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Crossing his arms, Lex gives a small shake of his head. “Unlikely. There’s still a small chance, and the blood test will confirm it one way or the other, but I doubt it.”

Pace’s eyes widen. “How thefuckis she not pregnant? We’ve been pumping her so full of cum, that shit should be coming out her eyeballs.”

“I don’t know.” Lex pinches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe she ovulated before the masquerade. Maybe the conditions just weren’t right. Maybe–”

“Maybe she’s fucking deficient,” I snarl, fists flexing. “Just our luck, we get a Princess who’s been breathing in that toxic West End air her whole life.”

“Or maybe you’re the deficient ones,” comes Verity's voice. I swing around to find her standing in the doorway, those green eyes still full of malice. “Ever think of that?”

“How do you figure?” Lex asks, the insult landing like fire in his eyes.

She’s in her little white nightdress, red hair tumbling over her shoulder. Her nipples are visible through the thin fabric and my dick twitches at the sight of her. But for once, lust isn’t in the forefront of my mind. Not now. A fresh wave of anger surges in my chest.

“Unless you’re going to bend over that table and beg for my dick,” I tell her, “get out.”

Pace shoves past me, knocking me into the foot of the bed. “What did you just say?” His voice is low and full of threat, and the way he towers over her almost makes my dick twitch again.

“You heard me. You’re the deficient ones.” Her eyes are narrowed, chin raised, and she looks a touch unhinged, something wild and unfettered burning under the surface. “If I’d gotten a set of Princes who knew how to properly fuck a woman, I’d be scheduling my coronation. But instead I get this!” She flings a hand toward Lex. “You and your crazy syringes, can’t even be bothered to kiss me, let alone make a life inside of me.” She flicks a hand to Pace. “Your sperm probably die off waiting for you to actually get the job done.” She levels her irate eyes on me next, jaw clenching. “Andyou–”

“Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know how to fuck a woman,” I hiss, fingers clenching into a ball at my side. “I can have a dozen on the phone in the next five minutes who’ll tell you that you’re the problem.”

“Because Wicker Ashby is such a sex god?” She barks a sharp, maniacal laugh. “Sure, that’s what they all say, but they must be talking about someone else. I’m pretty sure my uterus considers you a hostile invader at this point. Chasing me down five times a day, jumping out from the shadows, and then unloading into me like a cumdumpster isn’t the suave Casanova move the rest of Forsyth seems to think it is!”

“Or maybe you don’t rank the fucking effort!” I step up to her, sneering. “And while we’re being critical, I think I speak for every man in this room when I say you’re not exactly inspiring any letters to Penthouse.”

Her jaw drops. “Excuse me?” It’s the shrill pitch of her voice–that flare of outrage in her eyes–that drives me forward.

“We’ve fucked mattresses that acted sexier than you. Glancing across the table to watch the gardening video you’ve got playing on your phone isn’t what I’d call active participation.”

“And what the three of you dois?” She gapes at me, flinging a hand out toward Lex. “Your brother can’t even get his dick hard!”

Lex isn’t the kind of guy who loses it. In fact, the angrier he gets, the steadier he looks. That’s important, with what he does–whatwedo. It’s happening right now, his shoulders dropping their tension as he bites back, “Maybeyoucan’t get my dick hard.” His voice has this way of cutting, all low and smooth, and I watch as she goes stiff. “Wicker has a point, you know. This is all so fucking easy for you.”

Her eyes bug out as she looks between us. “Easy? You’re crazy!”

He reaches up to tie his hair back with short, deliberate motions, before responding. “All you have to do is spread your legs and play the victim. You’re not the one doing the heavy lifting. Even when we’re out in public,” he gestures to me and Pace, “it’s on us to put our arms around you or hold your hand. Might as well be a dead fish.”

The words land like a punch. I can see it in the way her brows collide in the middle, the little flash of hurt she veils as anger. “Oh, well excuse the hell out of me for not being sexy enough!” Her incensed eyes ping between me and my brothers. “It’s almost like you recruited the most inexperienced girl in the city, and then made her lose her virginity toa chair.”

“Or maybe you already gave it up to someone else,” Pace says, the knot in the back of his jaw ticcing. “I saw his mark on your back. We all have.”

The three of us took our breakfast in here yesterday, which is when Lex pensively brought it up. Guess her last medical exam put her ass on full display for him. Of course, I’d seen the scar before, having bent her over plenty of surfaces, but I hadn’t realized what it was. What it meant. Not until Lex and Pace explained what went down at the Hideaway.

Just figured we’d get marked goods from West End.

Pace advances on her with fire in his eyes. “I happen to know firsthand you’re not the innocent little lamb our Father thinks you are. That is, after all, how we met.” He takes her in with a derisive stare. “But Bruce Oakfield?”

The longer she looks between us, the more her horrified eyes begin shining with unshed tears. “You don’t know anything,” she says, voice cracking with disgust. “Bruce Oakfield didn’t brand his ring into me because we were together. He did it to punish me.”

My gaze pings to Lex. I would have thought Pace would take the idea of Verity having belonged to Bruce the hardest, but he didn’t. Lex was the one to go all quiet and gloomy about it, practically dissecting his breakfast sausage.

Now the shutters fall over his expression. “Punishment for what?”

She chews out her response. “Disobedience to my future Duke.”

There’s a tinge of electricity in the air, Lex’s shoulders tensing up again, and it makes my nerves flare up, becauseshit. We could do that, couldn’t we? Punish her for disobedience? One glance at Pace makes it clear he’s thinking the same thing.

Lex, on the other hand…