Seduction of a Proper Lady

Seduction of a Proper Lady: A Regency Ménage Tale by Kristabel Reed A Ravenous Romance® Original Publication

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A Ravenous Romance® Original Publication www.ravenousromance.com Copyright © 2011 by Kristabel Reed Ravenous Romance® 100 Cummings Center Suite 123A Beverly, MA 01915 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-438-9 This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Also by Kristabel Reed: Wickedly Wanton: A Regency Ménage Tale

Or read more from Kristabel Reed in these anthologies from Ravenous Romance: Passionately Ever After: Erotic Fairy Tales Once Upon A Threesome: An Erotic Anthology of Historical Ménage a Trois Never Too Many Valentines: A Collection of Ménage Novellas

4 Chapter One London April, 1816 “Miss Harrington seems pliable enough,” Camila Sutton said. Major Braedon Sinclair looked at his matchmaker in bored amusement. Seems pliable enough? He wasn’t after pliable—unless she meant physically supple and willing to learn a great many erotic positions. In which case Braedon would seriously consider the woman. However, while Camila held a superior and quite discreet reputation, in the weeks since he’d hired her, none of her schemes had come to fruition. She acknowledged his wryness with a slight shrug and a put-upon sigh. “Your standards,” she said dryly, “aren’t ones I can shout to the ton.” No. No they weren’t. But that didn’t stop Braedon from searching. He needed a wife. Wanted was probably more apt. He wanted a woman, a wife, not only for his bed, though definitely for that, but in his household to lend it an air of respectability. And to put an end to any rumors or questions that might spring up due to his living arrangements. Thus far it had not been an easy search. Tonight he’d forced himself to go to Lord Bartholomew’s ball, the widowed matchmaker Camila in tow, with her promise of securing an introduction to at least one or two suitable maidens. But now, as he looked at the sea of women, he wasn’t quite as amused with the husband-hunting season as he thought he’d be. The girls Camila recommended were no more than receding shadows. Each one Camila introduced him to possessed about as much personality as a lump of coal. Each vied for one of the many eligible bachelors of the season. But they all did so with as much behind-thechaperone flirting as their prim upbringing, or their large dowry, allowed. Braedon wondered if a widow, a woman with more experience both in society and in the bedroom, might be better. At least, or so he hoped, a widow wouldn’t prattle on about the latest fashions, but rather, would be able to hold a decent conversation. Apparently, he had high hopes. Camila held his interest on occasion and was a handsome enough woman. But her humorless nature often irritated him. And he had no interest in a wife who was merely tolerable or pliable. Braedon needed more than a pliable woman, and Camila didn’t seem to understand his desires. Still gazing at the mass of husband-hunting women, Braedon amended that last thought. Oh, Camila understood his

5 desires all too well. He’d been quite specific about those, after paying thrice her normal fee to ensure the level of secrecy he desired. What she couldn’t seem to grasp was his desires in a wife. “Miss Harrington,” Braedon said with a dismissive wave, not bothering to look at the woman, “is more interested in courtly poems. She doesn’t hold the appeal I’m after.” “Major Sinclair,” Camila said primly when he knew there wasn’t a prim bone in her body, “your requirements are rather…unique. And while I’m certainly not opposed to this type of engagement, you must understand how delicate your situation is. Most men with your…” She paused, lowered her voice further and glanced past the curtains of the alcove they stood in near the ballroom. Her voice a whisper, barely audible over the music of the orchestra and the chatter from those not dancing, she moved a step closer and continued. “A man of your tastes,” she said, “is usually satisfied with a mistress. You put the very rare challenge upon me of securing a proper lady for your marriage offer. This isn’t easily accomplished. It’ll take the right sort of girl to accept the nature of the marriage you have in mind.” “And that,” he said, staring hard at her to make sure she understood his point, “is the precise reason I retained you in spite of your rather extravagant fee. I don’t want a woman I can merely command.” Camila huffed in agitation and smoothed her dark blue gown. “Then what do you want?” “What I want,” he said easily, unashamed of his needs in this matter, “is a woman I can hold a conversation with. One whose passions meet mine—all of mine,” he added in case she’d forgotten what his passions entailed. “A woman who doesn’t shy away from what I’ve done and who I’ve done it with. Above all, I want a woman who accepts me.” Braedon glanced at the girls in attendance at Bartholomew’s annual ball. They all looked the same, acted the same, dressed the same. Maybe he needed to revise his standards. “What you ask for is not easily acquired,” she said softly, understanding lacing her words. “You want the attributes of a courtesan and the reputation of a fine lady. That’s something you’ll have to create yourself.” Her final words startled him. Create yourself? Braedon looked down at her, studied her earnest blue eyes. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked over her head and out at the girls as he thought of her words. He’d never seriously thought of a wife before. If he had, it was a nebulous idea of a faceless woman running his household, sharing his bed. Ideas half-formed on the battlefield from his men’s conversations of wives left behind. Slowly, he nodded. “Perhaps you are correct.” To create such a lady, he’d have to seduce one of his choosing. Entice her, indulge her in all the pleasures of the flesh and mind. He’d

6 have to show her these delights, not assume she was already well versed in them. With this new intent, he once more studied the women in attendance. Camila was absolutely correct. He didn’t need to find the woman he wanted. Hell, he probably couldn’t. He needed to find one willing and able to learn how to be that woman. To accept his passions. The problem was—how to seduce her? How to go about creating the perfect wife? It wasn’t merely about taking her virginity, but binding her to him, forming a bond that even the most salacious gossip couldn’t break. Braedon knew he tread a fine line, but his war hero status hadn’t yet lost its appeal. “I am correct for what you have in mind,” she said tartly. “Therefore, I believe you should take a second look at those girls I’ve said are pliant.” Braedon nodded, but had other attributes in mind besides pliability. However, one of those Camila mentioned might be worth a second look. Or possess qualities he desired. “It’ll take great finesse,” Camila continued, clearly still moving ahead with her pliable standard, “to seduce the woman of your choosing. It’s a fine line, Sinclair, between subtle seduction and scandalous behavior.” Subtle, yes. He could be more subtle than Camila imagined, and he didn’t honestly care about scandalous behavior. Inside the bedroom, that was. Outside his household, Braedon admitted to wanting the perfect perception of a woman and wife. He continued to watch the crowd, assessing the girls in a new light. On the other side of the room, his former lieutenant, Ethan Ashmore, laughed with a small group. He didn’t use a cane this night, nor did he attempt to hide the scars covering one side of his face. Braedon could just imagine all the gossips huddled in the various alcoves off Lord Bartholomew’s expansive ballroom. The pity for Ethan, the whispers about his injuries, but not his eligibility. Several ladies and their marriage-minded mothers shunned him, but Ethan was animated enough to draw attention wherever he went. His gaze flicked to where Braedon stood. One of Ethan’s eyebrows rose in question. Braedon gave a quick shake of his head—no success as of yet— and returned his attention to Camila. A tall woman with bright, intelligent eyes, Camila certainly dressed the part of a matchmaker. Her clothes were of fine quality with an eccentric flair rarely seen inside the ton, and certainly not on the local vicar’s wife. She pointed out several suitable women, all from good families, all desperate to marry their daughter to a wealthy man. One was a highly

7 connected noble family with no male heirs, willing to marry off their daughter for the right price and promise of succession. Braedon dismissed all of them. Nearby Ethan’s position, a dark-haired woman caught his attention. She wore an elegant white gown, accentuating her generous curves, and stood with a rosy-cheeked friend. The stunning woman, dark hair swept off her face and of an olive complexion, stood slightly taller than the friend at her side and boldly scanned the room. No hiding behind a fan for this debutante. She listened and nodded carelessly to her friend, who whispered in her ear with some ferocity, adamantly shaking her head. The dark-haired woman absently shook her head in return, dipping it slightly as her friend continued to speak. Her eyes, however, looked over the crowd. From where he stood, Braedon couldn’t see their color but found he wanted to. For the first time all night, he wanted to know more about a woman. And he didn’t look to be the only one. Several men watched the young woman, but none gravitated toward her. Braedon took a second look, but didn’t see an overbearing mother lying in wait, or a tetchy chaperone scowling at all would-be suitors. “Who is she?” he demanded, cutting Camila off mid-sentence. The matchmaker stopped and tried to follow his direction to where the woman, now dismissing her friend’s words with a wave of her hand, stood. He wondered what they were—a warning? Likely yes, he figured as he watched the direction of her gaze. A warning about Ethan. However, the woman’s gaze returned to Ethan, ignoring her friend’s words. “You should forget about her, Sinclair,” Camila said shortly. “She’ll not be suitable for your intentions.” “I didn’t ask if she were suitable,” Braedon said lazily, looking down at her with a sardonic stare. “I asked who she was.” Camila, lips pursed in annoyance, nodded. “Lady Laurel Westfield, only daughter of Henry Kingsley, Earl of Westfield. Her family is rather particular, Sinclair,” she warned with a shake of her head. “Not at all a good match for you. Lady Laurel had a suitor whom her family considered quite inappropriate and quickly dispensed with him. I understand he’s not been seen in Town since the incident.” Braedon studied Lady Laurel Westfield, wondering just who this jilted suitor had been and what he’d done. Or what Lady Laurel Westfield had done to cause her family to banish the man. He’d heard of Lord Westfield, of course. The man was a formidable Peer in the House of Lords. However, he’d never had cause to do business with him. That might change, now that he was back from a decade at war and once more taking interest in his own vast holdings. Yes, Braedon

8 mused, as he saw Lady Laurel laugh quickly at her companion. Yes that might all change now. “Seducing her into the type of marriage you require,” Camila warned, “will be quite impossible.” He’d see about that. **** Lady Laurel Westfield studied Mr. Ethan Ashmore as covertly as she could. She refused to raise her fan to hide her preoccupation with the handsome and charismatic man; however, she also had no desire to see her interest in him become known to the ton in general. Laurel couldn’t see why Catherine warned her away from him. Warned her incessantly at that. Was it because he was scarred? Rumor had it he’d acquired those scars during the Battle of Vitoria nearly two years ago. Laurel studied him again, but could only hear his animated laugh, see the sparkle in his vivid blue eyes as he looked around the room. Just because he had an imperfection did not make him any less handsome. Not to her, though clearly to Catherine. In fact, Laurel thought it made him more approachable. “Oh dear,” Catherine sighed, her cheeks growing more flushed by the minute as they always did when she was flustered. Which she often was in groups of three or more. “He’s coming this way. Perhaps we should go join Mother for refreshments?” “I don’t understand your aversion, Catherine,” Laurel snapped, annoyed with this constant nay-saying of the man. “Many of our men have come back less than perfect from the wars.” She shook her head at her light-brown haired friend with the now cherry red cheeks. Since Laurel pointed him out an hour ago, Catherine had done naught but harp on his unsuitability with no explanation as to why she was so adamant. “He’s in the company of Lady Chancellor,” Laurel warned, infusing a hint of humor into her tone. She really couldn’t be annoyed with Catherine; the poor woman froze in crowds. “Please do not offend her, else you’ll be disinvited from her ball in two weeks.” She offered a smile as the pair made their way to where she and Catherine stood. The musicians changed the dance at that moment, and Laurel realized she had to pay attention to the end of this quadrille. She’d promised the next to Mr. Worthington and, dull though he may be, knew he certainly wouldn’t forget her promised dance. Lady Chancellor stopped before them, then moved to the side with a grand gesture to allow room for Mr. Ashmore, who even now Catherine tried so arduously to avoid. Ashmore nodded politely to Catherine before turning to Laurel with a smile that was all charm and grace.

9 Laurel was momentarily taken aback by his appearance. Up close he had what appeared to be jagged burn scars rising from his collar. They spread upwards from his neck, along his cheek, to stop just in front of his left ear. However, to Laurel they were inconsequential and took nothing away from his handsome face. His eyes caught her; they were a mesmerizing blue that held humor and character, so unlike many of the men who vied for her hand. She wondered what color Worthington’s eyes were but couldn’t remember ever bothering to notice. Ashmore’s gaze held a light that drew her in. “Lady Laurel, Miss Hayden,” Lady Chancellor said with a slight nod of her head. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Ashmore. One of our military heroes returned now that the little emperor is safely banked at our fine British accommodations on Saint Helena.” “A pleasure, Mr. Ashmore.” Laurel smiled up at him even as she curtsied. From the corner of her eye, she saw Catherine’s silent nod. She offered a bare curtsy in reply, apparently itching to leave the man’s company. “How are you both enjoying Lord Bartholomew’s annual ball?” Mr. Ashmore asked. The question was simple and direct enough, but there was a sly humor beneath it that intrigued Laurel. She was well aware that Lord Bartholomew’s ball was often referred to as the best viewing. The best viewing of the eligible gentlemen and ladies for the season that was, because the hall was grand enough to accommodate large numbers of the marriage-minded ton. Rather mischievous when looked at that way. She was nearly tempted to say she’d seen better, but just as she opened her mouth to reply, she thought twice about such a remark in Lady Chancellor’s presence. Laurel answered agreeably instead. Catherine remained mute beside her. But with Ashmore’s laugh igniting her own, Laurel realized she was utterly captivated by his wicked grin and sense of humor. “I particularly enjoy seeing new faces in attendance,” she added, deftly ignoring Catherine’s subtle tug on her sleeve. “Yes, I also enjoy seeing so many new faces.” Ashmore said with a bow. “May I have the pleasure of this next dance?” “I’m terribly sorry,” Laurel said, stomach fluttering in anticipation at his bold question. Lady Chancellor said nothing, merely stood silently by, the perfect chaperone. “I’ve promised the next dance.” He bowed again and offered another smooth grin. “Then,” he said softly, “I claim the next one, Lady Laurel.” Laurel heard herself agree, caught by his intense blue gaze, even as Catherine’s hand clamped down on her arm. Lady Chancellor, ever the effervescent woman, hid whatever she thought behind her smile and

10 guided Ashmore away, already chatting about the changes in England since last he’d been on these shores. Catherine all but dragged her a few steps back, searching in vain for a private alcove. She seemed rather intent on this need for solitude, but Laurel had had enough. “I do not understand your objection to him!” Laurel huffed, exasperated. “He was introduced by Lady Chancellor herself; there’s no better endorsement.” “I’m sure Lady Chancellor merely fulfills an obligation,” Catherine said in a rush. “But that man should not be in attendance at this ball. Or any for that matter. It’s a cruel joke to have him exposed to all these unmarried girls.” Confused, Laurel glared at her closest friend. She’d known Catherine since their earliest days at school and had never known her to be so circumspect. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “Is he married to a Frenchwoman? Or,” she added with a twist of humor, “does he have a second invisible head that only comes out at the full moon?” “No.” Catherine’s short, blunt answer stopped Laurel. She tugged insistently on her arm, eyes sweeping left and right so as not to be overheard. “He’s badly injured.” She nodded in Ashmore’s direction, and when her eyes met Laurel’s, they were angry, annoyed, and as resolute as Laurel had ever seen her. “Laurel,” she said harshly. “He’s incapable of fathering children. Or,” and here her voice dropped even further and her cheeks flamed red. “Or any other husbandly duty.”

11 Chapter Two Laurel stiffened in surprise. It took only a moment before Catherine’s words became painfully clear. Laurel’s eyes widened and she turned her back on the assembly before anyone could see her reaction. She suddenly felt exposed and obvious. Everyone had to know what Catherine had finally gotten the nerve to tell her about Mr. Ashmore. She’d met the man mere moments ago, and now Catherine had her sequestered in a corner, talking feverishly in her ear. There was something so distasteful about the obviousness of all this. Gossip must have flown around Mr. Ashmore since he entered the ballroom. Men in his position didn’t normally attend balls such as this. Now, with this revelation, Laurel felt great pity for Mr. Ashmore and for all the indignity he must have to endure. “Laurel,” Catherine was saying, having finally released her arm. “I’ll have Cousin John make your excuses to Mr. Ashmore for the next dance.” “No,” she said with a quick shake of her head, resolute in this. “That isn’t necessary, Catherine. Mr. Ashmore is not contagious. I’m happy to have a dance with him.” “As you wish,” Catherine said dubiously. Laurel barely heard her friend, her eyes caught by a most interesting scene. She turned to see Mr. Ashmore joined by another gentleman in full military attire, an equally handsome male figure with dark brown hair. “That’s Mr. Ashmore’s friend, Major Braedon Sinclair.” Catherine said neutrally. The lack of emotion in her voice caught Laurel’s attention, and she tore her eyes from the man. “Many of the girls here are vying for his attentions,” Catherine continued, “but it appears he’s set his cap on Phillipa. Or at least that seems to be the direction Mrs. Sutton is pushing him. I have it on very good authority that Mrs. Sutton was retained to assist Major Sinclair in navigating the London ballrooms in his search for a wife.” “Is Mrs. Sutton a relation of Major Sinclair?” Laurel asked, gaze drawn to the major’s tall physique and broad shoulders. Why had she not noticed him before? He commanded the room, not merely with his sharp uniform. The air around him seemed to shimmer with power. “I wished you’d come early to London, Laurel,” Catherine said sourly. “I’ve barely had a chance to acquaint you with the balls this season much less the gossip! Mrs. Sutton,” she lowered her voice once more, “is no relation of his. He’s hired her to help him make a proper match.”

12 She nodded at Catherine, still staring rather noticeably at Major Sinclair. “I assume,” she said slowly, pulling her attention from the handsome major, “that there is no health matter that afflicts Major Sinclair to preclude him from our attention?” “No,” Catherine said with a grin. “His family is connected to several dukes, some royal,” she added with a knowing nod. “And his reputation is impeccable. He is the catch of the season.” Laurel studied him again, dismissing the woman at his side, Mrs. Sutton. If Catherine’s information was true, and Laurel had no reason to doubt it, then Phillipa was a very lucky girl indeed. “Lady Laurel?” She tore her attention from across the room and looked up at Mr. Worthington. She hadn’t been paying attention to the music so didn’t realize they were preparing for the next dance. Forcing a smile up at the man, who wasn’t as handsome or as engaging as Mr. Ashmore, Laurel nonetheless knew him to be a man her parents would approve of. Unfortunately, she realized as she curtsied to him and allowed him to lead her to the dance line, he didn’t hold her attention from across the room. Even now, with her back to him, Laurel could feel Major Sinclair’s presence. And strangely enough, she thought she heard Mr. Ashmore laughing over the din of the crowd. Both of which were preposterous. But as she dipped into another curtsy to Mr. Worthington and the music started, Laurel knew she’d never accept more than a single dance from the man. Worthington may be suitable to her parents, but with the sudden addition of Sinclair and Ashmore, he paled in comparison. Perhaps she’d be lucky enough to meet someone who could hold her interest, as both men seemed to do tonight. **** Braedon endured the fawning of the throng of overbearing mothers and calculating matchmakers. He was introduced to one prim and simpering miss after another. Camila continued to push Phillipa Harrington on him. Oh, she had a pleasing enough figure and deep brown eyes that looked bottomless, but she hid behind her rapidly moving fan more than she spoke. Try as he might, he couldn’t see more than a bland woman with no thought in her head someone else hadn’t put there. Which may have been a gross underestimation on his part, but Braedon couldn’t be bothered to change his mind about the woman. To his right, Lady Chancellor talked about the end of Napoleon and the former emperor’s imprisonment on St. Helena. Though well versed on all matters of the last coalition, Braedon had had enough talk about Napoleon, France, and war to last him the rest of his life.

13 His gaze drifted to Ethan, who now danced with Lady Laurel Westfield. La Boulangere, the simple circle dance they engaged in, brought them together for only brief moments, but even from here, Braedon could see Lady Laurel laughing at something Ethan said. Much more sociable than he, Ethan had a way with everyone that made them enjoy his company. His easy wit drew out even the dourest of women, and Braedon had a feeling Lady Laurel was anything but dour. In fact, she sparkled with a life that these disagreeable women Camila attempted to introduce him to seemed to lack. He’d have to refocus Camila’s energies—move her away from pliable and onto Lady Laurel. Beneath the elegant white gown her figure moved with a grace beyond her youth. Even from this distance, he could tell that she wasn’t the pale English rose of those women around him. Her skin held a touch of olive, striking against the white of her dress. Her hair was swept off her face and neck, and tiny white flowers adorned the style. She’d been the only one Ethan had danced with, though Braedon didn’t know if that was by design on Ethan’s part or other circumstances. That alone caught Braedon’s attention. The dance ended, and Ethan bowed before his dance partner. His entire body hummed with tension so visible that even from this distance Braedon could sense it. It probably wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but then no one in this ballroom had spent years with the man. Or had fucked him until neither could move. Intrigued, Braedon vowed to learn more about Lady Laurel Westfield. Excusing himself, Braedon followed Ethan to where he’d escorted Lady Laurel. Her friend with the perpetually rosy cheeks bobbed a curtsy but didn’t look from behind her fan. He did not regret his closer view of Lady Laurel. She was truly exquisite. Her décolletage revealed just enough of her luscious breasts to entice his imagination to play. He wanted to see what was under the yards of muslin she wore; he wanted to taste the particular flavor of her skin. “Ladies, I feel it my duty to warn you of the mysterious Mr. Ashmore,” Braedon whispered between Laurel and Catherine as Mrs. Sutton stepped up to them. “He is the most cunning, the most dangerous charmer in England.” “And Sinclair is the most inappropriate bachelor at a London Ball,” Ethan offered with a sly wink at Braedon. “Ladies, please allow me to introduce Major Braedon Sinclair.” Camila shot Braedon a subtle warning glance, which he ignored. Braedon concentrated on Lady Laurel. She looked delectable standing next to Ethan. Her olive skin shone with vitality, and her eyes sparkled with intelligence. More than that, however finely her gown had been made it couldn’t hide her voluptuous body.

14 A perfectly innocent babe for them to pluck from the sea of pliable ladies and educate in all the ways of pleasure. He could tell that Ethan was smitten by the dark haired beauty. That didn’t happened easily, and Braedon wondered if it was more than just her beauty that drew him. What had happened during the dance? Or was Ethan truly drawn to those moist lips of hers? Would she hold his interest for longer than it took for them to take her maidenhead? Or would both of them tire quickly of her body in their bed? Braedon’s hand clenched at his side, and he forced himself to shrug away some of the tension roiling through him. It was no use—the images of Lady Laurel’s supple body beneath his or of her lips around Ethan’s cock as Braedon pounded into his ass remained vivid in his mind. He wanted to sequester Ethan in one of Bartholomew’s spare rooms and expend this need suddenly clawing through him. And it would be even more pleasing if Lady Laurel joined them. Pleasured herself as they fucked. Surprised at this fierce need of the woman, Braedon focused his attention once more on her. She laughed at something Ethan said, tilting her head to the side as she responded. Camila looked annoyed, and Lady Laurel’s friend blushed. Again. Perhaps it had simply been too long since he’d had a woman. He’d never tire of Ethan; the man had been with him for years during the war. More than that, Braedon cared for him. It hadn’t started that way. No, it had begun as mutual need on the battlefield when women were scarce. It hadn’t ended, nor did either of them wish it to. But now, back in England and among the proprieties of society, things had changed. However, standing here with Ethan and Lady Laurel, Braedon wondered if it was only the soft body of a woman wrapped around him that he missed, or if there was more to this particular woman than lust. She turned to him, a question in her dark, almond-shaped eyes, and he knew he’d stared too long. Smiling slowly at her, Braedon planned on just how to arouse and entice Laurel into joining their bed.

15 Chapter Three Laurel had never been to Vauxhall Gardens. Not for lack of trying on her part, but as this was also her first stay in London, Vauxhall had been low on the list of attractions until now. She walked beside her Aunt Gwendolyn who pointed out various attractions and paths. She’d heard of the fantastical gardens and serpentine paths, the spectacular shows they put on at night and the majesty of the lanterns strung along the walkways. But during the lazy daylight hours, with the warm spring sun illuminating the area, Laurel wondered at her source’s information. The gardens were incredibly pretty and well attended, but here and there she saw signs of neglect. But when she looked up, when she enjoyed the day, it truly was exciting. They’d just passed a tightrope walker. Suspended a hundred or so feet off the ground, the man easily traversed the rope, arms stretched out, feet angled oddly as he moved gracefully from one pole to the other. Laurel stopped to watch, amazed that anyone could walk with such refinement along a rope that looked, from her angle on the ground, to be no thicker than her forearm. They continued on, Gwendolyn walking down one path only to take the next one back the way they came. The paths were much more complex than Laurel imagined, and even Gwendolyn, who frequented Vauxhall, was easily turned around. “Is that Lady Rufforth?” Laurel asked as they backtracked once again, Gwendolyn grumbling about being late. The small group chatted in a far-off corner of the gardens while the marchioness sat for her portrait. Gwendolyn looked to where Laurel indicated with a tight nod, then paused and gave a quiet laugh. The locale drew Laurel’s attention too. Lady Rufforth sat beneath a Roman statue, her head directly beneath the stone carving’s prominent genitals. Laurel blushed but couldn’t look away, fascinated with the setting. Her mind turned to last night and Major Sinclair and Mr. Ashmore. The look Major Sinclair had given her had elicited a reaction she’d never before experienced or expected, not in the middle of an otherwise simple ball. It was… well there was no other word for it. Exciting. His look, darkly sexual and knowing, made her blood race, her skin tingle. More than that, Laurel admitted as she watched Lady Rufforth’s head tilt slightly upward. The look he’d given her had made her want. She’d felt that way while dancing with Mr. Ashmore as well. He hadn’t been as blatant as his friend, not as darkly possessive in look and speech, but the man had a way with words that constantly left her guessing as to his meaning.

16 It was impossible to ignore either of their interest in her, but if Catherine was to be believed, Mr. Ashmore wasn’t a whole man. “Come my dear,” Gwendolyn said briskly and ushered her away. They were to meet a pair of Aunt Gwendolyn’s friends for an afternoon of gossip. Laurel wondered if either of her parents knew how inattentive Gwendolyn could be. Or how the gossip often delved into the realm of highly inappropriate for a woman in her first season. Up ahead she saw Gwendolyn’s friend and stopped her aunt. Her aunt wasn’t a bad woman, simply unused to young ladies and her chaperoning duties towards them. She’d had all boys and hadn’t needed to watch out for any of them. Again Laurel wondered why her mother couldn’t accompany her, but then Laurel had long ago ceased to ask. Annabeth, Lady Westfield often had other duties. “Aunt Gwendolyn,” she said before they arrived within earshot of her aunt’s friends. “I’m going to walk around. See some more of the gardens.” “Excellent,” Gwendolyn beamed. Then turned serious as if she just remembered Laurel wasn’t one of her sons and her reputation could be harmed. “Don’t go too far,” she said with a cluck of her tongue. Laurel nodded, already backing away. She turned right and wandered further into the gardens, scanning the area for Catherine’s arrival. Wandering down the lane, Laurel paused by a children’s puppet show. She watched the show, laughing at the pantomime but even the lightheartedness of the act couldn’t stop her racing thoughts. Firmly shoving Major Sinclair to the background, she looked down the path once again for her friend. What disaster had Catherine involved herself in? But she couldn’t really blame Catherine, could she? It was Catherine’s father, Clayton Hayden, who created every single disaster in that family. The last time she’d seen her friend so worried had been when her father gambled away their last parcel of rent-generating land. Catherine was afraid, and rightly so, that her hand would be gambled away before she could meet a suitable spouse on her own. They’d both heard the stories of young women whose immoral fathers or uncles sold the girls to the highest bidder in an attempt to pay off debts. Or make more money. Inevitably it led to the girls’ ruin, something Laurel didn’t wish to see happen to Catherine. All of which was the main reason this season was so consumingly important to Catherine. She wasn’t going to waste time on friendships with injured men. More’s the pity, as Ethan Ashmore was exceedingly charming. Still, Laurel didn’t blame her. Without a suitable, and quick, match who knew what Clayton Hayden would do in his quest for fortune? Neither Catherine nor her mother was safe so long as he continued on this

17 same path. Gambling Catherine’s hand in marriage to pay off some of his debts was all too likely. Last night, after the ball, Catherine had confided she’d finally discovered the name of the man who held Clayton’s markers. Pierson Hill was about as disagreeable and disreputable a man as Laurel had ever heard of. A notorious gambler, rich off others’ losses with nary a sympathetic bone in his body. He traveled the same circles as the richest and best known of the ton but everyone—even she who rarely traveled beyond the family’s country estates—knew of him. Laurel turned the corner, still searching for Catherine. If Pierson demanded Catherine in payment for Clayton’s debts, Laurel could all too easily see Clayton accepting. Having seen Pierson in Clayton’s company, Laurel also had seen the lascivious way the swindler looked at Catherine. She shuddered at the thought of her friend being debased in such a way. Pacing along the paths, hopelessly lost from where she’d left her aunt, Laurel anxiously searched for Catherine. And, as worried as she was for her friend, she could not stop the images from last night from plaguing her. What intrigued her about Major Sinclair? More than his sharp major’s uniform, more than what little conversation they’d shared. Laurel’s mind raced with Catherine’s problem and her own interest in two men—one suitable, one not. Really it came down to one thing. She was attracted, and strongly so, to Major Braedon Sinclair…and Ethan Ashmore. **** Ethan Ashmore, knowing full well that he’d been the pariah of the ball last night among marriage-seeking mothers and like-minded daughters, continued to follow Lady Laurel as she wandered aimlessly around the garden paths. Stalking her may have been a more apt term, but held a connotation he didn’t want to associate with the lovely Laurel on such a beautiful day in Vauxhall. Still, he wondered how he could steer her toward the hedge maze and the privacy it held. Keeping his smile to himself, and all the wicked things he’d like to teach the beautiful woman, Ethan circled the path she walked on so he could come up beside her. “I’m surprised to find you strolling alone in the gardens,” he said with a neutral smile. “Even on such a lovely day.” Laurel jumped, stumbled on the path for a step before dropping her hands to her sides and straightening her back. It took her a moment to respond, though he could see he hadn’t startled her that badly. Her mind had been elsewhere, and Ethan found he wanted to know if she’d thought about last night.

18 “My aunt is just over there,” she said, gesturing vaguely behind her. “Chatting with several friends. I’ve not been here before and wanted to enjoy the flowers.” Laurel smiled up at him, her hat shading her eyes from the bright sunlight. “And what brings you to Vauxhall Gardens today?” Ethan refrained from telling her the truth—that he’d followed her since her arrival at the gardens and finally saw a moment to get her alone. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and offered one of his charming smiles. “A chance to enjoy such lovely company on a beautiful day.” Gesturing to the path ahead of them he asked, “May I walk with you?” “I’d like that very much,” she easily agreed. Ethan offered his arm and led her deeper into the gardens and further from her aunt. “I can’t go far,” she said as they walked along, past bunches of blooming flowers and bushes molded into various shapes. “I’m expecting Miss Hayden.” “As you wish.” He nodded, continuing on the path and making no attempt to hurry. “We’ll do a turn about the fountain by your aunt’s bench?” She looked up, clearly surprised. The laugh she uttered told him what he’d first expected: she hadn’t realized how far she’d wandered from her aunt. One of the many things the army had taught him was the layout of the land. Ethan had never expected to use such a skill in London, but his return continued to surprise him. “I assure you,” he said with another easy laugh that belied the cynicism of his words, “being seen with me will create no scandal.” Laurel’s steps faltered, and she looked at him in surprise. She quickly recovered and gave him a half-smile but remained silent. When she looked at him again, he knew she wanted to change the subject. Refusing to let her, Ethan abruptly turned down another path, just out of sight of her aunt. “There’s no need to shy away from the topic, Lady Laurel. I’m fully aware of how they speak of me in the ballrooms of London. And I’m sure last evening during our dance there was a flurry of gossip circling the room.” Mortification colored her cheeks and turned her dark brown eyes lighter. Then, to his surprise, Laurel relaxed and nodded. “Yes,” she said softly, her hand squeezing his arm. Not in sympathy, he saw that clearly enough in her eyes. In compassion. Ethan hadn’t realized the difference until the emotion was directed at him and his injuries. “I suppose you’d be accustomed to it since your return from the war,” she continued in that same soft voice. Understanding beneath the compassion. “I’m sorry you had to endure that.”

19 “What made it more tolerable last night,” he said, dropping his voice, “was your bravery. And the dance you granted me.” She slowed, and he turned to her in anticipation. Laurel looked ahead for another moment, licking her lush lips as she gathered herself. Swallowing hard, she faced him and asked unflinchingly, “Am I too bold in asking what happened?” Laurel’s free hand moved to his face, her gloved fingers a breath from the scars on his cheek. Ethan liked that about her, the daring she showed in conversation. He’d meant it when he’d said she’d been brave to dance with him. Not many would, in fact, no others had last night. Of course, he hadn’t asked any others, but after meeting Laurel, Ethan hadn’t wanted to. This was also the perfect opportunity to insert Braedon into the conversation, which Ethan did as slyly as he could manage. “Sinclair,” he began, paused, then cleared his throat. Ethan didn’t remember much about it. He remembered the canon, remembered Braedon being there, remembered moving. He hadn’t thought, simply acted; his lover was in danger and Ethan needed to protect him. “Sinclair,” he said again, “came too close to the impact point of a cannon shot. I would not see him killed because of Napoleon’s lousy aim.” “It was cannon fire that caused your scars?” Laurel asked softly. Ethan nodded and waited for her reaction. He didn’t analyze later why her next words were so important to him but they were. He’d learned long ago not to ignore his instinct. It had saved him—and Braedon—more than once. “Major Sinclair is a lucky man to have such a friend as you.” Her words were soft and sincere. “We’re lucky to have each other.” But Ethan forced a lighter tone to the words, as if the only thing between them was friendship. He needn’t have worried; Laurel was too innocent to think otherwise. But he wanted her to understand, needed her to see the closeness between him and Braedon. “We’ve been through much together,” he said, trying not to sound melodramatic. “It’s a unique thing, the bond one makes with a friend when you live through war.” “I can only imagine,” she said, and he resumed their walk. “War is a terrible thing,” he said, continuing to move her further from her aunt. “One a woman like yourself shouldn’t imagine.” He turned another corner. “What Braedon and I lived through has forged our friendship.” The words sounded inadequate when spoken, as if all they had was friendship based on mutual experience. Ethan wanted to entice Laurel further, but couldn’t risk scaring her away on this, their second meeting. Still, if she understood the deep bond between him and Braedon, realized

20 the depth of their friendship if nothing else, then that was enough for today. “There was a time when we had only each other,” Ethan added. “But now, there’s room to expand our circle.” Laurel shot him a quizzical look but he knew she understood him. “Braedon is hunting for a wife,” he said bluntly and winked at her. “And after last night, I’m certain his interests have fallen to a particular dark-haired beauty.” Taken aback, Laurel walked in silence for a moment. She started to answer, but abruptly closed her mouth. “You can’t be so surprised.” He laughed, enjoying himself. “In my mind, you were the belle of the ball last evening, and Braedon has excellent taste.” “It’s just a tad unusual,” she said, unflinchingly meeting his gaze. “Hearing such things from his friend.” “I’m not just his friend,” Ethan said with a sly wink. He had no intention of giving up Braedon’s cock. But, just as Braedon did, Ethan had grown tired of whores and mistresses. He wanted a woman; one both he and Braedon could share, could enjoy and indulge in. Ethan missed the companionship of women, the soft feminine touch they offered. The necessity of war had brought them together and now, neither was willing to give up the other. They both knew something was missing from their lives. At this moment, Ethan believed Laurel could fill that hole.

21 Chapter Four Braedon heard the front door slam but didn’t look up from his papers. While he’d been on the Peninsula, his steward had done an excellent job of running his estates. And though he’d been back in England for nearly a year, the paperwork generated by his holdings, investments, tenants, and other various purchases was massive. No matter how engrossing the paperwork proved; however, it didn’t stop him from thinking. He hadn’t undertaken this endeavor of finding a wife lightly. And it was more, so much more than having a woman in the house. Or even in his bed. Hell, they’d had a whore in the bed just last night. It hadn’t eased this strange want in him. He knew Ethan felt the same; what Braedon didn’t know was how his lover felt about what they’d do to the chosen woman. A whore was one thing—a paid mistress did what they instructed. Setting the papers aside, Braedon stretched his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders. He pushed back the chair and went to the window, working the kinks from his body. He’d spent the day pouring over paperwork while Ethan attempted to find Lady Laurel. Laurel Kingsley, the woman they’d chosen. They both wanted her, wanted to taste her sweetness, wanted to suckle those luscious breasts. After their paid companion left, they’d spoken about it. How different it’d be to have a woman, a wife, in the house. Braedon couldn’t be sure if it was a leftover feeling from the stories of his men, returning to their wives. Jealousy that there was no one waiting for him. Or if he was simply a romantic beneath his cynical and pragmatic nature. The door closed with a soft click, and Ethan sauntered into the room, a smug smile on his handsome face. His blue eyes lit with knowledge and deeper passion. “Did you locate our prey?” Braedon asked, slowly walking from the window to the desk. “I did.” Ethan nodded, rounding the desk to lounge on the edge of it. “And it was a treat. Laurel Kingsley really is exceptional, a true exotic beauty. Very enticing.” Braedon continued his inexorable walk toward Ethan, watching the other man’s eyes darken further. His body hummed with tension, hands clenching on the desk sides until his knuckles whitened. Braedon stopped before his lover, but didn’t touch him. “Then,” Braedon said quietly, “it’ll be a pleasure to have her in this house. Won’t it.” Ethan nodded, swallowed, eyes drawn to Braedon’s lips. He stood there, watching Ethan’s breath quicken, and waited for a bare heartbeat before moving. Mouth rough on Ethan’s, Braedon pushed him back onto

22 the desk, none too gently. His kiss was harsh, rough, dominating as his hand moved over Ethan’s cock, already hard. From his time with Laurel? From now with Braedon? Both, Braedon was willing to bet. Ethan was hard for both of them. “You want her,” he said approvingly against his lover’s lips. He grabbed Ethan’s hands and pinned them to his sides. “As much as I want you,” Ethan admitted with a wicked grin. Before Braedon could respond, Ethan broke free of his hold and grabbed the back of Braedon’s head, forcefully kissing him back. The passion between them often exploded like this. A physical need neither bothered to deny. Not with each other. Braedon quickly untied Ethan’s pants, flipping the other man over and raising his naked ass. Ethan hissed, shuddered, and Braedon knew he was close. Untying his own pants, Braedon rubbed his cock against Ethan, holding the other man down by the back of his neck and stretching to reach the jar of oil he kept in his desk drawer for just this purpose. Ethan surprised him. The moment Braedon released his hold on Ethan’s neck, the other man moved. He shoved Braedon into the desk chair and knelt before him. His mouth was warm and wet around Braedon’s cock. Ethan yanked his pants open further, taking Braedon deeper into his throat. Before he knew it, Braedon had fisted his hand in Ethan’s hair, slamming his hips up as he silently demanded Ethan take him deeper, harder. Teeth scraped over his cock, but Ethan obeyed. It didn’t take long; Braedon had been aroused most of the day with thoughts of Ethan and the lovely Laurel. Both tied to his bed, both at his mercy. Ethan’s hand cupped his balls and he moved faster over his cock, taking him deeper. With a guttural cry, Braedon emptied himself in Ethan’s mouth. His hand unclenched from Ethan’s hair, and he collapsed against his chair. Standing and leaning against the desk, cock hard against his belly, Ethan looked delectable. Braedon blinked and stood, wanting to pound into Ethan until he screamed his name. First, however, he wanted to know more about Laurel Kingsley. Kissing Ethan, softer now, hand caressing the other man’s cock, Braedon pushed him onto the desk, just missing the inkwell. “I’ve had the book delivered,” Braedon said as his hand tightened on Ethan’s cock. “She should find it tonight.” “Camila plays her part nicely,” Ethan said in a strangled voice. “She befriended Laurel’s aunt in the gardens today.” He shuddered, hips thrusting into Braedon’s hand. Braedon, however, refused to rush, to give Ethan what he wanted. The other man closed his eyes, and Braedon knew he fantasized about Laurel’s hand on his cock, Laurel’s mouth tasting him.

23 Pleased they shared this interest in the same woman, Braedon increased the pressure, moving faster. He kissed Ethan’s jaw line, scraping his teeth over the sensitive side of his neck. “Are we really planning on doing this?” Ethan asked. “On risking what we have?” The blue eyes that met Braedon’s were slightly unfocused, his breath coming hard and fast. He knew what Ethan meant, trusting an outsider—not a whore paid to do whatever they wanted in bed—with this secret. If discovered, they could both find themselves in the hangman’s noose. His hand moved faster over Ethan’s cock, banishing thoughts of discovery and lack of trust with Laurel. They’d see soon enough if she was for them. The both of them. He bit down hard on the side of Ethan’s neck. Ethan cried out, a wordless sound of release, and came. Braedon straightened from the desk and licked the back of his hand of Ethan’s release while Ethan struggled to control himself. “We’ve taken far greater risks,” Braedon said quietly and kissed Ethan. **** Laurel wearily closed the door to her bedroom. She and Aunt Gwendolyn had stayed in Vauxhall Gardens all day, wandering the beautiful layout for hours. Then, after returning home for a quick rest and a change of dress, they’d returned for the evening’s entertainment. Through it all, Catherine had been tense and terse, her desperation rubbing off on Laurel until she thought she’d scream. Now, though her mind raced from the day’s events, she could barely keep her eyes open. The fireworks, however, had been magnificent, and she wouldn’t have missed them. She leaned against the bedpost as her maid undressed her, turning the afternoon over and over in her mind. Catherine’s problems seemed insurmountable tonight. Between her father’s gambling debts and her need for a husband, rich or not, the dilemma compounded. The maid gathered the dress and backed out of the room, leaving the silver candelabra burning on the nightstand and the fire blazing in the hearth. It was warm in the room, but the beautiful April day had turned cool, and Laurel was grateful for the heat. Wandering to the window, she looked out at the back gardens and pushed Catherine to the back of her mind. After a day of unsuccessfully trying to find a solution, she needed to think on something else. Naturally her mind turned to Ashmore’s surprise appearance this afternoon. His surprise visit and his words in support of his friend, Major Sinclair. Laurel had been shocked at Ashmore’s boldness in announcing

24 Major Sinclair’s intention to court her. She’d spent only a few moments with the other man, had spent more time with Ashmore. In fact, most of her time with Sinclair had involved him silently staring at her. Even now, with her hair down in the dimness of her room, Laurel could all too easily see Sinclair’s eyes on her. The dark knowledge, the passionate promise. She shivered and moved from the window, but it did naught to dispel the anticipation thrumming through her. Had Ashmore been a scout for Sinclair? She’d been such for Catherine, had attempted to find men her friend would find appealing and who weren’t complete bores. Had it been Ashmore who’d convinced Sinclair to court her? Laurel admitted to a certain curiosity about Major Sinclair. All she knew of him was the bit Catherine had whispered to her last night and what Ashmore had relayed this afternoon. It was a pity, she thought as she banked the fire, that Ashmore wasn’t a suitable prospect. He certainly was a charming man. Turning for bed, she noticed an object on the floor directly before her. Frowning, Laurel lifted the candelabra and crouched beside the bed. It was a book. Normal sized and bound in fine, brushed leather, the cover held no title or author. Climbing into bed, she set the candelabra on the night table and settled against her pillows. She could only think her maid or one of the other servants had dropped it, though why they’d be reading in her rooms, if they could even read, Laurel couldn’t say. Curiosity had Laurel opening the unnamed book and reading the first page from The Curiosity of Miss Laverly. Last night he came to her again. I heard him boldly walk into her room and could not resist another peak. I hurried from my room, slipping into the passage between wings so as not to be heard. Already he was there, his muscled, naked body pinning hers to the bed, hands rough on her breasts. In the brightly lighted room I could see him pinch her nipples and found my own fingers rough on the hard points of my own nipples, nails scraping them in pleasure. He bit down on her breasts and she screamed, shuddering beneath him. I knelt on the cold stone floor and watched through the peephole drilled in the door years ago. My body was tight with arousal, aching to be taken just as he did her. His hands hard on her thighs, mouth taking and taking as she screamed her release over and over. She bit and clawed at his back as he entered her. My own fingers entered my core, one, two, quickly moving in and out in my wet pussy. I wanted more, I wanted a man’s hard cock filling me, wanted to feel the pressure of his body against mine. For now, this had to be enough. Faster I moved my fingers, in and out, pleasuring myself as my ass hit the hard stone. I fell backwards, legs

25 splayed wide, feet braced on the wall. One hand pinched my nipples, tugging hard, and the pleasure ripped through me. I widened my legs, the cold of the floor a sharp contrast with the heat of my need. Deeper I thrust my fingers, deeper, harder, thum nail against my nub, scraping that harder, too. Pleasure shot through me, a blinding light of it, and I knew I cried out despite my best attempts not to let the couple know I was here. Still I moved my fingers in me, unable to stop even as my body shuddered in release. I don’t know how long I stayed there, utterly spent on the stone floor. Eventually I rose on unsteady legs and made my way, satiated and naked, back to my room. In the morning I’d see them at breakfast, and none of us would admit I watched them in bed, pleasuring myself while they pleasured each other. Laurel snapped the book closed. Her own body was tight with need, and she hadn’t realized until then one hand cupped her breast, her nipple hard against her palm. Mortified, she wanted to pull her hand away, wanted this need to dissipate. Her fingers tightened on her nipple, disobediently pulling and tugging it as the curious Miss Laverly had in the book. Pleasure did, indeed, spear through her, shocking her. Laurel clenched her thighs together, the throbbing between them all but begging her to assuage it. Though her nipple ached for more, her body tight with this unnamed need, Laurel stopped. She shoved the book beneath her pillows, blew out her candles, and closed her eyes determined to sleep. To forget the suggestive book and the rest of the passages. What else Miss Laverly saw. What other delights lay in store for the curious miss. Fisting her hands beneath the pillow, Laurel tried to sleep, knowing it was a losing battle.

26 Chapter Five Groggy from a poor night’s sleep, Laurel woke long before her maid. She’d tossed and turned all night, images from The Curiosity of Miss Laverly too enticing to fully forget. Body tight with the same want from the previous night, Laurel reached for the book. She couldn’t afford for the maid to discover it. No matter what she’d thought last night, that the book might belong to one of the maids, and Laurel now realized that returning it would be the height of stupidity. Even if it did belong to one of them, discreetly discovering who would only prove she had read it. Laurel couldn’t allow the household staff to suspect she even knew these types of books existed, let alone read a passage from one of them. Clutching the book to her chest, lest someone identify its pages in the darkened room, she tugged on her dressing gown and tiptoed to the water basin. The room was dark and chilly, and Laurel shivered. All she could picture was the hard stone floor beneath Miss Laverly as her heated body experience pleasure the likes of which Laurel had never imagined. She gripped the book tighter, her own body anticipating such pleasure, before forcing herself to release it, set it on the washstand. The water was cool from the night, but she needed to wash herself. Needed to cleanse herself of such thoughts. Surely everyone would realize what she’d read. It would be that obvious, Laurel was positive. Well, perhaps not to her parents—if it wasn’t political they tended not to notice. But Aunt Gwendolyn, though rather inattentive when it came to actually chaperoning Laurel, was far more astute than they and noticed everything. The moment she walked into the breakfast room, she’d be on display. She quickly washed, uncaring the water wasn’t fresh. And suddenly wished she hadn’t. As the linen glided over her most intimate center, the pleasure she desperately wanted to wipe away increased. Heat spiked through her, catching her breath. Her eyes closed, but rather than removing her hand, Laurel continued to gently move the wet cloth over herself. With a gasp, she dropped the linen, opened eyes she hadn’t been aware of closing, and straightened from where she leaned over the stand. Even in the darkness, her gaze landed on the book. Hands shaking from such unfamiliar sensations, Laurel snatched it off the stand and moved to the window. Opening the drapes to a just-dawning morning, Laurel flipped through the book. Each new chapter described a scene with Miss Laverly spying on couples in the throes of passion. Unable to bring herself to read

27 another chapter, Laurel scanned random pages—too curious herself not to look. She snapped it closed and, still breathing heavily, looked for a place to hide the book. Automatically walking towards the chest, Laurel stopped mid-step. She couldn’t put the book, this book, there. Her lady’s maid went in there every day for her undergarments. Stymied, at her wit’s end, Laurel turned in a slow circle and surveyed her room in the dim morning light. Not the chest and not the armoire where her gowns were stored because of the same problem. She couldn’t hide it anyplace in or under her bed; the maids would be there, too, to make it. Or carefully hide it behind the knickknacks along the shelf by the window or on her vanity. Panicked, her nerves shot as she struggled to breathe through her increasing alarm, Laurel couldn’t find one place the maids didn’t touch on a daily basis. Shaking now, she slowed her breathing. It was simply a book. Just a small book she needed to hide. How had she never before wanted to hide something from the staff? Granted, she’d never before had an item of this magnitude to hide—should anyone discover Miss Laverly’s adventures, Laurel would be ruined. She had no faith in the household staff’s ability to keep a secret. Breathing somewhat normalized, she opened her eyes and tried to think. It would do her no good to panic further; she needed to hide the book and needed to so soon, before her lady’s maid entered with the morning tea. Where didn’t the maids clean, touch, look through, or inspect daily? Calmly looking about the room, Laurel rejected beneath the washstand, under the cushions of her chaise lounge, and in her writing desk. Then her eyes settled on the framed watercolor Gwendolyn had given her on her eighteenth birthday. A seascape of the Italian coast, Gwendolyn had done it herself on one of her many sojourns to the continent before the war. Crossing the room quickly, Laurel gently lifted the painting and inspected the backing. Framed in light-colored wood to compliment the watercolors, there was just enough lip on the frame to balance the thin tome. Laurel took a deep breath, then another and walked back to the window. She had to collect herself before her maid arrived. Another deep breath and she felt she was somewhat calmer, more ready to face the day. Just as the door opened, Laurel glanced at the painting and couldn’t help a wicked little smile. ****

28 Aunt Gwendolyn had never done anything slow, strolling in the park included. Laurel, long used to her aunt’s quick stride, easily kept up with the older woman as they walked down the neatly trimmed lanes. Though the day had dawned overcast and rainy, by late morning the sky cleared and it was a beautiful spring day. A light wind blew through the park; just cool enough to warrant her jacket. Up ahead, Laurel could easily make out Sinclair and Mrs. Sutton. Sinclair stood tall and muscular against the other people milling the grounds, dashing even without his major’s uniform. This morning’s missive had both surprised and delighted Laurel, inviting her for a stroll with Major Sinclair, and Aunt Gwendolyn to a chat with Mrs. Sutton. No fool, Aunt Gwendolyn had cannily accepted the invitation before Laurel’s mother could be bothered to answer it. Now, as they approached Sinclair, Laurel studied him. He stood ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back. From this distance, his face remained unreadable, though Laurel clearly remembered his dark probing eyes. Her stomach fluttered in expectation, eager to speak further with the dark Major Sinclair. He continued to look steadily at her, and she tried to discern what he wanted from her—from a wife. He seemed the demanding type, as if he knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to extract it. On the other hand, he also seemed very private. No emotion flitted across his face or darkened his deep-brown eyes. Even as the distance between them shortened, images from The Curiosity of Miss Laverly flooded her mind’s eye. No matter how she tried, Laurel couldn’t get the images, so very vivid, out of her head. Sinclair looked unapproachable, while Ashmore had seemed eminently amicable and engaging. And now, as she caught Sinclair’s gaze, still so dark and mysterious, she realized she hadn’t picture him as the gentleman from the book…but Mr. Ashmore. Laurel stumbled, flushed as she recalled the passage, recalled Miss Laverly’s explicit words as she’d inserted her own fingers into herself and brought herself to exquisite pleasure. “Are you alright, dear?” Aunt Gwendolyn asked, concerned as she tugged gently on her arm. “Yes,” Laurel managed, sounding breathless to her own ears. “Merely embarrassed I tripped over my own feet.” “Don’t worry, Laurel,” Gwendolyn said in a quiet rush of words as she tugged her along. “Major Sinclair’s reputation is impeccable. After the other night, I asked around.” Of course she had, Laurel never doubted her aunt’s ability to ferret out the smallest piece of gossip. However, she was grateful Gwendolyn thought Laurel’s reaction only nerves. “Good day,” Sinclair said, in such a deep voice, Laurel wondered she hadn’t noticed that at the ball.

29 “Good day, Major Sinclair,” she said softly, still hoping to regain some semblance of balance. But the images from the book wouldn’t fade. Mrs. Sutton said something about the weather, to which Aunt Gwendolyn eagerly replied, and the next thing Laurel knew, she and Sinclair were walking down the lane, Gwendolyn happily distracted by the matchmaker. “I was surprised, Major Sinclair,” Laurel began, careful to keep some distance between them, “by Mr. Ashmore’s implication of your interest in me.” “My apologies,” he said with a bow in her direction. Then, with a wicked smile, he added, “My apologies that it was merely an implication.” Laurel tilted her head in acknowledgement, but couldn’t find anything polite to say to his words. The meaning shocked her, but she refused to show him just how much. “Your beauty was, of course, the talk of Lord Bartholomew’s ball.” He said in that low deep voice that flowed over her. “But it was more than that that intrigued me, Lady Laurel. Ashmore doesn’t often ask a young lady to dance at one of these balls,” he continued, and Laurel sensed a deeper meaning to his words. “Oh?” she asked. “No.” Sinclair looked down at her as they rounded a corner. His next words didn’t surprise her, but again, his manner told her more than the words, and she raced to understand the undertone. “He prefers to dance with one of our married acquaintances.” Laurel met his gaze and waited for him to say more on the subject. He didn’t, and she was disappointed she’d find out no more of Mr. Ashmore. “Do not think,” he said with another slow smile, “that your acceptance of his dance went unnoticed.” “I find Mr. Ashmore very charming,” she said honestly. “I saw no reason to decline his invitation.” “It was at that moment,” he said, directing her around another corner, “when I knew you were worth all my attention.” Startled, Laurel looked up at him. She didn’t stumble this time, even when the meaning of his words became crystal clear. Oh, but she’d been a fool not to have seen it before. “I’m flattered, Major Sinclair.” She smiled up at him, acknowledging his words. “And I would hazard a guess that most of the girls in attendance would be dumbfounded to know the way to your attentions was not through Mrs. Sutton. But I assure you, my dance with Mr. Ashmore had no ulterior motives.” “Nor did I think you did. This marriage game,” Sinclair said with definite humor in his voice now. “It’s quite the tricky feat. One is expected to choose a wife with nary an idea of what she’s like beyond her appearance. And so, these little games must be played.”

30 Slowly, Laurel nodded. He had a point, and one she had vaguely acknowledged before. Still, when he put it into actual words, she realized she hadn’t ever truly thought of it that way. “I suppose you’re correct, but this is the first I’ve seen it as such. Everyone plays a game, yes.” Sinclair stopped, and Laurel did as well. He turned to her, the sun overhead so she could just make out his gaze resting on her lips. Her heart sped, and she could all too easily imagine the passage from last night. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, stepping boldly closer. “The game play is where the fun lies.” Laurel didn’t know what to say to that. Apparently, Sinclair required no response, however, for he merely nodded and gestured before him. They walked in silence back to the carriages, the conversation drifting from weather to balls, and just touching on politics. Laurel kept up with the change in topics, but felt as if Sinclair’s last sentence about game play had a multifaceted meaning she couldn’t quite grasp. Rather, she could, but hoped it was just where her mind, so newly turned onto the eroticisms of the bedroom, wanted to leap. For surely, he couldn’t possibly mean that? At the carriage, Sinclair took her hand and kissed the gloved back of it. With a sly wink, he handed her inside. Aunt Gwendolyn continued to chat with Mrs. Sutton, the two happily ensconced in their own little world. Sinclair stepped back, but watched her intently. Flustered, Laurel lowered her eyes, surprised at her own reaction. Shyness had never been a problem, and yet Sinclair possessed a quality about him that intrigued her, fascinated her. Their walk had been interesting and the conversation more than she’d expected. But he also scared her. Yes, Laurel thought as she settled her dress around her and awaited Aunt Gwendolyn. Sinclair scared her. He hadn’t worn his uniform today, but still possessed that air of command. She’d seen Ashmore, also a military man, but it wasn’t the same. No, she couldn’t place why, or what it was specifically about him that caused such a reaction, but… A box sat on the seat opposite her. Laurel smiled and looked out the carriage door, but Sinclair had his back to her. She opened the black-lacquered box, decorated with tiny hand-painted flowers. A single crimson rose sat inside, fully opened and utterly beautiful. Reaching inside the box, Laurel lifted it to sniff its delicate scent. Still smiling, and thinking it was a most interesting way to give her a gift, she went to return it to the box. And saw the sketchbook beneath. Tentatively reaching in, visions of The Curiosity of Miss Laverly dancing in her mind’s eye, Laurel carefully studied the offering. Bound in fine leather, it was a large sketchbook, its cover devoid of title or author.

31 She darted a glance outside, but Gwendolyn and Mrs. Sutton continued to chat. Sinclair had moved away, but turned in the direction of the carriage. Was he too far to see the book? Was it from him? Why did he not take credit for either the rose or the book? Why did he not even turn towards her to see if she received his gift? Curious, and cursing herself a fool for being so, Laurel opened it to a random page in the middle. Laurel didn’t know what she’d been expecting, a landscape of Spain, perhaps, or the Pyrenees as the British Army crossed into France. But a sketch of a couple kissing, fully dressed though obviously in the process of disrobing had not been on her list. Heart pounding, mouth dry, Laurel admired the quality of the sketch, the finely drawn lines of the couple, the passion inherent in their gazes. It took real talent to capture such raw emotion. Glancing out the carriage door to make sure Gwendolyn didn’t approach, Laurel thought Sinclair had moved closer. But no, he continued to look about the park, seeming to ignore both she and the chatting women. Laurel flipped to another page. And nearly dropped the book. Heart racing, breath stopped someplace in her chest, and that new pleasure she’d only just experienced last night racing through her, Laurel stared. A woman knelt before a man who sat in a chair. She was obviously naked as she bent over him, head buried in his lap. Her mouth covered him, not all of him for Laurel could see the base of his…manhood. The man’s eyes, she saw when she could tear her gaze from the erotic scene, were closed in bliss, one hand fisted in the woman’s hair. Did she enjoy that? The man evidently did, but was it pleasurable for the woman as well? Tearing her gaze from the sketch, Laurel looked blindly outside. But if Gwendolyn had chosen that moment to enter to carriage, she couldn’t be certain she’d have the wherewithal to close the book. Or to look away. With trembling fingers, Laurel turned the page. The woman now knelt on a bed or grouping of pillows. Her head was thrown back, resting on the shoulder of the man behind her. His hands, large and work-roughened, cupped her breasts. Laurel could just see one erect nipple peak between his fingers and knew her own hardened at the sight. Was he buried inside her? Laurel knew he was despite having never seen for herself a coupling couple. Knew he took her from behind, and they both enjoyed it. Her thighs clenched together, but no matter how Laurel moved, the tension coiling rapidly within her refused to abate. However, the most shocking facet of this sketch was the second man. He knelt before the woman, his mouth on her, tasting her, his fingers holding her legs wide open.

32 Laurel blinked, tried to clear her vision. Did the woman press down on the second man’s face? Or back against the man fondling her breasts? Or…Laurel slammed the book closed and shoved it back in the box. Clasping her hands on her lap, she clenched the rose in her fingers. Oh, dear God. The woman had clearly pressed down on both of them, too mindless in her pleasure to distinguish.

33 Chapter Six It didn’t matter if she knew she should, Laurel hadn’t been able to burn the sketches. Their images captivated her and, late into the night, she’d stared at them. Hadn’t been able to look away. Her fingers had drifted over her belly and thighs, sending shivers of pleasure shooting through her. She’d snuck the book, The Curiosity of Miss Laverly, from its hiding place and read another chapter. Miss Laverly had pleasured herself in a stream, the cool summer’s water racing over her most intimately and, according to her, only adding to her desire. Unable to stop herself, Laurel’s fingers had brushed her core. She’d been surprised to find it wet. The slight touch of her tentative fingers had her gasping. When she’d pressed one finger inside that wetness, uncertain and knowing full well what she experienced was utterly forbidden, her body clenched with passion. Her act only made her want more. She wanted to experience all the pleasure Miss Laverly spoke of. The carriage jolted along the street, brining her back to the day. In the harsh reality of daylight, Laurel knew once again she should burn the sketches. The book, too. But the sketches especially—she could always claim she had no idea the book was there and blame its existence in her room on a hapless maid. But the sketches. There would be no explaining those, and again Laurel thought she should burn them. She knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t know why she believed this, but knew the woman drawn there was meant to be her. Her experiencing such erotic delights. From Sinclair? They had to be, who else would be so bold? She’d just walked with him in the park, he could have easily instructed a footman to place the box in her carriage. Would he have done that? The sketches with the rose, the book? Perhaps they weren’t from the same admirer, but he was the only man she’d expressed interest in. Or maybe, she thought realistically as the carriage jolted again and her aunt’s conversation shifted to the horrid state of the county roads, maybe she simply hoped they were about her. Maybe they were generic sketches placed in the wrong carriage. Maybe The Curiosity of Miss Laverly really did belong to a maid. For the first time in her life, Laurel wanted the forbidden, wanted the sexual attentions of a man. Wanted to experience everything the whispered conversations had promised. Knowing her face flamed with embarrassment—and yes, with desire—Laurel turned her gaze to the window and tried to focus on what her aunt and Lady Lambeth discussed. More on the state of the roads and the particularly warm April day. Laurel dismissed them, glad they spoke

34 between themselves and she wasn’t forced to carry a conversation with anyone. Not yet at least. She had to get those images from her mind before they arrived at Ingrave Hall and the picnic they were to attend there. With her body refusing to cooperate, and still in a state of arousal she was ill-equipped to deal with, Laurel tried to think of a solution to Catherine’s dilemma. Her friend wouldn’t attend this picnic, which was probably just as well. Catherine would know something bothered Laurel and demanded to know the problem. Laurel, for all her closeness with Catherine, couldn’t conceive how to share such a secret. Forcibly turning her mind to Clayton Hayden, and the ongoing gambling problems that man brought upon his family, Laurel desperately tried to think of a way out of her friend’s dilemma. Her concern for Catherine grew every day; though she tried to keep her increasing fear for what Hayden would do next from her friend. The man was quite unpredictable. Perhaps she should ask Catherine to stay with her for the duration of the season. Catherine probably wouldn’t, not with her mother still at home and at the mercy of Hayden. Plus, she thought as the carriage turned up the long drive, there were the sketches and book. Catherine could never discover those, never learn of the illicit pleasure Laurel had just begun to discover in them. She’d never understand. No, Laurel couldn’t imagine Catherine, of all people, coming across the book and sketches. From the carriage window, she saw Ingrave Hall. It was a grand structure, very stately and modern with clean lines along the upper levels and bold arches that lead to the courtyard. The lawn looked well tended, and a pond lay off to one side where several gentlemen cast fishing lines. She alighted from the carriage, ignoring the footman who attempted to help her as she listened to the noise coming from the yard. The party sounded much larger than she’d anticipated, and Laurel cursed herself for not paying closer attention to Aunt Gwendolyn’s descriptions. They were escorted through the house and around the back where groups of men and women enjoyed a variety of games such as archery and lawn tennis or sat beneath large oak trees and ate and drank. Laurel took a moment to absorb the lively atmosphere, to push aside Catherine’s problem and her own newly awakened, and quite distracting, longings. She breathed deeply of the warm spring day and determined to enjoy herself. And then Ashmore stood before her. Before she could do more than feel the conflicting emotions of his sudden arrival—accept the warmth that flowed through her when he smiled, mourn his injuries that made it impossible for him to court her, imagine him kneeling before her as the unknown man had before the woman in the sketch—he escorted her to the archery field.

35 The short walk was done with him doing all the talking. Laurel was too busy frantically dismissing the thoroughly wanton image of him kneeling before her spread thighs. He turned to her, expecting an answer, and she tried desperately to recall what he’d said. Something about the day? Her drive here? Laurel had no idea and tried to concentrate on the conversation. As she did so, answering his question about Catherine’s whereabouts, she found herself relaxing and discovered she enjoyed Ashmore’s company. In fact, it felt almost as if Ashmore courted her rather than Sinclair. It was an easy conversation as Ashmore handed her a bow and quiver, and a half an hour had passed before she realized it. Laurel couldn’t remember another time when she enjoyed a picnic so completely. Ashmore looked over her shoulder and nodded to someone behind her. Turning, she saw Major Sinclair standing there, looking very cool despite the heat of the day, a wicked glint in his dark eyes. “Lady Laurel,” Sinclair said as he bowed formally. From the corner of her eye, Laurel saw Mrs. Sutton standing rigidly by but couldn’t determine if her disapproval came from her lack of participation in the conversation or from elsewhere. “Would you do me the honor,” Sinclair continued, ignoring Mrs. Sutton, “of taking a stroll with me?” Flushed from her time with Ashmore and the enjoyment of the day, Laurel agreed with a smile. She’d very much like to walk with Sinclair, though she regretted leaving Ashmore. As she took Sinclair’s arm, she wondered why he hadn’t joined them for the game. “I’m curious, Major Sinclair,” she said once they walked several paces from the crowd. “How have you and Mr. Ashmore become such great companions? Your temperaments are quite dissimilar.” The look he gave her was entirely unreadable, a dark probing stare that sent a warning tingle through her. Or maybe not a warning, but something darker—not sinister necessarily. But carnal. Laurel blinked, trying to decipher his expression for surely she’d misread him. However he smiled easily at her now and resumed their walk. “At one time,” he said slowly as they walked beneath the shade of the tree line, “our temperaments matched more evenly. With my responsibilities in the army, I had to learn to curtail my enthusiasm for such frivolities.” Laurel nodded, and hesitated just an instant before saying kindly, “Now that the war is over, wouldn’t you like to enjoy life’s frivolities a little more?” Again his dark gaze met hers, unreadable and yet oh-so-intense. “I absolutely would,” he said, his voice deep and smooth as it washed over her, sent a shiver through her. “There are many things now I’d like to enjoy more fully.”

36 They moved further from the picnic crowds, but Laurel didn’t mind. She enjoyed this solitude with Sinclair, just as she had enjoyed being surrounded by others while she and Ashmore were at the archery stalls. Two different men who brought out different sides of her. Laurel smiled up at him, enjoying spending time with Sinclair. “I’m certain there are things you’re curious about as well, Lady Laurel. And would like to enjoy more fully.” He made it sound like a promise, a darkly seductive promise, and the arousal that hadn’t abated since reading The Curiosity of Miss Laverly flooded through her. Shocked at her reaction, Laurel paused for a moment and looked away. Clearing her throat she took a deep breath and smiled up at him. “Many things,” she agreed, hoping her voice didn’t sound as breathless as she imagined it to be. “But as a woman, my choices are limited.” “There are still things you can explore,” he said in that same voice, low and alluring, enticing her to imagine exploring all sorts of forbidden things. “Things that fascinate you, adventures of another nature, perhaps.” Laurel swallowed and again looked away. Licking her lips, she scolded herself for her runaway thoughts. This was a perfectly innocent conversation! Naught more than that. And yet here she was, acting as if they discussed the passions of the bedroom. “Yes, well,” she said and quickly swallowed again. “It’s still a narrow field for a woman.” “But you must be curious about things,” he suggested. Sinclair stopped, and before she could formulate an answer—not that Laurel had any idea what to say—he continued, “Curious as Miss Laverly is curious?” Twin urges flooded through her. Laurel wanted to disappear into the ground at his words, knowing him to have sent her the book, though Lord knew how he managed to slip it into her bedroom. And a deeper, darker desire that coursed through her like liquid fire. Her breath caught, her core clenched in that unnamed desire, and Laurel suddenly saw herself in that stream, the cool water rushing over her most private places, her fingers buried deep within her…and Major Sinclair’s mouth on hers, his fingers guiding hers. Blinking, she brought herself back, struggled to find words to respond to his question. “Miss Laverly?” she asked as innocently as she could. “Surely you haven’t forgotten,” he said, stepping closer. If possible, his voice lowered further, a warm caress. “The heroine of the book I took great pains to present you with two nights past? Please tell me,” he continued and moved closer, his already dark eyes blackening with need, “you didn’t reduce it to ashes or pass it along to an unworthy maid.”

37 It took all her willpower to look into his mesmerizing eyes and lie. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said softly, heart racing, breath short. “Major Sinclair.” His hand caressed her neck, cupped her cheek. Laurel wanted to look around, terrified for a heartbeat that others could see them. But no, they were secluded from prying eyes, and she knew that. Had been aware of it from the moment they rounded the bend of the land. The trees hid them well. “When it is only us,” he said, mouth a whisper from hers, “it’s Braedon.” “I think,” she said in a strangled voice, “we should return to the picnic. They’ve probably put out the desserts by now.” Desserts? What had she been thinking? But that was the point, she hadn’t been. Couldn’t with him so near and his mouth so close to hers. If she moved just slightly, she could taste him. “You didn’t strike me as overly shy,” he said, not moving away from where he stood directly before her. His voice caressed her again when he added, “Laurel.” Laurel tried to think of a reply, but again he continued before she could. “And your manner tells me you are indeed as curious as Miss Laverly.” “This isn’t an appropriate conversation,” she managed, wanting to say much more but not knowing what. Her brain refused to work. His arm banded around her, pulling her flush against his hard body. “And were the sketches an appropriate gift?” His mouth brushed hers. “You do remember the sketches, the way they kissed.” Again his mouth just touched hers. “The way he touched her in them.” Sinclair’s finger’s fluttered over her breast, the barest of touches, but her nipple hardened, and Laurel moaned. “The way his head nestled against her legs,” he added, lips gliding along her throat, leaving a trail of fire behind. “You do remember, don’t you?” His hand cupped her breast, fingers warm and rough on the exposed skin of her décolletage. “Have your fingers found their way between your legs?” Her fingers, having somehow found their way to Sinclair’s chest, tightened on his coat. Laurel had no words, couldn’t come up with an appropriate reply. Then again, there was absolutely nothing appropriate about this conversation. “I need to return to the picnic,” she whispered, but didn’t move. Sinclair didn’t release her, but his eyes turned from hotly passionate to serious. “Don’t shy away from the adventure that you can have,” he said softly. His mouth found hers, cool despite the heat of both the day and his words. He tasted of whisky and more. Not a food, but an essence of

38 him. His tongue swept across her lips and into her mouth, and Laurel eagerly kissed him back. Opened her mouth to his on another moan and felt her world revolve around this moment. The sound of her own moan had her jerking away. Sinclair didn’t release her, but didn’t try to pull her against him again. He held her until she steadied, his now-black eyes unreadable as they watched her. Laurel had never kissed anyone before, had never done or thought of doing a great many things before meeting Sinclair. Abnormally speechless now, breath coming far too quickly, heart racing, blood heated from his kiss, she accepted his arm and offer to return her to the picnic. They walked in silence, and Laurel took this opportunity to compose herself. It was of absolute no use. Her body tensed with need, her nipples ached for more of his scandalous touch, and Laurel found she very much wanted to explore the secret places between her legs. Sinclair—Braedon—deposited her by Aunt Gwendolyn with a deep bow and promise to call on her again, soon. Gwendolyn twittered about his attentiveness, but Laurel barely heard her. She watched him walk away and wondered what on earth she felt. The man invoked such a myriad of feelings through her, emotions ranging from dark and sensual and erotic to curious and conversational. Whatever she felt for him, it wasn’t easily dismissed.

39 Chapter Seven Body still tightly wound with arousal, Laurel waited for her maid to retreat before so much as glancing in the direction of the painting. Since leaving the picnic several hours ago, she’d thought of little else. Sinclair’s words, Braedon’s words, his touch, hadn’t left her. She could see his dark, sensuous eyes, feel his hand on her breast, taste his mouth on hers. And wanted it again. All during the ride home, Gwendolyn’s excited chatter about Major Sinclair’s obvious interest in her echoing within the carriage, Laurel had thought of—had wanted—nothing else. Heart beating erratically, Braedon’s enticing words resonating in her mind, Laurel carefully lifted the painting and retrieved the sketches and book. She glanced at the door, but couldn’t lock it. That would be a sure sign to the staff that something was amiss in Lady Laurel’s room, and the information would reach her parent’s ears before morning. It would have the added interest of sending her mother to speak with her, the first time since Laurel’s monthlies began, but Laurel had no real desire to listen to her mother’s faux concern. Or invent a reason for the locked door. Licking her lips, Laurel climbed into bed, sliding the candelabra closer to the edge of the table. She clenched at the sheet for a moment, but no. If she were going to do this, and at this moment Laurel wanted nothing more, she would do it. No hiding beneath the sheets. Closing her eyes, she yanked her shift over her head and tossed it to the end of the bed. The sketches were as shockingly erotic now as they were when she first saw them in the carriage. Only now, she saw Braedon’s hands on her breasts, his mouth on her neck, kissing down to her nipples and taking one into his mouth. Cupping one breast in her hand, Laurel scraped a nail over her nipple. A shock of feeling shot through her, and her thighs clenched. Laurel scraped her nail over the nipple again, harder this time, and stifled a moan. Her head fell back, and she pinched the nipple now, rolling it between finger and thumb. She did the same to her other nipple, nails rough on the sensitive skin, pinching and pulling until the pressure built and built, and she thought she’d scream for the delicious sensation. Panting, hips jerking slightly, Laurel stopped. She wanted more, wanted to experience all Miss Laverly had, the remembered feel of Braedon’s hands on her skin, his mouth crushing hers, taking and taking. Laurel opened the book to a new chapter in the curiosities of Miss Laverly, wondering what new adventure the woman found herself in now. She wasn’t disappointed and wondered—hoped—Braedon had planned today because of this next story. Miss Laverly attended a picnic on

40 a hot summer’s day. Two of the attendees, apparently in need of refreshing, wandered deep into the wood by a stream, and Miss Laverly followed. Laurel’s nails scraped down her thigh as she read Miss Laverly’s thoughts. Up again, down, a light caress that even she knew only teased. She wanted more, but continued to read as she brushed her fingers along her wet core. Even in shadow, the rock lay warm beneath me, the summer’s breeze cool on my bare nipples. I wanted to feel the shock of the cold water against me, but wanted to feel that delightful pleasure more, and quickly assuaged my need by inserting two fingers into my eager body. I would bring myself to orgasm again in the water, as it hardened my nipples and ran over my hot core. They laughed, this couple, but then the woman’s laughter turned to a moan. His mouth kissed up her thigh and, from my spot across the river, I could see his fingers easily slip into her slickness. Two, three pumped in and out, and she arched off the rock, calling out his name as his tongue licked her nub. Laurel, body taut from Miss Laverly’s words, from Braedon’s words, slipped two fingers into her own wet core. Her body stiffened, but she wanted more. The book fell to the side, and she tried to remind herself to hide it later. But her back arched off the bed, her fingers deeper into her body. Slowly she removed them, then thrust them back in. Laurel knew she cried out, couldn’t help it no matter how frightened of discovery she was. This delicious need consumed her, had her craving more. Faster she moved her fingers in and out, her other hand going to her breast and pinching her nipple hard. Body shuddering in a delectable agony of need, Laurel orgasmed. The feeling was exquisite and she knew Miss Laverly was correct—she’d experience this sensation of want and need again. **** Laurel awoke with a jolt. She lay naked in bed, the sheet tangled around her waist, one hand covered her breast. The Curiosity of Miss Laverly and the sketches sat next to her, a stark reminder of what she’d done. And why. And how much she absolutely enjoyed it. Panicked, she bolted upright and frantically searched for her shift. She’d just tugged it over her head and gathered the sketches and book to her breast when the maid scratched at the door. “Just a moment,” she called. The instant the words left her lips, Laurel knew they were a mistake. She’d never been up before her lady’s maid entered, and to not allow the woman access would only fuel her suspicions. Cursing her

41 stupidity, she jumped from the bed and raced across the room. Her fingers fumbled at the frame but she managed to hide the items to her satisfaction. “Enter,” she said, going to the window and opening the curtain. The sky was overcast and a light mist hung in the air; a dreary April day, but Laurel barely noticed. Nervous energy pumped through her, arousal, anticipation, and a contentment she’d never before experienced. She glanced at her maid but said nothing, determined to keep her mouth closed and act as normal as she could. Considering the circumstances. “Miss Hayden is here, ma’am.” Shocked back to reality, Laurel took a quick step forward. “Help me dress,” she ordered, scared as to Catherine’s reason for being here so early. A glance at the mantle clock told her the hour was barely seven. Rushing through her morning ablutions, Laurel almost had Catherine meet her in her rooms. But no, she didn’t want her friend here, not until she checked whether she’d carefully hidden the drawings. Dressed in a simple morning gown, hair pinned in an unadorned chignon, Laurel dismissed her maid and took one last minute for herself. She examined the painting, but no hint of the sketches or book showed. With one last breath she knew wouldn’t help her in the coming minutes, Laurel raced downstairs. Only a half hour passed since Catherine’s arrival, but she felt that was too long. No one visited before noon, but Catherine, as her oldest and dearest friend, had every right to call whenever she needed her. Laurel prayed Catherine came with good news, but knew she did not. “Catherine,” she said, rushing into the parlor. “I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, what’s so urgent?” Catherine looked as if she hadn’t slept all night. Her face was drawn, her cheeks uncharacteristically pale, eyes hollow, hair a haphazard mess of a bun. She met Laurel halfway, hands extended as she tried to control herself. “It’s terrible, Laurel,” she began and her voice broke. “Father went to one of his gaming hells last night and didn’t stumble home until near five this morning. He’d been drinking heavily and roused the entire house. When Mother attempted to calm him, he hit her.” Catherine broke down here, and Laurel guided her to the settee. She wanted to ring for tea, but didn’t want to leave her friend. Or have the staff see her in this state. “He lost at cards, but refused to say how much. Or what! There’s naught left to lose,” Catherine continued, sobbing. “What jewels Mother still has are well hidden, we’ve no money save Mother’s small annuity, but she never lets him see a penny of that.”

42 Laurel held Catherine as the other woman cried, rubbing her hand in soothing circles on her back. It was a useless gesture, but Laurel hoped it provided some comfort. “I don’t know what kind of trouble he’s got us into.” Catherine leaned back and said in a voice heavy with dread. “He lost to Pierson Hill.” Laurel’s stomach clenched in dismay at this news. “We’ll make plans to keep you away from Mr. Hill,” she said firmly. “Go home, get some rest. Come back later today and we’ll make a list of eligible bachelors. Tonight at Lady Lambeth’s ball we’ll start.” Laurel kissed Catherine’s cheek and stood, taking her friend with her. “Don’t worry, Catherine,” Laurel said with a smile she hoped looked calming and encouraging. “We’ll find a suitable husband for you, one who can take care of you and your mother.” She saw Catherine out, noticed the slight squaring of her shoulders, the straightening of her spine. As the door closed behind her, guilt crashed heavily on Laurel’s shoulders. She’d been so preoccupied with her own concerns, with Braedon and Ashmore, with The Curiosity of Miss Laverly and the exquisite sketches, that she’d neglected her friend. The one woman she considered a true friend. Laurel slowly turned for the dining room, though it was far too early for breakfast in this household. As much as she wanted more—more Braedon, more of the intense sensations from pleasuring herself, Laurel had to help Catherine. Before Clayton Hayden gambled away his entire family. **** Ethan heard the front door open and made his way to the foyer. The butler was just bowing to Camila Sutton and retreating to presumably find Braedon. Camila, now sitting in the front parlor, spoke to the girl seated nervously on the settee. “Thank you so much, Miss Davis, for coming with me on my little errand. I realize this isn’t proper, but I needed to see Major Sinclair, and our return from Bond Street seemed the perfect opportunity.” Ethan leaned against the wall in the hallway and listened. Arms folded over his chest, he just barely resisted laughing. Everyone knew Camila was a matchmaker, and from the glimpse Ethan had of Miss Davis, she wasn’t displeased to be in Major Sinclair’s household—proper or not. The white-blonde girl with brown eyes might not be a beauty, but she was clearly no fool. If Camila Sutton wanted to introduce her to the wealthy, well-connected, war hero Braedon Sinclair, Miss Davis would walk across The Channel to France to meet him. Ah, the white lies we tell ourselves, Ethan thought with another quiet laugh. He took a moment, negligently leaning on the doorjamb to study the pair. They didn’t seem to notice him, which was just fine with Ethan.

43 Miss Davis was a small girl, small arms, small chest, small face. Small smile as she looked up at Camila, nodding in agreement. Of course, Ethan could have been biased. Beside Laurel, no woman compared. Laurel possessed a fine form, her figure more than pleasing to the eye. And body. She was also quite the wit, one educated in both the classics and modern poetry, as well as current politics. But then with her father, Lord Westfield, that was to be expected. Braedon’s strong footsteps echoed along the marbled hallway, and Ethan turned to watch the progress. He moved with a fluidity rarely seen in men, a dark grace that showed the world he knew he was better than everyone else. Ethan caught Braedon’s eyes and smirked, pushing off the wall and moving the two steps necessary to intercept his lover. He didn’t touch Braedon, didn’t wink at him. He simply stood there and knew Braedon wanted him in return just as much. “She’s all yours,” Ethan said, laughter clear in his voice. Braedon’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced between Ethan and the opened parlor door. He nodded once and entered the room, Ethan following. He didn’t want to miss this. Miss Davis sat straighter when Braedon entered, eager eyes sweeping over his form. Ethan didn’t think she saw him, and resumed his position against the doorjamb. “Ah, Major Sinclair,” Camila said with a small satisfied smiled as she rose. “I believe you have some papers for me?” From where Ethan stood, Braedon didn’t appear to even look at the girl. He nodded once, then spun on his heels with military precision and exited the parlor. Ethan followed Camila, who looked less smug now. Ethan closed the door to Braedon’s study just as Camila said, “Is she not to your liking? Emily Davis is a beautiful young woman.” She looked over her shoulder, blue eyes glittering and seemingly unsurprised to see Ethan following them. “She’s the perfect woman for you. And in the perfect position to do as the two of you require. Her family is near ruin and would do anything to avoid such distress. Which means you could…” she said, then trailed off. “How do I put this delicately?” She paused again, glancing between Braedon and him, but Ethan could see her own wicked thoughts in her blue eyes. He didn’t know if she was open to what he and Braedon wanted, or even what they had between them, but didn’t much care. He didn’t find Camila attractive. Not since meeting Laurel. Then again, no woman appealed to him since meeting Lady Laurel Westfield. “Avail yourselves,” Camila continued, “of her delights in advance of marriage.”

44 “Find her an elderly peer,” Braedon dismissed. “One she can entice with her mouth around his cock. Our only interests lay in Lady Laurel Westfield.” Ethan smirked at that, his cock hardening at the thought of the delectable Laurel between them. “That is a foolish choice, Major Sinclair,” Camila said primly. Again with the primness. Ethan marveled at the woman’s ability to act the prude. Ethan raised an eyebrow at her choice of words. Foolish? “Lady Laurel is carefully watched,” Camila insisted. “I’ve talked at length with her aunt, and while that woman wants to see her niece happily married, her brother, Lord Westfield, is another story. The earl would expect nothing less than for her to marry a higher rank, a duke or marquess at least. And,” she stressed with another icy look at him, “into a household without a hint of scandal.” “My household, as well as my reputation,” Braedon said coldly, “are beyond reproach. The earl will find no failing here.” He stepped closer to Camila and said in what was quite clearly a threat. “And if he does, it’s because loose tongues have whispered in his ear.” Another step and Ethan saw his hands clench into fists. So as not to wrap around Camila’s throat. “Should that happen,” Braedon continued in that same cold, calm tone. “Those tongues will be removed from their owner’s skull.” “I can assure you,” she said, bravado and fear cracking her voice. “He’ll not hear it from me. But for what you have planned?” She shook her head. “How can rumor not spread?” Ethan believed her—it was not merely their reputation on the line, but hers. Matchmaking was her livelihood, and, as a woman without family, she wasn’t likely to obtain another means of support. Still, just to be cautious he moved from his position against the wall. “You leave any other tongues to me.” Camila turned to look at him and nodded once. He could see she believed him. “Take your little offering,” Braedon said, turning his back on Camila. “And remove her from my house. Be here tomorrow at the appointed time. My plan for Lady Laurel will proceed.” Always direct and to the point, Braedon was. Ethan watched Camila curtsy and leave the room to fetch Emily Davis out of the townhouse. The front door closed behind them, and Ethan turned to Braedon, his cock every bit as hard as he knew Braedon’s was.

45 Chapter Eight Laurel resisted rubbing her temples to ward off the headache she’d had for the last two days. Ever since Catherine’s early morning visit, her mind had raced with plans and theories. Between trying to find Catherine a suitable husband and the constant bombardment of erotic images every time she closed her eyes, Laurel teetered at her breaking point. Tonight, dressed in a midnight blue gown with pearls adorning her hair, she rode with Mrs. Sutton to a ‘private’ soiree in a secluded townhouse on the edge of London proper. Laurel didn’t know how Mrs. Sutton had convinced her aunt to allow her to chaperone Laurel rather than Gwendolyn, but the two had conversed for quite some time. Laurel was privy only to the end of that conversation where this evening had been decided. Actually, as the carriage turned the corner and Laurel saw treelined streets and older, Tudor-style houses, this was for the best. She seemed to have no control over herself whenever Braedon was near. His words alone aroused her, and even now, days later, Laurel could feel his touch, hear those whispered words of eroticism. She shivered at the memory as the carriage rolled to a stop and the driver jumped down. He would be in attendance tonight, Ethan as well. At least with Mrs. Sutton there Laurel would, perhaps, have a shield of sorts from such enticement. Laurel knew something was amiss when she didn’t recognize anyone in attendance. The townhouse was crowded; music echoed from the back of the house, laughter from all rooms, and she thought she saw a juggler on a side terrace. But Laurel couldn’t put a name to anyone here. Mrs. Sutton led her through the crowds, nodding to people, voicing a greeting to several others. She seemed to know the vast majority. Confused, Laurel allowed the matchmaker to lead her further into the house. She held her head high, nodded to those staring at her, and refused to allow her confusion to show. Lady Rufforth, the woman who’d had her portrait painted in Vauxhall Gardens, laughed in one corner, surrounded by an enraptured group of men and women. She seemed to be the only recognizable face for Laurel. Mrs. Sutton continued to lead her through the crowd, but when Laurel turned to ask her about this party, she’d vanished. Laurel didn’t panic; she’d been to enough parties over the last year to hold her own. However, it was disconcerting, and she didn’t appreciate it. Taller than many of the women, Laurel used this slight advantage to good use and weaved through the crowd in search of either Mrs. Sutton or Braedon. Or Mr. Ashmore for that matter, if he attended this party.

46 “And they stole away to Lord Brighton’s cabin for a rendezvous.” Laurel looked at the men who guffawed at that. Surely they hadn’t meant what she thought. Continuing through the crush, she listened more carefully. “His mistress joined…” “I heard that Lord Primethorpe secreted away to Ireland with young Mr…” She walked to the French doors and stopped. Conversation continued around her, and she couldn’t help but listen to snippets. Alone, Laurel turned around and didn’t exit the party. She’d stay. “How are you enjoying this particularly warm evening?” Ashmore had snuck up behind her in the crush. Laurel turned and looked up at the handsome man, relieved to see him. She hid her confusion and disconcertedness behind a bright smile. “The evening is fine,” she said, then added with a hint of ruefulness, “however, the company is rather unusual.” “Have you eavesdropped, Lady Laurel?” Ashmore asked in faux shock, a hand to his chest. Ashmore had a disarming charm about him that instantly put her at ease. That sly wit, which always held a deeper meaning. “I merely walked through the room,” she said with a nod to the room at large. “I could not help but overhear several comments.” He nodded sagely, but his eyes sparked with humor. And something more, a darkness she wondered at. “Several of the season’s parties are for adults only. Not,” he added in a low seductive tone and leaned closer, “untried maidens.” Laurel’s heart sped with his nearness, and she wondered what he tasted like. If it would be as darkly sensuous as Braedon. Shocked at her thoughts, the wantonness of them, Laurel stepped back. “Then I don’t understand why I was invited,” she managed in a somewhat calm tone. “Braedon told me of your…” Ashmore trailed off. Laurel could tell he didn’t pause for lack of words. Only, she saw, for effect. Bracing herself, she awaited his next sentence. “Your curiosity for adventure,” he finished. Eye widening, Laurel couldn’t look away from that clear blue gaze. His gaze, filled with humor and understanding, now held another emotion. Passion. “Perhaps,” she said evenly, “Major Sinclair was misinformed.” “Misinformed?” Ashmore repeated. “Pity. I had hoped you weren’t one of those boring women who prattled on about absolutely nothing.” Laurel surprised herself by wanting to deny that—to insist she wasn’t one of those girls. She wisely held her tongue and measured her

47 words. “I didn’t think I was, but perhaps this conversation is too advanced for me.” “Why is that, Lady Laurel?” Ashmore wondered. “Because you fear frank conversation?” He took a step closer. “There’s nothing to fear. The discussion of pleasure—the acts of pleasure—are quite enjoyable.” Flustered, she retreated a step. She hated to do so, to show such fear and awkwardness, but couldn’t help it. “I wonder where Mrs. Sutton got off to?” she questioned aloud. “You’re safe with me,” he promised, and she wondered just how true that was. “Rest assured…you’ve nothing to fear.” Ashmore took her arm and gently turned her. Braedon stood behind her, and Laurel wondered how long he’d been there. “There you are.” And his voice washed over her like the finest silk. “Has Ashmore put you at ease?” Was he supposed to? Laurel couldn’t say he’d done his duty or that she was at ease. But with Braedon standing there, Laurel couldn’t say much of anything. She drew in a deep breath and nodded, smiling over her shoulder at the other man. “Excellent,” Braedon said, and took her arm. His touch sent a shock of arousal through her. “Come, I’ll show you around.” His tone suggested more than the innocuous words did. A promise rich in innuendo. Excitement quickened her heart, even as she berated herself for her foolish and shameful thoughts. The townhouse lay completely open and every room held a different diversion. The juggler she’d seen earlier entertained in a front parlor, while another room held a game of chance. Bets placed, loud and raucous, between men and women, but for what she didn’t understand. Braedon led her through, ignoring the shouts of invitation with a dismissive smirk. Laurel studied him for a moment, trying to discern his look: dismissive, yes, as if he didn’t care what those others thought of him. He held himself apart from everyone, so far as she could see, even here in this crowded townhouse. A mystery lay beneath the surface and, as they walked into another room, this one oddly quiet despite the boisterous noise from outside, Laurel realized she wanted to solve that mystery. Know more about the man beneath the surface. More about the man with the racy words and enticing body. “Dialogue with the dead,” Braedon whispered. His breath blew across her cheek, cool and moist, and his tongue flicked along the sensitive spot just below her ear. Laurel arched her neck, exposing her throat to him. Despite her involuntary wanton behavior, Braedon did nothing more than guide her to the next room. A small room where poets recited their latest work, a dining hall lavished with food, and a ballroom where a quartet played lively tunes and

48 couples danced. Laurel wondered, hoped really, that Braedon would ask her to dance. “There’s still more to see upstairs,” he hinted. Again his tone said one thing, but his eyes promised another. Laurel nodded, enjoying herself immensely, and wondered what further entertainment awaited her upstairs. A fortune-teller sat in the first room, telling the first in a line of women their futures. “Beware the man with the cane.” Laurel smiled at this as they walked by. If the old woman hadn’t left by the time they finished their tour, perhaps she’d await her turn later on. Braedon continued to escort her down the long hallway. The crowd had thinned out, and she wondered where he was taking her. He opened the door to a small sitting room, and Laurel looked up at him curiously. He took her gloved hand and kissed the back of it, a wicked glint in his eye. Braedon drew her closer, mouth kissing the inside of her elbow, her bare shoulder. Laurel’s eyes closed and she took a small step closer, unable not to. She didn’t understand it herself, but Braedon had a quality about him that drew her to him. She wanted to know more, wanted to be around him and experience all these delicious sensations—so new and so addicting. “Braedon.” The whispered name on her lips surprised her but, as she looked up at his dark eyes, knew it pleased him. “This is a very special room,” he said and led her further into the dimly lighted room. Laurel’s heart quickened, and she wondered why he’d brought her here. Positioning her before him, Braedon opened the pocket door. At first Laurel couldn’t see anything. Several candelabras lighted the room, but with Braedon pressed hard against her, his hands on her shoulders, she couldn’t concentrate. One of his hands slipped further down, tracing the line of her décolletage. Caught between calling him out on such scandalous behavior and leaning into his touch, Laurel stood frozen. And suddenly saw what he wanted to show her. A woman stood at the foot of a bed, completely naked. One hand played with her breast, idly stroking the already hardened nipple, illuminated by the candlelight. Another door opened and a man entered. Laurel couldn’t help but stare at him as he strode across the room to the woman. His manhood…his cock…hard and jutting against his belly. The woman straightened, sighing with obvious pleasure. Before Laurel could tear her eyes from the sight, the man lifted the woman and kissed her.

49 Chapter Nine Laurel took a step back. It wasn’t to leave the room, to get away from the scene. No, for all her properness, all her decorous upbringing, she couldn’t bring herself to do that. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Braedon stood behind her, held her in place, tightly pressed to his hard body. Laurel shuddered, and he thrust his cock against her buttocks. The sensation took her aback. Not the fact of his hardness against her, but the shiver of arousal that had her pressing against him again. If she truly wished to leave, Laurel knew he’d let her. She didn’t know how she knew, only that he would. She didn’t want to leave. Her eyes riveted on the couple before her, naked bodies writhing over the bed sheets now. The woman on her knees, derrière in the air as her mouth closed over the man’s cock. Her breasts against his legs, Laurel saw one of the woman’s hands cup her breast, pinch her own nipple. The man’s hands held her shoulders, hips thrusting into her mouth as the woman took him ever deeper. Derrière still in the air, she spread her legs wider and Laurel could see she was completely bare. Her nether lips glistened with moisture. Suddenly the man moved, flipped the woman over and bound her hands with a thin rope to the bedpost. There was plenty of leeway; the woman easily knelt on the bed as the man covered her. Braedon’s hands cupped her breasts, playing with her nipples. Laurel’s breath hitched, her head fell against his chest. Still she didn’t protest. Her body coiled with need, and she thrust her own hips against Braedon’s. Thighs clenched, fingers twisting into the skirts of her gown, she tried to shift, find a release to this clawing need but couldn’t. On the bed, the man’s hand slapped against the woman’s buttocks. She didn’t cry out, didn’t scream. She moaned for more. Laurel saw her body shudder and knew, with an innate knowledge she didn’t understand, that the woman was close to orgasm. The man spanked her again, harder now, three times in rapid succession. His cock thickened with his actions, as if he enjoyed this as well. He spread her knees wider and the fingers of one hand slipped into her wetness. “Yes,” Laurel gasped and knew the couple heard her, but didn’t care. Braedon pinched her nipples hard, tugging them roughly. His mouth left a trail of aroused heat as he kissed down her throat, lightly biting the base of her neck. Her body clenched, hips jerking as she whimpered.

50 He continued to play with her nipples as the man in bed continued to thrust his fingers into the woman’s wetness, spanking her derrière as she orgasmed. He didn’t let up, brought her to orgasm again, and even as Laurel’s own body begged Braedon to do the same for her, another man entered the room. This second man, naked and aroused, climbed into bed with the couple. One hand moved over his cock, the other held an opened jar. One of Braedon’s hands left her breast, so tender and heavy now, and slowly slid down her body. Laurel whimpered, one hand unclenching from her gown to cup her breast. Her nail scraped over the sensitive nipple, and she cried out, but didn’t stop. Her cry alerted the second man, who sent her a wickedly seductive smile. Laurel didn’t care. Was beyond caring. The woman slumped to the bed, body still quaking. The man licked his fingers, a move Laurel found highly arousing, and turned to the second man. He cupped his face and kissed him. A hard, thorough kiss. They broke apart and the man, now in between the woman and the second man, kissed the woman, lifting her legs over his shoulders and thrusting hard into her. She screamed, body convulsing, and arched against him. Whatever the jar contained, this man spread over his cock. In one smooth move, the man positioned himself behind the first man, spread his buttocks, and thrust in. The man gasped, covering Laurel’s own moan. So caught up in the erotic scene being played out before her, Laurel hadn’t realized her own hips thrust against Braedon’s hand. Or that he’d been slowly raising her skirt. The woman orgasmed again, the man quickly following as the second man continued to thrust into him, harder and faster now. It all crashed on Laurel in that moment of climax, and she panicked. Spinning from Braedon’s arms, she looked up at him. He gazed back at her with hooded eyes, and all she could see was the passion within his black gaze. Breathing fast, too fast, body wound until she thought she’d scream, Laurel watched him as she stepped back. Away from his tempting body, from the need he caused to tighten within her. “I can’t do this,” she managed. She didn’t know if she’d said it aloud, or if Braedon somehow understood what she meant. Whatever the case, he stepped to the side and allowed her to leave. Laurel did so as quickly as her legs could carry her. Torn between her upbringing and these newly awakened desires, she raced down the hall, past the dwindling line before the gypsy fortune-teller. At the top of the steps, she paused. In no condition to join the party below, especially now that she knew what kind of party this was, Laurel looked for a means of escape. Failing that, a place to hide.

51 Crossing to the opposite wing, she started to turn the doorknob but feared what lay on the other side. Backing from the door, her mind’s eye replaying the scene of the three people in bed, all enjoying each other’s bodies, Laurel crept along the hallway until she found a small alcove nestled in the back of the house. Leaning against the cool stone, she breathed deeply. It made little difference. Her pulse raced and only now did she realize she’d fled down the hall with her breasts exposed. Mortified, Laurel hurriedly fixed her bodice. Her sensitive nipples rubbed against the neckline, sending fresh shocks of need through her. The whimper escaped her before she could stop it, and all Laurel could feel then were Braedon’s hands on her body, his mouth doing delicious things to her neck. Eschewing the chair, she moved deeper into the alcove’s shadows in an attempt to hide. What had happened to her in so short a time? In less than a week, she’d gone from a proper English lady from one of the finest families in all of England, to a wanton, debauched woman, focused only on her need. How could a man like Braedon do this to her in such a short time? He was extremely handsome, and now that Laurel understood these desires slightly, she could admit to wanting him. There was a dark and mysterious quality to him that drew her like the proverbial moth to the flame. Shaking with need, Laurel forced her mind to clear. She had to think, there had to be a reason for all this. For Braedon’s interest in her, for his seduction of her. Did he hold a grudge against her father? Images of Clayton Hayden’s drunken gambling rushed through Laurel’s mind and she suddenly wondered if that was Braedon’s goal. To destroy her father through her. To seduce her, utterly ruin and discard her all in an effort to disgrace her father. “Lady Laurel?” It was Ashmore, his usually cheerful voice full of concern. Laurel refused to cower behind the alcove’s chair, too proud even now to stoop to something so low. She’d already raced down the hallway with her breasts, nipples hard and aching for Braedon’s touch, exposed. Her pride wouldn’t allow another blow. Still, Laurel would absolutely not answer him. Apparently she didn’t need to. Ashmore seemed to know where she hid and stepped into the small alcove. He didn’t fill the room like Braedon did, commanding her attention with his mere presence. But he, too, held a quality about him that drew her. Humor, yes, but beyond that. An inscrutability his wit hid well; she’d bet her dowry the ton never realized there was more to him than keen observations and clever jokes. “Lady Laurel.” Ethan saw her hiding behind the chair but didn’t do more than stand in the alcove’s archway. Even in the dimness of the hallway, he could see her skittishness. “Are you alright?”

52 “No,” she said. “No, I am not.” Then, anger coloring her voice she accused him. “I thought you were my friend. Why didn’t you warn me? Why did you allow him to bring me to this place?” “Are you harmed?” Ethan asked, though he knew the answer. “Have you been physically assaulted?” He’d watched her and Braedon watching the ménage, and even now his cock ached for her. For the both of them. However, at this moment, he sensed she needed to know her urges weren’t foul, but ones to be embraced. “All Sinclair has done is expose you to pleasure.” Ethan continued, keeping his voice even and low so as not to be overheard. None in this household would spread gossip, they couldn’t afford the threat of scandal any more than they already courted, but he knew Laurel wouldn’t understand that. “He’s exposed you to the secrets,” he said, stepping into the alcove, “that most of the bastards out there aren’t privy to. They’d keep the best secrets away from you.” Extending his hand he waited. “There’s no need to hide in the shadows…Laurel.” She didn’t start at the familiar use of her name, nor did she take his hand. But he saw her back straighten at his dare. Her breath still came in gasps, and he knew she was aroused to the point of pain. Ethan wanted to taste her fragrant juices, wanted to hear her scream as she climaxed. First, he needed to move her from behind the damned chair. “Isn’t there?” she challenged him, tossing her head. “They’ve seen my face here. I’m not Lady Rufforth and I’m not married. I can’t afford to be ruined this way.” Then her tone changed and rather than a challenge, her voice took on a pleading tone. “What is this all about?” she asked, and he saw she gripped the chair before her. “A vengeance against my father or family that I’m unaware of?” He extended his hand then, taking hers from the back of the chair to lead her around it. She sank gracefully into the brocaded cushion with a weary sigh. For a moment Ethan wondered if they’d pushed her too hard too fast. It’d been mere days since they’d met her, after all. From the instant he’d met her, however, Ethan wanted her. He knew Braedon felt the same. They were often of the same mind when it came to women, especially women joining them in bed. Lady Laurel Westfield had been no exception to that, even as she’d exceeded all their expectations on womanhood. Their plan to seduce the very proper Lady Laurel had been simple, and one they both agreed upon. And even though Ethan wondered, seeing her in such a state, if they’d perhaps miscalculated, he knew Braedon had been correct. Laurel wanted this. One look at her and Ethan knew she’d willingly submit to Braedon’s command and to both their bodies. All that

53 stood between her and erotic pleasures was her upbringing, and they’d worked diligently on destroying that. “I’m sorry you view things that way,” Ethan said, just resisting crouching before her. It was too tempting to kneel before her and not taste her. Plus, she didn’t yet know he was a fully functioning man, one who wanted her body, mind, and soul. “And there has never been an intention of vengeance.” He did take a step forward then, taking her hand and raising it to her lips. “The only intention has been to expose you to all forms of sensuality. Braedon wants you. What he doesn’t want is a naïve girl.” She didn’t remove her hand as she looked up at him, and even in the light from the hallway sconces, he could see her dark eyes glittering with passion, confusion, and want. More than wanting Braedon, wanting to assuage her physical need, Laurel’s want was for understanding. “Shouldn’t this have been a lesson for after marriage?” she asked then stopped whatever she’d wanted to say next. Ethan wondered what it was. “How would Braedon have known if you enjoyed this?” he asked, lightly caressing the back of her hand. Laurel shook her head but Ethan knew it wasn’t in denial rather in an attempt to understand. He could admit this was a lot to take in only a couple of days after making her acquaintance. He gave her a moment, then kissed the back of her gloved hand. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked in a low voice. “Did you enjoy what you saw?” She started, but didn’t pull her hand away. “I’m uncertain how to answer your question, Mr. Ashmore.” “The Curious Miss Laverly,” he said, kissing the inside of her elbow, “is just like you. Except no one knew what she did, how she watched and pleasured herself afterwards, enjoying every moment of it. You have Braedon and me—it could be better.” Laurel shivered as his tongue swept over the sensitive skin of her inner elbow. “Then there were the sketches, I certainly hope you enjoyed them,” he said, straightening but not releasing her hand. “Then there was the scene Braedon showed you. Didn’t you wish,” he asked, watching her breath hitch as she clearly recalled the bedroom ménage, “it was you in the bed rather than that woman?” Dipping her head, she jerked her hand from his grasp. He couldn’t see her, but knew her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Touching her face, he turned her to look at him. Taking her hand again, he urged her to stand. “There’s no shame in this.” Still cupping her face, Ethan kissed her. Laurel instantly responded, opened her mouth to his, and moaned against his lips. He deepened the kiss, taking her vulnerability and her passion, and wanting more. Never had he wanted a woman as he did Laurel.

54 He slowly broke the kiss, allowing her to step back. She shook, but not from need. From confusion. Gathering her to him, Ethan held her as she began to cry. She didn’t say a word as silent tears tracked down her cheeks, body trembling in his arms. Yes, all this was new to her, but as Ethan held her, he knew she wouldn’t run. She wanted this, wanted to know more, to experience more.

55 Chapter Ten Another night found Laurel in her bed, fingers pleasuring herself even as she cringed from the delicious sensations her body experienced. Her breasts were still sensitive from Braedon’s hands, her nipples hard peaks that ached for his touch. His mouth. She was slick with need, and it didn’t take long before her pleasure broke and she orgasmed. Body physically exhausted but mind racing, Laurel tugged her chemise over her head and wandered to the window. The moon shone brightly in the sky, nearly full. It illuminated the grounds below, but she took no solace in the view. Her mind whirled with confusion. Braedon’s hands on her, his mouth against her skin. The scene of the three people in that bedroom, enjoying each other. She’d left but knew their pleasure hadn’t stopped there. They’d continued far into the night. Two men…Laurel had heard of such things, whispered secrets of degenerates. She’d only half believed those rumors, but seeing the men in that bed, obviously enjoying each other’s bodies, as well as that woman’s body, had been one of the most sensual images she could ever have seen. More forbidden than what was written in The Curiosity of Miss Laverly or what she’d seen in the sketches. It fascinated her. It shocked her that she’d enjoyed it. The couple, yes, but the two men. If she’d thought much about it, which she hadn’t, Laurel wouldn’t have said she’d be aroused by such a sight. Tonight proved otherwise. She had been aroused, and even now, standing before her window and looking into the night sky, her body ached at the remembrance. At the sensation of pressing her own buttocks against Braedon’s hardness, the quivering ache that engulfed her then and now. Not a stupid girl, Laurel knew this could be the end of her. Her reputation, everything. The shame she’d bring to her family should anyone discover her secret terrified her. What scared her more was how much she wanted to, needed to, allow Braedon to continue. What of Ashmore and the kiss they shared? How could she reason that experience and Ashmore himself into the equation? Ashmore wasn’t capable of doing what she’d seen done in that room. Yet she felt for Ashmore as well. Desire, friendship, and yes, need. It threatened to overwhelm her. Laurel didn’t understand any of this; it was new, prohibited knowledge to a respectable young lady as she’d been raised to be. Perhaps she should ask her parents if she could leave. Return to their country estate. They wouldn’t care, but Aunt Gwendolyn would. Laurel would have to explain to her aunt, and knew

56 she’d never find the right words to convince the other woman she needed to do this. Slowly she turned and went to the painting to pull out the sketches. Staring at them for a while, she flipped through them. The two men and the woman: one man kneeling before her as the other cupped her breasts and kissed along her neck. Laurel looked through them again and again, body aroused, yes, but mind working through her own problems. Braedon tempted her. With his body, his words, his excitement. He tempted her and Laurel knew she wasn’t strong enough to resist further. She wanted what he offered. Wanted him. Wanted Ethan. Carefully replacing the sketches behind the watercolor, Laurel made sure neither they nor the book were visible. Taking a deep breath, she climbed into bed and snuffed out her candles. She planned to accept Braedon’s seduction. **** Braedon, still restless even after fucking Ethan until the other man couldn’t move, climbed out of bed and wandered to the window. He didn’t care about his nakedness nor whether anyone could see him. His servants were circumspect. Several footmen had once been soldiers under him in the Peninsular War and knew of, if not actively participated in, the various carnal acts his unit indulged in. So long as they didn’t bring shame or even the slightest hint of scandal to his household, Braedon would continue to pay them well, both for their service to him during the war and for their tactfulness now. The waxing moon shone on the street below, though at near five in the morning, he couldn’t see a single person wandering about. The scene did nothing to quell his restlessness. Tonight replayed itself in his mind: Laurel’s responsive body, her moans of pleasure as she watched the ménage on the bed before them. He thought now that perhaps he should have spoken to her as she watched, added a bit of commentary to the scene. But no, she needed no explanation, and certainly no words to arouse her further. When she’d turned and fled, she’d been as coiled as possible, and he’d been equally aroused. Not by the scene before him, Braedon had both watched and participated in plenty of ménages over his life, but by her. He licked his lips and could still taste her soft skin, just a hint of lilac scent. She hadn’t realized it, Braedon knew, but she’d surrendered to him in that room. Every shred of the proper young lady she’d been bred to be had vanished. His cock hardened at the memory of her ass thrusting against him. As her hand continued to pinch and pull at her own nipple when he’d removed his. She’d fled with her luscious breasts still out of her bodice, and Braedon hoped none had witnessed that.

57 With a start, he realized he’d become possessive over her. Laurel’s body, yes, he wanted to show her every carnal delight known to man. He wanted to taste her orgasm, wanted to take her virginity. He also wanted to protect her from those at the soirée. Those who would use and discard her. Had he made a mistake in bringing her there? It had been the surest way to introduce her to his lifestyle, but had it been a mistake in introducing as publicly as he had? “Are you still thinking of her?” Braedon turned at his lover’s question. Ethan sat up in bed, apparently watching him for quite some time. His hair was a disheveled mess, his body covered with scrapes and bruises from their evening. The scars over the left half of his body didn’t bother Braedon, but they did give him a start of guilt. Ethan had received the burns while saving Braedon’s life. He’d been near death for weeks, feverish from infection. Braedon had stayed by his side as often as he could, but during battle that was nearly impossible. He’d had his most trusted men and their women tend Ethan, and when he was well enough to be moved, forced the army doctor to sign off on his release. “Of course you are,” Ethan continued when Braedon said nothing. “At least I knew you were while you fucked me.” Ethan’s voice held only knowing, no hint of reproach or jealously, only that innate knowledge he seemed to have when it came to Braedon. Now, watching him evenly with the light from the slowly brightening sky, Ethan gave him a wicked smile. “So was I,” he said. “We’re missing a woman in our bed.” Ethan tilted his head and paused a moment. “Are you concerned she won’t accept us? Or she’ll tell about last night?” “She won’t tell,” Braedon said confidently. He’d held her in his arms, aroused her with his hands and mouth, and knew that for a fact. “We chose well when we chose her,” he continued, seeing Laurel’s dark eyes, heavy with passion and want. “She isn’t the sort to spread such scandal.” Laurel wasn’t, and Braedon knew that. Speaking about her acceptance—of them, of her own passions—with Ethan, however, it surprised Braedon how much he wanted her to accept them. To accept the need within her, the curiosity she’d only just begun to discover. “It may take some time,” he allowed, “but she will accept us.” Ethan stretched, settling more comfortably on the bed. He took a moment, eyed the pull cord in the corner, but didn’t move to call for a servant. “I’m a bit in love with Lady Laurel,” Ethan admitted seriously. “Had this been a traditional arrangement, I may have asked for her hand already.”

58 Ethan’s admission surprised Braedon. In the next instant he realized he shouldn’t have been. Ethan was the more personable of the two, he connected with people on a level Braedon really had no desire to know. And Laurel had taken to Ethan, smiling at him in a way she hadn’t with Braedon. Braedon was the darker, sexier of the two, and that’s what he showed Laurel. Ethan’s need lay well hidden beneath his charming exterior, but when it came down to it, was just as dark as Braedon’s. “Then it’s a good thing we’ll both have her.” Braedon tried to lighten his voice, but jealously, that clawing need for Laurel, and possessiveness threatened to overwhelm him. “I kissed her,” Ethan admitted. “I did find her, hiding in an alcove, after she left you. You’re right, Braedon—her taste is irresistible.” “So long as you’re the only other man she kisses.” Braedon nodded, pleased with Laurel’s progress here. More pleased that she found Ethan attractive. It further proved that she understood Ethan, whether she realized it or not. Understood his desires and wanted him in return. Braedon knew she wanted him; Laurel wasn’t aroused by Miss Laverly and the sketches alone, but by her own imagination. When he’d held her tonight, she’d responded to him, not just the scene before her. “We’ll have to be careful with that,” Ethan warned as he swung his legs out of the bed and stood in a fluid motion. He crossed the room to where Braedon still stood and cupped his cock. “We’re opening up her appetites.”

59 Chapter Eleven When Laurel entered the front parlor, Aunt Gwendolyn looked thrilled and chattered on brightly to Mrs. Sutton. A glance at Mrs. Sutton revealed nothing, but Laurel knew. This was it, then. Her choice. Two nights ago, she’d decided to succumb to Braedon’s seduction. To cast aside whatever principles she still possessed after witnessing, and thoroughly enjoying, the trio in bed, not to mention Braedon’s hands on her body. To accept she was not the respectable young lady she’d been or even now pretended to be. To give into her cravings, these strange and exciting passions Braedon had awakened within her. In the interim, Laurel had seen Catherine, who was now even more distraught over her father’s gambling debts and insistent that Mr. Worthington be ideal for her marriage needs. They’d spent last night planning Catherine’s temptation of the unwitting man. It had been just enough to push Braedon and Ashmore to the back of her mind. Where they hadn’t stayed, and the more she thought of them, the more Laurel wanted them both. Wanted to be that woman from the other night as Braedon took her and Ashmore tasted her. Blushing now, she hurriedly cleared her throat and hoped neither Gwendolyn nor Mrs. Sutton noticed her heated cheeks and quickened breath. “Laurel, dear,” Gwendolyn said with a bright, knowing smile. “Mrs. Sutton is here to whisk you away for the day.” “Pardon?” she asked, the only word she could manage. “Yes, Lady Laurel,” Mrs. Sutton said with a slight curtsy. “I’ve asked your aunt if I could escort you to Miss Trundle’s tea.” “Miss Trundle?” Laurel asked, frantically trying to place the name and desperately hoping she hadn’t been in attendance at the soirée the other night. “You remember,” Gwendolyn continued with a moue of distaste but a quick shrug. “The banker’s daughter.” Laurel repressed a laugh. If tea with the banker’s daughter helped Laurel marry sooner, and to someone as wealthy and influential as Major Braedon Sinclair, Gwendolyn was willing to dispense with all propriety to see it done. Including handing over chaperoning duties to Mrs. Sutton. Ah, if only Aunt Gwendolyn knew. Laurel’s breath caught and she looked carefully at her aunt for signs she did know more than what appeared on the surface of Mrs. Sutton’s offer. But the other woman showed only what it seemed she did: happiness at tea with the banker’s daughter.

60 “It’ll be good for you,” Gwendolyn continued with a decisive nod, “to socialize with a wider group of friends. Miss Hayden is very nice, but the troubles with her father disturb me.” They disturbed Laurel, too, and she wondered if maybe Aunt Gwendolyn would be an asset in Catherine’s luring of Mr. Worthington. “An invitation to tea this afternoon?” Laurel asked Mrs. Sutton, looking directly at the woman and wondering if she knew what Braedon all too likely had planned. “Yes,” Mrs. Sutton agreed with a small smile. “And it’ll likely take all afternoon, as we’ll ride into Essex and Miss Trundle’s father’s house there.” Laurel nodded absently, wondering if Miss Trundle had even known of her before this week, Laurel herself certainly hadn’t ever heard of Miss Trundle. It didn’t matter. They’d likely not make it to the Trundle’s country house. “Are you amenable, dear?” Mrs. Sutton asked. This was it. She had to say now. To give up all she knew, had been raised on, all that was expected of her? Or did she not go and take the coward’s way out with the excuse of a headache or previous plans with Catherine? A quick glance at Gwendolyn showed her aunt’s determined expectation. Mrs. Sutton offered nothing save patient waiting. Laurel took a step back, stomach fluttering with nerves. Her heart raced and her breath caught in her chest. It sounded as if her heart beat a steady tattoo: Now or never. Now or never. Now…now…now. Gazing directly at Mrs. Sutton, she said clearly, “I’ll need time to change.” Laurel smiled at Gwendolyn’s delighted laugh and went to change. She rang for her maid, surprisingly calm now that the decision had been made. It was all well and good to say she wanted this after she’d just pleasured herself in the darkness of her room, staring at the drawings she’d witnessed come to life. Agreeing to such an excursion in the bright light of the day was entirely different. She’d just agreed to ruin herself. Laurel pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the nerves jumping there. She’d just agreed to ruin herself with a man she wanted with every fiber of her being and one who’d expressed interest in marrying her. Mrs. Sutton’s reputation as a discreet and effective matchmaker was unmatched. Braedon wouldn’t use the woman if he hadn’t been serious. Allowing the maid to undress her, Laurel took deep breaths and focused on the here and now. She needed to change. Then she needed to endure the carriage ride with Mrs. Sutton. As the maid did up her gown, a beautiful cream-colored creation with green embroidered flowers along the hem and a matching green sash

61 around her waist, Laurel wondered if Aunt Gwendolyn knew the Trundles even remotely and how Mrs. Sutton would explain her not arriving for tea should anyone bother to ask. It didn’t matter. The decision had been made and that was the end of it. Laurel thanked her maid, descended the steps, said her goodbyes to Gwendolyn, and climbed into the carriage with Mrs. Sutton. The majority of the ride was done in silence, Laurel’s imaginative mind racing in circles as she tried not to think about what would happen today. And envisioned it all too easily. “I think I’ve erred,” she said abruptly, looking wildly at Mrs. Sutton. “Perhaps we should turn back. I’ll tell Aunt Gwendolyn I didn’t feel well and you were kind enough to return me.” “And here I thought you’d made your decision when I called this morning.” Her voice held a hint of disapproval, but Laurel’s mind raced and she couldn’t tell if it was that she’d said yes or that she now changed her mind. “Major Sinclair will be quite disappointed,” the other woman continued with a look in her eyes Laurel couldn’t decipher. Contempt? Triumph? She couldn’t tell. “He’s looking forward to seeing you again. Perhaps a short visit with him,” she said, placing a cool hand on Laurel’s and squeezing. “Then, if you still feel this way, I’ll return you.” Slowly, Laurel nodded. “Agreed.” She hadn’t settled her nerves one bit when the carriage pulled into a courtyard. Laurel looked outside, surprised they’d remained in London. The circuitous route had confused her, along with her own thoughts, but she should have realized they hadn’t left London. The townhouse boasted its own courtyard, a rarity in Town, but one she blessed now. The moment she stepped from the carriage onto the sidewalk, it would have been all over the ton. Now, at least, she had a hope of keeping her reputation. Swallowing, Laurel took the hand of the footman, who gave no indication as to knowing her reason for being here, and exited the carriage. Mrs. Sutton leaned out, looked once more at her, and nodded. She was on her own. It was entirely too late to change her mind. One slow step at a time, Laurel entered the door that had remained open, as if in invitation. Her footstep echoed down the hallway, and she had the feeling she was quite alone. Part of her wanted that, wanted no one else to witness her choices, but a small part of her wished another soul inhabited the townhouse. Other than Braedon, that was. In the main hallway, all the doors were closed save one. Taking a deep breath, though nothing had helped settle her nerves thus far, Laurel entered. The parlor lay in shadows. The curtains were opened just an inch

62 or so to allow the day’s overcast light to illuminate the room. A small fire burned in the fireplace, but no candles were lit, and no one occupied the room. All surfaces were wiped clean save one. On the end table closest to the windows lay a stack of papers. Heart racing, blood heated with the promise of things to come, Laurel walked to the table. More sketches, three of them. Fingers trembling, she lifted them. The first showed a woman, dark hair flung over one shoulder, her dark eyes looking straight ahead as if at Laurel, kneeling on a flat surface. The detail lay with the people, not the setting, but Laurel knew it was from two night’s past. The woman knelt on the bed, knees wide as one man, dark haired and dark eyed, took her from behind. His large hands held her hips, mouth closed over the skin at the base of her neck. A second man lay sprawled before the woman whose mouth just covered his cock. Laurel licked her lips, wondered what it would be like to taste Braedon’s cock. It shook her to know how aroused she was at the thought, at the idea of doing something so wanton. The second picture showed the woman lying in bed, arms tied to an invisible post, back arched as she obviously orgasmed. One man knelt between her legs, the second behind the first man, his cock positioned to enter the kneeling man. The final drawing was of the man and woman. It looked as if they’d been rough with each other; the woman’s nails scraped down the man’s back, her mouth bit down on his neck. She fared no better; his teeth bit down hard on the woman’s nipples, his hands bruised her hips, though Laurel could see no evidence of the bruising in the drawing. The drawings fell to the floor, and Laurel took a moment to steady herself. She could feel the wetness of her arousal on her thighs, the heaviness of her breasts. Her core clenched in need, and Laurel wanted to lift her own breasts from their constraints and pinch her nipples. Slip her fingers into her core until she felt that delicious release. She did none of that. Today wasn’t for pleasuring herself, but for more. She gasped as Braedon’s hands wrapped around her, cupping her breasts through her bodice. His mouth trailed down her throat, and Laurel moaned, head dropping to his shoulder. “I’m glad you chose,” he said, breath fanning across her cheek. Turning in his arms, fingers clutching his shirt, Laurel looked up into his eyes. Black with passion and a darker emotion she didn’t understand, she could feel his cock, hard and ready, against her belly. “This frightens me,” she admitted in a quiet voice. It was difficult to speak when besieged by so many emotions, so many wants. He nodded and beneath his want of her, Laurel could see the honesty there. “I know.” His voice slid over her like the finest wine,

63 smooth and seductive. “I promise I won’t harm you. I only want to bring you pleasure.” His teeth scraped over the base of her neck and she shivered, whimpering slightly at the feel. “Allow me to sate Lady Laurel curiosity.” Laurel nodded and before she could even attempt to articulate an agreement, Braedon had taken her hand. He led her from the parlor, slowly peeling her glove from her fingers and dropping it on the first step. She barely noticed. Her hat and its pins quickly followed to lie at her feet. His mouth was warm as he kissed her fingers, sucking one into his mouth, tongue playing with the tip. Laurel stumbled on the step but didn’t pull her hand away. Braedon steadied her, his large hand warm on her back. Mesmerized, she watched him, his mouth, the sensuality of it, his eyes as they watched hers. On the landing, he took her other hand, peeling away the glove and dropping it there. Then he knelt before her, hands sliding up her legs to untie her garter and roll down her stockings. Eyes closed, she clutched the banister. His hands were warm and slightly callused as they touched her smooth skin. She opened her legs wider, horrified she’d done so, desperate to have his touch there, right there where she needed it most. But Braedon didn’t enter her wetness or touch her nub, which now throbbed for attention. Stockings and shoes dispensed with and now lying next to her discarded glove, Braedon stood. His mouth was soft on hers, gentle yet insistent as he kissed her, tongue sweeping along hers, tasting her, and Laurel tasted him back. That hot masculinity, the spice she couldn’t identify as anything save Braedon. He led her to a room, his bedroom she thought but didn’t look around. The only thing she noticed was the opened curtains and the hazy sunlight brightening the room. Laurel suddenly wished this had happened in the dark of night, where things seemed less real. But she wouldn’t back out now. Never.

64 Chapter Twelve Without a word, Braedon seemed to understand her need, and closed the front curtains. The side windows he left uncovered, tossing the room into shadow. Laurel stood in the center of Braedon’s bedroom, feeling not at all awkward, as he unbuttoned her gown. His mouth brushed every inch of skin he exposed. Laurel’s head fell forward, allowing him unhindered access. He pushed the gown off her shoulders, mouth gliding over her shoulder and neck as he turned her in his arms. The gown pooled to her feet, but Laurel didn’t care. Through her thin chemise, Braedon’s hands cupped her breasts. Her already hard nipples ached for his touch, his teeth around them. But his touch was too light, too fleeting, his mouth grazing the tops of her breasts and ignoring her nipples. “Braedon,” she said, voice caught between a cry and a plea. He ignored her. Instead, his hands grasped her hips, pulling her hard against him. His cock felt exquisite against her and with a whimpering moan, Laurel let go of her last shred of inhibition. She jerked her hips against his, crying out at the feel. Her nails dug into his shoulders, scratching down his chest as she fumbled with the tie of his shirt. Laurel hadn’t realized he wore only his shirtsleeves and breeches. No other clothing hindered the feel of his body against hers. How she managed to untuck his shirt and yank it over his head, Laurel didn’t know but the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips excited her. His hands now cupped her derrière, his mouth hot on her neck as he kissed down to tease the tops of her breasts. “Yes,” she moaned, grinding her hips against his. Braedon pulled back just enough to slip one hand around to touch her. Laurel jerked against the touch, crying out in pleasure, unmindful of any who could hear her. He slid her chemise between her legs, using one finger to tease her with the fine muslin. She’d had no idea clothing could be so erotic. Holding tight to his shoulders as he continued to tease her, Laurel felt her pleasure build, a hot wave of need that consumed her. She moved against his hand, but he wouldn’t be rushed. Wouldn’t give her what she craved. Her knees gave way, and he lifted her, carrying her to the bed and laying her on the sheets. Laurel spread her legs—wanton, lustful, and utterly uncaring—as she begged Braedon. His teeth closed over one nipple and she cried out, body curving into his, fingers twisted in the sheets in a vain attempt to steady herself.

65 Braedon moved to her other breast and, uninhibited, Laurel thrust her hips against his, seeking release. Her nipples ached for more, her body spiraling upward with every touch of Braedon’s. He shifted, trapping her legs against the bed, opened just wide enough to feel his hardness against her shift, but unable to move. Braedon moved back, mouth releasing her nipple, hands no longer touching her. She cried out in frustration, sobbing as she hovered on the brink of release. The bed dipped but it took Laurel a moment to realize why. Braedon’s eyes shifted from hers to her left, and Laurel tilted her head to see what captured his attention. Ethan knelt beside her. Startled, she cried out, a wordless gasp of fright. He wore only a robe as he smiled sinfully down at her. She tried to move, but Braedon’s hand had cupped her wetness again, a finger slowly circling her throbbing nub. Ethan’s hand cupped her breast, fingers taking the hardened nipple, still covered by her chemise, and pinching it. Shuddering, Laurel tried to speak. “Just relax,” Braedon whispered, mouth by her ear. “It’s like the drawings,” Ethan said, “exactly like the scene from two nights past.” “But,” Laurel stammered. She didn’t move, couldn’t and didn’t want to in any case. Her body burned, hips grinding against Braedon’s hand, back arching so her sensitive breasts pressed more firmly into Ethan’s hand. Overwhelmed, Laurel tried again. “But,” she gasped, “but you can’t—” Braedon’s chuckle, a low provocative sound of things to come, had her looking from Ethan to him then back again. “Do you trust me, Laurel?” Braedon asked, removing his hand from her core but not his mouth from her neck. Slowly, Laurel nodded. If she hadn’t, she’d never have agreed to this meeting. “Ethan wants you as much as I do.” Braedon said, taking her hand and placing it over his cock. Her fingers automatically tightened over him, and even as she looked at Ethan, she wanted to feel Braedon’s cock, without the barrier of his breeches, in her hand. Ethan, looking less affable and more the darkly passionate man she often associated with Braedon, opened his robe. His cock stood proudly against his belly, the tip moist. A rush of need flooded Laurel, and she licked her lips. She hadn’t really expected this: the two of them in bed with her, or the excitement she’d feel when faced with the both of them. Tearing her eyes from Ethan’s cock, she looked to Braedon, once more instantly captivated by his powerful stare.

66 Until this moment, she’d expected only Braedon: to marry him, lose her virginity to him in a salacious afternoon of delight. She’d wanted Ethan, but had put that need to the side in the face of her irresistible need for Braedon and his bombardment of sexual delights. Faced with this, with the two of them hovering, aroused, over her as she lay across Braedon’s bed completely abandoned, Laurel surrendered. She’d thought she had when she agreed to accompany Mrs. Sutton. When she accepted Braedon’s kiss, his hands on her body as he stripped her and aroused her. She’d been wrong. “Yes.” She sighed the word, fingers uncurling from the sheets as she looked to Braedon for permission to kiss Ethan. He nodded, and Laurel sensed no jealousy, only approval. Rising on her elbows, licking her lips as she looked at Ethan’s cock, she leaned up to kiss him. Her legs were still trapped by Braedon’s, but she found she didn’t care. The lack of mobility, of being under someone else’s control, added to her arousal. Laurel knew she’d climax the moment one of them touched her again. Neither did, nor did they allow her to touch herself. Ethan’s mouth was cool on hers, his hand rough as he cupped her face. He tasted of wine and need as his tongue swept her mouth, teeth biting on her lower lip. Suddenly Braedon moved, releasing her legs, but, rather than experiencing freedom, Laurel again felt bereft of his possession. Unaccustomed to this feeling, completely out of her depth, she simply accepted. Before she could protest, however, Ethan lifted her and Braedon yanked her chemise over her head. For a heartbeat, Laurel shied from their hungry looks, even as her body yearned for their touches. Braedon reached over and roughly took Ethan by the scruff of his neck and kissed him. Laurel whimpered at the sight, one hand going to her breasts, thumb and forefinger roughly pinching her nipple as she watched Braedon kiss Ethan, a hard taking of the other man that had Laurel jealous she couldn’t taste either of them like that. And she wanted to. Oh, dear God, she wanted to taste them, be taken like that—roughly but with an underlying affection that boarded on love. The kiss broke, and Braedon removed her hand from her breast with an admonishing growl. Possessive. The sound went straight through her. Ethan knelt over her head, his cock so close Laurel knew she could lean up and taste it. His hands cupped her breasts as Braedon’s calloused hands spread her thighs. Laurel felt no fear, no regrets, only need. Clawing, tearing need that threatened to destroy her. Her body tensed in anticipation, fingers digging into the bedding, and she begged. Begged Braedon, begged Ethan, begged for release, for that blissful

67 orgasm. She knew having Braedon fill her would be nothing like her fingers inside her. Better, fuller, more complete as he took her. In one smooth thrust, Braedon entered her and Laurel’s world exploded. She screamed his name as she climaxed, felt Ethan’s fingers on her nipples, hard and unrelenting even as Braedon moved within her. Whatever pain she was supposed to feel when losing her virginity, she didn’t. Only the unrelenting waves of ecstasy as Braedon thrust within her and Ethan kissed her. Her body tightened again, and all Laurel could do was enjoy, climb higher with each thrust, with each feel of hands on her body. She climaxed again, shuddering uncontrollably as her legs instinctually wound around Braedon’s hips and he moved deeper into her. Ethan’s mouth found hers again, a hard kiss that left her breathless and moaning his name. Her nipples ached, too sensitive for Ethan’s touch, and yet, she didn’t want him to stop. Braedon continued to move hard and fast within her, and Laurel wondered how her body could take it. Yet she wanted more. Braedon growled deep in his throat, and she opened her eyes to watch him. He withdrew from her before climaxing, and his seed spilled warm on her belly. She wanted to taste it but couldn’t move. Ethan’s hands and mouth sent sparks of need through her, and even as Braedon withdrew, his hand found her nub, circling it. Hips jerking against his hand, Laurel arched back. She wanted to climax again, needed that release. Needed the fullness of Braedon’s cock within her as she did so. Braedon lifted himself off her and slowly kissed Ethan again. She didn’t know what happened, didn’t realize what they’d planned. Suddenly Ethan had thrust into her and Laurel screamed her completion again as he moved roughly. Braedon’s mouth found hers, soft now as she shuddered beneath the two of them. Ethan thrust hard within her pliant body, but neither touched her again. He climaxed, also withdrawing to spill his warm seed on her belly. Laurel heard him say something to Braedon, but couldn’t make out the words. She released the bedding as her eyes closed. The last thing she remembered before drifting into sleep was the two men lifting her between them. **** Ethan watched Braedon hold Laurel. She had curled into his side, utterly spent, the olive of her skin reddened from their mouths, her breasts tender to the touch. He’d rung for a warm basin of water and soft linen cloth which now sat on the table, waiting for her to wake.

68 Braedon leaned against the pillows, arm curled protectively around Laurel’s shoulders, unmoving so as not to disturb her. His eyes were closed but Ethan knew he wasn’t asleep. It was interesting to see him like this, holding a woman after sex. Ethan knew Laurel was different, but faced with this other side of Braedon, he now knew how much. Hell, they’d been sleeping together for the better part of a decade and had never touched after sex. Ethan knew how Braedon felt about him, the love that neither spoke of, the affection that went with that love. But in bed, after they’d fucked, they never touched, never showed that affection to each other. Eyes still closed, Braedon’s hand stroked Laurel’s hair off her face. Ethan shifted closer to them, gently running a hand over her waist, down her hip and thigh. Her skin was soft and warm, and even in sleep she moaned at his touch. He’d been wrong when he told Braedon he was a little in love with Laurel. Ethan completely loved her. Not only because she submitted to them in bed, took them both into her body and enjoyed every second of it. But also because of her innocence, of her fondness for him when he supposedly couldn’t make love to her. Now, after Braedon had taken her virginity and she knew the true extent of their lies, Ethan knew she would still accept them. Braedon leaned down and kissed her forehead, and Ethan smiled. She was right for them. Both of them.

69 Chapter Thirteen Braedon gently extracted himself from Laurel and climbed from the bed. Ethan slept soundly next to her, one hand on her hip. He crossed to the basin and splashed water on his face, patting it dry with a linen towel. Dipping the cloth into the warm water, he looked over to the bed where Laurel had just begun to stir. She carefully slipped from Ethan’s grasp and hunted for something on the bed. Her chemise no doubt, which now lay across the room where Braedon had tossed it when he’d taken it from her body. Finding Ethan’s robe instead, she slipped her arms through it and held it tightly around her body. Grimacing as she stood, Laurel made her way to where the chemise lay. She picked it up and let the robe fall to the floor. Before she could tug it over her head, Braedon walked to her. “We still have time,” he said in a low voice so as not to awaken Ethan. She looked uncomfortable, standing naked in his room, but didn’t protest. Laurel swallowed hard, flushed with embarrassment, but nodded. “Don’t ever feel embarrassed around me,” he said, leading her to one of the chairs flanking the fireplace. Sitting her on the soft leather, Braedon spread her legs. She grimaced, pushed at his shoulder. “No, Braedon.” “Relax, Laurel,” he whispered, swiping the warm cloth over her pussy and inner thighs. “I know you’re sore, you will be for a couple of days.” It took a moment for her to relax, but he felt the tension leave her thighs as she sat back and closed her eyes. He felt her arousal, too, her slick juices coating her pussy and he couldn’t resist inserting a finger to feel her wet heat. Heard her breath quicken, saw her hand on her breasts, palm over her sensitive nipples. “You’re a striking woman, Laurel,” he said, kissing her soft inner thigh and withdrawing his finger. “It’s no wonder that both of us are captivated by you. He lifted his finger and ran it over her bottom lip. Laurel’s tongue peeked out to taste herself. Braedon smiled and continued to clean her in long soothing strokes. “Why the deception with Mr. Ashmore?” she asked, hand still on her breast. “I guess it’d be strange calling him Mr. Ashmore now,” she added with a frown. “It was necessary,” he said quietly, glancing at the bed where Ethan still slept. He dropped the linen but didn’t move from his kneeling

70 position between her legs. “Necessary to stop the tongues wagging about our friendship.” “I see.” Laurel nodded but Braedon could see the questions in her deep brown eyes. More than happy to answer any question she had, he took her hands and lifted her. Sitting in the chair, Braedon took her back in his arms and settled her on his lap. It wasn’t a sexual move, though he certainly wanted her again, but a comfort. He wanted to hold her after today, try and make her understand all that lay between the three of them. “It’s such a difficult explanation,” she said, wiggling her delectable ass against his cock. He was certain she did it to get comfortable, not realizing how it affected him. “It can be for him,” Braedon said. He hated how people looked at Ethan, the sneers so many women and quite a few men behind his back. Or to his face. Some, those who understood what happened during the long war with Napoleon or had been on the battlefield, ignored the wounds and treated Ethan like a normal member of society. But those were few and far between. “For him that is,” he clarified. “But the rewards are worth it.” Laurel nodded and he hoped she truly understood. “It’s true, I suppose,” she said slowly. “No one questions his presence or his accompanying any young lady. And I’ve never heard an utterance against him living in your house.” Of course she hadn’t, they’d been very careful not to court a hint of scandal. If rumor existed, Braedon fully expected her Aunt Gwendolyn to have heard of it by now. Since that woman had all but verbally given her blessing to this courtship, Braedon knew they were safe. Laurel shifted on his lap, and Braedon stifled a groan. He stroked her thigh, up to her hip, over her belly and back down her thigh. He didn’t touch her pussy as much as he wanted to bring her to orgasm again. “Braedon.” She stopped, took a breath and tried again. “My father has a business associate who claims he’ll always remain a bachelor. There are whispers about him, but that’s because he’s uninterested in women. But he has many male companions though none live with him.” She stopped again, and Braedon thought he knew what she wanted to know. Steeling herself, Laurel looked at him, her brown eyes direct and curious. “Why is it the two of you want me?” she asked. Surprised at his own tenderness, Braedon kissed her shoulder. When he’d first set his sight on Laurel he hadn’t anticipated this level of involvement. He’d wanted a woman in their bed, one to marry and produce heirs with.

71 He just wanted Laurel. He wanted her smiles and her laughter, wanted to see her treat Ethan as an equal, and converse with her over dinner about politics and the latest happenings in Parliament. “While we enjoy each other,” he said as honestly as he’d ever been with someone not Ethan, “we relish the touch of a woman, the feel of a woman. The deprivation of war brought us together, but neither of us lost our appetite for the soft feel of a woman’s breast.” He cupped her breast, lightly tweaking her nipples. “The taste of her skin.” Braedon kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, shifting her so she straddled his hips and he could taste her breasts. “And the sweetness between her legs.” His hand cupped her pussy, one finger dipping into her sweetness. She clenched around him, hips jerking against his hand. Laurel stiffened, and he knew he’d have to go slowly, be careful. No matter how her body yearned for his, she was new to the act. Her mouth opened beneath his, soft and eager as she met his passion. Braedon deepened the kiss, tangling his hands in her long dark hair to hold her captive against him. Laurel moaned, rocking against his cock, hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He wouldn’t allow that steadiness, didn’t want her finding a port in this particular storm. He wanted her wild and wanton, utterly abandoned beneath him. He wanted her tied to the bed as Ethan pounded into her and he took Ethan. Braedon deepened the kiss, spreading her thighs and slipping a finger into her tightness. She was ready, easily aroused and that was another thing he wanted to keep. Ethan had been correct: now that they’d awakened Laurel’s passions, they had to keep them to themselves. No one else would ever touch her like this. He took her hand and wrapped it around his cock, stroking his hardness. Using all the control he possessed, Braedon stayed still, refusing to jerk his hips, letting her explore him. Laurel licked her lips and almost undid him. Wrapping his hand around her delicate one, he guided his cock into her tight core. She sighed, breath hitching as she continued to move against him in a rhythmic motion. Completely enveloping him, Laurel leaned down and kissed him. Braedon gripped her hips, watching her as he moved slowly so she could adjust to him. She winced but didn’t stop. Kissing down her neck, he didn’t touch her nipples, knowing they’d be sensitive. He found her nub and gently circled it, feeling her body tighten around his. Pressing one hand to the small of her back, Braedon dipped lower. He didn’t enter her from behind, merely pressed a finger against the rosette of her ass.

72 Laurel’s eyes widened and she bucked against him, shuddering as her orgasm wound tighter. Smiling wickedly, Braedon pressed harder, his finger still circling her nub. “Braedon!” she screamed, climaxing hard against him. He lifted her, slamming her hard against him, capturing her lips as he continued to thrust within her heat. She whimpered into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, scratching down his back until he thought she drew blood. Braedon didn’t care and moved harder, thrusting deep within her welcoming body. He climaxed then, lifting her off him as he spilled his seed over the both of them. He wanted her pregnant with his heir, but not yet. She shuddered, sobbed into the crook of his neck, panting. He stood then, carrying her to the bed. Ethan had awakened, cock stiff against his belly, hand stroking himself as he’d clearly watched them. “You could have joined us,” Braedon said, gently laying Laurel on the bed. He leaned over her body and kissed Ethan, replacing the other man’s hand with his own. Ethan’s cock thickened in his grip, and Braedon pushed his lover back so he could taste his thick length. Ethan hissed, fisting his hands in Braedon’s hair, hips jerking as Braedon took his cock into his mouth. Beside them, Laurel knelt. A quick glance told Braedon she watched wide-eyed at the action, entranced. Releasing Ethan’s cock, Braedon sat up and maneuvered Laurel in front of him. She willingly went, all inhibitions forgotten as she spread her legs open before Ethan. “She’s sore,” Braedon whispered, lifting her breasts despite her hiss of protest. “Be gentle, Ethan. But not too gentle. I want to hear her scream your name.” “Braedon.” Laurel protested, but her protest turned into a moan of pleasure as she sighed Ethan’s name. He kissed her pussy, tasting her sweetness, holding her thighs wide as he brought her back up, urging her higher. In his arms, Laurel trembled, pressing back against him as she tried to gain a better angle. Braedon held her steady, pinching her nipples even knowing how sensitive they were. She was so responsive that despite this pain, she gasped, pressed harder against Ethan’s mouth. Ethan inserted a finger into her, then another, and a third. Laurel cried out, moving harder against him. Braedon released one of her breasts, hand gliding down her back as she arched against Ethan. She desperately cried for release, body straining against Ethan, nails digging into Braedon’s thighs, her own legs straining against Ethan’s hold. He found her rosette and pressed against it, adding a little more pressure than he had earlier. Laurel screamed, clutching Ethan’s head, her own head thrown back against his shoulder as she climaxed.

73 She collapsed in his arms, and Braedon set her gently on the bed. He’d have to wake her soon, call the maid and prepare her for the return trip to her own townhouse. But that didn’t have to happen just yet. Brushing her hair off her face, Braedon turned to Ethan, a wicked smile on his lips. He kissed his lover, tasting Laurel on Ethan’s lips. Beneath his hand, Ethan’s cock jumped and Braedon knew he hung onto his control by a thread. “Lie down,” Braedon ordered. “Don’t move.” Ethan did as commanded. Braedon took a moment to look at Laurel, exquisite in her exhaustion, her body still quivering in the aftermath of her orgasms. She’d be sore tomorrow, and Braedon knew he wouldn’t call on her then. But today, she’d molded to them, just as he’d wanted. They had many years ahead of them of sensual pleasure, and he planned on teaching her every one of those pleasures. His hands came down hard on Ethan’s hips, keeping him still as his mouth engulfed his cock. Ethan’s fingers curled into the bedding and he tried to jerk against Braedon’s mouth. Having none of that, Braedon slowed his movements. He loved torturing Ethan like this. It made his release all the more satisfying.

74 Chapter Fourteen The sun extinguished behind the tall townhomes in Barclay Square as Mrs. Sutton turned to board the carriage she’d seen Laurel home in. Aunt Gwendolyn thanked the dark red-headed matchmaker and promised to see her at Lady Bentley’s ball tomorrow eve. Laurel barely comprehended two of their words. She entered the house expecting it to somehow have changed. And to her surprise it was exactly as she’d left it. She had been the one to change not her home. The cream-colored damask upholstered chairs still lined the foyer and fresh lilacs adorned the room. Everything was indeed the same, but she saw it all through a new perception. Braedon and Ethan had awakened a part of her she hadn’t known before. A part that scared her but also excited her beyond reason. And she realized; made her reckless. “Laurel.” Aunt Gwendolyn called, startling her out of her reverie. “Dinner will be in an hour. You should go change, dear.” “Aunt Gwendolyn, would you please make my excuses to Father and Mother? I am drained from the day and prefer to have a tray sent to my room,” Laurel asked, not turning around as she moved to the stairs. “Certainly,” Gwendolyn answered readily and Laurel turned to look at her aunt. “You should be fresh for the ball tomorrow. Major Sinclair I hear will be in attendance,” she said in a distinctly conspiratorial whisper. “I look forward to seeing him,” Laurel said with a smile, before turning away from Gwendolyn and heading to her room. Laurel wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath and remember her afternoon. But a bath would be a luxury she’d have to leave until morning. One tonight might raise eyebrows she didn’t want raised. She’d have to make do with her memories she thought with a wicked grin. Her maid entered and helped her change into a dressing gown and promised to return shortly with her dinner tray. While the girl was gone, Laurel slipped one of the sketches from its hiding place and placed it inside a large botanicals book she’d purposely left in her room. When the maid returned with her tray Laurel was lost in thought as her fingers traced the lines of the picture. She’d chosen the sketch of the man’s head between the woman’s legs and could nearly feel Braedon’s tongue doing just the same delicious things to her body. She shivered at the memory and wanted to slip her hand down between her legs, regardless of the soreness her body felt, and relive as much of the afternoon as she could. Feel her fingers slid along her pussy, enter her, rub and tug the small nub that gave her so much pleasure.

75 Remember Braedon’s hands on her, the feel of Ethan’s cock in her or Braedon’s demanding pace. “Lady Laurel?” Anne, her maid said and instantly broke Laurel’s musing. “Yes?” Laurel replied as she shook her head. The maid smiled and indicated the book Laurel held in her hand with a nod, “I enjoy the flowers too,” she said. “My mum was just planting petunias when I saw her last. And Miss Hayden is here calling. Should I tell her that you are not feeling up to visitors?” Catherine was here? It took a moment for Laurel to process her friend’s arrival. She glanced down at the sketch with longing before closing the book. “No. Have her come up. Thank you, Anne.” With a quick nod Anne left the room, and Laurel rose from her seat to put the book in a far corner. She’d return to it tonight, after Catherine left. “Laurel,” Catherine said the moment she entered the room. “I’m frightened.” “What has happened?” Laurel asked banishing all thought of Braedon and Ethan from her mind in favor of her friend. “Pierson Hill has asked to meet with my father in a week’s time.” Catherine removed her pale blue Spencer jacket and took a seat across from Laurel, fingers twisting in agitation. “I am afraid he will ask for our home.” “Is the debt that large?” Laurel couldn’t help the strain in her own voice. “Is there nothing else your father could offer him?” “I know of nothing else that’s not mortgaged or already sold.” Catherine’s cheek color rose to red from her normal pink tone, and she looked on the verge of tears. “Oh, Laurel, I have to engage soon or else my prospects will vanish completely! No one will want to marry the daughter of an impoverished man.” “He’s not impoverished yet, Catherine. And your mother has that dowry set aside for you, yes?” Laurel bit her lip wondering if even that had been squandered at cards. “Yes, mother has promised a percentage of her annuity but that small amount will not win me a husband.” Catherine sank her head into her hands and shook her head. “What of Mr. Worthington?” Laurel offered. “He has no need of a wife’s dowry.” “Oh, Mr. Worthington would be my ideal choice.” Catherine stared at Laurel with tears in her eyes. “I believe I’m half in love with him already, but he has only had interests in you thus far this season.” “I’m spoken for and that will become apparent at tomorrow’s ball,” Laurel stated evenly, a rush of warmth flooding her.

76 “Major Sinclair?” Catherine watched her intently and Laurel nodded. “Oh, how wonderful. I’m so sorry to bring you my problems now when you must be at your happiest.” “Nonsense,” Laurel said dismissively but smiled at her friend. “We simply must make Mr. Worthington take notice quickly of your attributes, Catherine.” Laurel stood and paced her room, desperately thinking of a plan. Her eyes landed on the book of botanicals and she smiled remembering what was hidden amongst its pages. Whirling on Catherine, Laurel pronounced, “You must seduce, Mr. Worthington.” “Laurel!” Catherine stood. “What do you mean?” “You must seduce him into wanting you as his wife.” Laurel’s mind raced with this plan as she tried to think of a way to entice Mr. Worthington. She could not advise Catherine to use the same techniques Braedon and Ethan had used on her, but perhaps a less obvious, albeit just as effective, method could be conceived. “How?” Catherine demanded. “You must entice him with promise.” Laurel tapped her fingers to her thigh. “Oh, I must think.” “I don’t want him to believe I’m not a proper girl, Laurel. I fear that might ruin me in his eyes.” Catherine’s voice dropped to a bare whisper, and she lowered her head, not meeting Laurel’s gaze. Laurel stepped up to her friend, slipped her fingers under her chin and tilted her head so Catherine was forced to look at her. “Never let him see you ashamed,” she ordered. “You want him to think of you as his match not a girl to pity.” “But I am a girl to pity.” Catherine shook her head and stepped away from Laurel, hopelessness in her very stance. “How am I to do this in a week’s time? This is impossible.” “No it is not,” Laurel insisted. “Now what do we know of Mr. Worthington?” “His father wants him to marry because he wants grandchildren,” Catherine began promptly. “After his mother’s death, his father has been insistent Mr. Worthington find a wife. But everyone knows this and many girls have thrown themselves in his path.” “I did not,” Laurel said. “He came up to me.” She stopped and tried to remember her conversation with Mr. Worthington but could only remember Braedon and Ethan from that evening. “As I remember you were over with the others listening to his stories while I danced with Mr. Ashmore.” Catherine nodded, and some of that hopelessness diminished from her gaze. “I wanted to see if I had the barest of chances, but he didn’t give me a second look.” “Catherine, you’re beautiful. So, it’s not your lack of beauty that prevents him from noticing you. However, by doing as the other women

77 do, you blend into the crowd.” Laurel went to her vanity, pulled out a spectacular crystal comb and held it out to Catherine. “You must stand apart from the crowd. Distinguish yourself in his eyes. Do you know anything else about him?” “He told many stories that night and among them were his expeditions in search of exotic botanicals.” Catherine took the offered comb and turned to the mirror. “He also favors politics. I believe he had a long conversation with your father on some event in Parliament.” “That’s wonderful, Catherine. There’s your opening to Mr. Worthington.” Laurel rang for her maid and went quickly to scrawl out a missive. “Who are you writing now?” Catherine asked as she hovered over Laurel’s shoulder. “The florist. I’m certain they have an orchid and I want it sent here for tomorrow’s ball.” Laurel looked up at Catherine. “You’re going to wear it instead of the comb in your hair, and we are going to go and speak to Father shortly so that he may fill you in on the latest in Parliament. That will enthrall Mr. Worthington.” “I see.” Catherine said somewhat dubiously and turned as the maid entered the room. “But even with all of this it doesn’t mean he will propose before the week is out.” “Take this to Mr. Garrett and have him send his best orchid for me tomorrow,” Laurel told the Anne. “Hurry, if he is not at the shop, take it to his home.” “Yes, Lady Laurel.” Anne bobbed a curtsey and took the folded letter before rushing off. “A week is very little time.” Laurel turned to Catherine. “We’ll have to see if Pierson Hill can be delayed at all. For that we’ll have to know more about what he wants from your father. It is unlikely that next week your father will have to hand over the keys to your house. These things do take some time, I am sure.” She wasn’t sure, having never been in such a position before, but Catherine brightened at her words. They gave the both of them hope. “I hope so.” Catherine moved over to the botanicals book Laurel had placed on the far table. “That’s not all,” Laurel said hurriedly, causing Catherine to turn back to her. “There will be more than just piquing Mr. Worthington’s interests with a pretty flower and politics.” Laurel moved to the book and took it gently from Catherine. “Open my wardrobe.” Catherine peered at her curiously then went to the wardrobe and opened its doors. “What do you want me to see?” Laurel slipped the sketch from the book, dropped it to the floor, and moved it with her slipper under a chair. She’d have to remember to pick it up later. “Pull out the pale pink.”

78 “Oh, it’s stunning,” Catherine gushed eagerly. “The beadwork on the neckline is exquisite.” “You’ll wear that tomorrow for Mr. Worthington.” Laurel lamented not wearing it herself for Braedon and Ethan, but at the moment, this was far more important. “Your bosom will look lush and ample in this gown. And you will want to make sure Mr. Worthington appreciates the view.” Catherine’s cheeks brightened as Laurel spoke of her form. However, it was the normal Catherine blush, and she smiled at Laurel, pleased with the compliments. “In this gown, he’ll have no choice but to at least see the view.” Catherine giggled, the first light sound Laurel had heard from her in days. “When you speak to him,” Laurel paused and remembered Braedon’s smooth tone, his suggestive conversation that had her both aroused and curious. She cleared her throat and concentrated on the task at hand. “Ask him what piques his curiosity.” Though she thought of it, Laurel couldn’t very well give Catherine The Curiosity of Miss Laverly. But she’d give her as many hints from the book as possible. After tomorrow night, Mr. Worthington wouldn’t know how to reject Catherine.

79 Chapter Fifteen Braedon calmly scanned the mass of people in attendance at Lady Bentley’s ball. Strange, he hadn’t realized until she left how much he’d miss Laurel. Not so much her body, though he wanted her again the moment she’d dressed and left with Camila. Her innocent acceptance. Her very willing acceptance of both him and Ethan. Again, it was more than that. More than the sexual aspect of their relationship. When they’d first walked in the park he found her to be an intelligent and captivating woman who easily conversed on a variety of topics. Braedon had the feeling she didn’t involve herself in Lord Westfield’s politics, but she knew them well enough to form her own opinion on matters. “What?” He looked to Ethan who watched him with a knowing smirk. Braedon scowled at his lover and wished for a drink. They hadn’t joined Lord Bentley in his study, preferring to stand in the ballroom so as to see Laurel when she arrived. Neither had told her they’d be here tonight, but then, the last time they’d spoken yesterday afternoon, talk of balls and parties had been the last thing on his mind. “I said,” Ethan repeated in an exaggerated voice, “that her blushing friend just arrived. What’s her name? Miss Hayden? I can’t imagine Laurel is far behind.” Braedon, cursing his own eagerness to see Laurel again, instantly found Miss Hayden and watched her closely. Her cheeks were, indeed, flushed as she slyly scanned the room. He tried to follow her gaze, but found he didn’t care who she searched for. Laurel hadn’t yet arrived and, as she was the solitary reason for his attendance, that was all that mattered. “And here comes Camila,” Ethan muttered. The matchmaker, looking slightly less prim than on previous occasions, wandered the outskirts of the room, stopping to chat with several of the more desperate mothers. Idly he wondered if his employment of her had garnered her more commissions. “Ah,” Braedon said. Laurel, loyal aunt by her side, stepped into the room. His cock stirred at the sight of her standing there, nodding to the couple behind her. Her parents. Braedon had met Lord Westfield upon occasion, but only for business or political reasons. “Perfect,” he muttered, nodding to Ethan. Meeting her parents and formally asking her father’s permission to court Laurel had its advantages. The wicked part of him, which

80 outnumbered any other side he had ever possessed, wanted to fuck Laurel until she screamed his name with her parents in attendance. Crossing the room, uncaring of the eyes that followed his path, Braedon lamented not having the time to introduce her to anal sex before now. Having her between him and Ethan as she climaxed. He’d make it a point to accustom her body sooner rather than later. “Lady Laurel.” He bowed before Laurel and her aunt. “Mrs. Kingsley, a pleasure to see you both again.” The aunt gave him an expectant, and slightly indulgent, look. If he didn’t know better, and didn’t believe Laurel had told her aunt what transpired between them yesterday afternoon, Braedon would have said Gwendolyn Kingsley knew he’d already tasted her niece’s innocence. He eyed the widow Kingsley cautiously. Perhaps he’d have to be more careful around the woman. She seemed to see entirely too many things. “Major Sinclair,” Laurel said with only the slightest shake in her voice. Braedon doubted any but he—and possibly her aunt—heard it. “I’d like to introduce my parents, Lord and Lady Westfield.” Braedon stepped closer to Laurel and bowed to them, careful to sweep his hand over her hip as he did so. Confident no one noticed, he turned to Lord Westfield. “I understand you’re a strong proponent of the Speenhamland System,” he said, treading a thin line between political ideals. Expertly maneuvering the man away, Braedon overheard Mrs. Kingsley commenting on the fortuitous nature of this meeting. Yes, he thought as Westfield stood his ground on the system which granted gentlemen farmers the ability to pay their workers below subsistence wages, he’d have to be more careful around Gwendolyn Kingsley. “Many of the men who fought under me,” Braedon interrupted the earl, “came home to find no work and even less recognition of their contributions. I’ve employed those I could, but many returned to their own homes in different counties. I’ve seen the Speenhamland System at work, sir, and beg to differ as to its success.” Braedon had to admit, for a bombastic man, the earl could see both sides. He doubted Westfield would change his opinion. As a landowner himself, it behooved him to keep the system in place. Still, using the man to advance his own interests in Parliament had its rewards. From here, Braedon could see Laurel speaking with Miss Hayden. “I understand,” Westfield said as they stood off to one side, “from my brother’s widow, Major Sinclair, that you court my daughter?” Yes, Gwendolyn Kingsley was far more observant than he’d first believed. Smiling slightly at the man, Braedon bowed in acknowledgement. “Mrs. Kingsley is perceptive, yes. I’d like to begin formal discussion for a marriage contract. I don’t wish her to hear from you, Lord Westfield. I’d

81 rather discuss this with Lady Laurel at a later date when she’s become more accustomed to the idea.” “As you wish.” He nodded, seemingly uninterested now that the matter had been quickly settled. “She’s set to inherit a substantial sum, Major. But I’m sure you already knew that. However, to my knowledge you don’t need the money.” Westfield nodded again. “I’ll have my solicitor contact yours within the week.” **** Laurel tried to listen to Catherine, she truly did. She wanted to help her friend, knew how important a marriage was before word spread of her father’s debts. They’d discussed it yesterday, when Laurel desperately needed a diversion from what she’d done. What she’d so thoroughly enjoyed. Tonight, Catherine planned to implement the first phase of that plan. The orchid she wore had already caught Mr. Worthington’s eye and the two of them had spent some time in conversation of all things floral before he’d asked her to dance. “It’s an auspicious omen,” Aunt Gwendolyn said when Catherine quieted into a nervous hum. “What is?” Laurel asked, wondering if her aunt meant the flower and Mr. Worthington, their overall plan, or something else she hadn’t the wherewithal to pay attention to. “Major Sinclair and your father,” she said knowingly. Laurel’s hands tightened on the fine fabric of her gown, and she forced them to smooth the material down. “Meeting us here?” Gwendolyn continued with a brilliant smile and short, decisive nod. “Why it’s practically a marriage proposal!” Catherine, having heard only the tail end of that statement, blushed and waited for the end of the song and her dance. Laurel, face also flushed, hoped it was. She’d ruined herself. Willingly, wantonly, and would do so again without hesitation. But she’d ruined herself nonetheless, and now her only hope of redemption was through marriage to Braedon. The song ended and as the next dance set up, Catherine squeaked, cleared her throat, blushed harder, and smiled up at a rather attentive Mr. Worthington. As Catherine danced with him, Laurel searched for Braedon. She hadn’t seen Ethan yet tonight, but knew he’d be here as well. In truth, she hadn’t expected to see either of them at Lady Bentley’s ball. Not that they’d discussed it yesterday afternoon, or much of anything for that matter. Now, as she gave into her need to find them, Laurel felt a new kind of tension. It was one thing, the nervousness of helping her closest friend marry before word spread of her ruin. But it was quite another to feel this tearing need just knowing both Braedon and Ethan occupied the same room as she.

82 And she was aroused, desperately aroused by the mere thought of them here, tonight. Her core clenched in memory of feeling him, them, within her, of the delicious buildup of pleasure, the white-hot sensation of release. Braedon’s fingers in her, Ethan’s mouth on her. “Laurel?” Gwendolyn subtly touched her hand, jolting Laurel back to Lady Bentley’s ball. She blinked down at her aunt, hoping none of her excitement showed on her face. Could Gwendolyn see the change in her? She’d wondered that yesterday, but between the newness of it all and helping Catherine, hadn’t much time to dwell on it. “I believe Mrs. Sutton and Mr. Ashmore approach. Are you sure you’re quite well, dear?” Letting out a breath and smiling at her aunt, Laurel nodded. She hadn’t wanted to worry Gwendolyn, but she certainly couldn’t confess her own fears. Or wants. “I’m fine,” she said. It was only a partial lie. Ethan bowed to Gwendolyn then to her, a depraved twinkle in his ice blue eyes that had her breath hitching. “Mrs. Kingsley,” he said to Aunt Gwendolyn though he continued to look at Laurel. “May I have the pleasure of walking in the gardens with Lady Laurel?” Gwendolyn, who didn’t miss a chance when she saw one, quickly agreed. The three of them, she, Mrs. Sutton, and Ethan, were quickly joined by Braedon who had extricated himself from her father. All very proper. Laurel reminded herself that it was natural for them to be seen together. And in the company of Mrs. Sutton, the matchmaker, even more so. However, she had to remember that only she knew of Ethan’s, ah, abilities. Very enjoyable abilities at that. And that with the addition of him as chaperone, no hint of impropriety could be linked to her or Braedon’s name. All that fell quickly to the wayside when Braedon took her hand and slipped it through his arm. Ethan did the same with her other hand and they turned deeper into the gardens. Mrs. Sutton veered left as they continued straight. Laurel’s heart quickened, thighs clenching in need. With that single move, whatever decorum she possessed vanished in the moistness coating her thighs, the wicked thoughts racing through her mind. Even with the sexual awakening of the past week, the sexual pleasure of yesterday, Laurel hadn’t realized the true extent of her depravity. She wanted to be taken by both Braedon and Ethan in the middle of the gardens during Lady Bentley’s ball. She wanted the danger of discovery. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Braedon asked.

83 The innocuous question startled Laurel, and she jerked. “Yes,” she managed with a quick laugh. “Lady Bentley’s balls are always the talk of the season.” A cold spring breeze enveloped her, and Laurel shivered as it cooled her heated body. Licking her lips, she tried for more relevant conversation but couldn’t think straight. “Braedon,” she whispered as Ethan sat on the bench they’d obviously brought her to. “What if someone discovers us?” Laurel knew a hint of excitement coated her voice and didn’t care. She needed them, needed to feel their hands and teeth, needed to feel the completion of them entering her. “Oh, we can’t have that,” Braedon assured her, voice sinfully smooth. “And we can’t have anyone suspect what the prim and proper Lady Laurel has been doing.” She shook her head, body coiled with every word. And neither had yet touched her. The thought of the ton knowing she’d been in the gardens with them, and had been shamelessly taken by at least one of them, did nothing to cool her desire. It raced like wildfire through her veins. Nipples aching for Ethan’s mouth, her pussy clenching for his fingers, for Braedon’s cock, Laurel shuddered. In the darkness of the night, Laurel hadn’t seen Ethan undo his breeches. When Braedon maneuvered her to the bench, she saw his cock, thick and proud in the moonlight, the tip moist. Again, she licked her lips, an almost overwhelming urge to taste him clawing through her. “Soon,” Ethan promised, stroking his cock. “I’ll teach you to take me into your mouth as willingly as you do your body. We,” he said with a heated look at Braedon, “will teach you every depraved sexuality you want.” “Yes.” Laurel hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud; hadn’t realized her hand had cupped her breast or that she pushed hard against Braedon, feeling his thick cock nestle against her derrière. His mouth kissed along her bare shoulder, hands molding up her waist to cover her breasts. Rough fingers dipped below her bodice and took her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples. She cried out, and Ethan stood before her instantly admonishing her. His hand pressed though her gown, easily finding her nub and rubbing it. “Shhh, Laurel,” he said, mouth lightly covering hers. “If you cry out, someone will hear.” Laurel pressed harder against his hand at the thought, and Ethan chuckled in her ear. “Would you like that?” he asked. “Do you want to be seen by others? Be watched as Miss Laverly watched so many?

84 Unable to answer, Braedon’s fingers on her breasts, his cock insistent against her buttocks, Ethan’s mouth teasing hers while his fingers brought her teetering to the peak of release, Laurel nodded. Ethan chuckled and pressed harder, but Braedon tugged hard on her nipples. “No one will ever see you.” He swore in a low voice. “Not ever like this.” Laurel tried to look at him, through the haze of desire she tried to make sense of his words. But then Ethan returned to the bench and Braedon moved with her, lifting her skirts so she was exposed to the world. Still sore from yesterday, Laurel didn’t hesitate. She settled herself over Ethan with a sigh of completion. Behind her, Braedon moved forcibly against her derrière, and Laurel knew she wouldn’t last long. Hands clutching Ethan’s shoulders, head thrown back on Braedon’s chest, Laurel moved. Braedon’s fingers slipped between them, circling her nub. Lost, Laurel could only feel the two of them. Desire built higher and higher, Braedon’s fingers moving faster over her, Ethan’s large hands on her hips slamming her onto his cock. She broke, sobbing her release into Ethan’s shoulder as the crest of her climax thundered through her. Laurel didn’t remember them lifting her off Ethan, only Ethan gracefully kneeling before Braedon and sucking his cock until the other man, teeth clenched, came into Ethan’s eager mouth. Slowly sitting on the bench, Laurel adjusted her bodice, smoothed back her hair, which miraculously hadn’t been mussed too badly, and hoped her gown wasn’t too wrinkled. Mrs. Sutton appeared from nowhere, and Laurel wondered if she had been the basis for The Curiosity of Miss Laverly. Had she watched? Had she fingered herself as Laurel climaxed? As Ethan tasted Braedon’s cock? Again she shivered; part of her hoped that that had been the case. But then Braedon bowed to her, tucked several strands of hair back into place, and kissed her softly. His warm mouth didn’t demand, didn’t take or possess, but aroused her nonetheless. Mrs. Sutton produced a wet linen and Laurel pressed it to her face, before modestly wiping between her legs, amazed at how nonchalantly she acted in the darkness of the garden after what she’d just done and experienced.

85 Chapter Sixteen “Mr. Worthington seemed quite taken with you,” Laurel whispered as they awaited their carriages. Wrapped in a cloak, she held it tight against her as she, Catherine, and Aunt Gwendolyn stood in the courtyard. Very delicately, Laurel pressed her fingers to her nub, hoping to quell the ache left there by Braedon and Ethan. Her lovers. She shuddered at what they’d done tonight, her reckless submission to them in Lady Bentley’s gardens with Mrs. Sutton looking on. Laurel knew she’d submit again, would take whatever chance she had to be with them again. Pressing harder, she wished she could slip her fingers into her core, bring herself to pleasure right there. “Yes,” Catherine said somewhat breathlessly. “You were right, Laurel. And I’m so glad I read over your botanical book last eve. Mr. Worthington seemed far more interested in conversation. He even eschewed Miss Harrington’s subtle advances.” As far as Laurel was concerned, there was nothing subtle about Phillipa Harrington. But with her fingers slowly circling her nub as they waited for the carriage, Laurel was hard pressed to say so. “Has he,” she paused and cleared her throat as a sharp bolt of pleasure took her breath. “Has he agreed to call on you again?” “Oh, yes,” Catherine said excitedly. She seemed not to notice Laurel’s stumble. Aunt Gwendolyn did and Laurel stopped. She removed her hand and clasped her fingers around her wool cloak until her knuckles ached. But the temptation to touch herself remained, and she wondered how Lady Rufforth and the salacious group she’d meet several nights ago managed not to show such scandalous behavior. “He’s promised to call on me tomorrow,” Catherine was saying. She frowned and added, “I may have to rise earlier than normal and read the papers. He’s always so cognizant of current events.” “Ask him about the grain import tax,” Gwendolyn advised. “And let him do all the talking. Men enjoy conversing with a woman over politics, but far too many believe they know more than the woman.” “Or the high unemployment,” Laurel added as the carriage pulled before them. “It’s all the MPs talk of these days.” Kissing Catherine on the cheek, she climbed into the carriage and relaxed against the cushion. Careful to keep her hands folded demurely on her lap, Laurel listened to Gwendolyn’s review of the evening, adding to the conversation as her aunt expected.

86 Back at the townhouse, her parents nowhere to be found and no doubt at their third party of the evening, Laurel bid goodnight to Gwendolyn and retired to her room. She knew full well what she’d planned once there, and it had nothing to do with sleep. Images of her time with her lovers tonight aroused her, and Laurel knew she wouldn’t need to read Miss Laverly or look at the drawings to climax. “Lady Laurel, this arrived for you by messenger.” Her maid held out a box, a happy twinkle in her eyes as she curtsied. Heart quickening, Laurel took the box and carefully untied the ribbon. A book of poetry lay nestled inside with a brief salutation from Braedon. Smiling, she nodded her thanks to Anne and allowed the maid to undress her. Laurel set the box on her bed as Anne gathered her things and banked the fire. “Will there be aught else?” “No, thank you,” Laurel said, fingers pleating her robe, impatient to be alone. The box from Braedon beckoned, but tempted as she was, Laurel didn’t return to it until the maid left the room. Listening in case she returned, though she’d no doubt have retired for the evening, Laurel reached for the box and opened it again. She removed the poetry book and gently set it on her nightstand. Lifting the false bottom, anticipation making her fingers slow, Laurel looked at the other gifts Braedon and Ethan had sent. The glass object was smooth and cool. It took her only a moment to realize it was shaped in the form of a man’s cock. “Oh,” she moaned, licking her lips as she imagined holding Ethan’s cock like this, closing her lips over him as Braedon took her. My Darling Laurel, Enclosed is a training toy. Something to accustom your body to the both of us. The phallus is smaller than we are, but will help your delectable body accept us as we take you until you scream both of our names. Place it inside of yourself; first deep into your wet pussy, but don’t come. Remove the phallus and ease it into your backside. Dazed, Laurel glanced at the phallus. When Braedon had touched her there it had sent sparks of need through her she hadn’t expected. Tonight, when he’d pressed his hard cock to her derrière, Laurel couldn’t help but push back, wanting to feel more of the sinful sensations he caused. But to place the glass creation inside her? With a tentative hand, Laurel touched herself, slipping a finger along her buttocks to the rosette. Beneath the fine linen of her chemise, Laurel pressed harder, quivering at the sudden need her small movement caused.

87 Don’t rush it, go slowly. Ease it into you and think of us as you pleasure yourself. Think of our next encounter as we take you from behind. Until tomorrow. The missive wasn’t signed, but then Laurel didn’t need a signature. It didn’t matter if it was from Braedon or Ethan the intent was the same; to arouse her physically and ignite her curiosity. Both of which they accomplished easily. Setting the box on the floor, Laurel stripped her chemise over her head and tossed it onto the bed. Shame had no place in what she was about to do. Society may never approve this, but it didn’t matter. They’d never know what took place in this bedroom, and she was damned sure neither Ethan nor Braedon would utter a word about her depravity. If word ever leaked about what her two lovers did, society wouldn’t just shun them, they’d hang them. Hands on her breasts, Laurel knelt on the bed, knees wide as she tugged and pinched her nipples, nails raking over them hard, harder as she twisted them. She gasped, head thrown back, rocking against the bed, wishing Braedon’s cock filled her, Ethan’s teeth closed over her. Removing one hand from her breast, Laurel grasped the phallus and slowly slipped it into her. She could easily imagine her lovers watching her, cocks hard from the sight and she shuddered as her excitement heightened. The glass phallus was cool as her body enveloped it, thick but not as big as a real cock. Rocking against it, moving harder and faster, Laurel tried to hold onto a semblance of control, tried not to climax. She wanted to feel the glass in her derrière, wanted to know the full extent of that pleasure Braedon had only hinted at. Panting, body desperate for release, she withdrew it. The glass was coated with her juices and Laurel wondered what she tasted like. Wondered what it’d be like closing her mouth over the phallus…over Ethan’s cock. But the note had been very clear and her body reached for that peak, hips still moving as if over a cock. She swallowed and leaned over, bracing herself on the bed with one hand as she felt for her anus. The tentative touch of her fingers shocked her, and she almost lost control. What would it be like having both of them in her? Filling her until she screamed with mindless pleasure? Heart racing at the thought, Laurel grasped the phallus and slowly probed the rosette. Clumsy at first, it didn’t stop her from gasping at the sensation. Foreign, yes, but delicious. Why had she never known this before? Why was such pleasure forbidden knowledge? She pushed harder, and the phallus entered her just slightly, stretching her. Eyes closed Laurel pushed against it, past the resistance. She didn’t maneuver it all the way into her body, but straightened. It

88 shifted and she moaned, fingers on her nub as her body accustomed itself to the new intrusion. It didn’t take long, the tension within her too coiled and she climaxed, pressing hard against the phallus as she cried out. Spent, Laurel collapsed face first onto the bed, removing the glass from her as she did so. Drained, she rolled over and lay there panting, body still quivering with tiny electric aftershocks that had her fingers running lightly over her nub again as she prolonged the pleasure. Alone in her bed, Laurel wished for the comfort of Braedon’s arms around her, of Ethan’s hand on her hip as they all slept. There was a comfort and intimacy there that she craved as much as she did their bodies. The soft afterglow of completion that couldn’t be faked. Her last thought before drifting into sleep, fingers clutching the phallus to her naked stomach, was that she wanted to feel it within her again. Wanted the phallus within her anus as her fingers thrust into her core. **** Ethan stretched on the bed and watched Braedon as he read the missive again. Obviously disgusted, Braedon tossed it on a table and stalked to the fireplace. Shrugging off the business letter, Ethan took his time, lazily stretching again as he stood from the bed and made his way, naked, to where Braedon stood. Biting his shoulder, he slipped a hand around him and cupped his lover’s cock. It hardened against him and Ethan smiled. “Laurel is an amazing woman,” he said, not-so-subtly changing the subject. Talk of business had interrupted what otherwise would have been a night of hard, debauched sex. Ethan very much wanted to feel the crop against his ass. “She’s embraced every sexual depravity we’ve introduced her to over the last week.” “Yes.” Braedon’s smile was utterly wicked, and he thrust against Ethan’s hand. “Her education has been most pleasing. More than.” Ethan wondered what Braedon thought, but didn’t pry. The other man wouldn’t tell him anyway. As close as they were, and as much as they’d been through together, Braedon was notoriously circumspect. He’d never once uttered his feelings for Ethan, but that was fine. Theirs wasn’t the kind of relationship where words of love and affection had much place. Still, when it came to Laurel, the woman they’d both singled out as the perfect addition to their household, Ethan expected more. Tightening his hand around Braedon’s cock, he squeezed just slightly. “Pleasing?” he repeated mockingly. “I’d say for a once proper young lady, her unreserved acceptance of us, her unqualified abandonment in our bed, qualifies for a stronger word.”

89 Braedon offered a wicked smile and grabbed Ethan by the back of his neck, kissing him roughly. “How about,” he said when he’d released Ethan’s lips, “teaching her the finer arts of sexual degeneracy, ones she’s embraced as willingly as I could have ever hoped for, has been as arousing as you on your knees as I pound into your ass.” Ethan grunted, his own cock hardening at the thought. Still, Braedon’s words sparked a surprising protectiveness in him. Then again, Ethan was often surprised at the emotions Laurel brought out in him. In the barely two weeks he’d known her, she aroused not only his body but his protective instinct…and his heart. He’d wanted to know Braedon’s deepest feelings for Laurel, but his crass wording annoyed Ethan. They seemed to have annoyed Braedon, too, for the other man moved away. Restless again, Ethan watched him pace toward the window, opening the heavy drape, unmindful of his nakedness. “I think tomorrow is the last day we’ll need to employ Mrs. Sutton’s services,” Braedon said, rolling his shoulders. The drape dropped from his fingers, and he turned to face Ethan. “Agreed,” Ethan nodded, returning to the bed and the promise of the crop.

90 Chapter Seventeen Dressed only in his breeches and shirttails, Braedon watched from the window as she exited the carriage, careful to keep the hood of her cloak over her head as she did so. Mrs. Sutton followed her, and even from here he could see the look she gave his footman. So that’s where she disappeared to while he and Ethan enjoyed Laurel. Shrugging, for he didn’t care what his footmen did so long as they didn’t bring scandal to his house, Braedon moved from the window and waited for her by the door. He didn’t like her not being here all the time, having to surreptitiously arrive in an unmarked carriage driven by a very well-paid driver. That wouldn’t last much longer, however. When he and Ethan returned from business on his country estate near Derby, Braedon planned to change all that. For a moment, he’d considered leaving Ethan here. But Ethan overheard gossip Braedon, as the master of the land, wasn’t privy to. Despite his appearance, or perhaps because of that, people talked in front of Ethan as if he were invisible. It proved invaluable in the murky waters of this season’s ton. Laurel hurried across the courtyard, cloak clutched tightly to her. If he didn’t know it was her, and didn’t know every inch of her body as he did, Braedon wouldn’t have been able to tell Lady Laurel Kingsley walked into his house. Good. He didn’t want her reputation publicly ruined. The instant she crossed the threshold, Braedon took her hand and kissed her wrist just above the glove. Her dark eyes closed. and her breath shuddered from her lips. “Did you receive my gift?” he asked, voice low and seductive. He didn’t fear being overheard, but from the moment she entered his home, he wanted her aroused. He’d been the instant she exited the carriage. “Yes,” she breathed. Her eyes slowly opened, lighter with her passion, almost whiskey colored as she gazed steadily up at him. Braedon watched her as he tasted the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “And did you enjoy it?” “I followed your instructions exactly,” she said, and he heard the need in her voice. The slight catch she struggled to hide. But he could see her weakening. “I enjoyed it very much.” “Good,” he said, lips gliding up her arm. Idly he wondered where she’d hidden the glass phallus. It wasn’t an item she’d want discovered in the virginal bedroom of her parent’s home. “Are you ready?” he asked.

91 She didn’t hesitate, though he knew her body had to be sore from the previous evening’s experiment. He’d be gentle. Braedon wanted her to enjoy this as much as he did. But her eagerly breathless, “Oh yes,” had him wanting to take her right now. Force her to kneel on the hard marble floor as he slammed into her willing body. Using every shred of control he possessed, Braedon smiled wickedly at her. He didn’t release her hand but brought it to his cock. Laurel’s eyes closed, her mouth parted, and her tongue peeked out to lick her lips as her fingers danced up and down his length. Leading her through the house and up the stairs, Braedon asked after her. If she was truly prepared for this, if she wanted it as much as he wanted to pleasure her. “I’m ready,” she said, voice low with excitement, chest heaving. Laurel looked directly at him, and he could see she spoke the truth. Ethan waited in the room and the moment they entered, took Laurel’s other hand. His mouth was rough on hers as he kissed her, walking her backwards to the wall and pinning her there. Braedon watched him untie her cloak and kick it carelessly away. With a growl, he kissed down her neck, across the tops of her breasts. Spinning her around, he again pressed her to the wall, mouth on her neck as he undid her gown. Braedon knew he was hard and watched Ethan thrust against Laurel’s ass. Watched Laurel’s head fall to Ethan’s shoulder, her fingers dig into the damask wallpaper, her ass rock against Ethan. Ethan ripped the chemise from Laurel, letting it pool around her feet where her dress already lay in a wrinkled heap. Laurel kissed the underside of his jaw, uncaring of the thick scar tissue covering that side of his body. She grabbed Ethan’s hands, leaning back into him as she brought their entwined hands to cover her breasts. “Ethan,” she moaned. With a growl, Ethan slammed her against the wall. Laurel cried out, not in pain but in need. Braedon clenched his teeth at the sight, resisted joining in. Fists curled at his side, he held on to his last shred of control. He’d taken Laurel’s virginity; Ethan was to show her the pleasures of anal sex. Ethan picked her up, carried her to the bed where a jar of oil sat on the bedside table. Laurel didn’t seem to notice it as Ethan positioned her on the bed, hands and knees bracing her. Braedon untucked his shirt and unbuttoned his breeches, climbing onto the bed beside her. Lifting her cheek, he bent to kiss her, biting her lower lips, fingers rough as they took her breasts, rolled her nipples impatiently. One hand slipped between her legs, teased her nub as he thrust a finger into her wet heat. Her body clenched at him, and she moaned his name. Ethan lightly slapped her ass, startling Laurel who gaped and pushed backwards. He smiled over her supple body at Braedon, hands

92 rough on her hips as he widened her stance. Slick with fragrant oil, Ethan circled her tight puckered entrance, teasing Laurel’s rosette even as Braedon continued to tease her nub. “Yes,” she gasped, eyes closed, fingers curling into the bedding. “Do you want this?” Ethan asked, covering her body with his, thrusting against her though he had not entered her. “Ethan,” she moaned, eyes heavy as she met Braedon’s. “Yes. Take me. Show me what it feels like to have you inside me.” Braedon wondered what she’d say in another year. Hell, in another month. What wickedly provocative things she’d say as they enticed her body with the promise of exquisite pleasure. He slipped in a second finger and her pussy clenched around him. Laurel’s breath caught and she shuddered. Pinching her nipple, he held his fingers still within her. He didn’t want her climaxing before Ethan had the chance to show her the intense satisfaction of anal sex. “I trust you,” she whispered. She looked at him, but Braedon knew she meant it of the both of them. He could feel that trust in her, the way she submitted to them, yes, but also in the way she acted around them. The smile she gave them, either of them, when she saw them. The way her face lit up whenever they were together. Trust, yes. And affection. That affection came naturally between them all, as if they were always meant to be like this. Always meant to be together, the three of them: playful, sexual, and completely enthralled with one another. “I won’t hurt you, Laurel,” Ethan whispered tenderly and kissed down her back and slid one oiled finger into her anus. Laurel shuddered, eyes closing. Very slowly, he added a second finger, carefully stretching her. Her breath caught, and for a heartbeat Braedon thought she was going to put a stop to everything. He didn’t voice his question, but tilted her chin and kissed her softly. “Laurel?” “It’s just…new,” she managed and shuddered. Ethan waited, one hand cupping her breast as he kissed down her spine. His fingers smoothly thrust into her and Braedon knew the instant pain changed to pleasure. Withdrawing his fingers, Ethan applied more oil to his cock and knelt behind Laurel. “Ready?” Braedon asked, mouth soft on hers. Laurel nodded, and he could see she meant it. Braedon watched her carefully as Ethan entered her. Her eyes widened, breath caught, pussy clenched around his fingers, still buried within her. She screamed as she climaxed, pushing hard against Ethan, head thrown back, hair trailing down her shoulders. Braedon circled her nub, and she continued to shudder as Ethan, teeth visibly clenched for control, continued to move slowly within her.

93 Laurel screamed her orgasm again, and Braedon watched Ethan let go his control and shout her name. He’d find his own pleasure in her, but wanted her to rest first. She needed to adjust to anal sex, and he wouldn’t rush her. Kissing her gently, he held her when her arms gave way. Ethan, panting, rolled to her side and though Braedon wanted to find his own release, he held them both. **** Laurel gazed at her reflection in the looking glass as Braedon kissed the back of her neck. She thought she looked different than she had before Braedon and Ethan had ruined her in this very room. But no one in her life seemed to notice any difference. It still surprised her that there wasn’t a sign hanging over her head announcing the state of her virginity. Or lack thereof. She closed her eyes as the feel of Braedon’s lips on the soft flesh of her neck entranced her. Everything about Braedon and Ethan had her spellbound from the first. The way they looked at her, the way they both reacted to her kiss, her touch, drew her in. It had been such a short time but she knew: she loved them both. They would have a wanton, but loving, life together. Laurel turned in Braedon’s arms and kissed him. Her hands ran up the side of his head as his took hold of her neck. They’d just made love and still the fervor had not diminished. Ethan came up alongside them and placed his hands over Braedon’s on her neck. Laurel turned and kissed Ethan. The two men held her, dominated her and she relished each kiss, each touch. As they pulled away and Laurel regained her composure she wondered if there would be a place for at least another kiss soon and she asked huskily, “Will you be at the Crawford ball tomorrow?” “No.” Braedon pecked her cheek and walked away to slip on his shirt. “In fact, Ethan and I will be leaving town in the morning. There are some business matters in the north that must be seen to presently.” “Oh, I see.” Laurel stared at them as they continued to dress, both unaware of the longing the thought of them away inspired in her. “When will you return to London?” “It depends on how smoothly the business matter is resolved,” Braedon responded as he did up his shirt ties. “It could be weeks,” Ethan interjected. “These things tend to become very complicated.” Weeks? Laurel watched them as they dressed. They seem to have no more concern for her as she stood in the room. She could have vanished at that very moment and they would not have noticed. “But Braedon,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster, “who shall be my escort to the balls?”

94 Braedon seemed annoyed by the question. “You will never lack for a suitor to dance with, Laurel.” Ethan didn’t acknowledge the question only continued to dress. Braedon’s answer left her cold inside. She stood there waiting for any additional acknowledgement; nothing was forthcoming. She felt exposed and took hold of her jacket. Laurel slipped her arms through the sleeves slowly, waiting, wanting them to reassure her that they would return as quickly as possible. “Mrs. Sutton will see you home, Laurel,” Braedon said as he took hold of his own jacket and opened the bedroom door. “We don’t want you to be late and have your Aunt Gwendolyn asking unnecessary questions.” “No, of course not,” she replied with a strained voice. Braedon gestured for Mrs. Sutton to come to the bedroom doorway, and she extended her hand for Laurel. Ethan made no move to look at Laurel, and Braedon seemed impatient to usher her out of the room. Laurel followed Mrs. Sutton and the door closed behind her. As they walked down the hall to the staircase, shame and fear overtook her. She glanced back at the door, but Mrs. Sutton urged her forward. Before she set one foot on the stairs, Laurel wondered how the day changed so drastically. Anticipation and longing to satiation and completion, and now, Laurel shook her head, still stunned by the change of events. Now, to dismissal. “We must go,” Mrs. Sutton instructed briskly. “We cannot allow this deception to be discovered. It would not do well for your reputation.” Laurel suddenly felt like an unwelcomed street urchin looking for a handout. Was she reading too much into all of this? It wasn’t as if they came out and told her they would not be back for her. And the entire ton had seen Braedon with her; it was a natural assumption that their courting would end in marriage. Wasn’t it? The carriage ride home went by in silence. The usually chatty Mrs. Sutton closed her eyes the moment the carriage started moving. Laurel stared out the window as they rode back. Her eyes fell upon a large number of women dressed in rags selling violets or milk or services of some fashion. Until this moment, she’d never noticed just how many women were hawking wares on the streets. Their number seemed to far outnumber the men doing the same. For a crazy moment, Laurel wondered if any of those women had once been part of society. She wondered if they’d been ruined as badly as she had and been tossed out onto the streets by their families. Stories of girls taken to the country, taken to the continent or worse yet the Canadas, suddenly flooded back to her. Stories of girls having to become mistresses or join a house of ill repute. Lady Hamilton had been in debtor’s prison, she’d died after fleeing England, and she’d been the mistress of the great Lord Nelson.

95 The carriage pulled to her house and Laurel did not wait for Mrs. Sutton to fully wake. She opened the carriage door and raced inside. She didn’t want to look at Mrs. Sutton anymore. She didn’t want to see the knowledge in her eyes. After all, Mrs. Sutton knew exactly what she’d done. And with whom. She was grateful that the house seemed empty. Her parents were usually out at this time, and Aunt Gwendolyn’s voice wasn’t echoing through the halls. Laurel made her way upstairs to the sanctuary of her room. “Anne,” Laurel said startling her maid as the other woman tidied the room. Anne was a foot away from the chair the sketch laid under. She’d forgotten to return it to its hiding place after Catherine’s visit. They’d been too involved in their plot to secure Mr. Worthington for Catherine. “You needn’t finish in here.” “Lady Laurel.” Anne curtsied. “I did not expect you home so early. I’ll just finish plumping the cushions and—” “No, Anne.” Laurel slipped off her jacket. “Leave them. I’m tired and would like to rest.” “Would you care for some tea?” Anne asked. “No, thank you,” Laurel responded. “Nothing. I just want to rest. The ride home was unusually jarring.” With a silent nod, Anne left the room. Laurel rushed to the chair and grabbed the sketch, which was mercifully just where she’d left it. She pulled the other sketches from their hiding place and crumpled them all. Kneeling before the fireplace, piled perfectly with wood and tinder ready to ignite, she stared at the crumpled drawings. She should have asked Anne to start the fire, but the urgency she felt to have the maid leave the room overrode such practicalities. It took her longer than it should have, she’d seen the fire lit thousands of times but the flint was unyielding. But eventually she managed it and, piece by piece, she watched the sketches burn. She stared at the fire until every last fiber of paper was blackened ash. She wished she could burn her shame as easily.

96 Chapter Eighteen Braedon rolled his shoulders to ease the tension gathering there as his housekeeper informed him of all that passed between his last visit, before All Hollows Eve, and now. He’d already called for his steward. That damnable man better have a decent explanation for the sudden frantic letter, or Braedon would fire him. He and Ethan had already stopped at the wharves along the Thames on their way out of London. Braedon had used the trip to Derbyshire as a means to check up on all his businesses. In the three days since leaving Laurel, he’d done little but think of her. A woman he’d known a fortnight at most and she’d worked her way so thoroughly under his skin that he itched to return to her. One with a delectable body to be sure, one who surrendered to his every command and to her every sexual desire. But Laurel was also a woman with a quick mind, who easily conversed about politics and the new sciences such as astronomy and botany. He missed her. Ethan felt the same, Braedon could tell. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t so much as uttered her name, but the restless movements, the shortness of conversation told Braedon all he needed to know. Laurel had managed to wrap the pair of them around her finger. “I’m going to see to the stables,” Ethan said, wisely refusing to involve himself in business matters. It wasn’t that he bungled them, merely that he had no patience for their inane intricacies. The wiser of them, Braedon thought as he poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and sat behind his desk with a plate of fresh scones. His steward, Sigmund, rushed into the study just as the housekeeper finished setting up the tea service. Braedon glared at the man but turned to the older woman with a smile and instructions to prepare the house for the summer. They’d arrive here the third week of June, and he expected the estate to be worthy of a royal visit. With the same aplomb she normally showed, the composure that had first enticed him to hire her, she bobbed and left the room. Turning to Sigmund, Braedon folded his arms and waited. **** Ethan accepted the mug the maid offered him as he entered the kitchens. Filthy from his ride, he still felt that impatient edge tug at him. It’d grown steadily worse since leaving London, and even the increasingly rough sex between he and Braedon hadn’t abated it.

97 Exiting the kitchens, he made his way to the study where he knew Braedon had met with several members of the household staff as well as the prostrating steward. Sigmund knew what he was about, but before Braedon seemed to be in a constant state of kneeling adulation no one would believe it. Not bothering to knock, Ethan entered the closed study. Braedon sat behind his desk, the rest of the room empty. Grinning wickedly at his lover, Ethan shut the door behind him. Covered with mud as he was, sweaty from the hard ride, he crossed the room to the desk where Braedon sat, gazing steadily at him. “Have you allowed Sigmund to live?” Ethan asked, pouring a tumbler of whiskey for himself. “He worries unnecessarily,” Braedon scoffed, rising from the chair to lean on the desk. It didn’t escape Ethan’s observation that the other man’s mood hadn’t lightened. However, as he seemed unwilling to share details, Ethan let it pass. He didn’t care about the running of this estate and happily left those details to Braedon. His own income, a pittance compared to Braedon’s, stemmed from what little money hadn’t been entailed to his elder brother when he’d inherited the vast farmland his father had owned. English inheritance laws weren’t profitable to second sons. However, the war had been and Ethan invested that plunder wisely. “Do you need to stay on longer?” Ethan asked carefully, unwilling for reasons he couldn’t name to mention Laurel specifically. He wanted to return to London and Laurel. Traveling without her felt wrong, the ménage they’d created, both in and out of the bedroom, empty even on a business trip. “No.” Braedon shook his head once, a short negation. “We leave in the morning.” “Excellent.” Ethan grinned and set his crystal tumbler on the table top. Not giving Braedon a chance to make the first move, he crossed the distance between them in two quick strides and pushed Braedon onto the desk. It was conveniently cleared, Ethan noticed. Even the inkstand had been moved. Braedon’s hands were already on his breeches, loosening the ties. Ethan opened one of the lower desk draws and found the jar of oil they kept there. More circumspect here than they were in the London townhouse, their caution didn’t mean they didn’t enjoy themselves whenever they wanted. He undid his own breeches, opening the muddy material enough to free his cock. Ethan’s hand closed over Braedon’s cock, stroking its already hard length. He wanted to taste it, wanted to feel the length in his mouth.

98 Braedon growled, an impatient, inflexible sound that shot through Ethan straight to his own cock. More, Ethan wanted to pound into his lover and try to relieve some of the tension twisting within him at the absence of Laurel. Quickly rubbing the oil over his hands and cock, Ethan pressed one hand against Braedon’s neck to hold him down and entered the other man. Another growl, but Ethan couldn’t tell if it was from him or Braedon. He moved hard within Braedon, unable to control himself and yet knowing Braedon accepted every pounding thrust and more. It didn’t take long until the tension broke, snapped through him with such force he couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted to. Body sated as it was, Ethan almost immediately felt the loss of Laurel wind through him. Braedon growled but tenderly maneuvered him onto the desk, picking up the jar of oil. Prepared for his forceful entrance, cock already hardening at the thought, Ethan didn’t expect the crop across his ass. Instantly hard, Ethan gripped the edges of the desk but didn’t cry out. Braedon, perverted bastard he was, stopped all pleasure the instant Ethan uttered a sound. The crop fell against his ass again, too lightly, just a tease. Braedon’s hand wrapped around his cock, squeezed the base and hit him again. Ethan’s cock jumped. When they returned to London, he thought as Braedon steadily increased the pressure of the crop, and Ethan pressed his cock against the hard wood of the desk in a vain attempt at control. Braedon entered him suddenly and Ethan cried out. The pace was hard. Braedon showed no mercy as he pounded into Ethan, and Ethan would have it no other way. He cried out again, Braedon’s hand, slick with oil, stroking his cock. His climax ripped through him, finally taking with it some of the last days’ tension. Yes, when they returned to London, Ethan would introduce Laurel to all the pleasure they’d yet to show her. **** In the days since Braedon and Ethan left on their trip, Laurel busied herself with Catherine and tried not to think on her own circumstances. She saw that new gowns were fitted to her friend, and that Mr. Worthington, who’d begun to call on Catherine, was increasingly fascinated by Catherine each time they met. It was a carefully constructed ploy to ensnare the wealthy Mr. Worthington. Catherine read up on botany and spoke at length with Laurel’s parents about politics and political hosting. Laurel’s mother had become so

99 impressed with Catherine’s interests that she advised Laurel to do the same. Laurel simply walked away, mockingly amused. The time she spent with Catherine had helped. Her mind didn’t wander as often to thoughts of Braedon and Ethan. She actually thought she could get by without them if she had to. But then came the night, and inevitably her mind conjured thoughts of them and of all they’d done together. Thoughts of Braedon’s kiss and Ethan’s touch haunted her dreams. What had she done? Had she lost her mind? She must have because no proper girl would do what she had done. No proper girl would have accepted them both so willingly and scandalously. Laurel stood at the door to Mrs. Sutton’s apartment. She’d come here with her aunt’s knowledge on the pretense that she had to return a hatpin Mrs. Sutton had lent her. Her maid, Anne, waited in the carriage while Laurel climbed to the third floor apartment. Hesitating because she was uncertain of how to broach the subject, Laurel finally knocked. It didn’t take long for Mrs. Sutton to open the door and greet her with a surprised smile. “Lady Laurel, what an unexpected pleasure,” the red-headed matchmaker said calmly enough. “Please come in.” “Thank you, Mrs. Sutton.” Laurel entered the apartment to find a nicely appointed series of rooms decorated in pastel florals and pale green silk. “May I offer you some tea?” Mrs. Sutton asked. “No, thank you.” Laurel removed her gloves as she went further into the drawing room. Mrs. Sutton dismissed her maid and pulled closed a set of pocket doors behind her as she gestured for Laurel to take a seat on the damask upholstered mahogany chaise. “How can I help you, Lady Laurel?” the older woman asked as she took her own seat on a matching settee. “Has there been word from Major Sinclair or Mr. Ashmore?” Laurel asked as nonchalantly as she could. “I’m sorry but no,” Mrs. Sutton replied with a slight frown. “There have been no missives from Major Sinclair’s household.” “Did they give you any indication as to when they might return?” Laurel twisted the fingers of the gloves she held. With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Sutton shook her head. Laurel didn’t like the look the older woman gave her when she looked up and met her gaze. “Lady Laurel, men like the Major and Mr. Ashmore can have fickle tastes. They decide on one thing one day and then shortly thereafter change their minds in favor of other adventure.” “Other adventure?” Laurel repeated hollowly. “That hardly seems possible. Major Sinclair was very persistent in his pursuit. So much so that

100 most of society knows of his interest in my company. Are you saying that there is other adventure for them in the north?” “My dear, sometimes these things do not develop as they should.” Mrs. Sutton gave Laurel a most pitiful look. “It is best for you to nurture other offers as well.” “Other offers?” Laurel nodded, stomach dropping. “I see.” Standing she smoothed her skirt and turned for the doors, “Thank you Mrs. Sutton. Everything is clear now.” “Lady Laurel,” Mrs. Sutton called as she stood as well. “I have no solid information on Major Sinclair’s or Mr. Ashmore’s plans. This is just my observations from many years of tending to such things.” “I understand,” Laurel said in a much steadier voice than she thought she could with her world crashing around her. “And I agree with your assessment. It comes from, as you said, many years of tending to such matters. Thank you again, and good day.” Laurel couldn’t walk from the apartment fast enough and raced down a flight of stairs only to stop at the top of the next flight. Anne waited in the carriage but Laurel couldn’t face her. Laurel wasn’t sure she could keep her stoic expression as Anne stared at her on the ride home. Laurel clutched her reticule, the stupid hat pin she’d used as an excuse poked her palm. Laurel opened her bag and threw the damn pin on the floor. The noise of a door opening startled her, and she quickly continued down the steps. She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face and went toward her carriage. She would retain a tight hold on the emotion ready to explode from her if it was the last thing she did. That would be one indignity the damnable Sinclair and Ashmore would not inflict on her. She was a ruined, abandoned woman now. She’d at least keep it secret for as long as she could.

101 Chapter Nineteen Laurel’s heart pounded as quick and forceful as the horses’ hooves hit the cobblestones. They moved at a rapid pace toward the park. She couldn’t face returning home to look at her Aunt Gwendolyn or her parent’s faces knowing how she’d disgraced them. She needed air and the park seemed the most logical choice from the few options she had. The park’s many paths teemed with people, and she hoped she could somehow become lost amongst them. A nameless face on this bright spring day. Laurel gave Anne a few shillings to purchase herself lunch from the street vendors as she took a walk around the promenade. All Laurel wanted was to dig a hole and bury herself deep within the earth. Those two men had calculated every move much like she and Catherine had done against Mr. Worthington. But their calculations were far, far worse. She and Catherine had gleaned Mr. Worthington’s interests and played on them in order to give Catherine an opening to his attentions. It was a game many played and in the end the decision still rested in Mr. Worthington’s hands. What Braedon and Ethan had done was introduce her to the forbidden. They drew her into something she was not ready for, something that should come after marriage or never at all. Her own body had betrayed her, her curiosity, her desire, it all played into Braedon and Ethan’s plans. But for them to do this and abandon her. Why did they have to pick her? Was it some sort of challenge or bet to ruin a lady from society instead of using a common whore? Was she now a common whore? “Lady Laurel, are you well?” Mr. Worthington asked as he took hold of her elbow. Laurel glanced up at him with wide eyes. He must have observed a look on her face, and she hated she was so transparent. Despite her wish for anonymity, too many here knew her. “Yes,” she replied steadily. “I’m well.” Mr. Worthington brought his gloved hand to her cheek and wiped away a tear she hadn’t even noticed was there. “Then why, pray tell, do you appear so distressed?” “Do I?” she responded, mortified she showed such emotion in public. “I hadn’t meant to.” Laurel looked over her shoulder for Anne who sat on a bench enjoying a meat pie. Mr. Worthington nodded but didn’t look convinced. “I have been meaning to call on you Lady Laurel.” “Oh?” Laurel wasn’t sure she could handle a serious conversation just yet.

102 “It is my understanding that you and Miss Hayden are close friends,” he started. “Yes,” she said unsteadily. “Yes we are.” “There is something wrong,” he said having obviously heard the crack in her voice. “Please, allow me to help if I can. It would be my honor to be at your service. I have always thought that.” Looking up at him, Laurel abruptly comprehended his meaning. He’d been interested in her for some time but had hoped that his interest would completely turn to Catherine now. Laurel looked at him for a long moment, contemplating her next move. If she paid him the barest attention she just knew he’d ask for her hand without much effort. It would solve all her problems. She could convince an innocent like Mr. Worthington that she was a virgin still. She could bed him on one of the days of her monthly bleeding. He would never be the wiser. “It’s nothing but a girlhood fancy,” she said, trying for flippancy and somewhat succeeding. “Now let me tell you of Catherine.” She took his arm and they strolled toward Anne’s location. Never could she do this to Catherine. Her shame grew tenfold for even entertaining the notion for the few moments she had. She would not ruin Catherine’s life as she’d ruined her own. **** Her afternoon in the park had done little to calm her. The only good that came from that walk had been meeting Mr. Worthington and gauging his intentions toward Catherine. Except for that brief implication of his interest toward her, Laurel was convinced Mr. Worthington would ask for Catherine’s hand without much further effort and most definitely before the season concluded. With luck, before Mr. Hayden’s ruin came to light. The thought of fooling Mr. Worthington, if she’d taken him for herself stung, but it also presented her with another option. She could find a different suitor and do with him as she’d thought she might do with Mr. Worthington. It would save her and her family from the worst kind of humiliation. From complete ruin. The only persons who could harm her would be Braedon and Ethan themselves, and they would never betray this secret for fear of the ramifications on their own lives. As for Mrs. Sutton, Laurel believed her silence was easily purchased. Yes, she could manage this. There were many potential husbands this season but could she really deceive someone young and strong as she intended? Or should she pursue another? Perhaps someone such as Colonel Darton or Mr. Alcott, both were significantly older than she but eagerly seeking wives.

103 Tears fell unbidden down her cheeks. Laurel sank onto her bed at the thought of another man, one not Braedon or Ethan, entering her. She didn’t want that. It had been more than lust, more than curiosity. She’d given herself to both of them; she’d given more than her body. Laurel had fallen in love with Ethan’s wit; she’d fallen for Braedon’s strength and for his protectiveness of her. Hadn’t they felt it? Hadn’t they seen how she’d looked at them, or how she’d worshipped them? How could they discard her this way? Tears came so readily, she thought they’d never stop as she lay on her bed and clung to her pillow. Hours must have passed; the room had darkened but Laurel hadn’t moved from her bed not to light a candle or ring for a tray. A soft scratch at her door urged her to move but she felt she didn’t have the strength for more than lifting her head. Anne stepped into the room at the faint summons. “Lady Laurel, are you well? Miss Hayden has come to see you. I’ve shown her to the west drawing room. Would you like me to show her up or tell her that you are not well this evening?” “Please have her wait in the drawing room,” Laurel requested as she rose to her elbows. “I’ll be down shortly.” “Yes, Lady Laurel,” Anne said. But the maid hesitated at the door before leaving and turned back to Laurel. “Is there anything I can fetch for you?” “No, Anne. I’m fine. Just let Catherine know I’ll be down soon,” Laurel told her maid before the other woman took her leave. Her body felt weighed down as if by stones but she managed to fully sit up. She had to go down and continue to help Catherine. It was at least something useful she could do. Laurel dragged herself out of the bed and went to the washbasin. She brought the cool water to her face and tried to shake the heavy feeling that surrounded her. Her hands came to rest on either side of the basin, and she stared, hunched over, at the water filling it. How easy would it be to just sink her face into that water and allow it to fill her throat and lungs? Laurel bit her lip and stepped away taking a deep breath. Shaking her head, she banished the notion from her thoughts…at least for the moment. Laurel adjusted her gown, tended to her hair as best she could and made her way downstairs. Catherine was clutching a cup of tea as she stared out their front windows onto the streets. “Have there been any new developments, Catherine?” Laurel asked as she entered the room and took a seat on the pale blue silk settee. Catherine nodded as she turned and set her teacup on the nearby tray. “Anne told me you were not feeling your usual self. Are you well?”

104 “Yes, I am perfectly well. I was simply over-tired from my walk in the park this afternoon.” Laurel assured and smiled, finding it easier to talk to Catherine than to listen to her own thoughts. “Where I saw Mr. Worthington and set about praising your attributes, Catherine.” “Thank you, Laurel, but I fear that our plans may not come to anything.” Catherine’s voice was terribly strained and her cheeks were much paler than Laurel ever remembered seeing. “What do you mean?” Laurel’s concern had her reaching for Catherine’s hand. “Mr. Worthington seems absolutely besotted with you, dear. It’s only a matter of time.” “That’s just it. I don’t believe I have much time left,” Catherine stated with a hint of longing in her voice. She bit her lip momentarily before admitting, “I’m afraid.” “What is it? What’s happened?” Laurel persisted. “It cannot be as bad as you think it is. We’ll find a way to manage whatever it is.” Catherine rose from the settee and walked away from Laurel. “I don’t believe it’s possible to manage this, Laurel. What my father has done is beyond comprehension.” Laurel stood and went over to Catherine trying to offer what comfort she could. “Now you are frightening me, Catherine. What’s this all about?” “My father has struck a deal with Mr. Hill. It will enable us to keep our home.” Catherine turned her head back to look at Laurel. “At least until the next time my damnable father places a wager he cannot cover,” she added with real hatred threaded through her tone. “What kind of deal?” Laurel asked. “I am to bed Mr. Hill.” The words came out of Catherine with absolutely no emotion. Laurel had never in her life seen her friend as expressionless as she was at this very moment. “He is to use me as he wishes for a week’s time to clear the debt,” Catherine continued. “That’s not possible.” The words rushed out of Laurel’s mouth before she could stop them. “Your father would not trade you like chattel.” “He already has,” Catherine answered flatly. “The deal is made. He has sold my virtue.” Her eyes lowered as she said, “Mr. Worthington is no longer a possibility.” “I can’t accept that.” Laurel stated, beyond stunned. Tears pressed against her eyelids and she hastily blinked them away. This wasn’t a time to cry when she needed to think of a way to help Catherine. “I can no longer be friends with you.” Catherine’s voice caught, and Laurel could hear the shame there. Her friend refused to meet her eyes and sidestepped her. “I won’t have you associate with the rubbish that is me and my family.”

105 Catherine moved to pick up her reticule, but Laurel snatched it from her hands. “You are not leaving this house. And you will marry Mr. Worthington. I’ll see to it.”

106 Chapter Twenty Laurel heard her words but had trouble reconciling them with Catherine. She hadn’t expected such a hopeless attitude from her friend. Faced with it now, she refused to accept it. “There is nothing you can do, Laurel.” Catherine again reached for the reticule, but Laurel stepped back, clutching the bag to her chest. “I have no choice,” Catherine continued, refusing to meet Laurel’s gaze. “Even if I refuse to do this, my future is ruined. Once word reaches the ton of Father’s ruin, no one will look at me, let alone court me. At least this way my family won’t be on the streets.” Clayton Hayden caused this entire debacle and Laurel would be damned if he pawned his debts, and the paying of them, onto his only child. The man didn’t deserve Catherine’s obedience or her acquiescence in this. He deserved to be carted off to debtor’s prison. Worse, he deserved to pay his debts with his life. Thinking frantically, Laurel tried to move past her fury with Clayton Hayden and onto more productive matters. Like how to extricate Catherine from this mess and still retain her reputation. She didn’t need to be ruined as well, unlike Laurel who’d willingly entered Braedon’s and Ethan’s bed, willingly shared in the pleasure their trio brought her. She was already ruined. Laurel slowly looked at her friend, a new plan forming. She took a step closer, and Catherine made a feeble attempt to snatch her reticule. Slapping her hands away, Laurel hissed at her intrusion as she worked through this plan. A horrible plan with no real chance at not spreading through the ton, at least it had the advantage of helping Catherine. Who probably wouldn’t accept it, but Laurel didn’t care. This way, her own foolish choices would at least help someone. Though how she’d reconcile this with her own family, Laurel didn’t know. One thing at a time. She took a deep breath and started to speak. Suddenly paranoid, she crossed to the parlor door and closed it, swept her gaze around the room in case a maid had snuck in while Laurel had been otherwise occupied. Still clutching Catherine’s reticule, Laurel grabbed her friend’s hand and dragged her to the settee. She took another deep breath and, keeping her voice low in case of any eavesdroppers, began. “I’ll take your place.” It took Catherine a full minute to comprehend that bald statement. When she did, Catherine jumped back and tried to jerk her pliant hand from Laurel’s grasp.

107 “What?” she screeched. Laurel tightened her grip and hissed at Catherine to remain silent. “You can’t,” she whispered harshly, panic creeping into her voice. “You can’t possibly mean what I think you do.” “I do mean it,” she said sharply. “It’s what has to be done.” “You’ve lost your mind!” Her voice rose again, and Laurel dug her fingers into Catherine’s hand to calm her. A fruitless endeavor but Catherine did lower her voice. “I’d never ask such a thing of you. Nor will I accept this. Please,” she pleaded softly. “Don’t talk of this further. Just let me go.” “I’m already ruined.” Laurel hadn’t meant for it to come out so unflinchingly. But once the words were said, she didn’t regret telling Catherine, whose mouth dropped in shock, cheeks flaming as she stared mutely at Laurel. “I’ve bedded Major Sinclair,” she continued, careful to keep Ethan out of this. “I thought we’d be married. I believed us to be announcing our wedding by now.” “Laurel!” Catherine shook her head, closed her eyes, and tried again. “Aren’t you to marry him then? I thought he already spoke to your father.” She shook her head again. “He didn’t seem the type to abandon you. It was well known he searched for a wife—not a spring dalliance.” The sorrow Braedon and Ethan’s abandonment caused left her empty and hollow. Laurel tried to cover it, tried not to let show the fact she’d fallen in love with the both of them. She’d been a fool and could only now see that. “I think he has abandoned me,” she admitted softly, voice catching. “He left London several days ago with no word as to his return. If he did have an intention of marrying me, it’s likely he’s changed his mind. So you see,” she said, swallowing hard against the emotion threatening to choke her, “I can take your place. Better me than you.” “No.” Catherine shook her head, adamant. “It’s not the same. You had feelings for Major Sinclair, whether he is a rake or not. Pierson Hill is the lowest sort of man and I’m afraid he’d hurt you.” “He won’t hurt me,” Laurel said softly, truth ringing in her tone, “as much as he’d hurt you. I don’t have as much left to lose as you.” Still shaking her head, tears fell on Catherine’s cheeks. “I’m frightened,” she admitted. “And ashamed. I can’t let you do this…” she looked up, self-loathing and humiliation in her gaze. “But I want to let you do it.” Embracing her, Laurel held her tight. Catherine continued to cry and Laurel felt her own tears prick against her eyes. Swallowing them, she held tighter. “Then let me.” ****

108 Laurel actually had no idea how to find Pierson Hill or go about whoring herself to him in place of Catherine. So she decided to enlist Mrs. Sutton. Her second trip to the matchmaker’s apartment had her feeling calmer, less anxious. She knew what she had to do and wouldn’t be swayed. This was a business trip, plain and simple. Laurel had enough coin in her bag to secure Mrs. Sutton’s service and discretion. Pleasantries dispensed, they now sat in the other woman’s small front parlor as Laurel told her story and her intent with Pierson Hill. Mrs. Sutton showed no emotion other than the slight narrowing of her eyes, a lift of an eyebrow. Her mouth tightened slightly, but if Laurel hadn’t been watching for such cues, she doubted she’d have seen a change in the woman. How many times had Mrs. Sutton handled such things for others? She was a well-known matchmaker now, but Laurel didn’t know what she’d done before, or even what she still did on the side. “I’ll need you to secure a private location for this to occur,” she said, pulling out a small change purse. “I know precisely how to arrange this, Lady Laurel,” Mrs. Sutton said evenly. She made no attempt to take the money, and Laurel left it on the table. “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “I suppose you do.” “I’ll arrange an excuse with your Aunt Gwendolyn” she continued as if Laurel hadn’t spoken. “Do you have a day in mind for this…meeting to take place?” Laurel had thought about that. She wanted it finished but also didn’t want anything to go wrong. She had no idea how long these things took to arrange and didn’t want to take the chance Mrs. Sutton wouldn’t be able to handle everything. To have her hopes rise for the end of all this only to have to further wait, scared her more than being used by Pierson Hill. “Two days,” she said decisively. “Very well.” Mrs. Sutton rose and wandered to the window only to pace back. “I’ll see Mr. Hill is informed of the time and place. That day, I’ll have my own driver pick you up to ensure discretion,” she said almost absently. “Be ready by two in the afternoon.” The other woman looked as if she wanted to say more, but Laurel forestalled her. “You are indeed very efficient, Mrs. Sutton,” she said and rose. She’d already thought about paying off Pierson Hill herself, but Catherine’s father owed in excess of five thousand pounds. Laurel had no hope of acquiring that kind of money. Quickly taking her leave, Laurel returned to her own carriage and instructed the driver to head home.

109 Oh, how abruptly her life had changed. How different would her life have been if Braedon and Ethan hadn’t left her? She could have gone to them instead of Mrs. Sutton to protect Catherine. No doubt they’d have had a better understanding of a man such as Pierson Hill and how to deal with him. Shaking her head firmly, she forced such thoughts away. Thinking of what ifs did her no good and only brought the heartache back to the surface. They’d brusquely disappeared, claiming business with no word as to their return and no hint as to the business. Laurel didn’t know if they’d come back to London this season or not. She knew nothing of their whereabouts or activities and knew that was her own fault. Would they have told her had she pressed them for answers? She’d been so overwhelmed at their desertion, shocked to her very core when Braedon tersely announced their impending departure. It didn’t matter. None of it did. They’d left, she didn’t know when they’d return, and it was far too late for remorse. She’d have to lie in her own bed and take whatever consequences life meted out now.

110

Chapter Twenty-One “I believe she’s to attend the Whitesmith’s ball tonight,” Braedon said as he flipped through his mail. In the ten days they’d been gone, the papers had piled to almost overflowing. Ethan, unconcerned with the notes sent round for him, had scanned and burned them. The only statements he cared to read were from his broker and solicitor. And not always then. Plus, he was restless, a constant state since leaving Laurel. Now that they were back in town, he wanted to dispense with the pleasantries of mail and replies and go directly round to her house. Common sense held him in place. That and the fact that he and Braedon now discussed the next step in their courtship of Laurel. Publicly, Braedon planned to ask Lord Westfield for her hand within the next fortnight. Privately was a different matter entirely. It was already well known he lived with Braedon. When they’d first returned to England, rumor easily spread that he wasn’t a whole man and needed monthly treatments due to his burns. After that, it was a simple matter of Braedon insisting Ethan stay with him as thanks for saving his life. Laurel wasn’t going to marry only Braedon but him, Ethan, as well. Not in a ceremony of course, but in every other way. Ethan loved her as he had no one else, not even Braedon. Occasionally, he and Braedon took a break from each other but Ethan couldn’t see ever doing that with Laurel. He wanted her, needed her, and loved her with all he was. A new and strange experience, but one he’d never change. “I think I saw a note from Whitesmith,” Ethan said, pouring himself a drink. “Are you planning to speak with Lord Westfield this evening then?” “Yes.” Braedon ignored the rest of the papers and stalked to the windows. “Sir,” his butler said with a stiff bow. “Mrs. Sutton is here to see you.” Camila? Ethan frowned at the man as he executed a swift military turn and exited the room. They’d been back in London less than an hour, what urgent business could the matchmaker have with Braedon? “Saves me the trouble of sending for her,” Braedon said. “Agreed,” Ethan commented dryly as he leaned against the sideboard, contemplating another drink. “You’ve no further need of her services.”

111 “Camila,” Braedon said shortly the moment she entered the study. “I wasn’t aware anyone knew we’d returned.” “I had the house watched,” she admitted coolly. Her entire demeanor was cold—back stiff, face pinched, eyes boring into first Braedon then he, as if accusing them of witchcraft. Ethan understood she had accepted their arrangement, if not fully approved. She’d been paid well enough to accept it, he thought with another frown. “I don’t know if it’s still of concern to you,” she continued, gaze sweeping over the two of them. “However, Lady Laurel has taken it upon herself to offer her body to Mr. Pierson Hill.” Ethan jerked straight, no longer lounging against the sideboard. Braedon growled at her and took a menacing step forward. “I believe you’re acquainted with Miss Catherine Hayden?” Camila continued in that same cold voice, seemingly unaffected by Braedon’s nonverbal threat. “Her father owes Hill several thousand pounds and in payment, Hill has agreed to take the daughter for a week.” “And Laurel.” Ethan managed to sound slightly reasonable over the anger pounding through him. “Laurel’s agreed to take her place?” “It seems.” Camila nodded once. “When you first hired me, Major Sinclair, I was fully aware your retaining of my services meant unorthodox means by which to acquire the lady of your choosing.” She paused and shot Ethan an equally venomous look. “However, having seen you’re no longer interested in Lady Laurel, I find myself rather distressed over her situation. I’ve agreed to assist her in this matter, as she considers herself utterly ruined, as she attempts to pay her friend’s debt. Believe me when I say I’ve done so only because I’m familiar with her circumstances. I find this matter, indeed all of this,” she waved a hand to encompass the both of them and the house. Ethan wondered if she meant to include herself in that gesture, for she didn’t seem pleased with her role in any of this, either. “Distasteful.” “What in hell,” Braedon said between clenched teeth, taking another murderous step closer to Camila, “is this arrangement Laurel’s involved herself in?” In short terse sentences, Camila explained. Ethan found himself wanting to throttle Miss Hayden’s father. It didn’t surprise him Hill wanted a week with the lovely Miss Hayden, but any man who could willingly pay off his debts by selling his daughter deserved to be used in as horrible a fashion as imaginable. Jaw clenched so as not to berate Camila, Ethan rounded the desk. Braedon had closed the distance between him and Camila, hands curled into fists. In all the years they’d been together, Ethan had never seen his friend and lover so furious. Braedon seemed beyond words, beyond thinking. He breathed heavily, shoulders rigid as he towered over Camila, who seemed not at all disconcerted by his ferocity.

112 “I’ll take care of Hill,” Braedon finally managed. “Bring Laurel here,” Ethan cut in, unsure of Braedon’s temper at this point. Then again, whether they were killing Hill or merely paying him off, Ethan wasn’t going to say a word ether way. “Tell her nothing,” Braedon instructed, clearly not trusting Camila to handle this. “When you’re to pick her up, simply bring her here. Where’s the house you’re to have met Hill?” Ethan scribbled the address on the back of one of the many notes still cluttering Braedon’s desk and nodded to Camila to leave. He doubted Braedon would harm the woman, but when faced with a threat to Laurel, Ethan couldn’t be sure. Camila gave them another look, this one unreadable, and left to do their bidding. Or at least she didn’t say she wouldn’t, which given the turn of events in the last half hour, seemed positive. **** Braedon didn’t wait for his carriage but ordered his horse brought round. As the stable hands scrambled to obey his orders, he tried to follow Laurel’s reasons. Oh, he understood them all too clearly. It changed nothing. She’d purposely endangered herself to save her friend from that woman’s worthless father’s gambling debts. “After our visit to Hill,” he growled to Ethan, whom he knew nothing would stop from accompanying him to Hill’s residence, “I might pay a visit to Clayton Hayden.” “Agreed,” Ethan said shortly. The ride to Hill’s townhouse, located on the seedier side of London, didn’t take long. Braedon was too furious to notice anything, hell bent on beating some sense into Hill. Which wasn’t his first option, granted. It seemed easier to pay him off. “Five thousand pounds,” Ethan muttered as they reigned to a halt beside the house. The outside wasn’t much to speak of, but Braedon knew Hill’s type. He had the bodyguards and expensive tailor, the jewels on his fingers and the women at his beck and call. The man was a fake. A cheater at cards and a bastard to the core. The only thing that had surprised Braedon was that Hill was willing to accept a girl’s virtue in exchange for the substantial sum of five thousand pounds. If Braedon were more of a betting man, he’d bet that Hill would avail himself of the girl’s virtue and not release the debt. He’d go to Hayden with some nonsense about the very pleasurable experience simply buying the man more time to pay, but not clearing the books. Bastard wasn’t a vicious enough description for him.

113 Braedon watched as Ethan banged on Hill’s door with his silvertopped cane. Ethan’s own fury hardly contained. It did not take long for Hill to open his front door. “So eager.” Came Hill’s voice before the door was fully opened. The shock at finding them and not a young woman evident on his face. “Sinclair? Ashmore? What is it that I can do for you?” Ethan didn’t hesitate but used his cane to press Hill backward into the house. Hill stumbled back before using the wall to regain his footing. “Have you lost your mind as well as your cock, Ashmore?” Hill spat. “No,” Ethan snarled. “But you’re about to if you don’t show proper respect.” Braedon nearly lunged forward to tear at Hill’s throat when he noticed another man come to the drawing room’s archway. Hill had planned to share Laurel with someone else. His anger had been barely controlled a moment ago; now rage rose in him with unreasonable speed. The only thread of calm that presented itself to Braedon was the knowledge that Mrs. Sutton had relayed. Hill did not know it was to be Laurel here today and not Miss Hayden. Braedon was certain that Hill would do with Laurel just as he’d planned with Miss Hayden. If not worse. Ethan dragged Hill into the house’s study, and Braedon followed, ignoring the presence of the man in the drawing room. “You were expecting a young woman this afternoon,” Braedon stated in a short, furious voice. “That is no business of yours, Sinclair,” Hill pushed away from Ethan and defiantly tried to stare them both down. “What I do in my home is none of your concern.” “But it is,” Braedon countered in a reasonable voice that had Hill pausing. “When you are about to defile the closest friend of my fiancé.” “I see you know of my arrangement with Hayden.” Hill grinned maliciously. “Then you need to understand that this is a mutual arrangement between me and a man indebted to me. The details are for us to decide. Not you.” “That’s where you are wrong.” Braedon pressed Hill against the wall, his hand circling the man’s throat and squeezing. “Anything that breathes near my family is of concern to me.” Abruptly releasing Hill, Braedon stepped away and pulled out five thousand pounds in a leather holder. “Retrieve paper and sign a release of Hayden’s debt. This will cover it in full.” “I prefer the girl,” Hill replied in a hoarse voice, still defiant. Ethan swung his cane, hitting Hill across the back. “You touch the girl and I’ll see that your cock is dipped in bronze and gifted to her as a remembrance.”

114 It didn’t take much longer to conclude their business with Hill and take their leave. Braedon and Ethan rode home in relative silence. Once back at their townhouse it became apparent that all Ethan wanted, needed, was to see Laurel safely again in this house. Braedon was a different story. He wanted her here, yes, but he also wanted her to know how serious this had all been. If they hadn’t returned when they did, if Mrs. Sutton hadn’t seen fit to tell them of Laurel’s plans, today would have turned out very differently. Laurel would have been hurt, scarred by the experience. There would have been a very good chance that she would have never recovered from it. And that, that more than anything had frightened Braedon. **** Laurel’s gown was a pale rose and she wore a grey jacket. Her hair was worn in a chignon with a simple mother of pearl comb at one side. She tugged on her grey gloves and prepared to leave her room. She felt more like she was leaving for the gallows than for an afternoon of sex. She’d been with two men several times now. One man should pose no challenge. With slow steps, she headed down the stairs and bid her Aunt Gwendolyn a good day. Her mother and father were at Lord Bentley’s through the evening discussing some reform father wanted to present to Parliament. Aunt Gwendolyn wished her well as she prepared to leave for tea at Mrs. Tate’s. It was as ordinary a day as they came in the household. Except today, Laurel was a whore. Boarding the carriage, she greeted Mrs. Sutton and half listened to the arrangements the woman had made for the day. Laurel simply nodded and leaned back against the velvet upholstery. She didn’t bother looking out the window or trying to discern where exactly in London they were headed. She trusted Mrs. Sutton to arrange everything just as efficiently as she always seemed to. The ride was smoother than she’d anticipated; there were no riots in the streets as she half hoped for or accidents to block their way and delay them. In what felt like a blink, Mrs. Sutton was touching her knee and saying they were about to arrive. “Allow me to enter first,” Mrs. Sutton stated in a quiet voice. “I’ll make sure that there are no unwanted eyes about.” Laurel nodded and watched Mrs. Sutton disembark the carriage. In the few moments she waited before leaning forward to the window, Laurel contemplated opening the opposite door and running away. But Catherine depended on her. As she leaned to open the door, she realized that they were in Braedon’s courtyard. Had Mrs. Sutton arranged to have Hill meet them here? Laurel supposed it was logical since the courtyard allowed for

115 privacy. But how could this be? How could she sleep with Hill in the house where Braedon and Ethan had…where she had felt loved. Biting back tears, Laurel exited the carriage and made her way through the front door. As she entered, the sight of Braedon and Ethan waiting in the foyer for her froze her in place.

116 Chapter Twenty-Two “What’s this?” Laurel demanded of Braedon and Ethan. They were the absolute last people she expected to see today and seeing them did not improve her nerves. She whirled in a turn about the room looking for Mrs. Sutton or worse—Pierson Hill. “If you’re expecting Mr. Hill, we’re sorry to disappoint you, Laurel.” Braedon stated harshly. His hard stare bored through her and she shivered at the unreadable black gaze. Straightening her spine, she refused to show him, either of them, any emotion. “What have you done, Braedon?” Laurel hurled the question like an accusation, completely taken aback by all of this. She’d prepared herself for days to settle Catherine’s debt, to protect her friend. All their arrival had done was leave her confused and unreasonably angry. “Have I upset your plans for a secret assignation?” Braedon questioned cruelly. “Braedon,” Ethan rebuked, but Laurel could see the anger in his own blue eyes. “This isn’t the time for such games.” “Isn’t it, Ethan?” Braedon replied coolly. “Our lover was about to bed another man.” He stalked the few steps separating them and ran his fingers along her cheek. A callous move that held nothing of the love and affection she once thought him to feel toward her. “The two of us don’t seem enough for the proper Lady Laurel.” Laurel slapped his hand away and took a step back only to smack into Ethan’s body. Stiffening from the feel of his rigid stance, she tossed her head slightly and said in an equally indifferent voice. “You don’t understand what I must do.” “Laurel, it’s all right,” Ethan said in a soft voice behind her. His hands held her shoulders, a light caress that only further served to confuse her. “We know what happened.” “Yes, we know you were about to whore yourself to Pierson Hill.” Braedon moved forward, hovered over her with a dark gaze. She met that stare boldly, unflinching. “At what point did you believe you had the right to give your body to anyone but us?” “You have made no promises to me.” Laurel stood straighter and brushed Ethan’s hands off her body. She tossed her head again, tilted her chin, and looked directly into Braedon’s eyes with as much defiance as she ever felt. “No promises save those of pleasure. I’m free to do as I like. If that means my ruin…so be it.” “You are not free.” Braedon snapped. “You belong here in this household, in our bed.” “As your whore?” Laurel shot back. “I would rather join a brothel than live as your mistress.”

117 “Laurel,” Ethan said as he enveloped her into an embrace from behind. She briefly struggled but his body felt so good, so familiar against hers, and his hold was inexorable. Staying stiffly still, she waited. His mouth touched her ear as he murmured, “Shh, love. Braedon’s just angry that you were at risk.” Braedon grasped Ethan’s shoulder, effectively trapping her between the two men. His other hand cupped on Laurel’s neck, thumb caressing her cheek. “You don’t have the right to do what you intended.” His words were a whisper but there was menace in them. She didn’t fear for her life but knew he meant every word. “Regardless of what dangers your friend found herself in. My only concern is you.” Laurel pushed against his chest, but Braedon was unmoved. Ethan’s hold tightened, and it was clear he had no intention of releasing her. Cursing her racing heart and the small seed of hope that blossomed she snapped back. “You showed no concern when you both abandoned me with no word as to your intentions.” “Forgive us, Laurel,” Ethan whispered against her ear. “That was only so we could return to surprise you with plans for the marriage.” That damnable seed blossomed further, but she ruthlessly stamped it down. She’d been far too selfish in indulging in both Braedon and Ethan. Far too self-absorbed when Catherine needed her more than she needed her next orgasm. No more. Catherine’s reputation, her future, damnation, possibly her very life were at stake here. Laurel would not sacrifice her friend because her men were suddenly sorry. “It’s too late.” With a shove, she finally broke free of Ethan’s hold and slipped out from Braedon’s soft touch. Backing up a step, not in fear or retreat, but to prove a point, she turned and made sure they understood. “It’s too late,” she repeated. “I can’t allow Catherine to be used by Hill. If that means I’ve lost the two of you, then I am willing to accept that.” “Hill is no longer a consideration,” Ethan stated. “We have settled that debt.” Caught off guard, Laurel stared at them. Ethan’s statement at first didn’t make sense, and she shook her head to clear it. For days now she believed she’d have to bed Hill. Believed Braedon and Ethan had abandoned her for other adventures. She believed she had to marry an aged man to prevent her ruin or indeed endure that ruin. Now, to suddenly discover Hill no longer held that power over Catherine or her family, and that Braedon and Ethan had plans of marriage all along… She should have been thrilled. This knowledge should have brought her enormous relief. All Laurel could feel was anger.

118 She had no further words for them. They’d made her care; they’d made her fall in love with them; then they’d discarded her with nary a word. All the shame she’d endured since last meeting them, all the crushed hope she tried to swallow, rushed back, threatening to choke her. She’d disgraced herself with them, plain and simple. Her mind was exhausted, her body was exhausted. Laurel looked at each of them once more and turned to walk out the door; she didn’t care who saw her or how far she’d have to walk to return home. She had to get out of this house. Now. A home she deceived; she didn’t belong even there. Ethan’s hand snaked out and clamped around her waist. She barely heard him tell Braedon to stay away. That he’d take care of this. The next thing she realized, Ethan ushered her into a small drawing room, closed the pocket doors behind them, and flicked the lock. In a fog, she took a seat on the chaise and looked at Ethan. Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away. They couldn’t be helped and wouldn’t help anything. Ethan sat next to her like an old friend, the friend he first purported to be. He had become so much more than that. “If Miss Hayden had not found herself in the situation she had, you may have worried for the week we were gone.” Ethan spoke softly, taking her hand and pulling off her glove. His thumb caressed the soft skin of her palm and she willed herself to breathe evenly. “Nothing like this would have occurred; we’d have returned to see joy in your eyes not this sadness.” “I truly believed neither of you had any further use for me,” Laurel whispered around the tears thick in her throat. “I’m in love with you,” Ethan stated, lifting her palm to his lips. Laurel looked at him, and the unshed tears spilled out. She closed her eyes against them but knew it to be fruitless. His words undid her; she hadn’t the time to build enough defenses against this. Against them. “Never think I would leave you.” Ethan held her face between his hands and kissed her closed eyelids. She could feel the rough skin of his burns against her cheek and leaned into him. “I wanted you from that first dance. Everything that you are I love. Your curiosity, your loyalty, your laughter.” “Ethan,” Laurel began. Stopped, wished the words weren’t true, but they were. His tenderness, the honesty in his voice, undid her. “I do love you.” “And Braedon,” he said. “I know. I’ve lived with an attraction to him for a long time. He’s compelling, dark, mysterious, and dangerous. It’s hard to know him but easy to want him. I also know he loves you.” Laurel opened her eyes and pulled back, shaking her head. “You know it’s true,” Ethan insisted and she stilled. Yes. Yes, she did. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have reacted as he had.”

119 “I don’t know if I can do this.” Laurel rested her head on his shoulder and tried to sort out the myriad thoughts fighting for her attention. “I don’t know if I could live this way with you both.” “Do you want us, Laurel?” Ethan asked, voice still a gentle whisper. Beneath that, however, Laurel heard a need, an uncertainty she wouldn’t have previously associated with Ethan. Honesty won. Laurel nodded, a deep sigh escaping her as she admitted the truth of the matter. This last week had been awful. Would she have survived had they not returned? Yes. But she didn’t want to survive. She wanted to live. And she only felt alive with them. In their arms, her body aching for them. Laughing with them, talking with them. “I do,” she admitted. His mouth covered hers then, soft and tender. She instantly responded, melting into his arms, wrapping hers around his shoulders and pulling him closer. No more the quiet friend but now the impassioned lover. Her fingers were quick on the ties to his breeches even as she hated the lust pounding through her. Could this be another ploy? Pretty words to seduce her back into their bed? Laurel shook her head, pulled away. She looked into Ethan’s blue eyes, the passion turning them the color of the North Sea in a storm. He wanted her, of that she never had a doubt. But love? She licked her lips and watched him. Yes. She knew it was there, knew Ethan loved her. Knew Braedon did as well. Ethan had been correct about Braedon—his dark passions hid much, and Laurel knew he’d never fully voice the love he felt for her. Could she accept that? Laurel kissed Ethan again, freeing his cock and stroking the thick length. Yes. Yes she could accept both of them. Emboldened, she pushed Ethan down and gathered her skirts about her waist. His finger teased her nub, sending a wave of wet heat through her, and Laurel moaned his name as she sank over him. This was so different than she’d envisioned for her day, and she rejoiced in that. Laurel knew she wouldn’t have enjoyed sex with Pierson Hill, assuming he didn’t rape and kill her outright. Her own hands went to her breasts, releasing them from the confines of her bodice. Nipples already hard, she knelt on the chaise and moved over Ethan. She took him deep into her body, but his hands clamped on her hips and moved her faster, bringing him deeper into her until she cried out, ground her hips against his. But she wanted more and could even now feel her orgasm build. She pinched her nipples, twisting them and moved harder over Ethan.

120 Hard, strong hands gripped her hips from behind, stilling her. Ethan’s smile was as wicked as she’d ever seen, and Laurel knew Braedon knelt behind her. Swallowing, she looked over her shoulder, position utterly wanton—nipples aching between her fingers, moving over Ethan with increasingly hard thrusts. Laurel didn’t care. Braedon’s dark eyes locked with hers and for a moment she hesitated. She had no idea how he’d entered the room, she’d seen Ethan lock the door, but suddenly she didn’t care. By accepting him into her body, she accepted him back into her life. She could marry Ethan and leave London, leave England. No one would be the wiser in India or Canada. He must have seen some of that indecision in her eyes, for Braedon cupped her cheek and kissed her mouth. Softly. Gently. A plea for forgiveness. “I love you, Laurel,” he whispered. She closed her eyes and relaxed. Fingers caressing his cheek she kissed him back. “I love you, too, Braedon.” Laurel swore she felt the tension leave his body, the release of fear she’d reject him. When Braedon pushed her forward, further over Ethan, she didn’t resist. Ethan bit hard on one of her nipples, and Laurel screamed in pleasure, moving over him again. Behind her, Braedon’s finger slipped into her tight rosette and again she shuddered. Bracing herself on Ethan’s shoulders, his mouth doing delicious things to her breasts, Laurel yanked her skirts higher about her hips. Braedon entered her, slow and forceful, filling her until she thought she’d pass out from such pleasure. He guided their movements so that he and Ethan filled her simultaneously. It didn’t take long, Laurel was already inundated with erotic need, with mindless pleasure. She screamed, crying out their names as she climaxed, slamming hard against them to prolong the intensity. “I love you,” she panted, utterly spent as they, too, climaxed. Both careful to withdraw from her. “I love you both.” How they ended on the floor, Laurel didn’t know. But Braedon wrapped around her, holding her tight as Ethan’s mouth caressed down her neck and over her shoulder.

121 Chapter Twenty-Three Happier than she ever thought she’d be, Laurel smiled brightly up at her maid as Anne finished dressing her hair. In the two days since Braedon and Ethan’s return, she’d sent a note round to Catherine promising an end to her troubles with Pierson Hill. It didn’t necessarily end Mr. Hayden’s troubles; the man didn’t know how to stop gambling. But with Catherine’s virtue intact and the Hayden family’s reputation on shaky but non-scandalous ground, it was simply a matter of time before Mr. Worthington asked for Catherine’s hand. They’d all have their happy ending, Laurel thought as she stood from the vanity seat. Braedon had formally asked for her hand in marriage, and the contracts were even now being drawn up. Her father, despite his insistence she marry a higher rank, hadn’t objected when Braedon spoke to him. In fact, he seemed pleased with both Braedon’s familial connections and his politics. Laurel didn’t know what had caused that, from her understanding, Braedon held an opposite view on many of her father’s laws, but so long as there was no opposition to her marriage, she wasn’t going to utter a word. Aunt Gwendolyn, an odd knowing smile on her cheerful face, had congratulated her with genuine happiness. “I know you’ll be very happy in that household,” she said with a wink and a sly glance at Braedon. Braedon had already promised an extremely private villa on coastal Italy he planned to rent. Ethan said he’d travel there beforehand, so as not to arouse suspicion. Laurel shivered at the thought. Of swimming naked in the sea with her lovers, of making love with them in the beautiful Italian countryside. How different her life would have been if she’d met with Mr. Hill. After they’d made love, Ethan kissed her gently and, with another whispered I love you, left her in Braedon’s arms. He hadn’t spoken at first, simply held her tightly, stroking her hair. When he did speak, he did so with a calmness that scared her more than his earlier fury had. Braedon spoke of his love for her, how he couldn’t live without her. The ring of truth touched her. It was as honest as she’d ever seen Braedon. His fear not that she would have been killed while in Mr. Hill’s house, but that she would never have been the same. Offering her body to that man would have altered her irrevocably, and Laurel knew that. It was all too perfect. All that remained was to see to Catherine’s engagement to Mr. Worthington. Laurel hoped this afternoon moved that prospective closer to a positive end.

122 Climbing into the carriage with her aunt, Laurel raised the shades to the windows and gazed outside as she listened to Gwendolyn’s happy chatter. The day was chilly but bright, and Laurel intended to enjoy every last minute of it. On the streets, fashionably dressed couples enjoyed the spring day, while children ran in happy circles around them. Street hawkers bartered good naturedly with customers. The entire day felt happy and vivid. Bidding Aunt Gwendolyn a good afternoon, Laurel exited the carriage and made her way to the Haydens’ front door. Gwendolyn planned to shop then meet some of her friends at Vauxhall Gardens. She’d pick Laurel up after tea. The door was already open. The brightness of the day suddenly turned cold as Laurel looked at the ajar door. Swallowing heavily, she pushed it open, fear churning in her stomach. She didn’t call out, though she wanted to. Instead, she tiptoed inside and looked about for anyone. No butler or maid, not even Catherine herself greeted her. Laurel swallowed again, heart pounding loudly in her ears. She closed the door, the click echoing unnaturally in the marbled foyer. Looking up, she searched in vain for a member of the staff. For Catherine. Laurel licked her lips and ventured further into the house, creeping down the hallway. Afraid to alert whoever had forced the door, she was desperate to find a member of the household. Pushing open the library door, Laurel yelped in surprise. Clayton Hayden sat in a chair, decanter of whiskey in one hand. Catherine’s mother lay in a crumpled heap at his feet. Her forehead bled, but from the doorway Laurel thought she still breathed. “Where’s Catherine?” she demanded. Clayton looked up. An angry drunk, it looked as if this wasn’t the first decanter he drank today. “There’s no time for you today,” Clayton slurred. “Get out.” “Where’s Catherine?” she demanded again. Clayton rose and grabbed her arm in a violent grip that would leave bruises. He turned her and shoved her out the door. “Get out!” he snapped. “Catherine is occupied and can’t see you.” Yanking her arm from his grip, she danced from his reaching grasp. “Where’s Catherine?” she demanded, louder. He snarled at her and tried to grab her again. Lifting her skirts, she jumped from his hand. Down the hall, she heard a crash, porcelain against the hardwood floor. Clayton stopped, hand outstretched at the sound. He didn’t look anything other than angry and drunk, but Laurel had a horrible feeling she knew what had happened here.

123 “What have you done?” she cried. Racing from the library, she followed the sound of struggles she could now clearly hear. Her only thought was to get to Catherine. What other debts had Hayden incurred that he allowed his wife to be bludgeoned and his daughter to be…Laurel refused to think further on that and skidded to a halt on the marbled floor. Banging open the doors to the music room, she looked about wildly for her friend. Pierson Hill, or the man she assumed to be Hill given Clayton’s gambling debts, pressed one knee into Catherine’s back. Her friend sobbed, struggling against the heavy man but it was no use. Hill tore at Catherine’s gown, ripping the fine muslin to shreds. Her stomach dropped. Frozen in the doorway, Laurel took only a moment to understand the scene. But Hill had seen her and she sprang to the nearest table, grabbing a china plate rimmed with gold. With all her strength, Laurel threw it at him. The plate hit Hill square in the chest but seemed to have no effect on him. Frantic to find another means of defense, Laurel looked around the room but it was too late. She ducked Hill’s grasping hands and all but fell to Catherine’s side. She tried to help her friend off the floor, but Hill was upon them. “Go back to fucking Sinclair,” Hill snarled, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her roughly away from Catherine. “And leave me what’s mine.” Hill tossed her to the side as if she were nothing, but Laurel pushed herself off the floor and scrambled for Catherine. Her friend had made it to her knees, but Hill now knelt behind her, pulling so hard on her hair, Laurel feared Catherine’s neck would snap. So focused on Catherine, Laurel didn’t see Hill’s hand shoot out. The force of it sent her reeling backwards. Before she could recover enough to move out of the way, Hill yanked her by her own hair and forced her to stand. “Catherine!” Laurel screamed to no avail. Hill tossed her out of the music room and slammed the doors behind her. Laurel whirled and tried the handle immediately, but it was too late. He’d locked them out. Pounding on the solid wood until her hands bruised, Laurel screamed for her friend. Inside, she heard her cry out, heard a table crash to the floor and Hill’s cursing. She tried the handles again, even knowing it was useless. Running down the hall, she grabbed a bronze urn on the side table and smashed it against the handle. Still nothing. She hit it again and again, hating this had happened to Catherine, that she couldn’t get to her friend.

124 When she’d agreed to take Catherine’s place, when she agreed to meet with Hill instead of Catherine, Laurel had hoped to spare her friend this horror. What happened? Braedon insisted he paid Hill off, and Laurel believed him. What happened to have Hill here? She smashed the urn again and again against the handle, wishing it was Hill’s head she could bash in rather than the lock. Tears fell down her cheeks, blurring her vision but Laurel continued to hit the door. “Laurel!” Damn that man, how dare Clayton Hayden do nothing when his daughter was about to be raped. “Laurel!” Braedon’s hand fell over hers. Confused, Laurel looked up at him. “What are you doing here?” she wondered, dazed. He set her to the side with a grim smile. Ethan stood there, too, and Mr. Worthington. Surprised, Laurel watched them, still clutching the urn, as Ethan and Worthington rammed their shoulders to the door. Mr. Worthington went through the door first, showing a side of him Laurel had never imagined existed. Following them in, Laurel saw Catherine still kneeling in the center of the floor, mouth bleeding, clutching her shredded gown to her chest. He moved directly for Catherine, his only concern. Drawing her to him, Worthington cradled the shaking woman tightly to his chest. He looked about the room, catching Laurel’s eyes briefly. Fired burned there, the bright blaze of anger and vengeance. She’d only ever seen that fire in Braedon’s eyes when they’d fought the previous day. When he’d been so angry over her willingness to take Catherine’s place and sleep with Hill. Now that fire landed on Hill. Worthington kissed Catherine on the cheek and tenderly released her. In two quick strides that took him across the room before Laurel could fully comprehend what he planned to do, he confronted Hill. Hill moved first. He grabbed the fireplace poker and swung it at Worthington. Catherine, dazed, still knelt in the center of their fight. Laurel raced forward to drag her out of the way as the two men fought, but Ethan held her back. She struggled, looking wildly about the room and saw Braedon standing there. Guarding the door. In case Hill tried to escape. Laurel glanced at Ethan but he gazed steadily at Hill. Both looked furious, ready to intervene, but one more look at Worthington and Laurel saw he needed no help. Apparently, the formerly quiet and retired Mr. Worthington indeed needed no help. Hill swung at him, but Worthington ducked and punched the other man in the stomach. Hill doubled over and Worthington straightened, swinging again and throwing Hill backwards.

125 The other man fell against the fireplace, smacking his head against the marble mantle. Hill crumpled to the floor and didn’t move. Without looking at him, Worthington returned to Catherine. He gathered her into his arms, kissing her forehead, brushing the hair from her face. “Did he hurt you terribly?” Worthington asked. Catherine looked numbly up at him and shook her head. “Let Hayden deal with this mess,” Ethan said, releasing Laurel. “We should leave.” “I’m not leaving Catherine,” Worthington said, helping her to stand. “She’ll stay with me.” Laurel stepped forward, decisive. She wouldn’t let her friend return to this repulsive household. “Thank you, Lady Laurel,” Worthington said. “She’ll need to stay with you only until I can secure the proper marriage license.” That seemed to shock Catherine from her stupor, for she looked in surprise at Worthington. Smiling, lip still bleeding, dress all but falling off her, she stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Relief mingled with her happiness as Laurel watched. She squeezed Ethan’s hand, her earlier joy returning. “Let’s go.” Braedon stood next to her, a large warm hand on her shoulder. A comforting caress. Laurel didn’t know if Hill was alive or dead. And she didn’t care. Regardless, his death would never be held against them; Worthington certainly wouldn’t hold that scandal against Catherine and soon she’d be safely married and away from her scoundrel of a father. And in a very short time, she and Braedon would be married, meeting Ethan in Italy. Italy, she thought again. With both her husbands. The End