, by the simple gesture guaranteeing many courtesan's tricks. He was disgusted to find himself pondering how far he'd let her go before he stopped her. And he would stop her.
His standards regarding women were very low. He had no moral qualms, belonged to no church, worshiped no God, but he wasn't about to fornicate with his sister. It was a deed more depraved than he cared to attempt.
"When you initially arrived," she started, "you were throwing around marriage proposals." "Yes, I was."
"You can't seriously mean to wed Anne."
He shrugged. "She's the best choice. Sarah Carstairs is too sad, and you're too old."
"I'm the same age as you," she bristled.
"Every man likes a young, innocent bride. You know that."
"But Anne!"
"What about her? She's sweet; she's biddable. She'll be ideal."
"She's a timid rabbit! You'll eat her alive. You need a wife who possesses your same zest for life."
"And you presume that would be you."
"Of course it would be me. Have you forgotten"—she laid a hand on his belly and rubbed in slow circles— "that your roving eye landed on me first?"
"No, I haven't, but you're my sister."
"So? Affinity be damned. You're lord and master here now. You can make your own rules."
"That's my plan."
"I could be your countess," she purred. "I'd be so good at it. You'd never want for anything." "Wouldn't I?"
"No. I swear it to you." She was spectacular, oozing sexual promise and coaxing him to misbehave. "I know what you want, Jamie. I know what you need."
"Do you?"
"Oh yes."
"I'm very selfish. Whoever becomes my countess, she'll have to please me however I demand. I never permit a woman to refuse me."
"I'm sure you don't. That's why / should be by your side."
"Anne is so pretty and so amiable. I'm not certain I can be dissuaded."
"You'll let me try to change your mind, won't you?"
She crawled across his lap and tugged at the straps on her negligee.
Anne gave up trying to sleep and kicked off the tangled blankets. She was hot and sweaty, careening between despair and excitement. She was on fire with strange yearnings she didn't understand.
She slid to the floor and went to the window to stare out. The night was rapidly passing, and in a few hours she'd marry Jamieson Merrick. Or not.
"Oh, what should I do?" she wailed to the stars, but they had no answer.
If she accepted, Sarah would be safe forever. Anne would be a countess and as much in charge of her destiny as any female ever was.
What woman wouldn't kill for such a chance? Was she crazy to dither and debate?
She'd heard horrid stories about Lord Gladstone, but they weren't true. He could be domineering, but he was also smart and shrewd and kind and funny. He had a wry sense of humor and a wicked wit that she enjoyed very much. He was unique in every way, a handsome, dynamic, and brave individual who could be hers if she dared make him her own.
She didn't know the secrets of wifely duty, but it was clear that he grasped what was necessary. He'd ignited a spark that had her craving what he'd provide as her husband. Would it be so bad to revel in the pleasure he'd lavish on her?
"Safe forever," she murmured. "Sarah and I... safe forever." She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the cool glass of the window. "Oh, how can I do anything else?"
With her decision rendered, she was eager to inform him right away, and she wondered if he was still awake. She tiptoed into the corridor and raced down the stairs.
If she had a more devious, more salaciously personal reason for returning to the master suite, she wasn't about to admit it. Perhaps—just perhaps—he might deign to rollick with her again, and if he suggested a dalliance, she wouldn't complain.
The door to his room was ajar, and she pushed it open and
She perched a hip on the mattress, a palm braced on either side of his lap. The front of her nightgown was loose, and he could see to her navel.
In a practiced move, she licked her bottom Up, by the simple gesture guaranteeing many courtesan's tricks. He was disgusted to find himself pondering how far he'd let her go before he stopped her. And he would stop her.
His standards regarding women were very low. He had no moral qualms, belonged to no church, worshiped no God, but he wasn't about to fornicate with his sister. It was a deed more depraved than he cared to attempt.
"When you initially arrived," she started, "you were throwing around marriage proposals." "Yes, I was."
"You can't seriously mean to wed Anne."
He shrugged. "She's the best choice. Sarah Carstairs is too sad, and you're too old."
"I'm the same age as you," she bristled.
"Every man likes a young, innocent bride. You know that."
"But Anne!"
"What about her? She's sweet; she's biddable. She'll be ideal."
"She's a timid rabbit! You'll eat her alive. You need a wife who possesses your same zest for life."
"And you presume that would be you."
"Of course it would be me. Have you forgotten"—she laid a hand on his belly and rubbed in slow circles— "that your roving eye landed on me first?"
"No, I haven't, but you're my sister."
"So? Affinity be damned. You're lord and master here now. You can make your own rules."
"That's my plan."
"I could be your countess," she purred. "I'd be so good at it. You'd never want for anything." "Wouldn't I?"
"No. I swear it to you." She was spectacular, oozing sexual promise and coaxing him to misbehave. "I know what you want, Jamie. I know what you need."
"Do you?"
"Oh yes."
"I'm very selfish. Whoever becomes my countess, she'll have to please me however I demand. I never permit a woman to refuse me."
"I'm sure you don't. That's why / should be by your side."
"Anne is so pretty and so amiable. I'm not certain I can be dissuaded."
"You'll let me try to change your mind, won't you?"
She crawled across his lap and tugged at the straps on her negligee.
Anne gave up trying to sleep and kicked off the tangled blankets. She was hot and sweaty, careening between despair and excitement. She was on fire with strange yearnings she didn't understand.
She slid to the floor and went to the window to stare out. The night was rapidly passing, and in a few hours she'd marry Jamieson Merrick. Or not.
"Oh, what should I do?" she wailed to the stars, but they had no answer.
If she accepted, Sarah would be safe forever. Anne would be a countess and as much in charge of her destiny as any female ever was.
What woman wouldn't kill for such a chance? Was she crazy to dither and debate?
She'd heard horrid stories about Lord Gladstone, but they weren't true. He could be domineering, but he was also smart and shrewd and kind and funny. He had a wry sense of humor and a wicked wit that she enjoyed very much. He was unique in every way, a handsome, dynamic, and brave individual who could be hers if she dared make him her own.
She didn't know the secrets of wifely duty, but it was clear that he grasped what was necessary. He'd ignited a spark that had her craving what he'd provide as her husband. Would it be so bad to revel in the pleasure he'd lavish on her?
"Safe forever," she murmured. "Sarah and I... safe forever." She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the cool glass of the window. "Oh, how can I do anything else?"
With her decision rendered, she was eager to inform him right away, and she wondered if he was still awake. She tiptoed into the corridor and raced down the stairs.
If she had a more devious, more salaciously personal reason for returning to the master suite, she wasn't about to admit it. Perhaps—just perhaps—he might deign to rollick with her again, and if he suggested a dalliance, she wouldn't complain.
The door to his room was ajar, and she pushed it open and
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