She went into the library, picked out a few books, and carried them up to her room. Nickolai was already seated in the large chair in front of the fireplace.

Thinking his presence was an indication he might like to nap awhile, she asked, "Will I be disturbing you, Nickolai?"

Rejar looked at her. She always disturbed him. "Of course not."

"Oh. I thought you might like to ..." This was not coming out right. Her speech faltered.

"Like to what?" A dimple curved his sensual mouth.

"Never mind. Would you like one of these books to read, then?"

He shook his head. "Let me see what you were doing with the threads at Lady Whitney's."

Her shoulders sagged. The last thing she wanted him looking at was her hideous creation. "It was nothing. Really."

Rejar wondered why she was being so reticent about it. With his honed instincts, he sensed some intrigue here. Grinning, he crooked a beckoning finger at her. "I want to see it."

"Very well." She sighed. Resigned to the fact that her husband usually got what he wanted, she tromped over to her bag and pulled out the disaster. He better not laugh. She peered surrept.i.tiously at it. He was sure to laugh.

Warily, she approached his chair, clutching the fabric to her bosom.

Nickolai patted his lap.

Gingerly, she perched on his thigh.

"Well?" He held out his hand.

"Very well-here." She almost flung the sc.r.a.p at him.

Rejar looked down at the piece of linen. Since the letters had no meaning to him, all he saw were the tiny st.i.tches and dainty needlework. "It is beautiful, Lilac."

So, he was going to make sport of her! Her chin notched up. "Don't tease me, Nickolai."

"Tease you?" Rejar was genuinely surprised. "Why would I tease you? Rarely have I seen such intricate workmanship. The colors of the threads are woven perfectly-here." He pointed to a spot where she had jumbled up the strands.

He didn't seem to realize the section he found so colorful was a dreadful mistake. Lilac chewed her bottom lip. "The floss sort of knotted up there."

"And over here"-his tapered finger traced the fabric-"a little lilac."

She twisted her head sideways as she stared at the clump of purple knots. "You can tell?"

"Of course. I will treasure it always."

Lilac was stunned. "You want it?" No one had ever wanted anything she had made before. Especially her embroidery.

He raised an eyebrow. "And why would I not?"

"Because it's ... it's ..."

"Beautiful. Like you, souk-souk."

Lilac's face lit up. "Nickolai! You really like it, don't you?"

"Have I not said?" He smiled sweetly at her.

Lilac was so moved by the gesture that she unwittingly took his gorgeous face between her two hands and kissed him soundly on the lips.

Rejar was so moved by her gesture that he almost made the mistake of taking over the embrace. He stopped himself just in time. This was probably a measure of grat.i.tude and not emotion on her part.

Something about the thought troubled him deeply, but he squelched his concerns. They would not be mates if they did not have the capacity for great affection for each other.

Lilac simply needed time to adjust to the change in her life. When she did, she would come to realize how much she meant to him. How serious he could be. How much he ...

Why think of it now? There were better ways to spend the late afternoon in Ree Gen Cee Ing Land than worrying needlessly about such an obvious thing. They were mated. Her breath had become his. She belonged to him.

Abruptly standing with his mate in his arms, he grabbed one of the books off the side table as he made his way to the bed. Depositing her gently on the mattress, he handed the book to her.

Plopping down on the bed near her feet, he instructed her, "Read to me."

"Now?" Lilac was surprised by his behavior. And a little disappointed. By the way his eyes had lit up when she kissed him, she thought for sure he was going to...

"Yes, now." He smiled at her.

"And you want me to read this?" She looked down at the book he had given her; it was The Tempest by William Shakespeare. Not exactly the type of subject a man might ask a woman to read aloud. Most men would choose a romantic sonnet. It was an odd request.

Nonetheless, he gestured with his hand for her to begin.

"Very well." Leaning back against the headboard, Lilac opened the book and began to read while her husband lounged across the foot of the bed.

After a while, Nickolai began tickling her ankles. With his mouth.

Lilac looked up from her page. "Stop that or I shan't continue."

He grinned at her, but motioned for her to proceed.

She read, " 'Full fathom five thy father lies ...' " Nickolai lifted the bottom of her skirt and began to kiss her leg through the thin cottony material of her pantalettes. Soon his dark head completely disappeared under her skirts.

"Nickolai."

"Go on, I am listening." Came the m.u.f.fled voice.

She was skeptical, but continued on, " 'Of his bones are coral made ...' " His damp open mouth blew a puff of heated breath against the gauzy material on her upper leg. "Nickolai, what are you doing under there?"

"Keep reading." The voice ordered from beneath her skirts.

" 'Those are pearls that were his eyes ...' Oh!"

His hot tongue wiggled the slit of her pantalettes at the juncture of her thighs. "I believe I am about to find my own pearl."

Lilac swallowed.

"Read, souk-souk."

" 'Nothing of him that doth fade ...' Nickolai, what are you licking?" His tongue swept along the vertical, open seam in a long, slow lap. "Oh, my G.o.d! Stop that at once!"

He did not, of course.

{Would you not give me what I desire, my Lilac?} She was so unnerved by what he was doing to her that she didn't even realize he had sent her the thought. If she had paid more attention, she would have immediately noticed he couldn't possibly be both speaking and doing what he was doing at the same time.

She tried to regain her faint voice. "What is it you desire, Nickolai?"

{Just a taste of what I crave... from your sweetness.} His nimble tongue darted through the slit. Lilac's whole body shuddered.

"N-Nickolai ..."

{Continue with the story, Lilac.} She made an attempt. " 'B-but doth suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange ...' "

There was a man beneath her skirts-between her legs-that changed into something rich and strange.

An exotic, wildly handsome creature who knew how to use his tongue.

Lilac gave up all pretense of reading the play when his tongue slid inside her with a delicious stroke. Only to wriggle about in a most sensational way.

"Sto-Ohhhhh."

{I agree. What say you to this?} He swirled around his "pearl," flicking the hidden nub repeatedly with the tip of his very talented tongue.

"Ohhhh ..."

{Mmmm-I thought you might say that. And this?} He suckled on her.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!"

{Do you like my poetry, Lilac?} He licked her over and over. {Is it metered and rhymed to your delight?} Lilac was beyond answering. She moaned incoherent phrases.

{When you are ready, I want your release against my mouth, souk-souk, so I can feel your pleasure on my lips.} If those words weren't enough to do it, his next action certainly was. His tongue slipped inside her and he pur-r-r-ed. ...

Lilac did exactly as he asked.

Unable to withstand his intense erotica another moment, she burst into a thousand fragments. And every one of them had his name on it.

There was a rustle of her skirts and Nickolai's tousled head popped up. Looking rather like the cat who swallowed the family canary, he quirked a raven eyebrow at her.

"Nickolai..." she gasped, still trying to regain her breath.

"Lilac." He said her name with an upward tilt of his mouth. A teasing, knowing sound of utter deliberation.

Against her better judgement, her lips twitched. "So," she said, picking up the book, "do you want to hear the rest of this?"

Rejar let out a roar of laughter. Smiling seductively down at her, he said, "By all means. Let us see what the next page holds, shall we?"

As Lilac began to read and Nickolai began to do something extremely interesting with the pads of his fingers, she couldn't help remarking on how much trouble her pantalettes had gotten her into that day.

Rejar whispered in her ear that it was not the pantalettes.

By that evening word was all over the ton about Lilac's enticing "tell all" at Lady Whitney's.

Leona Harcorte heard the story at a rout she was attending. Even though she had suspected the Prince knew his way around the sheets, the bride's story of the groom's prowess went beyond all expectations.

It was time for her to begin laying her foundational trap.

A man of his proclivities would not stay satisfied long with his innocent little wife. Leona intended to be first in line when the Prince let loose. It was always best to catch these rogues while they still had plenty of energy left.

She immediately decided she would throw a small, impromptu dinner party the next evening for some of their mutual friends. On exiting the rout, she headed back to her home to write out her invitations.

Leona decided to send a personal note of friendship along with her invitation to Lilac. The kindhearted, gullible chit would definitely accept, bringing her sensational husband in tow.

Perhaps she should include the brother as well?

Leona had heard some amazing reports about him; her curiosity needed satisfying. She quickly jotted his name on the invitation.

The following morning Lilac received the invitation along with the personal note. As Leona had predicted, she immediately accepted. Much to her husband's and Lady Agatha's displeasure.

"She is my friend, Nickolai. If you do not wish to attend, then don't."

There was no way he would let her attend any function Lady Harcorte sponsored by herself. He had seen Lady Harcorte in a disturbing light at Byron's country home. "I will accompany you. Lilac, but Leona Harcorte is no friend of yours."

"Believe as you like." She turned to Traed. "The invitation was extended to you, Traed. Will you not join us?"

Traed had no intentions of doing anything else; he needed to keep a close eye on Rejar. "I will definitely be there."

Rejar looked at his brother-of-the-line, surprised by his ready acceptance. Traed normally was not one to socialize with strangers. With any, for that matter. The man was typically a loner.

Lilac turned to her aunt, ready to offer up an apology; Auntie Whumples was not included in the invitation. Before she could speak, however, Agatha forestalled her.

"Do not even ask me as I will not step foot into that Cyprian's house!"

"Very well, Auntie; if that is your wish. We shall miss you." Lilac's eyes twinkled with a private amus.e.m.e.nt. It did not go unnoticed by her husband.

They arrived at Lady Harcorte's town home just before eight in the evening. There were about twenty-five people present for this small, impromptu gathering of the beau monde.

Rejar had already warned Traed that the evening meal in a gathering such as this could last from three to four hours. Rejar did not think Traed believed him. Well, he would find out soon enough when plate after plate arrived with no end in sight. He groaned inwardly. Much of the food here was not particularly to his liking.

Since dinner was called for eight, there would not be too much time to socialize before they were ushered from the drawing room into the dining room.