Violet shook her head. "Of course-"

George held up her hand. "And as for being a wanton, well . . . it was only the one man. Am I correct?"

"Y-yes." Violet's lower lip trembled.

"Then, I think you will have to forgive my bias in saying that it is at least as much the gentleman's fault as yours. How old is he?"

Violet looked a bit mutinous at having been demoted from wanton. "Five and twenty."

Five and twenty! The seducing, lecherous . . . George inhaled. "And do I know him?" she asked calmly.

Violet pushed away from her sister. "I won't tell you! I'll not be made to marry him."

George stared, her heart stopping in her chest. "Are you increasing?"

"No!" Violet's horror was unfeigned, thank goodness.

George blew out a relieved breath. "Then why do you think I would make you marry him?"

"Well, maybe not you, but Tony . . ." Violet got up and paced around the room. "He's been writing me letters."

"Tony has?"

"No!" Violet turned to glare at her. "Him."

"Oh, him." George frowned. "What about?"

"He wants me to marry him. He says he loves me. But, George"-Violet picked up a candlestick from the bedside table and gestured with it-"I don't love him anymore. I did. I mean, I thought I did. That's why I, well, you know."

"Quite." George felt herself blushing.

"But then afterward I started noticing how far apart his eyes were and that he says ain't in such an affected way." Violet shrugged and set the candlestick down on the dresser. "And then it was gone, the love or whatever. I don't hate him; I just don't love him."

"I see."

"Is that how you feel about Mr. Pye?" Violet asked. "Are you over him now?"

George had a vision of Harry Pye, his head arched back, the tendons in his neck straining as he convulsed over her. A slow heat invaded her loins. She caught herself dropping her eyelids.

She snapped them open, sitting up straight at the same time. "Uh, not exactly."

"Oh." Violet looked forlorn. "Maybe it's me, then."

"I don't think so, sweetheart. Maybe it's that you're only fifteen. Or," she added hastily when Violet stuck out her lip, "maybe it's that he's just not the right man for you."

"Oh, George!" Violet flopped backward onto her bed. "I'll never have another suitor. How would I explain that I've lost my maidenhead? Perhaps I should marry him. No other man will ever have me." Violet stared at the canopy over her bed. "I'm just not sure I can bear the way he takes snuff for the rest of my life."

"Yes, that would be torturous," George murmured, "but I'm afraid I'll have to put my foot down and forbid you to marry him. So you're saved."

"You're a peach." Violet smiled tremulously from the bed. "But he's said he will have to reveal all if I don't become his bride."

"Ah." If she ever got her hands on the blackmailing b.a.s.t.a.r.d . . . "Then I think you will really have to tell me his name, sweetheart. I know"-she held up her hand as Violet started to protest-"but it's the only way."

"What will you do?" her sister asked in a small voice.

George met her eyes. "We'll have to tell Tony who he is so Tony can convince him that you aren't interested in marriage."

"But Tony, George?" Violet flung her arms wide across the bed, unconsciously taking the position of a martyr. "You know the way he inspects one so coldly down his nose. It makes me feel like a worm. A squashed worm."

"Yes, dear, I am aware of his look," George said. "I was the recipient of it just this morning, thanks to you."

"I'm sorry about that." Violet looked contrite before reverting to her own dilemma. "Tony will make me marry him!"

"No, you're maligning Tony, now," George said. "He may have lost all sense of humor since he a.s.sumed the t.i.tle, but that doesn't mean he'll force a marriage on a sister, especially his fifteen-year-old sister."

"Even though I've-"

"Even though." George smiled. "Think how useful Tony will be when he convinces this gentleman. Really, it is the only advantage I can think of to having an earl for a brother."

THAT NIGHT GEORGE SHIVERED and pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face. It was late, almost midnight, and Harry's cottage was dark. Perhaps he had already retired for the evening? At any other time, for any other reason, she would've turned around. But this compulsion drove her on. She had to see him again. Except it wasn't to see him that she'd come here so late in the evening, was it? She felt a blush start high on her cheekbones. She wanted to do more, much more, than see Harry Pye. And she didn't want to examine too closely the reasons behind that urge.

She knocked at his door.It swung open almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for her. "My lady." His green eyes were heavy.

Harry's chest was bare, and her gaze was drawn to it. "I hope you don't mind," she began vapidly, addressing his left nipple.

He reached out a long arm and drew her in. Slammed the door and pushed her up against it. Shoved back her hood and seized her lips. He tilted her head back and slanted his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue between her lips. Oh, heavens, she needed this. Had she become so wanton after only one taste? His hands gripped the back of her head, and she felt the pins falling out. Her hair came undone down her back. Her hands roamed, kneading, stroking his back. She could taste ale on his tongue and smell his musk. Her nipples were already peaked and aching as if they recognized him and what he was.

He drew his lips down her neck, open-mouthed. "I don't mind," he rasped.

And while she was trying to remember to what he replied, he hooked his hand in her bodice. He pulled down savagely, tearing the fine fabric and exposing her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s. George gasped and felt moisture between her legs. Then he had his mouth on her breast, nipping at it. She actually worried that he would bite her. He seemed animal, fundamental, male to her female. He reached her nipple and did bite, a sharp pinching.

She couldn't help but arch her head back and moan.

He had his hand under her skirts now, pushing and shoving them up as if he were impatient to find her center. She clutched at his shoulders when he reached his goal. He brushed his fingers over her, touching, feeling.

He lifted his head from her breast and chuckled. "You're wet for me." His voice was dark. s.e.xual.

He brought both hands under her legs and lifted her, bracing her back against the door; all her weight was on him. She was helplessly spread as he moved between her thighs. She felt the brush of his trousers. And then the brush of him. Her eyes opened wide and met his, gleaming and green like a predator's.

Oh, my.

He rocked his hips, just a little. She felt the intrusion. She imagined that wide head, splitting her lips down there, and she panted, eyes half closed. He rocked again, and his c.o.c.k pushed in a little farther.

"My lady." His breath puffed over her lips.

With an effort, she opened her eyes. "What?" she gasped. She felt drunken, dazed, as if she floated in a marvelous daydream.

"I hope you do not mind"-he rocked-"my boldness."

What? "No. I, uh, don't mind." She could hardly get the words out.

"You're sure?" He licked her nipple, the devil, and she jumped.

She was so sensitive, the feeling was almost painful. I'm going to get him for this.

He rocked.

Some other time. "Very sure," she whimpered.

He grinned, but a bead of sweat ran down his temple. "Then with your permission."

He didn't wait for her nod but slammed his entire length into her, shoving her up the door and hitting with exquisite accuracy that place. George wrapped her legs, her arms, and her heart around Harry. He withdrew with agonizing slowness and repeated the process, this time swiveling a bit when he crashed into her. The impact sent shards of ecstasy skittering through her.

She was going to die from pleasure.

He withdrew again, and she could feel every inch dragging against her sensitive flesh. She waited, suspended in time and air, for him to mate her once more. And he did, his c.o.c.k thrusting into her and his pelvis rubbing her exposed center. Then he seemed to lose control. He began a rapid pistoning, his movements short and jerky. But just as effective, d.a.m.n him. And it began for her, spreading in waves that seemed to have no end. She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't see or hear, could only moan in primitive abandon and open her mouth and fill it with his shoulder, salty and warm.

She bit Harry.

He came, withdrawing from her suddenly but keeping his arms around her as he shook and spasmed his release between them. He leaned into her, his weight keeping her pinned to the wall as they both drew deep, shuddering breaths. George felt heavy. Listless. Like she'd never be able to move her limbs again. She stroked his shoulder, rubbing at the bite mark she'd made.

Harry sighed against her hair. He let her legs fall to the floor as he steadied her. "I wish I could carry you to my bed, but I fear you've just drained me, my lady. That is"-he pulled away enough to look her in the eye-"if you mean to stay the night?"

"Yes." George tested her legs. Wobbly but adequate. She made her way to the small bedroom. "I'll stay the night."

"And your brother?" he asked from behind her.

"My brother does not control my life," George said loftily. "Besides, I snuck out the servants' entrance."

"Ah." He had followed her into the bedroom, and she saw now that he carried a basin of water.

She raised her eyebrows.

"I should have done this last night." Was he embarra.s.sed?

Harry set down the basin beside the bed and helped her remove her gown and chemise, then knelt to take off her shoes and stockings. "Lie down, my lady."

George lay back on the bed. For some reason she was shy now when she hadn't been before during their wild lovemaking. He took a cloth and dipped it in the basin, wringing it out; then he stroked it down her neck. She closed her eyes. The wet cloth left coolness and goose b.u.mps in its wake. She heard him dip and wring out the cloth again, the trickle of the water somehow erotic in the room's stillness. He washed down her chest, over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and across her belly, leaving a trail of cold heat.

Her breath was coming faster now, antic.i.p.ating what would come next.

But he started again at her feet, trailing the cloth up her calves. Gently, he spread her thighs and washed the inner curves. He wet the cloth, and she felt the coolness against her mons. He stroked the cloth deliberately between her folds and her breath caught. Then his weight left the bed.

George opened her eyes and watched Harry strip his breeches down. Nude, his eyes on hers, he took the cloth and rubbed it across his chest. Dip. Wring. He washed under his arms. Across his belly.

Her eyes dropped and she licked her lips.

His p.e.n.i.s jumped. George looked up, and her gaze met his. Harry dipped the cloth in the water. He lifted his manhood to wash the heavy sac underneath. Another dip in the basin and he drew the wet cloth up his c.o.c.k, pulling the cloth around, leaving the skin glistening. He scrubbed the rag in his pubic hair and then threw it to the floor. Harry advanced on the bed, his p.e.n.i.s stiff. George couldn't take her eyes off him.

He placed one knee beside her, making the bed dip. The ropes holding the mattress creaked. "Are you going to finish your fairy tale, my lady?"

She blinked. "Fairy tale?"

"The Leopard Prince, the young king." He brushed his lips over her collarbone. "The beautiful princess, the Golden Swan."

"Oh. Well." She scrambled to think. Harry's mouth was wandering to the underside of her left breast. "I think we'd got to when the father king told the young king to get-" She squeaked.

He'd reached the nipple. Her breast was already tender from their play before.

Harry lifted his head. "The Golden Swan held by the nasty witch." He blew cool air on the wet nipple.

George gasped. "Yes. Of course, the young king sent the Leopard Prince after it."

"Of course," Harry murmured to the other nipple.

"And the Leopard Prince turned into . . . ahhh . . ."

He had sucked that nipple into his mouth.

He let it pop out. "A man," he prompted, and blew.

"Mmm." George went under for a few seconds. "Yes. And the Leopard Prince held his emerald crown in his hand . . ."

He was trailing kisses down her abdomen.

". . . and wished for . . ."

"Yes?"

Was he licking her belly b.u.t.ton? "A cloak to make him invisible."

"Really?" Harry propped his chin on her lower belly, his arms resting across her pelvic bones.

George craned her neck to see him. He was lying between her spread legs, his face only inches from her . . . And he was looking gravely interested in her story.

"Yes, really." She let her head drop back on the pillow. "And he put on the cloak and went and stole the Golden Swan without the nasty witch even knowing. And when he got back"-what was Harry doing down there?-"he gave the Golden Swan to . . . Oh, my Lord!"

Harry finished leisurely licking up through the f.l.a.n.g.es of her woman's place, then kissed that spot. He raised his head. "Is that part of the fairy tale, my lady?" he inquired politely.

George tunneled her fingers in his silky hair. "No. I'm through telling the story for now." She pulled his head back down. "Do. Not. Stop."

She thought he may have laughed, as she seemed to feel a vibration, but then Harry lowered his mouth, placed it over her nubbin, and sucked on it.

And, frankly, after that she no longer cared.

"WHAT DO YOU DREAM ABOUT at night?" Lady Georgina asked him a long time later.

"Mmph?" Harry tried to focus his mind. His body was a dead loss. His limbs were leaden, almost liquid with fatigue, and he was struggling to stay awake."I'm sorry. Are you asleep?" His lady obviously wasn't. He could feel her fingers stroking through the hair on his chest.