bitterness—with none, after her third cup of chocolate.
After all, she reflected in her more benign humor, she'd been well sated, luxuriantly, lavishly by a man who knew exactly what a woman wanted. She smiled faintly at the heated memory. And if one wished to be utterly practical, she was now fully replete after a year of celibacy. Definitely a charming benefit.
She sighed. A shame one had to always deal with male egos.
Leaving instructions with her maid to be wakened at one, she lay down and went to sleep instantly.
But her sleep was restless, her dreams of a dark-haired m an with smiling eyes and a ravishing sexual expertise. Fevered, tantalized, she dreamed of that ravishment, softly moaned as she felt his hands and his body giving her pleasure, tossed and turned in the grip of his enchanting sorcery, until she came awake at her maid's call with a start of surprise.
Glancing down, she saw she was in her own bed.
And softly cursed Jack Fitz-James's much-used talents.
JACK DIDN'T SLEEP, OR IT SEEMED AS THOUGH
he hadn't slept when Ned came calling and woke him.
"Go away," Jack muttered as Ned pulled back the drapes and let the sun into his bedchamber.
"Rise and shine! We've an appointment to see some prime horseflesh at Tattersall's ." He jerked another drape open and moved to the next window.
"Go without me." The marquis's voice was muffled by the pillow he'd pulled over his head.
"Lord Simon is selling his racers. And you want that big black of his. Or last I heard, you did . I suppose we can let Blandford buy it instead."
Ned's gibe elicited a string of oaths from under the pillow.
"Is that a yes or a no?" Lord Darlington cheerfully queried, when he knew very well Jack would crawl a hundred miles rather than let Edward Dunlow buy a horse he wanted. "Maurice is sending up very black coffee, but don't hurry, we still have twenty minutes."
"Someday I'm going to strangle you." The words were utterly clear now, for Jack had flung the pillow at Ned.
"Watch my hair, damn you!" Ned yelped, smoothing his sleek blond hair behind his ears. Vain of his overlong curls, he fancied himself an amateur poet in the mold of Lord Byron, although his poetry was intended more to impress the ladies than to express a sincere interest.
Fully awake now, the marquis rose from his bed with a sigh, feeling more fatigued than when he'd gone to sleep. But knowing Tattersall's wouldn't wait, he moved toward his dressing room. "Thanks for reminding me of that black." He yawned and stretched. "I just wish like hell it wasn't so early."
"It's past one, Jack," Ned said, following him. "Since when did you need more than a couple hours of sleep?"
"Since last night apparently. I'm exhausted."
"Is that my opening to say, 'And why is that?' I hear you and Miss Duras disappeared for several hours last night."
The marquis pushed the dressing room door open. "Lord God, this town is restricted in its interests."
"But you entertain us all so well, my boy. What would the gossip mills do if you decided to take up fishing instead?"
"Maybe I will," Jack muttered, walking over to the special shower-bath he'd installed in his home and turning on the tap. "I'll move to the country."
His friend chuckled. "That would elicit huge odds at Brookes. Mostly on how long you'd last in the country."
Shdoting his companion a black look, the marquis stepped inside the tower-shaped framework composed of numerous pipes spouting water from hundreds of perforations. Standing under the hot water, he wondered how much he really wanted Lord Simon's black. He was tired or weary or both, and still surly about the events of the previous night.
He'd probably drunk too much. He didn't allow himself to admit a craving for the lovely Miss Duras . Such an admission would set his comfortable life at risk.
"Have you fallen asleep in there?"
Ned's brusque query disrupted his discontent. "I do need to sleep one of these nights," he grumbled, lifting his face to
After all, she reflected in her more benign humor, she'd been well sated, luxuriantly, lavishly by a man who knew exactly what a woman wanted. She smiled faintly at the heated memory. And if one wished to be utterly practical, she was now fully replete after a year of celibacy. Definitely a charming benefit.
She sighed. A shame one had to always deal with male egos.
Leaving instructions with her maid to be wakened at one, she lay down and went to sleep instantly.
But her sleep was restless, her dreams of a dark-haired m an with smiling eyes and a ravishing sexual expertise. Fevered, tantalized, she dreamed of that ravishment, softly moaned as she felt his hands and his body giving her pleasure, tossed and turned in the grip of his enchanting sorcery, until she came awake at her maid's call with a start of surprise.
Glancing down, she saw she was in her own bed.
And softly cursed Jack Fitz-James's much-used talents.
JACK DIDN'T SLEEP, OR IT SEEMED AS THOUGH
he hadn't slept when Ned came calling and woke him.
"Go away," Jack muttered as Ned pulled back the drapes and let the sun into his bedchamber.
"Rise and shine! We've an appointment to see some prime horseflesh at Tattersall's ." He jerked another drape open and moved to the next window.
"Go without me." The marquis's voice was muffled by the pillow he'd pulled over his head.
"Lord Simon is selling his racers. And you want that big black of his. Or last I heard, you did . I suppose we can let Blandford buy it instead."
Ned's gibe elicited a string of oaths from under the pillow.
"Is that a yes or a no?" Lord Darlington cheerfully queried, when he knew very well Jack would crawl a hundred miles rather than let Edward Dunlow buy a horse he wanted. "Maurice is sending up very black coffee, but don't hurry, we still have twenty minutes."
"Someday I'm going to strangle you." The words were utterly clear now, for Jack had flung the pillow at Ned.
"Watch my hair, damn you!" Ned yelped, smoothing his sleek blond hair behind his ears. Vain of his overlong curls, he fancied himself an amateur poet in the mold of Lord Byron, although his poetry was intended more to impress the ladies than to express a sincere interest.
Fully awake now, the marquis rose from his bed with a sigh, feeling more fatigued than when he'd gone to sleep. But knowing Tattersall's wouldn't wait, he moved toward his dressing room. "Thanks for reminding me of that black." He yawned and stretched. "I just wish like hell it wasn't so early."
"It's past one, Jack," Ned said, following him. "Since when did you need more than a couple hours of sleep?"
"Since last night apparently. I'm exhausted."
"Is that my opening to say, 'And why is that?' I hear you and Miss Duras disappeared for several hours last night."
The marquis pushed the dressing room door open. "Lord God, this town is restricted in its interests."
"But you entertain us all so well, my boy. What would the gossip mills do if you decided to take up fishing instead?"
"Maybe I will," Jack muttered, walking over to the special shower-bath he'd installed in his home and turning on the tap. "I'll move to the country."
His friend chuckled. "That would elicit huge odds at Brookes. Mostly on how long you'd last in the country."
Shdoting his companion a black look, the marquis stepped inside the tower-shaped framework composed of numerous pipes spouting water from hundreds of perforations. Standing under the hot water, he wondered how much he really wanted Lord Simon's black. He was tired or weary or both, and still surly about the events of the previous night.
He'd probably drunk too much. He didn't allow himself to admit a craving for the lovely Miss Duras . Such an admission would set his comfortable life at risk.
"Have you fallen asleep in there?"
Ned's brusque query disrupted his discontent. "I do need to sleep one of these nights," he grumbled, lifting his face to
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