"Convince me." Amusement shone in his eyes.

"Meaning?"

"I don't know if I care to make love again," he said.

"Are you serious?"

He arched his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Beau-" she began heatedly.

"You probably could change my mind." His drawl was honeyed and blissfully wicked.

"Oh." A tiny small sound of revelation. Then she smiled and arched her back and stretched leisurely. "Let me think of something," she murmured. "Something safe," she delicately noted.

"As long as you're happy, you mean." He smiled faintly.

"Isn't that the point?" Her gaze was as innocent as virtue. "Now if you'll just move down a little," she said, with a demure little pat on the chaise cushion, "I'll continue my pursuit of happiness."

And when Beau slid lower on the chaise, Serena rose up on her knees and said, "Look up."

He chuckled when he lifted his gaze to her lush genitals poised above his face. "Are those for me?" he cordially inquired.

"There are only two."

"I see that, and very pretty too." Two marzipan cherries were lodged in her pink pouty labia. "If you want me to taste them, you'll have to come closer," he whispered.

She did and he did and it grew very hot in the shade of the portico as he licked and ate at her and tasted the sweetness of Serena Blythe and marzipan candy. Her orgasm trembled down her braced thighs that time and up to her brain in a slow, sensuous burn and he held her up so she wouldn't crumple on top of him and said, "You're welcome," when she thanked him.

She licked his belly later at the place where she'd been seated and the marzipan had liquified and then moved down his body, following the feathery trail of dark hair that ran through his navel and down his lower stomach to curl luxuriantly at the base of his rigid penis.

He stopped breathing for a second when her mouth touched the glistening tip and deciding in a split second that he'd been celibate far too long-at least five hours-he pulled her up, rolled her under him, and damning the consequences, proceeded to live up to the unspecified but expected quota.

He slid into her so easily, he felt as though he'd found his long-lost home and she said, "Thank you" again in a whisper that further roused him, her innocent gratitude, her open need for him intoxicating, her hunger for sex, for him, like an aphrodisiac.

She was at his mercy, craving what he could give her but he wasn't so sure his appetite for her was any less dependent. He'd already decided to stay at the villa as long as the dispatches would allow. And in his current heedless disregard for even the stark fear of fatherhood as his body plunged and thrust into her, he considered alternatives for delivering the messages to Palermo.

But then she whispered, "I need your cock inside me all the time," and such protracted erotic possibility erased all but feverish sensation from his mind.

14.

At the same time Serena was painting Beau, a footman was depositing mail on the large partner's desk in the office at Seth House. The door closed quietly behind him and the Duke and Duchess of Seth smiled at each other over their papers. Outside a light rain fell, the windows were streaked and dappled with water, lamps illuminated the desktop where Sinjin and Chelsea were going over bloodstock reports. Tomorrow's sale at Tattersalls' held some racers of promise.

"A letter from Damien," Sinjin said, lifting out a folded sheet from the stack of correspondence. "And here's one for you from Jane Maxwell," he added, handing it across the green leather desktop. "Do you want to see the invitations now?" At her refusal, he set several missives aside and continued sorting through the mail. "Why is Edward Dufferin writing to us?"

"Some hunting party I suppose," Chelsea murmured, slipping a small silver knife under the waxed seal on Jane's letter. "Did you know Vivian's in London again?"

Sinjin looked up, Damien's letter open in his hand. "Again?" His gaze was speculative for a moment before he shrugged away his curiosity. "As long as I don't have to see her, I don't care where she is. All the better for Damien, I'd say." His attention returned to his brother's letter. "A damned shame he won't divorce her," he murmured. "Beau stopped in Lisbon, Damien says. Did you know he was planning on that?"

"He didn't mention it. Jane's in Lisbon too," Chelsea noted, reading the first few lines of her note. "I thought she and Tom were still at Hammond Hill."

"He was reassigned to embassy duty in Lisbon last month," Sinjin said, his gaze racing down Damien's startling message. "Listen to this, darling. Apparently Beau's taken a fancy to a young lady and intends to dance with her tonight ... or six-no, seven nights ago now," he added, checking the date on the letter. "Damien seems alarmed or concerned, I can't tell which; he goes on to say this girl is traveling to Italy with Beau."

Chelsea stopped reading, her brows raised in surprise, the relinquishment of her son's long-standing dance wager of less consequence than the fact that he had a woman on board the Siren. "Doesn't he abhor women on long sea journeys?"

"So I recall him saying," Sinjin ironically noted. "Damien describes this paragon of womanhood in glowing terms and Beau must agree if he's welcomed her aboard for the entire trip."

"Who is she?"

"A Miss Serena Blythe from Gloucestershire. She's impoverished, Damien relates, although since charming Beau, I suspect she's improved her finances."

"So cynical, dear. Are you saying she's a fortune hunter?"

"That would be my first guess."

"And your second?"

A faint smile graced his handsome face. "A cyprian with an imagination."

"So you don't think a well-bred girl could fascinate our son."

"I think he has an aversion to girls of good family. Partly it's his age. Young women bent on marriage are to be avoided when you're twenty-two."

"That would be most difficult aboard the Siren."

"Yes, wouldn't it?" Sinjin quietly said. "A very resourceful ploy by Miss Blythe."

"Like mine when I met you."

"Your proposal did have a certain, ah, shock value," Sinjin replied, the recollection bringing a smile to his face.

"Perhaps it takes something inspirational to catch the attention of the Sainted Pair," she murmured, her eyes twinkling. "One has to give Miss Blythe credit for audacity."

"A powerful allure to our wild young son, I expect. Although by the time he returns, Miss Blythe will no doubt be forgotten."

"You didn't forget me."

"But then, darling, there's only one like you in all the world," he murmured, his voice affectionate.

"You resisted me for months."

"Until you convinced me with a dose of cantharides." He smiled at the memory of how she'd slipped the aphrodisiac in his cognac that night at Seth House.

"Resourcefulness isn't exclusively a Gloucestershire trait, darling."

"For which I consider myself the luckiest of men. A shame Damien couldn't have been so fortunate. But then," the Duke murmured, recalling his brother's attitude, "he was always too kind to women."

"Unlike you."

The Duke shrugged in a kind of apology or acknowledgment, realistic about his past and the women in it. "I was looking for different things."

"We know what you were looking for, darling, as did all of England. Do you think Damien was ever in love with Vivian?"

Sinjin gazed out the window for a moment as if trying to remember. "We weren't very close when Damien married," he finally said. "I'm not sure."

"I don't suppose there was any doubt Vivian was intent on capturing Damien's fortune."

"She didn't marry for love," Sinjin retorted, his dislike of his sister-in-law evident in his acerbic tone. "Hopefully, Damien will divorce her someday. He did add Emma's name to his letter in closing this time. But perhaps he's-"

"Did he really? Show me!"

"-only being courteous," Sinjin finished, handing the sheet to his wife.

She cast him a disbelieving look. "Damien isn't known for his spontaneity. My heavens," she exclaimed, glancing at the signature and smiling broadly. "I think you might warn the family barristers to begin lining up support in Parliament."

"Let me see that again. Hmmm." His gaze scrutinized the brief signature as though willing it to speak. "If you're right, it's about time," he said, setting the letter down. "With his boys grown, away from home, why not allow himself some happiness. And I like Emma; she's good to him."

"Everyone would be pleased if he married Emma. He'd have to resign from his ambassadorship, though-a divorce isn't likely to be accepted abroad."

"Perhaps Vivian could die in an accident," Sinjin murmured.

Chelsea's eyes widened momentarily before casting an admonishing look at her husband. "Don't tease, Sinjin."

"Who's teasing?" he negligently drawled.

"Much as a number of people might agree with you," she admitted, "it wouldn't be proper."

His eyelids lowered marginally. "And I've always been concerned with propriety."

"Sinjin!"

"I shan't, I won't, I promise," he instantly appeased, grinning. "She's safe from me as long as she stays out of my reach. Beyond that I can't guarantee anything. Is that fair?" he playfully inquired.

Although they'd been married for years, he found he loved his wife more deeply now than he'd thought possible in his youth. And he'd not offend her more benevolent nature even if he felt Vivian's cruelty deserved retribution. "I suppose Damien's old enough to handle his wife himself."

"He probably feels he is, darling, even if you wish otherwise."

"You needn't look at me like that," he said, "with all that worry and concern. I'll behave." But he intended to see their barristers first thing tomorrow. It never hurt to have all the arrangements in place should Damien finally rid himself of his malevolent wife.

"My goodness, Jane's seen Beau too," Chelsea remarked, perusing Jane Maxwell's flowing script. "She's more discreet than Damien in her reaction; she only mentions meeting Beau and Miss Blythe outside a dressmaker's."

"Ah ... the Gloucestershire miss will be much better dressed now. And I imagine she has a bit of new jewelry too." Sinjin was well acquainted with beautiful young ladies proficient in adding to their fortunes. His tick at modistes' and jewelers' in his youth was always a point of heated discussion with his bankers.

"Tom and Jane were also at the embassy the night Beau danced," Chelsea said. "And Miss Blythe was wearing a dazzling gown-Jane describes it as rose colored."

"Did she mention its cost?" Sinjin sardonically queried.

His wife looked up in mild remonstrance. "Jane is only politely letting us know our son is more smitten than usual."

Miss Blythe must be very good in bed, Sinjin thought; smitten wasn't a man's word.

"But no one saw them after that, Jane goes on, and now the Siren has sailed."

Sensible of the extraordinary inducements necessary for his son to give up a wager, Sinjin reflected the lady must have wanted to dance very much-and knew how to be convincing. Perhaps he should direct the barristers to check into Miss Blythe as well. "I do hope," he said, a small concern in his voice when he thought of the length of time this woman and Beau would be together until Naples, "we won't soon become grandparents." A child would be a powerful bargaining chip.

"Do you think Beau's serious about this woman?" Chelsea regarded her husband with interest.

"I think the woman may be serious about him, which worries me more. I'll write to Damien and have him send additional details."

"Perhaps Beau's found someone he loves."

"I don't begrudge him love no matter who the lady. But I'd not like him taken advantage of by some scheming female."

"He's too much like you, dear-dare I say, ruthless about women. I doubt there's a female capable of scheming her way into his heart," she pointed out, hoping Miss Blythe's affections weren't involved, for her son's affairs were always brief. "But on the subject of scheming women," she softly said, "I have a small confession."

"Don't tell me you've already invited Vivian over."

"No."

"Thank god."

"It's something ... more personal."

"You've overspent your allowance." He smiled. "I don't care, you know that. I'll tell Berkley to give you more."

"It's not about money."

"You bought that Arab filly we disagreed on."

"I should have but I didn't and now Kendall has her. But it's something else. Do you remember the night at Oakham when we decided to stay at that inn instead of riding back to our hunting box?"

"I remember. Fondly." His eyes warmed with memory.

"How strongly do you feel about not having more children?"

"What are you saying?" He pushed aside the papers before him on the desktop as though he needed clear space between them to understand the implications of her question.

"Tell me." She watched him intently.

"I don't want you risking your life. Some women can have children like steps each year, others can't. You can't." She'd lost their first child and Chelsea's last pregnancy had been difficult too.