They were barely seated again when Roberts appeared, accompanied by a little maid and carrying a large silver tea tray. He set it down on the butler's tray. "Shall I pour, m'lady?" he asked Savannah.

"Yes, but just first cups, Roberts. Then you and Agnes may go," she answered. She glanced at the tray. Watercress, cuc.u.mber, and beef-and-cheddar finger sandwiches. Scones, clotted Devon cream, and strawberry jam. A plate of Mrs. Munson's miniature lemon curd, and mince meat tartlets. Another plate of thin-sliced dark fruitcake. A bit skimpy, but it would do. Tea was a bit late, after all, and there was dinner to consider.

"Didn't they feed you on the flight?" Lord Palmer asked Emily innocently.

"Your English air makes me extra hungry," Emily replied, s.n.a.t.c.hing the last beef-and-cheddar sandwich from the plate. "Sava, this mustard is delicious. Where do you get it? Is it French?"

Master William and Miss Selena were brought into the lounge by their nanny, a starchy-looking older woman, to greet the guests and then bid their parents a good night. They were fresh from their baths, and in pajamas and nightgown. Selena, her mother's miniature, was shy, for she hardly knew Emily, but she did recall Michael Devlin, and was soon curled up in his lap.

"Her mother's daughter," Emily said with a smile.

William, however, remembered his G.o.dmother. He put his arms about her neck and kissed her cheek. "Did you bring me a gift?" he asked her.

"It's at the inn, and I will have it for you tomorrow," Emily told him.

"What is it?" he wanted to know.

"It's a surprise, William," she replied.

After fifteen minutes Nanny announced it was time for Master William and Miss Selena to depart. Their supper would be waiting for them in the nursery. The children bade their parents and their guests good night, and left the lounge without protest.

"They have beautiful manners," Emily remarked. Then she glanced at her watch. "I think we have to be going, Sava. I'm exhausted with the time change."

"I thought you would remain for dinner," Savannah protested.

"Not tonight," Emily replied. "I need my rest. It's after eleven at home." She stood up.

"I rented a car," Michael Devlin said, and he stood too. "We know our way back to the inn."

"We'll ride tomorrow about ten," Savannah said. "Join us?"

"I brought my breeches," Emily answered her. "Do you still have that lovely gray gelding I like? He's such a sweetie, and has a nice gait."

"I think we keep him just for your visits, my dear," Lord Palmer said. "I'll see he's saddled and waiting for you. How about you, Mick? That mean black fellow you always seem to favor?"

Michael Devlin nodded. "Perfect. Savannah, my love, thank you for a delicious tea. Reg, we'll see you in the morning." He took Emily's hand, and together they left their hosts. "I've rented a Jag," he said as they came out of the house and helped her into the car. "Shall I order supper in the room?"

"Yes," she agreed, knowing she could look forward to a night of bliss in his arms. "And champagne, Devlin."

"What are we celebrating?" he asked her.

"Being in England," she replied lightly. Having your c.o.c.k in my p.u.s.s.y again. Being in love with you, she thought to herself.

Savannah had arranged for them to have a charming little suite consisting of a small lounge and bedroom, both with fireplaces. The bed was large and hung with flowered curtains. The bathroom was small, but serviceable. Their bags had been unpacked for them by the maid. Emily smiled, wondering what the poor country girl must have thought of all her naughty lingerie. They ate a simple supper and drank their champagne before the fire in the lounge. Then they slept for a while in the big bed, awoke, made tender love, and slept again. When morning came they lay together for a time, watching as the sun crept into the garden outside of their bedroom windows.

"I really did miss you," Michael Devlin said to her. He was holding her hand. It had been lousy without Emily, and he had realized with shock that he didn't like being without her at all. He needed her, which was difficult for him to admit, for Michael Devlin had never needed anyone-especially a woman. But he needed this woman. Still, while she seemed to enjoy the pa.s.sion they shared, and was an enthusiastic bed partner, she had never indicated that she cared for him. Maybe she didn't. Maybe it was just all about the s.e.x, and hanging on to her career. Well, he could live with that if he had to, couldn't he?

"I missed you too," Emily admitted. "It was so wonderful in August when we could be together all the time. I'm glad you asked me to meet you in England, Devlin." She snuggled against his shoulder. "Rina's afraid you're going to ruin my reputation."

"I certainly hope I am," he teased her. "Ruining you is a most enjoyable pastime, angel face." Then he leaned over and kissed her slowly and sweetly.

Emily sighed with her happiness as their lips touched. But then, as the kiss began to grow more serious in its intent, she pulled away. "We promised milord and milady that we would ride with them at ten," Emily said. "We have to get up. I need my breakfast, Devlin. Knowing Sava and Reg we'll be gone for several hours, and won't see food again until teatime." She slipped from his arms and from the bed.

They showered together, dressed, and went downstairs to the inn's little dining room for breakfast. They were just in time, the hostess told them as she announced that there was only scrambled eggs and sausage left, plopped a rack of toast on their table, and asked if they would have coffee or tea. When they had eaten they drove through Barrow village and several miles on to Tilbury Manor, where Lord and Lady Palmer were waiting for them at their stables with the horses.

As they mounted their animals Devlin noticed Lord Palmer admiring Emily's a.s.s, which looked particularly fetching in her taupe riding breeches. He felt a sharp p.r.i.c.k of anger. He knew the Palmers' predilection for threesomes. He'd been invited once to join them himself, but he'd refused. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had no right looking at Emily like that-like a d.a.m.ned fox contemplating a particularly delicious chicken dinner. And then Michael Devlin realized with surprise that he was jealous. He was jealous! Jealous because he loved her. And she was going to d.a.m.ned well love him or he'd know the reason why.

It was a beautiful day, and they rode for several hours. Savannah had arranged for Roberts to bring a picnic luncheon to a designated spot beneath some willow trees in a meadow by a winding stream. When they finally returned to the stables, Reg's cell phone rang, the ring tone playing "Rule Britannia." After a few terse words he went into the house, followed by his wife, who called to her guests to come in for tea.

Emily caught Devlin's arm and drew him back into the darkened stables. The horses had been unsaddled and rubbed down, their feed bins filled. There were no stablemen in sight. "My c.l.i.t's been rubbed back and forth all day," she whispered in Devlin's ear. "I have always wanted to be f.u.c.ked in a stable. Would you like to screw me here in a darkened stall on the hay?" She licked at his ear, and then nipped the lobe. Then she unzipped his riding pants and drew his p.e.n.i.s out. Kneeling before him she pulled his pants down and began to play with him, nuzzling and licking his b.a.l.l.s, twisting her head to take them into her mouth. Her tongue rolled them about slowly within the wet warmth.

Michael Devlin drew a sharp breath. Where had she learned to do that? Her s.e.xual manuals, of course. But dear G.o.d, she did what she was doing very, very well. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer," he ground out, "but you'll have to get out of your pants, and getting back into them if someone comes in won't be easy."

Emily released his b.a.l.l.s. "No, I won't," she said. "I made a little alteration to my breeches, Devlin. I told you, I've always wanted to be f.u.c.ked in a stable a la Lady Chatterly. Trust me." Then she licked up and down his p.e.n.i.s a few times before taking him into her mouth and suckling him.

His fingers dug into her scalp. "I'm perfectly willing to be the gardener to your Lady Chatterly," he groaned, "but I don't want to come in your mouth, angel face."

She nodded and continued her glorious torture of his c.o.c.k, which swelled and lengthened until Emily began to gag slightly.

"That's enough," he said low, pulling her up. "Now, madam, show me how I am going to f.u.c.k you with your d.a.m.ned pants on." And she took his hand and drew it down to her crotch, pulling the fabric there apart. "Where the h.e.l.l did you find these breeches?" he asked, both surprised and delighted as they slid to the hay.

"I sew," she murmured, guiding his p.e.n.i.s to her very wet c.u.n.t. "G.o.d, I am so hot for you, Devlin! I don't think I can wait too long."

"Let's get your legs up over my shoulders," he said. "I want to go deep."

And he did, thrusting harder and faster into her until she screamed softly with her o.r.g.a.s.m, and he came so hard that they both shook with the force of their pleasure.

"Ohh, that was incredible." Emily gasped as she began to come down again. "It was even better than I thought it would be."

"Glad to be of service, madam," he replied weakly. "You are becoming insatiable, angel face. And I love it."

He adored her. He loved s.e.x with her. Was it possible he had real feelings for her? Of course he did. He loved her. "We'd better pull it together," she said finally. "Sava is no fool, and she'll have figured it out already. But I don't want Reg leering at us when we come in for tea."

"Agreed." Devlin stood up, pulling Emily with him. "Don't forget to close your breeches. How did you make that alteration, by the way?"

"Velcro," she told him with a grin.

He was still laughing when they entered the manor house lounge for their tea.

Savannah was alone, and appeared extremely annoyed. "Reg has to go back up to London tomorrow," she said. "That d.a.m.ned woman," she added, looking as if she might cry. And Savannah Banning never cried.

"What woman?" Emily was at once sympathetic.

"Gillian Brecknock, that so-called actress," Savannah said.

"I thought he gave her up when you were married," Emily said.

"So did I, but it's obviously been going on all along," Savannah said bitterly.

"Oh, Sava, I'm so sorry." Emily put her arms about her friend.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm no Lady Di. I'll never divorce him. And the truth is that he does love me. But he's like all these d.a.m.ned Brit toffs: He's got to have his little bit on the side and think he's keeping it a big secret from the wife because it adds excitement to the relationship for him. I could ruin it by causing a scene, but I won't. At least I know who he's with when he's with Gillian. I know what she is. And I know he had the opportunity to marry her before he even met me, but he wouldn't. I may be an American, but I'm Southern aristocracy, I'm famous for writing racy novels, and I'm rich. It gives me more points than an actress who began her life in Liverpool and still lapses into the dialect when she gets angry. Reg is a sn.o.b at heart, you know, and I've done my duty as a n.o.bleman's wife. He's got an heir and a daughter, and the little stick went pink the other day when I peed on it, so there'll be another next June. That's why I'm so weepy. Hormones running rampant," she concluded with a weak grin.

Emily hugged Savannah. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! Even if he is a pig!"

"You should have kids," Savannah said softly.

"You have to have a husband to have kids," Emily replied. "At least I do."

"Then you're ready to get married," Savannah persisted, looking past Emily to Michael Devlin and fixing him with a hard stare.

"If the right man asked, yes," Emily said.

At that moment Lord Palmer came into the lounge. "Did Sava tell you?" he asked them. "I have to go back to London tomorrow. One of my clients is in need of my services," he told them smoothly. "Let's skip tea, Sava, and take Emily and Mick out to dinner. That charming little French restaurant that opened up a few months ago on the other side of Barrow would be lovely, don't you think? It's called La Belle Auberge."

"What a brilliant idea, darling," Savannah said, smiling at her husband.

"Then we'll go back to the inn to dress, and we'll meet you at the restaurant," Michael Devlin said. "The concierge will tell us how to get there."

"Perfect!" Savannah agreed. "I'll make the reservations. Eight o'clock all right?" She reached up, and pulled a piece of straw from Emily's hair. "Don't be late," she told them with a wicked grin.

"How long do we have?" Emily asked her lover when they had regained their rooms at the inn.

"A little over three hours," he said. "Why?"

"I thought you would like to see something I bought before I left," she replied innocently, but a little smile played at the edges of her mouth.

"Is it naughty?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said, "but how naughty depends upon you, Devlin."

He nodded, seating himself in a wing chair by the lounge fire. "I will await your pleasure, angel face," he told her with a smile. He loved how she was suddenly seeking out things to please him. Was it because she cared for him, or was she just researching again? How the h.e.l.l could he ever really know? And yet she had said quite plainly to Savannah that she was ready to marry and have children. But was he? Yes, he loved her the way he had never really loved another woman. But was he ready to give up his freedom, and stick to one woman for the rest of his days? And when he married it would be forever. He was Irish, for G.o.d's sake.

Emily went into the bathroom and quickly showered. Thoroughly dried, she now put on the black garter belt, rolled on a pair of black stockings with tiny diamantes scattered all over them, and slipped on the black teddy. It barely reached her belly b.u.t.ton, was held up by thin little silk straps, and had tiny heart cutouts that allowed her nipples to thrust out through the fabric. Slipping her feet into the black silk-and-rhinestone stilettos, she gave her strawberry-blond hair a quick brush, looked at herself in the floor-length mirror on the closet door, and smiled, pleased.

"Close your eyes, Devlin," she told him. "And ready or not, here I come!" Then she walked out into the other room, stood before him, and said, "Okay, you can open your eyes now." She had struck a provocative pose, her b.u.t.t sticking out.

His open eyes widened with appreciation at her appearance. "Yes," he drawled slowly. "Very naughty indeed, angel face. Now stay where you are, because I found a few things in a shop in Frankfurt that should give us a little fun." He stood up, going back into the bedroom to reemerge a moment later. There was a leather glove on his right hand. "This," he said, showing it to her, "is a spanking glove. See the tiny little p.r.i.c.kers on the palm? The outfit you're wearing just screams, "Spank me," and so I'm going to spank you, angel face." He held out his hand. "Over my knees with you!" He pulled her down, and without another word began to spank her adorable bottom. He thought about Lord Palmer eyeing it earlier, and his hand fell harder.

At first the p.r.i.c.kly glove simply stung. Then it began to burn, and her flesh grew warm, especially her c.l.i.toris. The spanking seemed to excite the sentient little nub of flesh. She squealed and wiggled, attempting to escape the glove, but Devlin's hand was firmly planted in the small of her back, restraining her. Finally she could bear no more, and begged him to cease. He did at once, putting her on her knees and pulling his engorged p.e.n.i.s from his pants.

"Suck!" he commanded her. "Take me all the way." And she did, letting his come slide down her throat. But she was still filled with her own l.u.s.t.

She looked up at him, pleading. "Devlin?"

He stood and pulled her with him, leading her into their bedroom. "Lie down," he said. Then his hand went into his pocket, and he drew out two tiny, smooth ivory b.a.l.l.s, rolling them about in his palm. "Inside each of these is a tiny drop of mercury," he told her. "When they touch each other the effect is going to be quite stimulating. Open your legs for me," he told her, and when she had he slowly inserted each ball into her v.a.g.i.n.a, pushing them well up into her body. "Now get up and walk across the room for me in those wicked trashy shoes that are so perfect with the teddy and garter belt."

Emily slipped her legs over the bed and, standing, began to walk. Suddenly she stopped and gasped. Her body was suffused with a rush of heat. "Oh, my G.o.d!" she exclaimed. She took a few more steps. "Devlin, these are pure torture." Not only that, but her a.s.s was still burning from his leather glove. The combination of the two was murder.

"Then they're doing their job," he replied. "By the time we get back from dinner you should be more than ready to be f.u.c.ked, angel face."

"You expect me to keep these things inside me while we're having dinner with Savannah and Reg? If the way I'm feeling now gets any more intense, even Reg Palmer is going to look good. Do you have any idea what they are doing to me?" She looked outraged. "d.a.m.n it, I am ready to be f.u.c.ked right now!"

"I know what they are supposed to do to you," he answered her, "and obviously they are. But trust me: It will be much, much better after dinner. But," he taunted her gently, "if you don't think you can manage it then I'll take them out."

He was throwing a challenge at her. She slowly walked back across the bedroom. "No," she said. "I'll manage." But how, she wasn't quite certain. Every time those d.a.m.ned little b.a.l.l.s. .h.i.t each other a wave of sensual sensation rolled over her, and all she wanted was his big c.o.c.k in her p.u.s.s.y.

Devlin pulled her into his arms and began to slowly kiss her. "Good girl!" he said softly. "You won't be sorry, I promise you." He slipped his hand beneath the sheer silk of the teddy and fondled a breast.

"Go to h.e.l.l!" she snapped, and pulled away from him. "I'm going to take a nap before we have to dress for dinner."

"Me too," he replied with a grin.

"Not here," Emily said. "You can't have your cake and eat it too, Devlin. Nap in the lounge."

"Okay," he said, just slightly chastened, and he left her.

Emily escaped the subtle torture of the ivory b.a.l.l.s for a brief time while she napped. She found a comfortable position and remained in it. He awakened her with kisses, and for a moment she forgot the little spheres-until the first wave of l.u.s.t hit her. She stripped the teddy off and slipped the little black dress on. It had a scooped neckline to show off her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, cap sleeves, and a flirty ruffled skirt that just brushed her kneecaps. She slipped her feet into a pair of black silk heels, ignoring the deliciously trashy stilettos. She could only imagine what Lord Palmer would think if he saw her in those. Sitting at the little dressing table, she opened her jewel pouch, but Devlin came up behind her and slipped a delicate gold chain with a small diamond heart about her neck.

"I found that in Frankfurt too," he said softly, kissing her shoulder.

"How can you be such a b.a.s.t.a.r.d one minute, and so nice the next?" she asked him, admiring the chain and the diamond.

"Do you like it?" he asked her.

"Of course I do! It's beautiful," Emily said.

"How can you be so prim and proper one moment, and so carnal the next?" he asked, smiling down at her.

"My o.r.g.a.s.m later had better be the best one I've ever had, or you're toast, Devlin!" she threatened him. "These d.a.m.ned little b.a.l.l.s are wicked torture. At least my b.u.t.t isn't burning anymore."

"We'll take care of your cute little a.s.s later, and you'll come like you've never come before, I promise you," he said, drawing her up and to her feet. "We had better go. It's at least a twenty-minute drive, the barman said. I went down while you napped, and asked."

The Jag sped through the night, the countryside around them dark but for the occasional lights from a cottage. Finally they reached La Belle Auberge, parked, and went in to find Sava and Reg already there. Emily thought at one point that she was going to scream as the little b.a.l.l.s banged together over and over again. There was a tiny dance floor, and Reg insisted on dancing with Emily. He held her so close she could feel his hard-on, and the d.a.m.ned thing felt good, considering the silent torture she was enduring. Finally the music stopped, and Emily excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Savannah followed.

"What's the matter?" she asked Emily. "You look pale."

"I'm walking around with two little b.a.l.l.s stuck up my c.u.n.t," Emily said.

"Oh, my G.o.d! He made you wear them out to dinner?" Savannah's gray eyes were wide. "Oh, sweetie, you are going to come like no tomorrow later! Those things are wicked, wicked, wicked. Devlin is more adventurous than I thought, considering he turned us down like you did. Reg usually never asks other men to join us. He's jealous of other men who hover around me. And, of course, he likes to be sure my children are his. He only asks other women. He asked Devlin to join us because he knew I think he's hot, and I suspect he'd done something especially bad that I didn't know about, and was trying to soothe his conscience. We had better cut this evening short."

"Not until I've had dessert," Emily said. "I need the most chocolaty of chocolate mousses, and I need it now!"

Savannah began to giggle. "I hope Mick is prepared for endless f.u.c.king," she said. "It's going to take several long hours to scratch that itch he's given you."

"Even your randy Reg looks good to me right now," Emily muttered.