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W olf had his servants bring a dinner tray to his study. The paperwork had almost taken over the room. He had a lot to get through tonight.

Since Sprat had fled and word of his swindle was out, there was no risk to the Wolfarth family of having to pay for the share transactions. His coffers remained full. But anger burned deep for Tiffany and what she had lost. He suspected she’d invested for a few of the young ladies. It was a bitter pill for them to swallow.

Earlier he’d opened an urgent missive and learned which bank Sprat had used for his swindle. It was several banks actually. What Sprat hadn’t been so clever about was how he transferred the money. When Wolf had explained to the banks what had happened, they’d had no problem divulging where Sprat’s letters of funds were addressed to. Rockwell was right. It looked as if Sprat was in Ireland. He’d taken his letters of introduction and funds to the Bank of Ireland.

If he wasn’t so busy, he’d go with Rockwell to Ireland. But he’d ask Fane to go with Rockwell instead. After all, it was Tiffany who’d lost money. He would petition the Regent tomorrow to get a royal seal to have the Irish banks release the stolen funds. If he couldn’t find Sprat, he’d at least feel better knowing he’d deprived the rogue of his ill-gotten gains. He was pretty sure Sprat would come after him for that. Then they would capture him.

He pushed the Sprat problem aside to concentrate on his estates. The latest report from his estate up north said that Melville was behaving himself as far as gambling went. He’d even taken to visiting a lady widower in the village. His uncle appeared to have a new lease on life and the shock of Sprat’s allegations, the attempt on his life and Wolf’s threat to send him to the Americas had been enough for him to temper his gambling. For now.

Rockwell had escorted their sisters and mother to the ball tonight, but before departing, he had left a copy of the latest share sheet on Wolf’s desk. He’d circled the share price of Armley and Park Mills. He was losing his wager. Whether or not Tiffany became his countess would be entirely in her tiny hands when he lost.

It meant much more to him than he realized. For some reason, he’d thought it would be easy to make a bluestocking with little chance of romance in her life fall in love with him. He smiled at his arrogance. His little bluestocking was so much more than he’d ever imagined he wanted in a wife.

He’d wanted her investing skills, but now he wanted her companionship and he… He swallowed back his fear. It would be so easy to fall in love with her. She was wonderful, delightful, kind, intelligent, challenging and so filled with yearning to experience everything in life that he wanted to give it to her.

The one drawback was she deserved love. And he didn’t know if he was strong enough to give his heart again. Margo’s death killed something inside him. He didn’t want the responsibility of someone’s heart and soul. What if he disappointed them and made their life miserable?

Deep inside he knew Tiffany was nothing like Margo. Looking back, Margo lacked strength of character. It wasn’t her fault. Society had set its expectations of her. Be beautiful and charming and simply find the right husband. She’d succeeded in her plan…until life said otherwise. He could hardly blame Margo. What happened to her was incomprehensible. But he thought about Tiffany and what she would have done in that position. She would have at least talked to Wolf about the situation. And he was positive she would not have killed herself. She would have fought back. But Tiffany had a weapon to do that with—her intelligence. Margo had possessed only her looks.

Tiffany could handle anything life threw at her. Anyone who underestimated her did so at their own peril. He was in peril, because he’d underestimated her too. He’d been arrogant enough to think she’d simply welcome the match.

Now Wolf couldn’t fathom the idea of having anyone else as his countess. The words on the parchment in front of him blurred. What was he going to do? For the first time in his life, he was unsure of himself. He pushed her out of his mind. He needed to talk to Julian. He’d gotten married last year, and to a woman he loved. How did Julian win Serena’s heart?

A soft click alerted him to the fact someone had entered his study. He looked up to see Tiffany standing just inside the door. She took his breath away. Her hair was down, the soft tresses falling over her shoulders in waves. She was dressed in a deep blue velvet gown that seemed to float around her as she moved toward him. And it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a corset!

He finally realized his mouth was hanging open. He rose to greet her. “Tiffany, is something wrong?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Her eyes sparkled with wickedness. Excitement fired within him. Her lips broke into what could only be called a sensual smile, and to add oil to the flame, she ran her little pink tongue over her bottom lip. Wolf’s groin instantly tightened.

As his gaze drifted down her body, his tongue almost lolled out of his mouth at the amount of pale, plump bosom on display. Her low-cut gown with its sheer silk bodice barely covered her nipples, and the tiny sleeves hung off her shoulders, leaving her décolletage bare and as inviting as newly fallen snow.

He stood there like an imbecile, drinking her in and yet willing his body to ignore the vision of pure temptation before him.

“Come here.” She crooked her finger and bade him move closer.

He didn’t need further encouragement. But as he walked round his desk toward her a wave of loneliness and loss washed through him. Here was the hot-blooded woman he would marry, and yet she was not in his heart. You don’t want her in your heart . You won’t let her in your heart. The fear of letting anyone close again saw his stride falter.

“Wolf…”

Her voice took his breath away. It held such power. When she whispered his name, he stepped forward as if lured by some irresistible force. He soaked in the beauty standing within touching distance. Pure innocence wrapped in an outer coating of sin. The heat in her eyes made him feel flushed and feverish. Her intense stare set his body quivering with longing. God help him.

“What is it?” she whispered uncertainly into the stillness of the fire-heated room. The spitting flames could be heard in the silence, along with his ragged breathing.

“You are so beautiful,” he choked out.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered with a sensual smile, her uncertainty vanishing in an instant. “But you make me feel beautiful.” Slipping her arms around his neck, she hugged him close.

He was in heaven, wrapped in her heat. Slowly he let his hands slide down her back, his palms molding to her curves, her softness beckoning him.

Through his jacket, he could feel her ripe, firm breasts pressed into his chest, and he had to touch them. One hand slid up her side, and with a shudder that rocked him to his core, he cupped her breast and gently squeezed.

“I wanted to talk with you. In private. About—us.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper.

“We don’t need words. You feel this pull of attraction too. How can you deny we’d make an excellent couple?” He’d never felt this driving need for any other woman.

Then his mouth covered hers. He kissed her with a fever, hard and demanding, and desperate at the same time. He let his dark need for her overwhelm him as his tongue slid urgently into her mouth, stealing any chance she had to catch her breath. He’d never experienced anything as addictive.

Long, passion-filled moments later, he broke off, and she groaned. Shutting his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers and struggled for control.

She pulled him closer. “I don’t want you to stop,” she said shakily. “I wanted to talk to you, but your kiss stole my words.”

He couldn’t respond. For several pounding heartbeats he stared into her eyes. “You coming to me dressed like this…with no corset… Does this mean you agree to become my countess?” he said.

“I need answers. What happens when this desire burns out? What will be left between us?”

“Desire and passion are excellent building blocks for a happy marriage. Can that not be enough?”

He saw her hesitation and ruthlessly took advantage. His hands slipped under the neckline of her gown, his palms pressing against her nipples, which were pebbled into tight, hard peaks.

She let out a whimper, and her head dropped back.

Striving for sanity, he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to move too fast and scare her, yet he wanted her to feel what could be between them. He tugged on the neckline of her gown, dipped his head, and took her nipple into his mouth.

She whispered his name, kissed his bent head, and caressed his arms as they held her.

He should stop this now. He’d pledged to do nothing that would force her to wed. He was a man of his word, even though she tempted him more than wine tempts a thirsty man.

He went very still, her nipple resting between his lips. Then she shuddered and begged, “More, please, Wolf…”

He moved across to her other breast and she groaned, digging her fingers into his arms as she arched her back to push her breasts up to meet his mouth. For long minutes his lips and tongue set about arousing her. It was tantalizing and intoxicating, and his body thrilled as he felt the shivers of response he drew from her body.

*

When Wolf’s mouth covered hers, it was as if lightning struck—heat and sizzling desire. Tiffany could barely breathe. Then he made her lips open for him.

The scent of him filled her senses, and his taste stole her reason. It was exactly like the last time, and she loved it. She should stop him and get the answers she needed before she gave herself to this man. She needed to protect her heart before he stole it completely.

It was hard to think while wicked and wonderful sensations bombarded her, leaving her giddy and wanting more. Her head swam with erotic images from her dreams. Images of his hands on her belly, his lips on her breasts, skin to skin as he sought to ease the ache inside of her.

She clung tightly to his massive shoulders as he thrust his tongue deeper, inciting delicious, melting weakness in her limbs.

Suddenly Wolf drew her hard against his body, and the kiss changed. Became hot. Possessive. Glorious.

The sinful thrill of being captured against this warm wall of muscle and bone should have unnerved her. But it didn’t. Instead, need, impossible to resist, surged through her.

When he suddenly broke off the kiss, she cried out in protest. Then she saw the desire shimmering in his hooded eyes. She trusted in that desire. Wolf would never be false. She could hardly believe it, but then she remembered the painting and how he saw her, and her body came alive under his gaze.

She saw the exact moment he surrendered to his need to taste her again. His eyes darkened and his mouth claimed hers once more.

This kiss was not one a man gave a woman he intended to let remain a virgin—and that thought alone should have scared her because it would mean…

She snuggled into him and was rewarded when he swept her into his arms and carried her across to the chaise longue, his lips never leaving hers.

He lay her gently down before following, his heavy body pressing her deep into the cushions. She loved the feel of his weight on her. Loved the marvelous mouth that continued to drive her desire higher.

Wrapping both arms round his neck, she returned his feverish kisses in kind. She strained against him, delighting in his body’s hardness, as his hands began to roam her person.

She forced the guilt away. She’d come dressed to call to the man in him. It had worked. But when his fingers found she’d left off her stockings, his intake of breath was worth the risk. The feel of his fingers on the bare skin of her leg was exciting, scandalous, stimulating.

His other hand undid the hook on the front of her gown, and he rose up enough to pull the material apart.

Only then did he break the kiss.

He was breathing heavily and as aroused as she. His eyes never left hers as he peeled the material back and kissed the top of her exposed breasts. Then his fingers went to the second hook, and the third, and the fourth, until her breasts were fully exposed to his gaze—and his mouth.

Eyes gleaming with satisfaction, he drank in her disheveled state. She should have been embarrassed at his study, but she wasn’t. In fact, it made her hot and bothered. She arched her back, almost demanding his attention.

When he lowered his head, took one peaked nipple tenderly into his mouth and suckled, she thought she’d reached heaven. She cupped his head and held him there, pressed against her as she panted and writhed. Who knew she would become such a wanton for this man?

His hand continued molding the contours of her breasts while his mouth tortured her. She barely noticed that his other hand was pushing her legs wider to allow him to settle between her thighs.

Her body couldn’t help but move beneath him, seeking some form of relief. She almost cried out when she felt a finger slide through her wet folds.

“So responsive. So beautiful,” he assured her, drawing back to look down her body to where his hand stroked her intimately. “I knew you would be. I can see the passion trapped inside.”

His gaze flicked to her and she locked onto his hypnotic stare.

“I want…”

He pressed a kiss to her bared stomach. “You have no idea what you want, my darling, but I’ll show you.”

With that promise ringing in her ears, he moved lower, pushing her gown out of the way, baring her body completely to his heated gaze.

She was not a coward. She wanted him in every way a woman could want a man. Had she even lived before he touched her? She longed for him, and a shudder of excitement rippled through her. But when his hot breath blew on the most intimate part of her, she froze.

This was too decadent— he was too decadent. What was she doing?

With his dark and stormy eyes fixed on her face, as if daring her to stop him, he lowered his mouth. The kiss between her thighs was beyond intimate.

She could not believe that he was kissing her there. She could not believe she was letting him. It was mortifying, yet at the same time she knew she’d beg him to continue if he stopped.

Tiffany’s fingers threaded through his thick curls, tangling in their silky softness as she clutched his head, urging him closer.

Anticipation sent a series of tremors ricocheting through her, but it did not prepare her for what he did next. Gently he parted her folds, and his heated lips tasted the very heart of her womanhood. When his tongue slid through her curls and licked the most intimate part of her, she moaned, and her hips lifted in desperate need.

When he draped one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her wider to his ministrations, her body exploded with want and desire.

And still his talented tongue licked at her with exquisite expertise, sucking and teasing and nibbling until she lost any sense of time or place and let her dark, dangerous lover take her where he willed.

She hovered on an airy precipice, her soul teetering on the edge of nothingness. Sensations overwhelmed her. Her limbs went taut, her body shook, and she felt as if she were losing her mind to the pleasure. Then his wicked tongue entered her, and she came apart, plunging over the edge into an abyss of bliss. Writhing against his mouth, her fingers clutched in his hair in the sweet, amazing tide of her release. She cried out his name. “Oh, Wolf. Oh, God.”

At this moment she would let this sensual man do anything to her. She tried not to listen, but her heart begged her to let it love this man.

She was still humming with the joy of it when he began to move up her body.

“Beautiful. You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

She reached for him, and slid her palms slowly up muscled biceps to his shoulders. She wished he were naked; she wanted to feel his skin. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. “That was incredible.”

He smiled and brushed her lips with a kiss so tender, she wanted to weep. “There is more, so much more, but not tonight. I promised you I’d never put you in a situation where you had to marry me. If I go further, that promise will be broken. I want you too much.”

“I really only came to talk.” How could there be more than this perfection? No wonder women flocked to him.

“With your legs bare and no corset?” He nuzzled her nose with his own. “You only have to say ‘I’ll marry you’ and I can show you how good lovemaking can be.”

She sighed in resignation and disappointment. “I can say those words, if you can tell me what is in your heart.”

“I do care for you. I can give you the most wonderful life. Friendship. Children. A home. Investing to your heart’s content. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give you my heart. If not for the fact blood still pumps in my veins, I’d swear my heart had been stripped and torn apart. I’m not sure it will ever mend.”

She knew this had to do with Margo’s death. Did he feel responsible? What happened to her? “If you want me to marry you and trust you enough to be part of your life, can you tell me about Margo?”

He sat back and ran a hand through his hair, looking as if he wanted to flee. She sat up and began to hook her dress back together while he talked.

“Margo was a typical well-bred young lady. Beautiful beyond words, and I fell in love with one look.” He laughed. “Not love. I don’t think I really loved her. I was simply young and infatuated. I asked her to marry me the first night I met her, so how could I have loved her? I didn’t even know her.”

He stood and began to pace the room. The pain bottled up in him was evident from the tension in his shoulders. “I was young and arrogant and had no idea of the real evil in the world. I thought my position in society, my title, my money protected me. I was very wrong and Margo paid the price.”

A coldness washed over her at his bleak words.

“On an outing in Richmond Park, I left the servants to follow us home and, with just Margo, set off in the phaeton.”

What happened hit her before he said another word. “You were attacked?” He flopped into the chair by the fire, his head in his hands. “What happened?” But she knew.

“They raped her and I could do nothing to stop them. The sounds. Her cries. They haunt my dreams.” A lone tear fell down his cheek. “She could not live with the consequences.”

Consequences…

“When she learned she was with child—no, not mine. I’d not touched her in that way, happy to wait, and then after the attack…she wouldn’t let me touch her and I understood why. I thought with time she would heal. I would never have abandoned her. This was my fault.”

“No. It wasn’t your fault. It was the men who attacked you.”

“I should never have gone so far from London without an escort. Margo paid the price.”

“And if her child was a boy, he would have become your heir.” Tiffany understood the dilemma Margo had faced, but to kill herself… “She could have had the child in secret and then married you.”

He looked up at her, anguish on his face. “Yes. That is what I thought, but maybe she didn’t believe in me. She didn’t believe I’d stand by her.”

Tiffany went and sat at his feet. She placed her hands on his thighs and rubbed. “You were right. You didn’t know each other. For if she really knew you, she’d have known you would never have abandoned her.”

He placed his large hand over hers. “I tried to get her to postpone the wedding until she was ready. Maybe she thought I was trying to back out of the engagement. The day our wedding was supposed to have taken place, she killed herself. She slashed her wrists in her bedchamber.” He squeezed her hand. “When I got the news, my heart literally shriveled in my chest, and I can’t seem to bring it back to life.”

Tiffany understood guilt, but she’d never faced something like this. She rather thought if he could just forgive himself, his heart would heal and he could learn to let love back in. But she also wondered if he was scared. Scared to be responsible for another person’s wellbeing ever again. No wonder he was so worried about what Sprat might do. He would feel responsible for any action Sprat took in retaliation for Wolf not paying Melville’s debt and bringing Sprat’s actions to everyone’s attention.

At least she now understood what she faced where Wolf was concerned. She was not prepared to give up on the idea that he could come to love her. He just had to heal from his past. Just! Was she the woman who could help him heal? He was older and wiser now, and she was perhaps stronger in spirit than Margo. She knew one thing. She would not have killed herself if she’d been in Margo’s place. That was letting evil win. And she’d never allow that.

“I have always known that in life, good things take time. Investing is not an overnight win. You need patience and skill and perseverance. Trust is the same. You don’t trust overnight either. Trust develops and grows. Relationships appear to be the same. Love, real love, takes time to grow.”

He tweaked her nose. “Is this your way of telling me that my heart will heal?”

“With the right person, I know it will. What I have to consider, as do you, is whether I’m the right woman to help you mend your broken heart.”

He stared at her for a long time. “Do you want to be that woman?” he asked in a whisper, as if her answer might shatter the silence.

Was he ready? With everything going on around them, it would be risky. “Why don’t we deal with Sprat and then see what develops between us? So far I’m liking the idea of becoming your marchioness more and more. Especially after tonight’s stolen delights.”

Finally, a smile broke over his lips. “Speaking of which, if you don’t sneak home soon there may be no choice but to wed. If Mother catches you here, that’s all she’ll need. You know how keen she is for the match.”

He was right, of course. Tiffany rose and stood looking down at him. “We can tick trust off our list. I’ve known you for years and I trust you. I know the man you are. Thank you for trusting me with your story.” She bent and kissed his forehead. “I will see you mid-morning for my final sitting.”

*

He needed a drink. He poured himself a brandy and sat back down at his desk, but all thought of work vanished. He hadn’t expected to go so far with her tonight. But the feel of her, the scent of her, the sight of her in that enticing gown had loosened his control. She’d come to test him. And he hoped he’d passed the test.

The warmth in the area of his cold dead heart told him she could be right. Could he come to love again? Would he risk it? He thought she just might be worth the risk. What kind of marriage did he want? He wanted what his parents had shared. He wanted that intimacy. The feeling that you had a friend walking beside you, supporting you.

He was still as hard as rock. He wanted to race to his bedchamber while her taste was still on his lips and pleasure himself. He’d been doing that a lot lately. In his dreams, Tiffany was always lying naked before him, like he saw her in his painting. He kept the painting in his room where he could see it.

From now on he wouldn’t have to imagine. He would remember. And memory was worse than imagination, because imagination had not gifted him with the innocence of her response. His armor was punctured, and now his fractured heart wanted to break free.

What he needed to decide, and soon, was if he could let his heart mend, and love again.