"But I've done everything you asked. You demanded an affair, and I agreed. You demanded I beg, and I humiliated myself. You can't sit there like a stone statue, claiming it's futile. I won't let you."

He couldn't bear how she was looking at him, as if he was a reasonable man, as if they were friends and she could persuade him with some coaxing comments.

She was pressuring him outrageously, and it was working. He was desperately attracted to her and yearned to make her happy. He was confused by the effect she generated, but it was there and real, as tangible as if he could reach out and touch it.

Yet if he succumbed he'd always regret it.

From the moment he'd met her, he'd been pushing her away, telling himself he didn't like her, but that wasn't true. He suspected he liked her much more than he should so what was he to do with her?

He was a violent fiend, and people crossed him at their peril, but he was never deliberately cruel. So why torment her? Why be so malicious? He was the one who'd suggested a dalliance, who'd advised her to save herself with lurid activity. Why not forge ahead? Why keep denying himself?

If he fornicated with her, much of his infatuation would wane. He'd quickly discover there was nothing special or unique about her. He'd be over her, and when she next visited him and batted her pretty lashes, he'd be immune to the odd charm she possessed that drove him wild.

He grabbed her and yanked her off the floor, then he was kissing her and kissing her as he rose and marched into the bedchamber. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, and he hadn't stopped kissing her. Not for a single second. They tumbled onto the bed, and he rolled on top of her and pinned her down.

She was frowning, apparently realizing she might have bitten off more than she could chew.

He nodded. "You win."

"Win what?"

"You can be my mistress, and I will permit you to remain at Kirkwood."

"What about my cousin and my aunt?"

"Let's see how pleased I am with you, then we'll dicker over terms."

"My aunt and cousin have to be safe too."

"I don't care about your cousin and your aunt."

"Then I can't proceed."

"Miss Fogarty, we are far beyond the spot where you can renege. You have offered yourself a half-dozen times, and I've finally accepted. You're instigated this mess. Not me. I've told you and told you not to come here, not to pester me. Don't lie there and pretend you didn't grasp the consequences."

"This isn't what I planned. Why must you be so-"

"Miss Fogarty! You talk too much."

"Well, you never listen so I have to repeat myself."

"I hear you."

"But you haven't said you'll give me what I want."

"No, but I'm about to give you precisely what you need."

Mr. Drummond dipped down and kissed her. She was trapped beneath him, and he was such a large man. She couldn't shove him off.

She was determined to argue until he relented and agreed that Augusta and Sophia would be safe, but he was so hard-headed. Perhaps the way to sway him was to participate in the salacious acts he requested. He'd insisted-if she pleased him-they could debate terms.

Was he serious? Would he keep his word?

She doubted it. From the outset, she'd recognized she shouldn't trust him. Naught had happened to change her opinion.

"Would you slow down?" she asked, feeling breathless and overwhelmed.

"No."

"I'm a novice at this, and I'm very nervous."

"Yes, Miss Fogarty, and I distinctly recall informing you that I never bother with innocents. The main reason is that they're eager to discuss every little detail."

"It might calm me."

"Be silent, Miss Fogarty. Let me fornicate in peace."

"Fornicate? What does that mean?"

"I'm not about to tell you. You'll understand the concept once we're through."

He renewed his ardent kissing, and she enthusiastically joined in, but she was extremely anxious about her decision. She hadn't imagined she'd convince him to proceed. During their prior encounters, he'd been so reluctant.

Her wish had been granted, but what had persuaded him? Was it the blue dress? The flowers in her hair? The shocking amount of cleavage Augusta had urged her to display? Whatever it had been, she'd pushed him past his breaking point. He was about to do unspeakable things to her. Wasn't it too late to complain?

Without warning, he bared her breasts, and he paused to glance down. He smirked, looking cocky and vain as if he'd always known he could get her into his bed.

"Very nice, Miss Fogarty."

"Thank you," she replied, not certain what other remark would be appropriate.

"You're very shapely."

"I'm glad you think so."

"I like a curvaceous woman."

"Well...good."

"And since I'm about to make you mine, I will call you Georgina from now on."

"All...right," she stammered.

She didn't want to be on familiar terms with him, but considering he was staring at her naked bosom, it was probably silly to protest.

"You may call me Damian, but only when we're alone. When we're out in public, or in front of the servants, I'll need you to stick with Mr. Drummond."

"Will I receive the same courtesy? Will I be Miss Fogarty when others are present?"

"No. From here on out, you'll be Georgina to me. I won't care who's listening."

He bent down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Once previous, he'd done it to her so she knew it could transpire, but still it was very wicked and she wasn't prepared.

For a long while, he licked and nuzzled until she felt that strange pressure building inside her where she worried she might explode. Gradually he was drawing up the hem of her gown. She might have attempted to stop him, but he'd never heed her.

His torso was wedged between her thighs, and he was being very rough, almost as if he was furious with her. She couldn't figure out why he would be. He hadn't wanted a mistress, but he was an adult. He could have refused, but he hadn't. Why be so grouchy about it?

She thought they were about to engage in marital conduct, the kind of secret behavior only husbands and wives were supposed to perform. The act was unusual and mysterious, and while she hadn't spent much time wondering what it would be like, she had always assumed it would be a tad romantic.

"Mr. Drummond?" she said. "Damian?"

Her use of his Christian name halted him. "What, Georgina?"

"You're angry."

"No, I'm not."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"You don't appear to be enjoying yourself."

"I don't...what?"

"I want you to like it, and you don't seem happy."

He studied her forever, then chuckled. "I'm happy, Georgina. I'm delighted you're here with me."

"Are you?"

"Yes. I've been thinking about you all day."

The comment stunned her. "What a perfectly lovely thing to say."

"At the moment, I'm irked that you barged in, but I'll get over it."

"Do you promise?" She smiled and shook her head. "I forgot. You never promise."

"You're learning fast. Now cease your chatter and let me return to business."

"I've never done this before. Can't you at least try to make it pleasant?"

He snorted with amusement. "I didn't realize you were finding it unpleasant. I'll work harder to be certain you like it."

He began kissing her again, his hands busy with her breasts. His loins were pressed to hers, and he was flexing into her, the rhythm satisfying and electric. Her body was weeping with ecstasy. She was perched on the edge of a thrilling precipice.

Suddenly he touched her between her legs, flicking his thumb across a sensitive spot she'd never noted prior. She exploded-as she'd been worrying she might. A wave of stupendous bliss washed over her, and she soared to the heavens, flying up and up until she reached a sort of peak. Then she tumbled down.

When she landed at the bottom, aghast and sated and dazzled beyond measure, he was grinning, preening.

"I take it that's never happened to you in the past," he said.

"What was it?" she demanded.

"It was passion and a very fine example of it too."

"Am I...I...with child now?"

"No, and you never will be with me-no matter how frequently we lie down together."

"Why wouldn't I ever be?"

"Because I never intend to be a father."

"You can keep it from occurring?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I'll explain it someday."

She scowled. "Why would I react like that?"

"You're a very sexual creature, Georgina."

"Can every woman respond similarly?"

"Yes-if her partner knows his way around a mattress, which I definitely do."

"So I'm not overly loose? It wouldn't be that I have inherited...ah...tainted female blood, would it?"

"No, you haven't inherited any awful traits, and you're not overly loose. I'd say you're just the right amount of loose."

She must have looked horrified, because he rolled off her and onto his back, and he laughed and laughed. He didn't very often, and she couldn't guess what he found so humorous.

She vividly recollected every warning her Aunt Augusta had ever delivered about how easily her mother had been lured into amorous behavior. Augusta insisted a girl took after her mother and that Georgina very likely possessed her mother's worst impulses.

All these years, she'd denied Augusta, had refused to listen to her slurs about her mother's character. But gad! Had Augusta been correct? Was Georgina exactly like her mother in her illicit interests?

The notion didn't bear contemplating.

Augusta had always counseled that a woman hadn't ought to like intimate conduct, but Georgina couldn't wait to try it again. If a true lady never succumbed to ardor, what was Georgina to think of her reaction?

With him lying on his back-and still laughing at her!-he wasn't paying any attention. She slid to the floor, tucking her breasts into her bodice where they belonged. Then she hurried for the door.

He noticed her departure, and he turned onto his side. "Where are you going?"