Improper Gentlemen by Mia Marlowe, Diane Whiteside, Maggie Robinson

shoulder.
    Charlotte shrieked and tumbled into rapture, as if she hurled herself down the finest sledding run in the world. Ecstasy flashed through her and her body shook over and over around his hand.
    She could barely manage to kiss his shoulder in thanks afterward before she dropped into a sound sleep, just as if she’d trudged home from a long day’s sledding.
     
    One eyebrow askew, Justin tucked the bedclothes around his oblivious—Lover? Protégé?
    He was the man who’d put that sated look on her face, not her so-called lover, not the idiot who’d ruined her reputation and earned her the title of adulteress . No matter what had happened during those days—or hours?—it hadn’t taught her body anything about the pleasure to be found with a man. Or perhaps even touched her heart.
    She wouldn’t forget Justin Talbot.
    Somewhere deep inside, his heart shouted Huzzah! just as when he’d celebrated more than one cavalry victory during The War.
    He had to protect her, for so long as the storm lasted and she was trapped here. But perhaps there’d be opportunities for fun too.
    What else could he teach her? What more could they enjoy together? He could stamp himself on her so thoroughly she’d always think of him, no matter whom she was with.
    She gave a contented little snore and her fingers curved over his arm. His cock twitched happily.
    Justin promptly slid under the covers beside her, a smug grin lurking on his mouth.

Chapter 6
     
    “G ood afternoon.” Justin nodded to the dozen men crowded into the Crystal Saloon’s back room. Its abundance of leather armchairs, red wallpaper, mounted longhorns, and brass spittoons testified to its title of Unofficial Mayor’s Office.
    He’d dressed up a bit for this call, choosing his best black Stetson and the frockcoat a British tailor had deemed suitable for London’s finest clubs. It also hid all his weapons.
    “Greetings.” Johnson lifted his drink in a polite salute. Nine-Fingers Isham came to attention behind him, quivering like a bulldog eager to fight.
    The regulars gaped at Justin over their glasses of beer and whiskey and his eyes narrowed. Damn it, did they think yesterday’s quarrel had broken up his partnership with Johnson? It would take more than a few harsh words to destroy ten years of friendship.
    “Any other urgent business with the mayor, gentlemen, before next week’s council meeting?” Justin swung the door back and forth through a small arc, as if he was playing with a hatchet.
    The town councilmen shifted in their seats and glanced uneasily at each other. Drinks slammed down onto tables. Johnson froze with his glass halfway to his mouth, then finished swallowing.
    “No? If not, I’m sure you’re very busy men, who have many important things to attend to.” Justin held the door wide and stood aside so Johnson’s sycophants could depart. No audience needed if he was to hear the truth about what had happened between Charlotte, Johnson, and Simmons.
    His saddle-partner shot him a hard glare, then rose to shake hands and make polite farewells.
    Justin ignored the sideways looks directed at him. Most of Wolf Laurel’s so-called moneyed elite still hoped to either bribe or intimidate him. Isham departed last, after a final, insolent scan of Justin’s weapons.
    Their mayor locked the door behind them. “You shouldn’t have chased them out like that.”
    “Thought you’d be bored by their constant prattle about the poker tournament’s profits.” Justin swung a side chair around and straddled it. “That’s in the bag now, since you collected the entry fees yesterday.”
    “Crap. How’d you know?” His old friend let out a rough bark of laughter and Justin joined in, glad to share a joke.
    “Where’s Moreland?” The question echoed like an officer’s parade ground command. “I thought she’d join the tournament, since she paid the fee.”
    “No, she’s at the Palace’s standing poker game, down in the basement.”