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“Maybe she has a tendre for him,” Kate suggested.

“Lady Whistledown?” Anthony rolled his eyes. “That old biddy?”

“She might not be old.”

Anthony snorted derisively. “She’s a wrinkled old crone and you know it.”

“I don’t know,” Kate said, scooting out of his grasp and crawling under the covers. “I think she might be young.”

“And I think,” Anthony announced, “that I don’t much want to talk about Lady Whistledown just now.”

Kate smiled. “You don’t?”

He slid into place next to her, his fingers settling around the curve of her hip. “I have much better things to do.”

“You do?”

“Much.” His lips found her ear. “Much, much, much better.”