"I have to talk to you," she repeated.

"Do you remember our last conversation? I swore-if you visited me again-I wouldn't act like a gentleman. Didn't I tell you that?"

"Yes."

"You must have assumed I was joking."

"No, I knew you were serious. That's why I have to speak with you."

She forced herself to cross the room, and he watched her approach. She stopped when they were toe to toe, and the sparks they generated sprang to life. He should have stepped back, should have imposed some distance between them, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of retreating.

"What happened with Miles tonight?" she asked. "He claimed he was gambling with you."

"Yes, we gambled."

"And...?"

"What do you think happened?"

"Miles lost?"

"Of course he lost. He's even more indebted to me now."

He didn't add that-as Miles's fortunes continued to plummet-he'd tried to wager over her and his sister, supposing Damian might leap at the chance to ruin one of them. If he'd ever had any doubt about Miles's degeneracy, that prurient suggestion had proved Damian's opinion was correct. Miles was an idiot and a fool, but he was dangerous too. In the grip of cards and liquor, he might pursue any foul conclusion.

Did Miss Fogarty realize how imperiled she was? Damian wasn't cad enough to have agreed, but another man, a more debauched man, might have eagerly consented.

"Why are you here, Miss Fogarty? Tell me so we can deal with it, then you can be on your way."

"Yesterday you told me-if I would be your mistress-I wouldn't have to depart Kirkwood."

He nodded. "I did."

"Did you mean it?"

"Well..."

No, he hadn't meant it. He had no intention of entangling himself in her petty problems, but he wouldn't apprise her of that fact. He simply wanted her to fear him. He wanted everyone, at all times, to fear him.

He'd seized her home and was about to evict her and her relatives. He couldn't relent or yield for Miles would always hover on the edge of Kirkwood, hoping to use her to wheedle concessions from Damian.

"I'll do it," she suddenly said before he could formulate a reply.

"Do what?"

"I'll be your mistress."

"That offer was on the table yesterday, but it's been withdrawn."

"Why?"

"Because I've had a change of heart. As you previously mentioned, you don't like me and I don't like you so we would have had a very unpleasant liaison. I like my doxies to be merry and happy. You wouldn't be worth the bother."

"I could be merry and happy. I swear it."

"You couldn't be, not when you have no idea what a physical dalliance would entail."

He grabbed her arm, planning to escort her to the door, but she flummoxed him by laying her palm on the center of his chest. The sensation of her skin against his own astonished them both, and he couldn't move.

"Before we begin," she said as she pulled her hand away and tucked it in the folds of her skirt, "I need some concessions from you."

"Concessions! You have the gall to barge in and demand concessions?"

"I want my Aunt Augusta and my cousin, Sophia, to be able to stay too." When it looked as if he'd refuse, she hurriedly added, "I don't care about Miles, but I care about them. They could live in Drummond Cottage. I'll fix it up so it's habitable. You won't even know they're there."

"Augusta Marshall would remain on my property and I wouldn't know? You're mad if you think so."

"There's one other thing."

"What?"

"You have to tell your friend, Mr. Roxbury, to leave Sophia alone."

"Why? What did he do to her?"

"He made a salacious proposal."

"Kit propositioned Miss Marshall?"

"Yes, to be his mistress, and I won't allow her to be compromised like that."

He scoffed with derision. "You'll sacrifice yourself so she doesn't have to?"

"Yes, but she has to be safe from Mr. Roxbury, and my aunt can't be evicted. If you accept those two terms"-she glanced down at her feet-"I will be your mistress."

He studied her, his mind awhirl with replies. His first thought was anger at Kit, disgusted that he'd sniff after Sophia without Damian being aware. They'd have to have a discussion about Kit's behavior-and likely a quarrel-he'd rather not have.

As to Miss Fogarty, she appeared so glum and forlorn. She stirred his better nature and ignited his masculine instincts. He was once again suffering from the worst impulses: to shelter, to protect, to support.

He was irked by the guilt she stirred, irked that he was feeling sorry for her. She was willing to sacrifice herself for her aunt and cousin who didn't deserve it and would never be grateful. She was so loyal! So brave and faithful but they took advantage of her. They worked her to the bone while criticizing and chastising her for her efforts on their behalf.

And still-still!-she would surrender her virtue to help them. It truly had him despairing for humanity. Why were people so stupid? Why were they so gullible?

She didn't actually comprehend what she was requesting. A virginal spinster couldn't know the consequences of an affair. Plus he had no scruples. He could spew all kinds of promises, but she couldn't force him to follow through on any vow.

He could ruin her, then eject all of them anyway. He could ruin her, then tell Kit to go ahead and ruin Miss Marshall too. Then where would Miss Fogarty be?

His temper was on a slow boil. He shouldn't have to teach her life lessons, but he'd threatened her the last time and she hadn't listened.

She was shaking like a leaf so it would be easy to scare her, to have her run out like a frightened rabbit. And in the process, he'd enjoy a bit of titillation.

He'd kissed her once, and he'd liked it very much. He'd like to try it again too, and if he pushed farther than he should, whose fault was that? She was the one who'd offered. He was just giving her what she assumed she wanted, and it wouldn't bother him at all if she ended up feeling tricked or deceived.

"Fine, Miss Fogarty," he said. "I accept your terms."

"You'll let my aunt stay? You'll keep your friend away from my cousin?"

"Yes. Now haul your shapely ass into my bedroom and climb up on the bed."

She hesitated forever, then she squared her shoulders, gulped, and marched past him. In a quick second, she was lying on his mattress so he went over and lay down too.

Mr. Drummond stretched out atop her, and she struggled not to flinch.

She wasn't a coward. She'd come to him of her own accord, and she understood what she'd agreed to do. Or at least she sort of understood. It would be physical, would involve touching and kissing and maybe some nudity, but she was determined to stagger through it without humiliating herself.

She hadn't imagined she'd ever find herself where she currently was. When he'd initially suggested the illicit arrangement, she'd been vehemently opposed. But circumstances could bring clarity to a situation.

Over supper, Sophia had told her mother about Mr. Drummond's scandalous proposal, about Mr. Roxbury's too. Augusta had been offended for Sophia, but her outrage hadn't extended to Georgina.

After Sophia had retired for the evening, Augusta had visited Georgina and spent two hours haranguing over how much Georgina owed the Marshalls. The fact that Georgina had always worked at the estate, had aided the servants as a girl, then managed the property as an adult, hadn't entered into the conversation.

What was relevant to Augusta was that Mr. Drummond had provided Georgina with a method to save all of them. Augusta had argued that women constantly saved themselves by alliances with rich men. Usually they did it with marriage, but if marriage wasn't available, they accomplished it in other ways.

Augusta had always been able to manipulate Georgina, and Georgina grasped that she was a fool who was too obliging. Even though Augusta's remarks had been persuasive, Georgina had intended to refuse. Then Augusta had begun to cry, and Georgina had never seen her aunt cry. Augusta had accused Georgina of being selfish, of not caring about them, but Georgina cared too much. She simply wished they cared back, even though she knew it would never happen.

After Augusta had left, having charged Georgina with being cruel and heartless, Georgina had sat in the dark and the quiet, wondering if it was true. Was she being selfish? It was in her power to fix what was wrong. Shouldn't she try?

Ultimately she'd walked to the manor and sneaked to Mr. Drummond's room. She was more despondent than she'd predicted she'd be. A silly part of her had hoped he wouldn't let her proceed, but apparently he had no gallant tendencies.

She forced a smile. "Could I ask you a question?"

"Ask away, Miss Fogarty."

"Would you ever...ever marry me?"

"No. Why would you even be pondering such a ridiculous notion?"

"I just thought it might make things...better between us."

"Trust me, Miss Fogarty. This is as good as matters are ever going to get."

"You don't have to be snide. I promised to be cheerful and happy, and I meant it."

"You don't look happy. You look as if you're at the barber's and about to have a tooth pulled. What's vexing you?"

"I've always heard that the marital act is horrid."

"Who told you that?"

"Wives who have to perform it."

He shrugged. "I suppose it can be."

His comment did not reassure her. "Will I hate it?"

"Not with me."

"Why is that?"

"Because I've had quite a bit of passionate experience with women. I like it to be pleasurable."

"It can be pleasurable?"

"Yes." He chuckled. "Don't sound so surprised."

"I am surprised."

"Put your arms around my neck."

"Why?"

"I'll kiss you for a while, but you can't lie there like a stiff board. You have to participate."

"All right."

She draped her hands over his shoulders, and it was shocking and thrilling to hold him in such an intimate manner. He brushed his lips to hers, and she stiffened as he'd warned her not to. It was an instinctive reaction she couldn't prevent, but as he deepened the kiss she relaxed into it.

He'd kissed her before, and it had actually been splendid. She tried to focus on that aspect, that he was handsome and dashing and intriguing, and though he could be a beast in his day-to-day behaviors, in the bedchamber he was extremely adept at his amorous skills.

He continued for an eternity, and she was worried that something awful was about to transpire, that he'd rip off her clothes or rip off his own, but he seemed in no hurry. He simply kissed her, then kissed her some more, and gradually she forgot she was scared.

She pretended she was a bride, that it was her wedding night with her beloved bridegroom. It was an inane fantasy, but it made the event easier.

He drew away and stared down at her, and there was a new warmth in his gaze. He was looking at her as if he...liked her after all, as if he'd genuinely enjoyed kissing her.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he inquired.

"No. Are we finished?"

"We've hardly started."

"Am I doing it correctly?"

"Yes." He nestled closer, his body pressing hers into the mattress. "I want you to touch me all over."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll like it."