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“No. Well, I was told the young virgins would never put themselves forward, lest some dragon of a chaperone breathe fire at them.”

Nancy stared into the hearth flames, remembering that night. No one had seen them in the passageway, but later, yes, people had seen her try to confront him. Mother had quietly dressed her down after.

What he’d said to her later had been reprehensible. What he’d done… casting up his accounts had embarrassed her, but it must have thoroughly shamed him. That was the part the scandal sheets focused on.

The passionate kiss in the passageway had been like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

“I’m peckish.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Are you? Shall we return to the table?”

His hand paused and then his fingers began to knead her scalp in a mesmerizing rhythm.

“I am probably hungry. Probably starving in fact. But... would you kiss me again? Another real kiss, Simon. Like the one you gave me when you thought I was a soiled d?—”

His lips came down on her open mouth. She giggled, allowing him entrance, and then pulling his head closer.

While he nipped and their lips moved together, she explored.

She’d lived all her life with brothers, yet a man’s body was foreign territory, a revelation that had ripples of heat running through her, making her yearn for something more, something as yet unknown, whatever it was that made women throw all good sense aside.

She smoothed a hand up to his neck and his ardor increased.

His hair, thick and soft, was already almost dry.

Scruff covered his cheeks and his jaw, but the strong cords of his neck were firm skin over muscle.

Her fingers traveled over powerful shoulders and raked though the scant hair covering his taut chest.

He drew away from her, so close she could see each whisker of his beard, his eyes glowing darkly, a wicked smile forming.

“What else would you like me to do?”

“Oh.” Her heart swelled and pressed against her lungs as she gulped for breath. Everything , she thought, but the word wouldn’t come.

He was fumbling with her neckcloth, one-handed then. The poorly tied knot dissolved. He tossed the bit of linen away, then kissed her again while he helped her wriggle out of her coats.

Cool air touched her back as warm fingers swirled up her spine and around and… Ah. He was cupping her breast, stroking the nipple. Ribbons of pleasure unfurled in her, coursed through her middle, echoed in the place between her legs.

“All right?” he murmured.

She felt herself nod.

He went back to kissing her, easing the shirt up, up, up. Breaking the kiss, he tore the shirt over her head, tossed it, and then paused.

She was as half-naked as he was. She looked down at her bare breasts and a wave of sheer wantonness came over her. When she raised her gaze, she found him focused upon her face, a grim set to his mouth. Not anger; he looked like he was holding the reins of a breakaway horse.

“Yes?” he asked.

What was he asking? She wasn’t sure, she only knew she didn’t want him to stop.

You’ll go to the altar an innocent virgin , he’d said, but not an ignorant one .

She wanted to know, but one way or another, she’d be sealing her fate, wouldn’t she?

A night with Simon. If he truly would marry her, a lifetime of nights with him…

“Yes.”

“And you’ll give me four weeks?” His long fingers swirled around each breast, addling her brain.

Four weeks. That meant she couldn’t leave tonight.

“You’ll take me to Birmingham?”

“I promise. Word of honor. We’ll leave tomorrow after breakfast.”

His hand was doing magical things.

“Stay with me tonight,” she said.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

“I hope you are right.” Though Lady Neda Loughton was a full head shorter than her eldest, Fitz hurried to keep up with her furious pace.

Dawn lit the sky in the east and the grass, wet from a night of rain, squished underfoot.

Mother had been up the whole night fretting and wondering when Simon would escort Nancy home, long after George had shepherded the little ones to the nursery, long after Mel and the rest of the family and guests had retired.

Long after Sir Percy and Miss Hazelton had ceased casting up their accounts, and Fitz had turned the key on his brother, James, locking him in his room.

Fitz had sat up with Mother, insisting she wait until dawn for her invasion.

He suppressed a chuckle. He hoped it didn’t turn into a siege.

“Who knew Nancy could be so defiant and stubborn?” he said.

If Mother hadn’t dug in her heels over Sally Simpkins, there might have been no rebellion at all. He ought to have intervened.

He held his tongue though and said, “Simon likely needed the whole night to woo her.”

“Yes. And I can imagine how he went about it. I was young once, you know.”

“He’ll marry her, Mother. And trust me, he won’t take her maidenhead.”

Or if he did, it wouldn’t matter if they married soon. They could send for a special license, if need be.

“Just wait, Mama. She’ll be in the bed, and he’ll be on the sofa in the parlor.”

She tossed a harumph and a dismissive look over her shoulder.

As far as Fitz was concerned, a betrothal was a license to make love. Simon, given the devilish temptation, might have done just what Fitz did in a moment of madness with his Mel. But Simon would have had a great deal more opposition from Nancy than Mel had offered Fitz.

Perhaps. Anything was possible.

“I’ll get out the dueling pistols if needed,” Fitz teased.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“No. I suppose not.” He trusted Simon to do the right thing, but if honor required it, he’d thrash him.

They made their way over the bridge and around the other side of the lake until they reached the garden surrounding the folly. In the damp dawn, the scent of roses filled the air.

He took out his key while his mother took in a long breath.

As it happened, the door was unlocked.

“I’ll go first,” he said.

“No.” She pushed him aside. “You ought not to see your sister this way.”

Fitz fought a smile, watching her indignant back as she entered. Nancy, the youngest and most congenial of the girls, would always be first in Mother’s heart. Once one knew that, everything was easy to understand.

Inside, it took a moment for his vision to adjust. The candles had burned down. A fire had been lit but that had burned down as well.

And there—he’d been wrong on both counts. Wrapped in a blanket on the carpet in front of the hearth, Simon lay fast asleep, his arms around a sleeping Nancy.

Simon’s arm was bare, but Nancy was dressed. Somewhat dressed. Her arm bore a white sleeve that looked more like part of a boy’s shirt than the sleeve of a lady’s chemise.

Her skirts and his shirt from the night before hung over chairs, drying.

Both looked peaceful.

Mother turned a troubled gaze up at him. ‘They shall marry immediately.”

A tender caress of her breast stirred delicious sensations, rousing Nancy from sleep.

Dim light filtered around the closed curtains, signaling daybreak.

She turned her head, and her lips were captured in a kiss so intense it sent heat pouring through her and brought her fully awake.

Her thoughts raced back over the scant hours before and Simon’s lessons in lovemaking, and she rolled on her side facing him.

Her fingers retraced the planes of his back and stroked down over the firm muscles of his bottom and thighs still encased in the trousers he’d refused to remove.

Daringly, she slipped her hand between them and gasped at the hard length of him.

He clapped a hand over hers. “No,” he said, his voice gravelly and tight. “At least not until we’re wed.”

A fuzzy part of her brain considered and rejected the delay. “Must we wait?”

In the long pause ensued, she saw desire warring with his determination to wait.

Impatience, annoyance flared in her. Before exhaustion had claimed her, he’d brought her to eye-opening ecstasy more than once. Yet he’d abstained from that pleasure himself. She knew enough to know there was more.

She freed her hand and raked a nail through his bristly jaw. “Marriage is the price you’ll exact for all the pleasures of the flesh? For you as well?” she prodded.

“It’s not a price. It won’t be a price. It won’t be forced. I want you to know me first, I want you to choose.”

“And if I choose now?”

“I want you to choose more than one night of making love. I want a lifetime with you. A family. Happiness.”

Her hand stilled. A lifetime . The full gravity of what he was asking hit her.

He was asking—and offering—much more than girlish fantasies of romance and the sensual pleasures he’d introduced her to.

He wanted a marriage like that of her parents before Papa died, like George’s marriage to Sophie, and Fitz’s marriage to Mel. He wanted happiness.

Could it be true? Could she trust him?

“I love you, Nancy.”

Hope soared in her, but before she could speak, they heard noises outside.

“I’ll go first,” a muffled man’s voice said.

Alarm coursed through her. That, she was sure, was Fitz.

“No. You mustn’t see your sister this way.”

Mother was here too. She ought to have expected it.

Nancy rolled onto her back and closed her eyes.

The doorknob rattled and a gust of moist air kissed her cheek.

Mother’s indrawn breath shattered the silence. ‘They shall marry immediately,” she said, her voice tight.

“Yes. Or I shall shoot him.”

The amusement in Fitz’s voice told Nancy he’d do no such thing.

Simon squeezed her side and stirred. The blanket shifted as he sat up and wished Mother and Fitz a sleepy good morning.

“Think of it, Mother,” Fitz said. “Our Nancy, a duchess.”

Simon shuffled around, getting to his feet. “My shirt’s finally dry,” he said blandly.

Nancy barely swallowed a giggle. Mother must be getting a shocked eyeful of Simon’s bare chest and tight trousers.

“Beg pardon,” Simon said. “Yes. I will marry Nancy, if she’ll have me.”

“She’ll have you,” Fitz said.