Prey Tell

Prey Tell By Katie Blu

Resplendence Publishing, LLC http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118

Prey Tell Copyright © 2011 Katie Blu Edited by Darlena Cunha and Liza Green Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com

Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-448-2

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Electronic Release: December 2011

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

To Cheryl Dragon who kicked my butt and pushed me back in the direction of Historical romances...but with a paranormal twist. This one’s for you. ~Mia/Katie~

Chapter One

Miss Claire Preston could feel his eyes on her. And just as she had two nights ago at the Glastonbury’s formal dinner and musicale, she ignored him. With her gaze resolutely trained on Lord Beaumont, she hoped to convey her preference for the young dancing lord whom she was expected to marry. Mr. Oliver Elby, unfortunately, was too forward by half. “Would either of you care for a lemonade?” Claire’s brother in law, Lord Whiteside, asked. “No thank you,” she answered him. Her sister Susan accepted. After he left them, Susan leaned close. “It appears you have taken Mr. Elby’s notice.” “I don’t want his notice. I want Lord Beaumont’s notice.” The choice of whom to marry hadn’t been hers. Her kind married caretakers. Caretakers looked after the needs and protection of her people, and the Beaumont line was one of only three families dedicated to preserving their secret. They had connections and a history of loyalty, as did the Whiteside lineage. “It’s just as well. Mr. Elby isn’t a Beaumont,” she agreed. “And so like Mother of you to remind me, Lady Whiteside,” Claire teased. Susan laughed. “My title aside, Mother would have a fit if I allowed Mr. Elby to court you. It’s already arranged for you marry Beaumont.” From the corner of her eye, Claire noticed Mr. Elby circling the dance floor toward her. This being the second time she’d noticed his unwarranted attention, she decided she’d either have to set her brother-in-law on him, or discover what he was about. Having not been formally introduced to him, speaking to him directly was out of the question.

Her fine hairs stood on edge as did every sense in her being, but her gaze calmly followed his progress until he stood immediately behind her. Her skin prickled with extra awareness. She settled her shoulders, feeling as though his eyes bore into her back just where the lace edge of her gown dipped between her shoulder blades. When she’d dressed for the ball, she’d thought her cream-colored gown with navy trim and delicate ivory lace had been modest. Now she felt as though Mr. Elby could see beneath her clothes and those seeing eyes raked her every nerve from nape to hem. Susan brushed against her arm. She must’ve noticed Mr. Elby’s arrival. He’d be hard to miss, given the sisters’ rather unique talents. Though Claire had watched Lord Beaumont, she couldn’t miss the warm scent of Mr. Elby. He smelled of candle wax, aromatic oils, and the distinct aroma that all things male possessed. His skin had the undercurrent of something dark. It was human, but carried with it hints of leather and the lure of sun-bleached sheets. Sex, she realized suddenly. Her cheeks heated sharply as the indefinable quality hit her as surely as if he’d spoken it aloud. Mr. Elby smelled like sex. Not the lingering scent she’d caught like traces on the air, while lodging with her sister and her husband for the season. Mr. Elby smelled like danger, a predator perfumed with intrigue. Perhaps because he wasn’t Beaumont, and therefore forbidden to her. And that’s when the next realization came to her. Having never been in this position before, she’d missed it utterly. But as close as Mr. Elby stood, wrapping her in his sensual cloak without even a word spoken, a touch exchanged, she knew she was prey. She’d never been stalked before, but having stalked she knew what he was about. He intended to make her aware, to wonder, to question his purpose, and he’d done so perfectly. The attention she’d meant to give another man in order to discourage Mr. Elby, he’d managed to return squarely to himself. Her eyes widened and her breath calmed, as it always did when she was on the hunt. Her hearing narrowed to fix on him alone. The waltz, the background of conversation and laughter, all faded to nothing as she listened. His left shoe creaked when he shifted his weight minutely. His clothes made a sifting sound when he changed positions, as if he’d lifted his arm. She stilled as warm fingertips brushed her back above the edge of her dress, from one vertebra downward along two others. Goosebumps rose on her skin and a fine shiver tracked her spine.

Claire whirled around, but the delay caused by her uncertainty the moment before allowed him to escape. She glanced around the room, and she caught sight of him in the doorway of an alcove. He paused, looked back at her, a small smile touching his lips when their gazes clashed. Mr. Elby raised a brow in challenge then disappeared behind the low hanging swag of curtain. “Claire? What’s the matter?” Susan asked. “He touched me,” she snarled. “Who touched you? That Mr. Elby?” “Yes. He touched me, the impertinent blackguard.” Susan hushed her. “Have a care who hears you, sister.” Lord Whiteside rejoined them. Susan turned, flashing eyes to him. Claire could see the words ready to burst from her as she prepared to set her husband to the task of correcting Mr. Elby’s poor behavior. Claire put her hand on Susan’s arm and shook her head. “He should know,” Susan argued. “I should know what?” he asked. “I’ll manage it myself.” “There’s been no introduction. You shouldn’t be seen talking to him and he acted out of line. Let Whiteside handle him,” Susan protested. “Have I ever needed protection?” she asked her sister pointedly. Claire felt the pull in her irises as they shifted from round to slitted. Susan smirked. “Of course not, but you’re not gracing the informal dance hall at some town celebration. You’re in the fine halls of England’s ton. There are other ways to deal with unruly gentlemen.” Lord Whiteside’s expression darkened. “Who?” “Excuse me, won’t you?” Claire replied, ducking the direct question. She’d never been a retiring sort. She certainly wouldn’t start now. If Mr. Elby persisted, she’d claw him. That’s what any feline would do when cornered. Sadly, Mr. Elby was about to discover the extent of Claire’s good nature first hand. She kept near the wall. Several rooms tucked like alcoves off the main ballroom, and either led to different parts of the floor, or were segregated as places for ladies to rest and gentlemen to grumble about politics.

She lifted the heavy curtain behind which Mr. Elby had departed. Her steps were silent, and the familiar stillness that always preceded stalking settled into her bones. A hallway stretched. Several couples had moved into the alcove for conversation. Claire skirted them with a polite nod and continued to follow her instincts. Ahead a set of double doors cracked several inches. The darkness beyond it should have suggested no one had entered the room, but Claire could tell otherwise. She felt him in there. He made the darkness thicker. As though he thought she needed a direction to take, a flame flickered to life. Mr. Elby’s profile lit in gold against shadow as he lifted a hurricane globe and set the glowing tip to a prepared wick. He replaced the glass then stepped out of sight. Claire glanced about. The guests she’d passed paid her no mind as she slipped down the corridor to the doors. She left them open behind her when she entered the room. No matter how irritatingly intriguing the man was, he wasn’t worth any risk to her reputation. The hair on the nape of her neck stood. Claire turned on her heel. Mr. Elby caught her around the waist. “Why Miss Claire Preston, what a pleasant surprise,” he murmured. It bothered her all the more because he could have said just the same thing at a garden party several feet from her. But she wasn’t at a mid-afternoon gathering. She was in a darkened library with his warm hands firmly settled on her waist. “Release me,” she said in a harsh whisper as she pushed his chest. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Miss Preston? You followed me. I suspect your interest isn’t in the great number of books housed in our host’s library.” “I said unhand me.” “I promise to do so momentarily. First, however, there is one thing I absolutely must attend to.” “What might that be, sir, your manners?” “Your lips,” he corrected. Mr. Elby pulled her against him. She gasped, automatically putting her hands to his shoulders as she prepared to push in earnest. This wasn’t playful. This was rude. But her superb night vision teased her into a pause as his barely kempt hair dashed across his forehead in a loose curl. He leaned toward her, full lips relaxed and eyes so brown as to appear black beneath his

lowering lids. In this light, when he could reasonably suspect a woman couldn’t make out his expression with only the barest light from the opened doors, she saw calculation. Too late. His lips touched hers. Having never been kissed, her curiosity got the best of her. She reminded herself that his intentions couldn’t be pure, but by allowing herself to explore the moment, it wasn’t as if her intentions were any purer. Warmth seeped into her from where their mouths connected. It was such an odd thing to happen. Why should lips pressing lips feel any different than hands holding hands? Yet it did. May the heavens condemn her, she couldn’t pull away. Mr. Elby’s mouth moved on hers. His hand eased around to her lower back and tucked her closer into him. That small shift changed everything. The brief space between them closed, and her body pressed his from breasts to belly. She felt as though she was on her toes leaning into him. Surely, that wasn’t right. Surely, she wasn’t encouraging him. Her ears rang and heat flushed her body. Every inch of her skin felt alive and tingling. She tried to catch her breath, which seemed oddly affected. In parting her lips, he only intruded further, his tongue scandalously catching the center of her upper lip where it was fullest. Large and hot, the hand he’d kept at her waist began to move up her ribs. Again, her breath roughened and caught. She wondered what would happen if she kissed him in return. Claire copied him, her tongue to his lip, then her tongue to the tip of his. He groaned, and she felt a strange internal pulling at her middle. Her woman’s apex felt hot and slightly achy. Mother had explained feline heat to her. She hadn’t understood that characteristic of her alternate form having never experienced it before, but Claire understood it now. It was want and a kind of hunger that had very little to do with food and everything to do with continuing to do what she was doing with the man who made that feeling happen. Mother had said it was wrong to give into her animal urges before marriage. Why did it feel right? Necessary? On the heels of his soft sound, his mouth slanted over hers, parting her lips farther. Claire did rise up on her toes then. She did press her breasts to his lapels when they began to feel more sensitive than they had before. She rubbed against him, feeling very kitten-like, relishing the simple pleasure of his harder body against her softer one. A quiet purr settled in her throat as their tongues tangled roughly.

The hand at her lower back detoured to cup her ass and tip her hips to his. Yet a new sensation accosted her. The planes of his lower body were exciting, hard, unexpected. Pressing her aching pussy against him, she lost sense of it all. It felt so good. With his other hand, he cupped her breast. It was one liberty too many and Claire woke up to what they were doing. She leaped back, hissing instinctively. She heard his lapel shred and felt the fabric give beneath her claws. In the semi-dark, Mr. Elby blinked in confusion. It was that brief moment Claire needed to compose herself. “Never touch me again,” she warned. Surprise became amusement. “You seemed to enjoy it well enough.” She had and the truth made her face burn with indignation. “Don’t presume to know me, Mr. Elby.” “I very nearly did know you, sweetling.” She could already feel her claws extending. She curled her fingers toward her palm, as the pain of them would make them retract. Claire took a deep breath. “Don’t follow me. Don’t seek me out. Don’t put your hands on me in public or in private. Are we clear?” “In public or in private? Why, Miss Preston, I believe you’re suggesting there will be another private audience.” Her face flamed hotter. Thank goodness for the cover of shadow. “I suggest no such thing. I’ll set you in your place faster than you can turn a phrase, sir. Mind yourself.” Playfulness left him completely. His chin tucked slightly toward his chest and his gaze leveled heavily on her. Its deep brown depths seemed to search her soul as though he knew her secrets. He couldn’t though, could he? They’d only just met. The sense of something important pending held her in suspense. He reached for her. She remained transfixed despite her promise and threats. His thumb brushed her cheekbone and a tiny hint of a smile softened the harshness in his gaze. “You do want me, my sweet. Tonight you’ll wish for mastery when you toss in your bed. Remember this moment. When you decide the pomp of pretty clothing and simpering sirs no longer capture your attention, find me.” “Why do you assume I will?” she asked, trying to be poised but hearing breathlessness in her question instead. “Because we both know that you want what they can’t give you.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” she insisted. Mr. Elby threw his head back and laughed as though she’d pleased him enormously. “You’re a rare one, Miss Preston. It will be my pleasure to introduce you to yourself.” “I don’t know what that means, sir, but I’ve had quite enough of your familiarity.” She’d never run from an argument before, but this appeared to be a time for several firsts. The feeling of being cornered overwhelmed her, and Claire darted through the library doors, shocked to see how close they’d been. How easily they could have been discovered by wandering guests. Where had her head been? Claire’s skin prickled. She didn’t like being prey. Not in the least. Every corridor and room felt like another wall in a maze. She managed to clear her mind enough to follow the music. A hand shot out. “Where have you been?” Susan hissed. Claire darted a glance over her shoulder, but saw no one. “Exploring?” she offered. Susan closed her eyes and inhaled. When she opened them again, her green gaze had a distinctly feral quality to it. “You were with him.” “You know I was. I told you I would find him and set him straight.” Susan shook her head slowly. “Oh, I’m aware of exactly what you found, sister.” Claire dropped her sister’s pointed stare. “I wasn’t prepared,” she admitted. “How is that possible when he doesn’t have the benefit of keen senses as you do?” Claire huffed. She knew what her sister was getting at. Susan suspected that Claire had allowed him those liberties. And perhaps she had, although that hadn’t been her intention when she’d pursued him. “I don’t know, but I’m telling you the truth.” Susan relented by degrees. “Come then. You’ve been away too long. It’s better to return with me than alone.” They linked arms. Claire barely held in her gasp as the telltale sensation of his eyes washed over her.

Chapter Two

Claire hated that Elby had been right. She had thought about him the night he’d kissed her. She’d thought about him at the Throckmorton’s Christmas ball, and had watched him from the corner of her eye as he spent the evening ignoring her. He hadn’t ignored several other young ladies, and they’d been more than adequately pleased with his attention. And why shouldn’t they be? For all that he was a pompous, arrogant, assuming cad, Mr. Oliver Elby had crisp manners and was entirely too handsome for his own good. Cattily she decided that it was well he was, because as a mere baron, he needed to marry well. Still, he never once met her gaze. How dare he heed her warning after uttering such wicked promises? Of course, she was curious. What woman wouldn’t be? He’d tried to seduce her, leaving her filled with new sensations and no knowledge of how to cope with them. Her primary assessment remained true. The man was a blackguard! “You’re scowling,” Susan whispered. “If you persist in being in such a foul mood, Lady Hoxburn will think her tea cakes have turned.” “I’m sorry, Susan. He’s so bothersome.” “Oh? I haven’t seen him behave badly. Whatever you said to him the night of the Glastonbury’s party did the thing.” She blinked at her sister, not sure how to express her complaint when Susan was right. Mr. Elby was behaving himself. He’d graciously helped Lady Hoxburn claim her place on a sofa in the salon. He’d fetched Lord Hoxburn’s cane when he’d left it by the window after their quiet discussion. He’d casually taken a turn about the room with Miss Emily. He’d been a perfect gentleman.

She hated it. It made her wonder if she’d actually been kissed and handled by the man in question of if she’d imagined the entire encounter. It left her feeling distinctly unsettled. She would be less anxious as a cat trapped in a room of hunting dogs. It didn’t bode well that she felt like hissing or that she wanted to claw the smiles off Miss Emily’s and Miss Clementine Smuthers’ faces. But she did. Vehemently. Susan shot her a smug smile. “I see how it is.” Claire’s gaze darted to her sister’s. “How could you possibly?” “It’s how I felt when I saw my Whiteside dancing with other girls before he courted me.” “It’s not the same. You married Whiteside. I’m set to marry Lord Beaumont.” “I’m glad you remember,” Susan said. “Then you can stop staring at Elby, and start paying attention to the man who is looking at you.” Claire lifted her teacup, peering over the rim as she surveyed the room. Her gaze held on Lord Beaumont, who smiled and tipped his head in her direction. She nearly choked on her tea, but managed to swallow, lower her cup, and nod politely back. Lord Beaumont uncrossed his ankles from where he leaned against the fire mantel. He managed two steps before Mr. Elby cut him off and engaged him in conversation. Lord Beaumont sent her an apologetic smile and a slight shrug. Claire fumed at Elby’s back. She’d had very little opportunity to talk with Lord Beaumont after their introduction. That Mr. Elby deliberately intervened set her teeth on edge. “Oh, dear. Do we need to depart early? You’re going to curdle the cream,” Susan mocked. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no cream in my cup,” Claire snapped. “Nor should there be, but I’ve never seen tea curdle, and it would have detracted from my metaphor otherwise.” What was possibly worse than trying to hate Mr. Elby with every fiber of her being, was knowing that her sister was aware that she didn’t completely hate him at all. Furthermore, she felt surly. She didn’t like feeling surly, and Mr. Elby’s presence never failed to ruin her mood the moment he began ignoring her—as he did once she insisted he do so. How dare he decide that was worth obeying when he could’ve chosen to honor her request that he never take hold of her person to begin with? If he’d never done that, she wouldn’t be glaring at his well-tailored back and dark blond curls. She wouldn’t sneer when he smiled his

perfect smile at Miss Emily, nor would she dart glances at the very married Lady Hoxburn’s profile when he kissed the air over her knuckles in a neat bow. She also wouldn’t grind her teeth in such an unladylike fashion if Mr. Elby didn’t persist in keeping his rich brown gaze away from hers. “You’re letting him win,” Susan told her after a moment. “Win?” Claire asked, straining to hear. “Whatever little game you two are playing, he is clearly coming out the better.” Susan took a sip of her tea. “Don’t overhear his conversation. It’ll only aggravate you further.” Claire smiled tightly at having been caught using her acute hearing. “We’ll see about winning.” She plastered a false smile on her lips. If she had to charm the entire household and Lady Hoxburn’s servants, she wouldn’t be bested by a baron.

Oliver smiled through his urge to laugh when he intercepted Lord Beaumont with a strategically aimed question about his prize stallion. However, he may have miscalculated when Beaumont prattled unceasingly on about the critical specifications of the breed and, more accurately, the lineage of its sire. Miss Preston should count it as a favor to be saved from a similar discussion. Even if it was abundantly clear from her expression that she wasn’t thanking him in the least. He didn’t mind though. Miss Preston was warming to him. She’d been unable to keep her attention off him in each subsequent social gathering since their encounter. It suited his purposes perfectly, which, given the arrival of one of his University chums, were about to be tested. Oliver broke off his conversation with Beaumont—if a one-sided lecture on proper animal husbandry could be considered a conversation. “Have you found my mark?” he asked Mr. Reginald Smith when the man reached Oliver’s side. “I have, but if you think it’ll be the lovely Miss Emily, you’re mistaken.” Reggie answered with a playful smirk. “I was thinking Miss Chattam would be a better choice.” Reggie looked about the room. “No, sir, you need a challenge. Things come far too easily for you,” he murmured as his gaze came to a rest. Oliver tried to hide his smile. Fortunately, Reggie wasn’t looking at him, but had his full attention on the elegant profile of Miss Claire Preston. She looked especially haughty today. Her

thick golden-streaked hair swept to her crown couldn’t contain the mass of full, round curls that spilled like a champagne mane over her shoulders and down her back. Her delicate ears were tipped with pink, as though she knew she was under scrutiny. Somehow, he believed she did know it. As she listened to her sister, her head tipped to the side, inviting the mid-afternoon sunlight to explore the underside of her jaw and the pale column of exposed neck. She was a thing of beauty, Miss Preston. She hid firebrand temper beneath her pristine perfection. Unlike the other women he’d come across, Miss Preston would have great difficulty submitting to a husband. It intrigued him almost as much as her great fortune. Between the two qualities, he couldn’t have picked a better match. The other conspirators aspired to wealth alone. It’s the reason the annual games came to be. With four men—two barely titled, and two without any hope for a title—it had seemed like a perfect scheme for the young University men to concoct. Each year one of them used their charm to appeal to an eligible woman of the ton and married her to secure his place in it. By not all pursuing eligible ladies at the same time, they not only kept the options at the greatest variety but kept their plans undiscoverable. It had seemed like a clever plan at the beginning. Oliver was the last. He’d grown tired of it, but he had to admit there was merit there, if a bit of heartlessness. However, he’d no intention of being tethered to the lady for all time if they weren’t compatible. The only way to ensure it was to pick her for himself. In this instance, his mates wouldn’t want the last of the four of them go easily. They’d assume Miss Preston’s hostility meant she didn’t like Oliver. That would make her to be the hardest challenge any of the men had faced yet. For the purposes of sport, she was an ideal candidate. That he had effectively picked his own mate, choosing the characteristics he preferred, the personality that complimented his own, meant Oliver had won this round and they’d yet to know it. She was wealthy and the only unmarried daughter of a Marquis which only sweetened the challenge. He’d known it and had made sure to rile her appropriately. Although it did beg the question about the company he chose to keep, and he admitted that had they not weathered University together, they’d not be friends now. Perhaps it was time things changed in that regard.

Perhaps they would, once he saw to his dwindling fortunes and the prize of Miss Preston as recompense. Oliver chanced a speculative look her direction. She’d taken him by surprise. He hadn’t counted on her passionate nature, because he wasn’t sure it was wise to be in love with one’s wife, yet there was something about Miss Preston that made him believe love could be a distinct possibility. What other surprises did she hold for him? “Reggie, it’s time to assemble the men,” Oliver said after a moment. He didn’t want Reggie to think he was too confident though, so he cleared his throat feigning nervousness. “It appears the marriage gallows await, and the lady to see the deed done, chosen.” Reggie laughed, slapped him on the back. “I’ll rouse them to your townhouse tonight at ten for scotch and the final huzzah.” Oliver made his excuses and thanked his hosts. He left the party early, knowing it would either annoy Miss Preston further or relieve her. If he read her correctly, she’d be pursuing him soon, not the other way around. A prospect that made this the perfect time to cement a bet among his compatriots. **** Claire opened her bedroom door and looked into the hall. Midway down, the grandfather clock tocked hollowly, the sound barely muffled by the long, ornate floor runner. A single candle lit a sconce at the top of the stairs, throwing the rest of her wing into shadow. Listening intently, she willed her senses to push out farther than she usually concentrated. Her sister and brother-in-law appeared occupied in ways a married couple might be expected. She abruptly pulled back her hearing to give attention to her surroundings. Then leaving the door ajar, she changed into her feline form. A housecat could go anywhere in London without notice. Of all the shifter kind, she’d always believed her family to be the luckiest. There was no pain in her transformation. Her vision changed, her senses sharpened, and it all happened fluidly as her perspective altered from human to animal. The acrid burn of oil stung her sensitive nose. Even the addition of lavender her sister had added to the mixture didn’t do much to improve it. Her face itched as the final addition to her body manifested in several long, flexible whiskers. Claire ran her paw over the itchy flesh, finding relief in rubbing. She stretched, arching her back and extended first one back paw, then the other. A shiver of pleasure ruffled her fur,

and she resisted the urge to bathe. Barely. It had been nearing nine o’clock when she’d changed. If she planned on being at Mr. Elby’s townhome in time for the gathering, she needed to leave now. Claire skimmed between the open door and its frame and padded down the hallway. She kept her steps light as she made her way downstairs. The house was locked up, and she risked shifting out of her cat form to open a window overlooking the back of the house. Transforming again, she wrestled herself beneath the sash and leaped easily to the ground. After a quick look around, Claire raced across the open garden, as the damp blades streaked her fur with moisture. Gaining the fence, she squeezed through that too, before darting in and out of the shadows along the road, toward the street on which Mr. Elby had told Reggie he rented. Ten minutes of racing and pausing brought her to Elby’s front steps. His townhome gleamed from within, and Claire took a moment to run her paw over her ear and along the side of her nose. She watched the street, licked the back of her paw three times, and repeated the motion. A carriage pulled up. She sat on her hindquarters with her tail curled around her paws as the chill of the evening permeated her coat. Claire mewed into the night when the coachman climbed off his stoop to unfold the step and open the small door. A crack of thunder followed a flash of lightning. She prayed the occupant of the carriage would hurry to the door before another downpour started. There was nothing worse than wet fur. A man she didn’t recognize descended the carriage steps and pulled his coat to rights. Then taking his cane from where he’d hung it on the coachman’s wrist, he tipped his hat jovially and made his way up the front steps. “What’s this?” the man said reaching down to scratch beneath her chin. Claire lifted her face purring. She wound herself around his legs and meowed at him when he stood. “Well now. Shall we see if they have cream for you?” he asked. She meowed in favor, partially distracted by the offer of a treat even though she was here for a reason. He rapped the knocker, and the door swung open. “Good evening, Mr. Hugh,” the butler greeted. “Good evening, Jeffrey.”

“He’s awaiting you in the library, sir.” Mr. Hugh crossed the threshold and handed off his coat, hat, and cane. “I have a guest with me tonight. Would you see that this one has a bowl of cream?” “Yes, sir.” Claire had no intention of waiting outside. She scampered in. The butler exclaimed, and she heard the jovial laugh of Mr. Hugh behind her as she raced toward the only open doorway on the floor. Firelight spilled out and burning coal made her eyes water, but instinct told her this was where she needed to be. Heavy tread followed behind her, but in no apparent hurry. She had no sense of alarm, and she slowed her steps to a trot. She stopped only after she reached the relative safety of a chair. “It’s in here, Jeffrey. Bring the cream. I’ll shut the door and see that it gets out when I leave.” She startled when her only escape closed with a thud. Automatically she sniffed, searching for fresh air, looking for threats, acquainting herself with the surroundings before she moved again. “What are you on about, Hugh?” The man called Reggie asked. “I brought a stowaway. Under your chair, Barkley,” Hugh answered the fourth man in their party. The seat cushion above her whooshed. Claire crouched as flopping blond hair and upside down watery blue eyes observed her. “A cat?” Barkley asked. “You brought a cat with you?” “Did you stop to consider that I didn’t want a cat in my house?” Elby intoned. Barkley got up and walked to the fireplace. He rubbed his hands in front of the grate. “I hate cats.” “I had a passing thought, but it’s cold and wet out there. You wouldn’t deny one of God’s creatures would you?” Hugh reasoned. He sat to her left, the seat cushion complaining as he deposited his rather large frame. Claire peered from beneath the chair. Elby looked at her. She settled on her front paws, watchfully. Elby crossed one leg over the other. His arms rested on either side of him, and his large hands dangled off the ends of the armrests.

“Rather pretty thing, actually,” he said after a moment. “If it behaves, it can stay until you leave.” “Who cares about the cat?” Reggie said, his words coming nearly on top of Elby’s. “We’re here to discuss our yearly challenge.” Claire saw a calculated look enter Elby’s eyes and the nearly imperceptible smile on his lips. Her ears twitched, and she caught the sudden excited increase in his heart rate. “Do tell, Reggie,” Elby droned. “I’ve settled on Elby’s future wife.” Hugh scooted to the edge of his seat, his face lit with an eager smile. Barkley turned, rubbing his backside as he listened with interest. She couldn’t see Reggie’s face, but he sounded gleeful when next he spoke. “Miss Preston.” “What?” Barkley protested. “I had to marry the freckled, bookish Miss Laura, and he gets the stunner of the season? I call foul!” Claire dropped her furry chin on her paws. Barkley was no catch. While she didn’t know Miss Laura, surely she deserved better than a husband who complained over superficial attributes. “At least your wife reads. Mine giggles and thinks it’s silly to lift more than a book of sodding poetry,” Hugh groused. “Yes, yes, and my wife can’t be bothered to welcome me to her bedroom. But they’re all pliable and every last one of them was happy to wed us, were they not?” Reggie questioned. There was a round of mumbled agreements, however reluctant. “Which is why I suggest that the finest of us in form marry the finest the season has to offer.” Reggie got up, pacing as he seemed to warm to his argument. “And instead of finding fault with her appearance, we can discover how very much she detests our dear friend, Elby.” Her eyes narrowed. Elby had since looked away from her to watch his friends deliberate his future marital status. “Is that so?” Hugh asked. Elby nodded once emphatically. “She hates me. There’s no reason she’d accept an offer from me. I haven’t a penny, and she has plenty of suitors.”

“Use your charm, man!” Reggie enthused. “You have scads of it. Employ what the good Lord gave you.” “You don’t understand,” Elby reiterated. “She has no motivation to marry me.” “If she did, it wouldn’t be a challenge,” Barkley realized. “You’ll have to entrap her,” Reggie said. He stopped beside Elby’s chair, a huge grin on his face. Elby sighed, but to her acute senses, it seemed like a shallow sound of acquiescence instead of troubled despair. As though he knew the decision had been made, and he was in favor of it. Claire didn’t understand. She crept from beneath the chair and leaped onto Elby’s lap. He regarded her with solemn surprise. Then turning his attention to his friends, he absently scratched behind her ear. She couldn’t help the purr that filled her throat, delighting that he’d found the perfect spot. Claire pushed into his fingers, and he responded by scratching a little harder. She heard the sound of a latch and moments later, her nose twitched with interest as she smelled pure, fatty cream. Claire jumped off his lap and jogged to the bowl. She dipped her head, lapping at the bowl tentatively, decided it was good, then gave in to her baser instincts and drank her fill. Distracted, she nevertheless kept listening, her ears cocked back as the men continued to talk. Discussion degraded into speculation of what Elby’s married life to Claire would be like. “I’d train her. She’d simply have to accept her lot,” Elby said calmly. Claire perked her head up, looking back at him over her shoulder. She licked the cream from her whiskers, her attention completely snagged on his condescending statement. Accept her lot? She thought not! Claire trotted over to his leg, shifting her weight as she extended her paw, armed with flexed claws. Elby’s large hand swooped down, clutching her up under her belly and dropping her onto his lap. Her protest squeaked from her lungs, and she prepared to hiss. Elby’s fingers swept over her skull, and rubbed a spot between her shoulder blades. Any thought of causing him bodily harm dissipated. This could present a problem. ****

She awoke with a start, as a supporting arm cradled her to a warm chest. Elby’s heart soothed her with its rhythm. She blinked sleepily. The men said their good-byes, and Elby had risen to his feet to see them off. Absently, he scratched under her chin and around her ears. Warm, coddled, safe. Elby couldn’t be all bad if he treated animals so well. Yet she’d been present for the entire discussion about the manner in which Elby would entrap her to marriage. She didn’t know why, though, beyond an oft referred to challenge. Elby climbed the stairs. A door shut behind him, and she gave passing concern to the fact that her exit had once again been closed off. She should leave, she thought. She should extend her claws and yowl at the window. She’d decided to do just that when he carefully placed her on his bed. “Stay there, puss. No reason for you to traipse about in the cold when you can be warm, with me,” he murmured. His bedroom appointments weren’t grand. In fact, there was little more to his room than a sparse bed, a wash stand, a trunk and a wardrobe. For all the presentation below stairs, Claire would have thought the abundance carried to his private quarters. She’d wondered about the use of coal in the grate, but passed it off as a conscientious conservation of means in the presence of close friends. Apparently not. The scratchy wool blankets on the sunken mattress weren’t fine. They didn’t have the sheen of a good weave, nor was the bed supported by carved posts. Rather a plain headboard and footboard attended to their purpose without further circumstance. The wardrobe appeared very ordinary. The only thing of decorated beauty was the traveling trunk made of well-worked leather and brass. Even the washstand porcelain wore its age with tiny chips around the basin’s edge. Claire looked to her temporary benefactor. He loosened his cravat and slipped out of his superfine and waistcoat. The white shirt beneath was pretty enough, and as he opened the doors of his wardrobe, the sharp benefit of color and expense put the rest of the room to shame. “What do you think, puss? You’re a wily feline. Do you suppose Miss Preston is better wooed in royal blue or forest green over my silver scrolled waistcoat?” Either way, Claire was unimpressed. Any questions she might have had about his reasons for wanting to marry her were sewn together in the very details of his clothing. Everything he

possessed of value was for show. It was for the capture of his bride. The man had no income worth note. She was a prize then. She’d suspected as much. His relative poverty explained why he chose to kiss her so soundly at the ball, and why his friends had perhaps not married their choice, but had married into financial success. After the way Mr. Elby’s friends spoke of their wives, she could only pity the women who were viewed for what they could support and not their inherent worth. Claire wouldn’t be one of their number. “Royal it is then. So wise of you Miss Kit.” He continued his monologue, unaware of her growing annoyance. She didn’t know if she wanted to see an unreserved side of Mr. Elby, doting on a stray cat with humor and kindness. Especially not while planning her ruination. How shocked he’d be if he ever learned her secret. And how pleased, that if she should change forms now, she’d most certainly be destroyed to appear naked in his chambers. She would laugh if she could. Because in shifting, no one would believe him and she’d terrify him out of his grasping little mind. On the other hand, she had no desire to expose herself bodily to him. For now, she decided, she’d stay in character. Elby whistled softly as he unhooked his shirt and drew it over his head. He dropped it on the bed. Claire stepped onto its warmth and settled into a loaf as she watched him. His scent wrapped around her, and Claire inhaled deeply before dropping her nose onto the cotton material. Elby’s back moved with the fluidity of toned muscle and health as he walked to the washstand. Pouring water into the basin, he lifted a cloth and began cleaning his chest, face, neck, and armpits. The whistling continued, and Elby returned to the bed, his front just as leanly appealing as his back. She suffered no doubt that should she have witnessed his disrobe while in human form, she’d have had difficulty keeping her eyes off him. In some ways, being a shape shifter saved her from embarrassment. Today she was relieved that he couldn’t catch her staring and smile his knowing smile at her. Or ignore her, as he was wont to do recently. Elby laughed. “Ah, Kit, you found a warm spot, did you? You know I’ll require that back, don’t you?”

She fixed him with an even stare and yawned. Then to make her point, she stretched out her forepaws and licked one long, tan limb where it tufted to white on the underside. He laughed again and scrubbed his fingers into her neck. He was far too good at that for her liking. A man who could touch every perfect place on a cat and enjoyed doing it would wreak havoc upon her human senses. Claire couldn’t help herself. She rolled to her back, granting him better access. Elby stroked her belly gently. “Not a bug on you. I’d lay odds that you have a home, pretty puss.” When his hand came up under her chin again, she licked the side of his finger on a purr. “Who’s your young mistress? She must miss you curling at her feet on a night like this one.” Claire sighed, closing her eyes as she ignored his words in favor of the sensations he was causing. “Stay, then. You can go to her tomorrow,” he soothed. Claire barely stirred when he blew out the candle, pulled off his shoes and breeches, then slid beneath the blankets. She turned into the curve at the back of his knees as he rolled to his side, felt the soft stroke over her brow and down the length of her nose. Rain pinged against the window glass and a long rumbling trail of thunder settled in her bones. She’d stay for a little while, then leave before dawn when he was asleep and she could easily open the window, she decided. A little doze wouldn’t hurt anything.

Chapter Three

Claire shivered. She squirmed backward against the heat lining her back. Something heavy dropped over her, and a huff of hot breath blew several strands of hair into her face. She stretched and rolled, instantly aware that something wasn’t right. Her limbs were long and cumbersome, her fur was—gone! Claire scrambled upright, grabbing at the coarse woolen blanket she’d been lying on. As she blinked through early morning confusion, a tousled blond head lifted from its pillow. Mr. Elby went from asleep to horrified and sitting. They sat on the bed staring at each other. Claire had no reasonable explanation for her presence. The edge of blanket and muslin sheet fell to his waist. His dark brown eyes were wide with alarm, and he didn’t immediately try to cover himself as Claire did, tucking the blanket around herself. She glanced down, saw his shirt from the night before and hurriedly pulled it on over her head. Claire backed off the edge of the bed. “Miss Preston?” he asked. “How did you get here? Where are your clothes?” His gaze raked over her, taking keen interest in her exposed legs and the open neck of his cotton shirt she wore. “You’ve imagined me. You’re asleep.” “I am not,” he argued. “You are. I’ll prove it,” she said, standing tall. “Go on then.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Lie down and cover your head. Close your eyes and count to ten silently. Then tell yourself to wake. If I’m here, you’re not dreaming,” she told him. It would take her that long to shift into cat form.

“You’ll walk out the door,” he suspected. “Like this? Are you mad?” She held up her arms, the fabric flopping off the ends of her hands. “Miss Preston, if this is my dream, then I’ll show you precisely how it will go.” Mr. Elby swung his legs off the bed. His feet touched the floor. Claire waved her arms as though she could push him away before he drew nearer. Panic seized her chest. Time seemed to slow as each pawn fell into place—her lack of dress, his complete nudity, and the challenge to her inability to explain her appearance in his bedchamber. He’d wanted to force her hand into marriage. He couldn’t have orchestrated the situation better. What’s worse was that she’d entrapped herself without his help. Elby was merely taking advantage of the gift she’d dropped at his feet. He stood. She gasped, but her eyes were drawn to look, and she wasn’t prepared for the contrast of his very real formation to those in the paintings she’d seen at the Vauxhall Gardens. “Curious?” he asked. She shook her head dumbly. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from his shaft. It rose full and thick as she watched, defying the very nature of gravity. She’d seen barn animals every spring, but she’d never witnessed a man’s body fill with need. He stepped closer, his bare feet padding on the floor. Wood creaked, finally waking her from her stupor. “Mr. Elby. I must insist that I’m not here. You must return to your bed and fall back asleep immediately.” “You’re right. You aren’t here.” “Precisely!” Hope filled her chest with giddy relief. “Back to bed with you. There’s simply no other reason you’d find me in your bedroom in this state.” She walked backward. Her bottom hit the washstand and she turned to catch the basin and pitcher before they toppled and broke on the floor. Water from the basin sloshed icy fingers down the front of the shirt, plastering it to her body like a second skin. Claire tugged at it urgently. “This won’t do. Dear Lord, I need a miracle.” She gasped sharply as Mr. Elby’s larger, warmer body enveloped her from behind, his cock cradled between her backside. Stalked and trapped, Claire couldn’t think of a way out.

His arms wrapped around her middle, and he nipped her jaw by her ear. “Shall we see how far this dream takes us?” “No. No, we most certainly shouldn’t!” His hand skimmed up the wet front of her body. Cold and clammy warmed, only the clingy fabric separated her skin from the direct contact of his hand, until he cupped her breast. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to turn in his arms or let the exquisite sensation of his firm hands on her. “You’re wet,” he murmured in her ear. Her cheeks heated, and she wondered if he could possibly know how true that statement was. The tone in which he spoke make a dark curl of pleasure lodge low in her belly. Moisture tickled between her nether lips, and already an ache formed that made her whimper. Elby kneaded her flesh. The side of his thumb grazed her nipple. The stolen moment in the Glastonbury’s library filled her mind. This time the man was naked and she with barely a sodden garment keeping his hands from her body. Her head dropped back to his shoulder. “I hate you. I completely loathe you in every way,” she muttered petulantly. “I’m aware.” His hand fell away and air stirred around her thighs. He bunched the cotton material until her bare ass touched his naked shaft. She shuddered. “Detest you,” she breathed. “I’m quite taken with you,” he told her roughly. “Then I shall break your heart.” The words sounded far away and unconvincing. “Raise your arms, darling.” She lifted her arms, and he took the shirt off her. A moment later, his hands rested lightly on her waist. She thought they trembled slightly, but she must have been mistaken. Men like Elby, with the singular purpose to marry well and damn the consequences to his mate, didn’t tremble when they touched a woman. His lips nibbled her earlobe. She put her hands over his, not sure what to do, yet wanting him to do more than he was. “You admit you’re dreaming?” she asked weakly. “Freely.” “This wouldn’t transpire otherwise.”

“Agreed. You’re far too difficult, and I’m far too tiresome,” he murmured. “Exactly.” Her eyes shot open, and she spun in his arms. “I’m not difficult.” He tugged her flush to his hard body, and she thought perhaps that was a good idea since she felt peculiarly boneless. She liked the feel of him. It was a thousand times more potent than pressing against him in the library. Her nipples twinged pleasantly on his wiry chest hair. His rod rose hot between their bellies. She caught her lip beneath her teeth. “Right. Not the least bit difficult or temperamental.” “I’m not,” she protested, although she heard no bite in his words. “I want you, Miss Preston. Quite badly if you’ll notice.” He rocked his hips against hers. “I don’t want you in the least.” Which is why she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to feel his lips on hers. He cupped her bottom and lifted her easily. Claire wrapped her legs around his waist feeling open and terribly scandalous while every sense in her body cheered. She rubbed her chest against his, arched her back, and dedicated herself to kissing him. It was so very difficult to kiss wrongly. His lips were soft and demanding. His tongue teased her and soothed her. His sounds, dear heavens, his sounds made her body hot from head to toe. Her balance changed as he laid her down on his bed. She had no desire to release him, so she kept her limbs locked around him. He chuckled against her lips. His mouth stretched making kissing a challenge when her lips met teeth. She pulled back, confused. “You’ve never been with a man, have you Miss Preston?” “Am I about to be?” His smiled softened to bemused charm. “I’m at your mercy.” “What a strange thing to say when clearly my reputation hangs in the balance at your hands.” “How could it when this is merely a sweet dream,” he said. Her body itched for something she hadn’t been given yet. He held the power to either leave her as she was, or end her aching curiosity. He met her gaze. “I’ll be gentle.”

Claire blinked. Gentle? She didn’t know how it was between a man and a woman, but gentle had never been something she’d considered. Her kind were passionate by nature. They leaped first, thought later. They lived the fullest life possible and did everything worth doing with enthusiasm. Gentle? Claire relaxed her hold on him. “Get off.” Elby looked surprised and not a little bit disappointed. “May I ask why?” She didn’t see the harm in telling. His cock still nestled pleasantly against her pussy and she liked the solid weight of him on her body. She liked the way his firmer chest smashed her breasts, and, frankly, she liked the way he looked up close. Mr. Elby certainly had handsomeness in his favor along with is other attributes. “You’re not what I expected,” she answered, not sure how to express her disappointment. His brows shot up. “Oh? And how did you expect me to be?” “Firmer.” Yes, that was it. She was proud of her explanation until his flexed his hips against hers. “Firmer than this?” he asked innocently. She liked that quite a bit. “Do that again?” “You are direct, aren’t you, Claire?” “I’ll thank you to call me Miss Preston until I give you leave to do otherwise. We haven’t even been formally introduced,” she added indignantly. Of course, it was ridiculous for her to point that out while they were pressed naked body to naked body in his bedroom, but she couldn’t have him slip and call her by her Christian name in public later. “Miss Preston,” he began pointedly. “This is my cock.” He flexed in a way that made her gasp. “It’s currently acquainting itself with your cunt. This is my body, and it’s quite happy to rest against your lovely breasts. And this is my tongue, Miss Preston. It will presently taste every place it wants.” “That’s more what I expected,” she said, feeling the excitement rebuild. Understanding seemed to dawn for him. She wished he’d share the knowledge because it didn’t seem fair for him to understand her needs when she didn’t. But his smile slid into place, and there was an added twinkle in his dark brown gaze, a warmth she hadn’t seen a moment earlier. “Why Miss Preston, are you suggesting that your tastes run toward the perverted?”

Her mouth opened to protest, but she wasn’t sure what she should be protesting. “How do you mean, Mr. Elby?” “Let’s see,” he decided.

Oliver couldn’t believe his good fortune. It didn’t seem possible that Miss Preston would ever grace his townhouse. It seemed even more unlikely that she’d appear in his bedroom without a stitch of clothing, her mass of golden hair unmade. Her green eyes looked especially beautiful when he angered her, or aroused her. Next to her pale skin, they and her tiny tan nipples were her only jewelry. He’d never seen a woman more expensively dressed. He’d half believed she was a dream. It was the only explanation for her being in his room, yet she was real. The very warmth of her skin and the soft purring sighs were more than enough to prove reality. He wouldn’t question the gift; that would be later. For now, her body lay open to him and questions filled her eyes. Miss Preston seemed to grow excited over the prospect of sexual exploration. Let the discovery begin, he thought. He kissed her roughly, picking up where she’d left off. She’d nearly unmanned him with that mouth last time, and he was careful to keep his hips still lest he be tempted to spill his seed too early. Already moisture wetted his tip. Miss Preston’s hot pussy slicked his shaft and he found himself torn between taking her and keeping himself in check to test her limits properly. “Tell me if I do something you don’t care for,” he bid her. “I don’t care for your attitude in the least,” she told him immediately. “That you’ll have to adjust to.” He cupped her face and kissed her, teased her mouth with the tip of his tongue. Claire caught his lip between her teeth and bit him. “Ow!” She blinked, looking a bit confused. Before she could question him, he returned the favor with lighter pressure. She liked to bite, it seemed. The night in the library, she’d shredded his coat. He still didn’t know how she’d managed it, but it spoke to her unbridled passionate nature. A nature he fully intended to explore. Miss Claire Preston was a rare jewel indeed. He had imagined gently bred ladies, bred in a ladylike manner. Evidently, Miss Preston had her own ideas. He could hardly wait to discover the extent of them.

She clawed at his shoulder. He felt the sting of broken skin, and he gasped as he broke the kiss. Oliver grabbed her arms and forced them down on either side of her head. “I require my flesh in one piece. It appears you’ll need to be restrained.” “Restrained?” She fought weakly. Oliver grabbed her wrists in one hand over her head. “Nothing you can’t break free of if you truly wished it. But for now, I’d like to keep your daggers sheathed.” He shifted to one hip, nudging her thigh up and to the side. Then reaching between their bodies, he cupped her parted mound. “Such sweet heat.” He swept two fingers through her folds, watching as she inhaled sharply, eyes closing and mouth opened. Claire squirmed when his fingers circled the tiny straining nub of her clitoris. Her soft cry was bitten off when she caught her bottom lip under her teeth. Oliver kissed her, stealing the morsel. “No cheating, Miss Preston. I’ll forego gentleness with the payment of your sweet sounds. Give them to me freely.” Her eyes flew open. They were troubled and anxious. “I’ll be heard.” “I thought you were a figment of my nocturnal imagination. As such, no one can hear you but me. Cry out however you wish.” To make his point, he slipped a finger into her tight channel and curled his finger over a small, ridged node. Her neck arched and she moaned with need. “Well done.” He bent to take a nipple into his mouth. The drawn peak teased his lips and tongue, and he eagerly suckled her. He traced up her folds as he had before, this time keeping away from her clitoris just enough that she began to move her hips, trying to find her illusive pleasure. He doubted she knew what she sought, but he did. She wanted rough play, but she’d also never been touched. Her first time would hurt enough as it was. If he were fortunate enough to have a second time with her, he wouldn’t hold back. For now, watching her writhe with need, whimper and toss her head was pleasure enough.

Dark swirls consumed her behind her lids. Laid out as she was, arms over her head, Elby’s hands and mouth on her body, making her feel things she’d never imagined she could feel, was exquisite torture. Always something seemed just out of reach. Elby touched her at the center of her pussy and instantly she knew that’s what he’d missed, although now she realized he’d avoided it on purpose. His fingertip unerringly rolled over her. She opened her legs wider, lifting her hips into the scandalous pleasure that seared her folds like liquid fire. She was molten, wicked, wanton, in complete and utter heat. This had been the thing her mother had explained with such fearfulness. This had been the thing she’d said would master a woman. Claire understood it now—its beauty, its power, its absolute absorption of everything within her leaving no space to think, reason, interpret. She could only feel and be made to feel. Her body wept and still he touched her, the sensations crashing on top of each other. His teeth grazed her nipple, and Claire screamed with pleasure as her body exploded at the perfection of his lovemaking. No wonder Mother had warned her away from this. No wonder Susan had married the man who gave such pleasure. She opened her eyes dazedly. Elby wore an expression of smug accomplishment. “Is that all?” she managed to ask. Elby laughed. His body shook, and he changed positions until he lay between her legs. “No, darling, that’s not all. Though I believe I’ve never heard another woman make so much noise coming.” Embarrassment swallowed her. “Was I so loud?” she whispered, as though it would correct her display. Elby placed a sweet kiss on her lips. “My dear, you were dramatic. I enjoyed every minute of your climax. But we aren’t done. Not yet. This part will hurt. I promise the pain will be over soon.” Elby propped himself up on one arm. He still held her wrists with the other hand. She’d forgotten in the moment of passion, and she waited warily as she felt his rod touch her feminine flesh. Every barnyard image she had returned. Her eyes widened as she realized what he needed to do and his caution that there’d be pain. He pushed into her body. Claire scrambled, planting her feet on the mattress and trying to scoot up.

“Stop! It won’t fit.” The ache had already begun. “You’ve never been opened before. You’re body will accept me if you allow it. Are you too afraid to continue?” he asked. “I’m not afraid.” She was terrified. She could feel the blunt end of him inside her. It was interesting, and she did want to know what it was like to take a man into her. “Once I’m in, there’s no returning to virginity.” “I would think you’d be encouraging me accept you, not cautioning me from being deflowered.” “Look at me, darling.” She did. He was so close she could have kissed him by lifting her chin. His hold on her wrists remained gentle and though there was hunger in his gaze any predator would recognize, she also saw tenderness. She didn’t want to see tenderness. It humanized him too much, softened her resolve to fight him. Yet his gaze captured her. “I want to ravish you in every way. I also want to marry you. I’ll not risk losing you for a moment of pleasure that you’ll regret for the rest of our lives.” “I won’t marry you,” she countered. “We’ll see about that.” “I won’t, but I would like to know what happens when a man enters a woman.” He smiled, his gaze sliding to her lips and back. “You’re an amazingly frank woman, Miss Preston. Even naked you comport yourself as though you had all the clothing in the world protecting your modesty. I wonder if it’s because your heart remains clothed while your body experiences pleasure.” Her brow furrowed. “My heart has nothing to do with this transaction, Mr. Elby.” His smile faded. “No, it doesn’t. Does it?” She might never know the full scope of lovemaking. Claire arched her neck. She kissed him until he kissed her back. “Show me, Mr. Elby,” she whispered. “I want to have you inside me.” It was the only admission she’d make. The only time she’d allow him the upper hand to know what was in her heart. She wouldn’t marry him, but she would relish the knowledge of his body. Mr. Elby made her biologics behave oddly. She couldn’t explain how or why but this seemed the natural

progression. Perhaps it was deliberate naïveté but she needed to know what came after the kisses and the heady spin of climax. She’d never felt the like. What if she didn’t with her husband? She’d certainly never entertained the prospect of ripping Lord Beaumont’s clothes from his person and letting him put his hands between her legs. But with Mr. Elby, it made her hot and cold to consider letting him do so again and again. She needed to understand it or see it through until its natural course was met. She hated his arrogance. It didn’t follow that she’d crave him so badly. The answer must be in the lovemaking. “Are you committed to the consequences?” he asked “I’m prepared.” His gaze had returned to hers, and she felt him push forward. Her body stretched. Claire sucked in a sharp breath. His shaft butted on something. He slid in and out twice then rushed forward. Claire screeched as fire ripped through her. Her claws distended. She closed her eyes as the muscles in them contracted into feline slits. “You’ve stabbed me!” He pressed a kiss to her temple. Even with her eyes closed, she knew he was smiling. “In a way, I suppose I have. It’ll improve.” Elby kissed her. At first she turned her face away mutinously. Then he cupped her breast and played with the fullness, sweeping his thumb over her nipple repeatedly until she forgot why she was supposed to be angry. “Do you want me to stop?” He whispered the question. “Or are you brave enough to see what comes next?” She’d been frozen in place, afraid to move lest he cause her pain again. But as his thumb worked on her, as his lips and tongue and teeth tested the resilience of her exposed neck, excitement stirred freshly. He dragged his offending shaft from her. She hissed as the sting renewed, but this time it hurt her less. Elby pressed in and this time she was unprepared for the waking thrill. “Continue,” she breathed, trying to make sense of the pleasure-pain.

He moved slowly, taking his time. Friction brought heat along her passage and soon, Claire hooked her leg around his hips. Fire built within her. Each stroke of Mr. Elby in her hidden depths was like another ember being added, until she could only hold on and feel. His rhythm came quicker, the thrusts harder. Pain stayed at a distance, overshadowed by a bonfire of need. It heated her skin, enlivened her senses beyond the natural to pick up the fast pace of Elby’s pulse, the deep bellowing breaths, the molten decadence of his sex-scent. It drowned out her own gasping cries. Higher, harder, stronger, his hips flexed against hers until she couldn’t think, couldn’t hang on to the thread of control any longer. She wrapped herself around him. Elby groaned, buried his face in her neck, and Claire’s senses fractured on bliss. She keened as Elby’s back stiffened, his hips jerked sporadically, and hot jets filled her grasping cunt. He nuzzled her jaw. “Amazing doesn’t begin to qualify.” Claire hung on to his shoulders. “Is it always like this?” Elby pushed up. “No, darling.” His cock slipped out of her and he moved to the side offering his blanket. Claire sat up, her back to him, still stunned by what she’d experienced. Shaken, was more accurate, she decided. If it weren’t always the same, would she never grow to feel such things with Lord Beaumont? The notion disturbed her. She’d wanted to understand intimacy, but she’d never counted on Mr. Elby ruining marital relations for her. “I need clothes,” she said, her head still foggy with questions. “Please. Can you get them?” “Where are they?” “Outside the door,” she lied. “I didn’t see them coming up.” “Perhaps your maid?” she offered. “Of course. I’ll be right back with your things. I’ll have some tea made up for you so we can talk before you leave.” She nodded. She waited for him to pull on his breeches. Claire had no intention of being there when he returned.

Chapter Four

Oliver came back to an empty room. Not even the cat was there to greet him. His window banged open in the thunderstorm. He rushed to it, looking out of the sodden, gray street. The tiny aperture was small and would have been difficult to climb through, and the two-story drop onto cobblestone or steps, would have hurt her to much to risk. Besides that, his blanket lay on his bed and none of his clothes had been taken. His apartment was small with only the kitchen, library, salon and dining room downstairs. Not a grand townhome by any stretch of the imagination, but suitable for a mere baron with lint in his pockets trying to make good of a London season. Upstairs, the landing had only his door. He’d have passed Miss Preston if she’d taken the stairs. Perhaps it had been a dream. The most real, fantastic dream imaginable. Oliver closed the window, locking the chill outside. He walked to the bed. Placing his hand on the sheets, he still felt the warmth from their bodies. Oliver lifted his candle. He easily spotted a smear of blood amid the fluid proof of sex. “I don’t know how you escaped undressed, my love, but you were here.” **** He’d dressed in his finest the morning after she left. It had taken him an extra hour to get his cravat just right, to place his emerald pin perfectly, but when he’d presented his calling card, the butler had turned him away. Oliver took a turn around the dance floor of yet another musical gathering of guests. The season was rife with them. Everyone scrounging for a wife, a husband, some influence to alleviate financial strain brought on by excess. He’d welcome the opportunity to try his hand at their problems. They had thousands a year and barely managed.

His gaze rested on Miss Preston. Her serenity in the ballroom held no trace of the passionate woman she was in the bedroom. He wanted her all the more for the paradox. Wanted to rile her, see the flash in her bright green eyes, hear her sigh his name when he kissed her neck. The delicate drape of her lavender gown may have hidden her physical charms from the others, but it only encouraged him to think of reaching under its long hem to the lush woman beneath. Lord Beaumont held her in conversation. She nodded politely, but her attention flicked away from time to time, often settling on Oliver. At those times, her cheeks pinked. He stayed at a distance until finally Miss Preston excused herself for the cooler climes of the veranda. Then, Oliver followed. If it weren’t for the pale flash of her glove, catching ambient light, he’d have missed her. Miss Preston glided down the stone steps toward the dark garden beyond. Oliver gave her a moment, taking time to look around and ensure they’d not be seen. Then, convinced the others on the veranda were otherwise engaged, Oliver traced her steps, stopping occasionally to listen. She was utterly silent, still the garden was only so big. Beyond the evergreen hedges, Oliver found her hiding in the shadows of a gazebo. “You wished to speak to me?” he asked as he approached. “Don’t come around. Don’t follow me. And you must stop staring at me. Lady Whiteside is suspicious of you.” “I came to your residence this morning,” he said, completely ignoring her concerns. They had no merit. She’d given herself to him. That should grant him the right to call on her. “I know.” His jaw tightened. “You sent me away?” He prowled toward her from the top of the gazebo steps. The chill of winter encroached, biting at his nose and fingers. He calmly closed the distance, not wanting to scare her into running back to the dance. His gloves creaked when he clenched his fingers. “There’s no reason to see you. I haven’t been introduced to you formally. Imagine the scandal of you showing up at my home and demanding to call on me without that.” “Imagine the scandal of finding you undressed in my bedroom last night and then my very informal introduction to your cunt. Or perhaps that’s too crass,” he said feeling his anger light. “Perhaps we should consider how it appears that you left the party alone and what it would seem to someone coming upon us here, in the dark.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone find us.” “How would you stop it?” he wondered. Let her try to deny they’d been alone together. “The same way I left your townhome last night unseen.” He stopped in front of her, listening to the distant strains of music just far enough out of reach to be recognizable beyond stray notes. After her insistence that she’d been a figment of his imagination, he hadn’t expected her to acknowledge the prior evening. He was glad she did now. “How did you do that?” he wanted to know. She lifted her chin. Moonlight lined her jaw and set the jewel gracing her earlobe to sparkle. “A lady knows when to keep her secrets.” “Does the lady also realize she might be with child?” Her lips parted on a gasp. “There’s every possibility of it, Miss Preston. How do you intend to keep that secret?” “I’m not,” she said with more certainty than he expected. “You can’t know that.” Oliver cupped her jaw. Her earring trembled as his fingers grazed it. “Claire, people marry all the time who know each other less than we do. They commit transactions based on pounds sterling when they should be considering their compatibility as lovers.” “Such pretty words for a man whose sole expectation is to marry above his means.” “Not my sole purpose. It was an aspect, but not the entire reason.” “Reason enough,” she bit out. “I’ll show you reason enough, my love.” The sensual threat sounded darker than he intended, but he enjoyed the way her eyes flared when he said it. He slid his hand from jaw to neck, curling it around to her nape and tugging her against him. His lips slid angrily across hers wanting to prove to her that she needed him too. That she felt something spark between them that needed to be explored. Miss Preston pushed ineffectually at his chest. Her efforts felt pitiful, and he wondered if they were more for show than resistance. When her mouth opened to him and her tongue touched his first, his chest swelled with certainty. She wanted him. Thank God.

Claire couldn’t fight what she didn’t want to fight, yet it wasn’t fair to Mr. Elby. When she’d come home from her evening with him, her sister had been waiting. So had Lord Whiteside. Her cheeks still burned to remember it. They’d known where she’d been, what she’d done. They’d known and informed her that she’d marry Lord Beaumont and immediately put an end to any designs she had on Mr. Elby. It’s why they’d allowed her to leave the dance and speak with Mr. Elby. Claire pushed him again. His lips left hers. “I can’t marry you. There’s an arrangement in place with Lord Beaumont!” Elby stilled except for his thumb, which traced circles on the side of her neck. It was hypnotic and stirred her fever. “Arrangements can be unmade given what’s happened between us..” “The circumstances are known,” she whispered harshly. “Do you love him?” Elby asked. “Don’t be absurd. I don’t love you, either.” “But you could. We have a connection that can’t be denied.” “Poetry,” she scoffed, hoping to discourage him with venom since she lacked in resistance. “Who’s to say I won’t connect with Lord Beaumont?” “Who’s to say you should, Claire?” He kissed her again. His lips grazed hers. Cold air, warm lips—she was held in thrall by him over the smallest touches. “Our families have a long standing agreement. It can’t be broken.” “Why?” he challenged. Elby turned her out of the wind and lifted her skirts. Her skin prickled with cold, even as his warm palm cupped her bottom through her pantaloons. The cold should have been a reminder of where they were and what could be seen. Instead, it was a scandalous thrill. The wooden balustrade bumped her bottom as he backed her up. With a thigh, he nudged her legs apart and stepped between them. “You can’t!” Claire grabbed his upper arms. “You think not?” He retrieved his errant hand. He held it before them and using his teeth, he pulled the end of each finger free of the glove. He tucked it into his waistcoat after removing the other glove

too. Then hot and bare, his hand clasped her bottom again, easily finding the long slit in her undergarments. She struggled only because she knew she’d be wanton mass of desire in moments. She let go of him to hold on to the rail behind her. His fingers crossed her thigh to the front. “Here?” she gasped raggedly as the back of his fingers petted her pussy, just inside the fabric opening. “I want you,” he murmured. “I just told you that it’s not possible—” Her complaint broke off as all pretenses to illicit tickling fell away. The side of his hand split her pussy as he claimed her mouth. His body pressed hers back awkwardly. Claire hung onto the wood unable to thwart his amorous efforts. She either had to hold on to maintain her balance, or let go to fend him off. Though she had no desire to stop him, she thought she should at least give the appearance that she wasn’t an eager participant. If she didn’t, he’d know his effect on her, and that was more power than she could allow him. Still he sawed his hand inside her wet, hungry slit methodically, until hand and lips were not enough for her. Elby moved to her earlobe, suckling it hard despite the jewel she wore. It was a sudden hot charge to her body. Heavens, but he had a wicked mouth! Elby tugged the shoulder of her gown and freed her breast. Winter air shocked her and her nipple clenched harder in the frigid air. “Elby, please.” He lifted his head, his eyes sparkling knowingly. “Please what, Miss Preston?” Low and rough, his voice only served to heighten her arousal. His expression was the height of gentlemanly pleasantness but his wicked fingers were the demon inside her pussy. He possessed her, and as he watched her, his body no longer forming a wind barrier and her breast exposed, she knew her embarrassment was upon her. He placed the tip of one finger on her nipple as though it were a tap to the nose of an amusing child. Claire couldn’t keep her senses. She tossed her head back, lifting her hips to his hand, letting him look on her as he chose to. She was too far into the dark swirling rise of pleasure that was consuming her beyond reason.

Her nails scored the underside of the rail as she let him take what he would, give what he willed to give. And just as suddenly as he’d begun, he withdrew his expert hand. Claire snarled desperate to replace the critical loss. “Elby,” she cried brokenly. Shame began to blossom within her, yet her unquenched desire raged on. She tucked her chin, still utterly dependent upon the wooden support to her back. He tugged at his breeches, rushed to lift her skirts anew. “I will be inside you when you crest. You’ll always remember this moment,” he commanded. He caught her leg behind the knee and lifted. His cock rammed hard and true. Her body broke apart into ecstasy, and he rode through it, drawing it higher, brighter, making it go on and on until finally Elby roared his pleasure against her lips. No sound left her open mouth as even her voice gave over to exquisite feeling. He huffed, his breath like moist punctuation against her mouth as his hips jerked a few more times. “Remember it,” he repeated. “Say it.” “I’ll remember.” How could she not remember how perfectly their bodies moved together? How could she forget how he devastated her senses? He bested Lord Beaumont in every other way. She suspected he bested him in this too. Tears slipped from her eyes. He rubbed his cold cheek against hers. “Don’t cry love. I’ll come for you tomorrow, and you’ll grant me entrance to speak to Lord Whiteside.” “He won’t allow it,” she countered. “He will when he knows what we’ve done. I’ll have a private word with him.” Her mind cleared of its sensual fog. She pulled her leg from his hold and righted her garment. She must look a mess, but she’d do the best she could before returning to the dance. “No,” she said quietly. “You won’t. There are things even out of his control, Mr. Elby. Things that are done a certain way because they’ve always been done so.” He too fixed his clothing. He helped her to stand, when she moved away stumblingly. Her legs didn’t want to work. She didn’t know if it was because they were being asked to leave

him, or if the activity of sex had made them weak. She didn’t care to delve too deeply into the mystery, either. “That’s ridiculous. Lord Beaumont wouldn’t consent to raising another man’s get. He’s simpleminded, but not that simple.” “He’s necessary,” she snapped. Claire clamped her lips before she said another thing. She’d already told him too much. “We will never be.” “Claire,” he cajoled, wrapping his arms around her. She pushed at him, leaving the gazebo. He followed. She didn’t need her feline intuition to hear the brittle ground crunch beneath his feet, or to know that the quick steps would catch her up. And they did. Elby caught her arm. “Claire, you may be with child. My child. If that doesn’t matter to him, know that it matters to me.” “That makes you a gentleman, Mr. Elby. Not a father.” “For God’s sake, Claire. At least use my Christian name! We’ve had sex together.” Claire spun, searching the dark to make sure no one had overheard. That no one had slipped through her feline senses to come upon their conversation unaware. “Oliver.” She enunciated clearly to show her annoyance. “Better.” She thought she’d had the upper hand in walking away from him. She’d be wrong. He looked far too composed to be anything less that confident. She was at a loss for words. “I’ll come by tomorrow and discuss the situation with Lord Whiteside, as I said. You’ll make sure I have entrance. Then I’ll call on you as any suitor would, except this suitor knows precisely how to please you.” His hand swept up her side to her breast. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and tangled his fingers in her long hair. “And I will please you. Repeatedly. If I have to scale the walls to reach your bedchamber or corner you at every seasonal event, I’ll make sure you remember why we are a perfect pair.” He pulled. Her head jerked backward. Oliver kissed her brutally sweeping his tongue inside to stroke against hers. Her body remembered all of it and she quickened for more, damn him. Her helpless mewl of pleasure didn’t discourage him.

He dragged his mouth from hers. “You want me, Claire, as badly as I want you. You think you ache for me now, but there’s more to introduce you to.” “More?” Her cheeks heated as the word escaped her with a sigh of wonder. “Much more. I could tie you to my bed and have my way with you. You’d be helpless to experience each climax at my leisure. You have an adventurous streak I can’t wait to explore.” She’d liked the rough entry in the gazebo. Her body, not yet used to a male shaft, still twinged from the delicious abuse. What else could he do to her? Would it have the same naughtiness to it? “Hot wax. Bondage. Vises on your tiny nipples. Icicles too. Lovemaking can be sweet in all its forms, Claire. We fit well together.” Was it so rare to find a willing bedmate? What was she thinking? No matter how her body rioted for him, Mr. Oliver Elby was not her mate. Lord Beaumont was, and if the thought made her feel like weeping, then she ought to remember why she had to marry him. “But Lord Beaumont,” she began. “He’s frivolous. He can barely manage a conversation not pertaining to horseflesh.” She shook her head, distractedly. “That’s not important to the agreement.” Elby’s family had no such offering for her. He had no guarantees, not lineage, no money to speak of. Of course, she thought, how could she have been so lack-witted! She’d forgotten. He’d caused her to forget herself for a beautiful moment. It hadn’t been about their connection, however splendid it had been for them both. It had been the challenge directing him. He might be truthful in his ardent admiration of her attributes, but that wasn’t the reason he’d sought her out to begin with. Nor, likely, was it the reason he continued to pursue her when she’d insisted he not. She struggled out of his arms. “Let me go.” Confusion lined his brow. “I don’t wish to.” He’d lose the challenge if he lost her. He’d lose credibility with his conspirators. He’d lose wealth along with the privilege that marrying her provided. He hadn’t hidden the truth from her when she’d asked. She’d hidden it from herself in the rapture of his embrace. “We’ve only scratched the surface,” he continued.

Scratched the surface? She latched on to the idea, and swiped her clawed hand across his chest. Fabric sliced. Oliver cried out in alarm as she felt the more spongy tear of flesh. He let her go, and Claire stumbled as she turned. Catching her balance came easily and she ran for the veranda, leaving Oliver in the dark.

Chapter Five

Claire blocked his access the next day also. Oliver couldn’t beat down the door without causing a scene though the stink of frustration and anger was heavy in the air when Lord Beaumont was ushered in past him. And unlike a gentleman, Oliver pushed open the outside door as it was closing and demanded to see her. Claire pressed her back to the wall upstairs, listening to him from around the corner. A maid rushed down the family wing and retrieved Susan who followed the nervous maid at a much more dignified pace. Her eyes met Claire’s. It was impossible for Claire to ignore the censure in them. They both knew what Claire had been up to the night before. Susan’s feline sense of smell betrayed Claire. Susan stopped at the top of the stairs. “Mr. Elby? Was Lord Whiteside expecting you?” “I wish to see Claire.” Claire’s eyes widened at his informal address. “Miss Preston isn’t seeing visitors today.” Susan made her way down the steps to him. Each softly placed tread taking her further from Claire and deeper into the echoing great hall. “If you’ll introduce yourself to Lord Whiteside at the next soiree, perhaps he can arrange a meeting with her.” “Miss Preston and I are well acquainted, thank you.” “Please leave, Mr. Elby. This is not the way to proceed.” “It’s the only way, as you’ll not let me see her,” he argued. If his voice rose any more, Lord Whiteside and Lord Beaumont would hear and then there’d be an explanation to deliver.

Claire took a deep breath. She turned the corner. “Mr. Elby, please keep your voice down.” He looked up at her, stonily. She descended the stairs. Susan’s annoyance was palpable. “I’ll speak with him,” Claire told her. Susan led the way to the salon. She let them file in before her and then closed the door behind her. “You were expected to speak with Mr. Elby last night. Since I saw you leave the ballroom, and he follow, I assumed you did.” Then under her breath too low for Oliver to hear, she mumbled, “Among other things.” “I did. I made it clear to Mr. Elby that he wasn’t to seek me out in any way. I haven’t given him leave to do so,” Claire said for both their benefits. “I don’t need permission. I need to marry you before you’re round with child.” Susan gasped. Claire prayed the floor would swallow her. Of course Susan knew of her escapades. She’d admitted to having her own fun with Lord Whiteside, in the privacy of sisterly conversation. However, Mr. Elby didn’t know Susan knew, and he certainly shouldn’t be discussing it so openly. “I’ll leave you to talk,” Susan said, choking on the words. “The door will remain open.” Susan left them. Claire faced Oliver down. “How dare you embarrass me in front of Lady Whiteside.” Oliver closed the distance with several quick strides. “If embarrassing you gains your hand in marriage, I’ll go outside this minute and proclaim it to every passerby.” Claire sidestepped to block the salon door. “No. Please. Lord Beaumont is in with my brother-in-law as we speak.” He glanced over her shoulder impatiently. “I know. I have to speak with him before he settles an agreement on him.” He made to step around her. Claire put her hand on his chest. “Wait.” Oliver leaned down into her face. “I love you, Claire. You can’t marry him.” Claire’s ears rang. A moment passed before she fully absorbed the words. “Love me? Oliver you barely know me.” “I know enough.”

She collected herself, pushing down the wild flutter his words had wrought, and reminded herself of the truth. “You love you, sir. You love money and power. You love London and the peerage. Perhaps your enjoyment of our time together has affected you as it has me, but that’s all it is—a moment. A blemish when your larger concerns are at a critical end,” she insisted. “That’s not entirely true. I’ve explained myself to you before. I’d leave all of it behind, wealthy or pauper.” “Easy to say when it’s my wealth and your poverty.” She clasped her hands before her. Touching him had been too close a reminder of the rest of him. It would be a mistake to forget what was at stake between them. “What would you have me do to prove it to you?” he asked. His gaze darted between her eyes. She looked away for a moment. What would satisfy her that he meant what he said? She blinked, lifted her chin resolutely. “Leave.” His expression turned pained. He shot another glance over her shoulder, down the hallway through the opened door of the salon. “How can I when leaving guarantees your marriage to Lord Beaumont?” “Because leaving means you choose my wishes over your own. It means you forfeit everything your challenge asked you to take from pursuing me. It means you lose.” His gaze sharpened on hers. “And lose you,” he whispered. After a moment, he gave her a brief nod, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. His lips lingered a moment longer than customary. When he stood, he wore a sad smile. “Good day, Miss Preston.”

She stared at the front doors long after he left. A sob lodged in her throat as she realized he’d been who he’d claimed to be. She’d called him a liar, when she was the liar. Her heart ached. If she’d never have met him, she wouldn’t know what she was missing by marrying Lord Beaumont. Now she did know, and the knowledge was crushing. Lord Beaumont and Lord Whiteside left the library. They laughed further down the hall, and Claire retreated to the salon. Tears burned her eyes. It was done then. Over. She would marry Lord Beaumont and his many horses.

The years stretched out before her, predictably. They’d discuss racing and breeds during teatime. He’d fall asleep in a favorite chair by the fireplace, his dogs at his feet while he snored into his old age. “I’ll arrange the details with Lady Whiteside,” her brother in law told him. “We’ll make the announcement a week from Sunday.” “Excellent. I’ll collect you for Tidesdale’s tonight,” Lord Beaumont said. “We wouldn’t miss it.” Claire tuned out. Had she settled her fate on Beaumont? She’d barely had a full conversation with the man. Yet she’d sent Oliver away, effectively sealing the agreement between her intended and herself. She rested her head back on the door, glad she had the room alone to let down her guard. She’d believed Oliver wanted her for all the wrong reasons. She fought him about it numerous times, but when she’d asked him to prove himself, he’d left as she’d asked. He’d lost every opportunity, for her. He very well could have barged into the library and announced her state of disgrace. Lord Beaumont wouldn’t have altered his plan. He was raised to protect her. He’d consider it one of the ways of her people. But Lord Whiteside would have either insisted, or sent her away. Given her family, he’d be apt to send her away and provide her a stipend for the rest of her days. Oliver’s passion, his wit, his intelligence promised to challenge her. Lord Beaumont wouldn’t. In her impatience to know Oliver’s true heart, were her actions unfair to Beaumont? Was pursuing her desire for Oliver disloyal to the man she wasn’t yet betrothed to? Once again, Claire waited for the front doors to close. Her brother in law stood in the great hall. “Whiteside,” she called softly. He turned expectantly toward the sound of her voice. “Is it done?” “Yes. We’ll make the announcement at a private gathering, then announce to the papers the next day. Everything is going as expected. You’ll be Lady Beaumont.” “What if I don’t want to be?” Lord Whiteside’s smile faded. He glanced through the hall and leaned slightly toward her. “Miss Preston, I’m well aware of your behavior with Mr. Elby. However, the union being

arranged for you is not only for your benefit, but the benefit of all your people. It’s the way things are done.” Claire swallowed hard. She hadn’t expected to be confronted about it twice in one day. Whiteside stood, plastering a soothing smile on his face. “Now, if you’d gallivanted about with Lord Beaumont, or an heir from either the Whiteside line, or the Chillworth line, there wouldn’t have been an issue.” “Your brother is eleven, my lord, and Chillworth doesn’t have a son.” “I’m aware.” “Is Lord Beaumont aware of my—behavior?” she asked. “No, and he won’t be told.” “Shouldn’t he be permitted to decide for himself?” “Are you expecting to cuckold your husband, Miss Preston?” “No, my lord.” “Then it’s a moot point. Caretakers are called to care for their charges. You’re his charge whether faithful or not. He will see it as his calling. That you’ve been unfaithful to him prior to the engagement will only create tension in your future together.” “He won’t call it off if he knew?” she asked. Lord Whiteside seemed to consider her for a moment. “You hope that he does. You’re still pining for Mr. Elby.” She sighed, exasperated. “If Lord Beaumont took a mistress, I’d want to know.” “You wouldn’t be told because a man’s mistress is his business and not subject to the approval of his betrothed. After you’re married, what you discover is up to you.” “Does he want to marry me?” she asked. “By choice, above all others, would he choose me?” “It doesn’t matter. You’re who he gets.” He smiled charmingly. “You have another big night, Miss Preston. It’s better you rest than worry yourself over things you cannot change. Lord Beaumont is a good man. He knows his responsibilities to you.” Claire made her way to her room. She sat at her secretary, staring at the ink well. The only thing that separated a caretaker from another man, was his honor-bound duty to keep her secret, no matter what she did. In a distant past, one of her kind had saved the lives of a man

who’d gone on to father three different families through his children. With that initial act of salvation, the man had sworn fidelity to her people. She understood the importance and the honor the families placed in their duties, but didn’t they wish that promise hadn’t been made along the years since? Couldn’t another man be trusted to keep her secret too? The day passed almost unnoticed, and as her maids helped her prepare for the latest dinner party, Claire had no new answers to her questions. She scrawled a note. If it went according to plan, she’d send a footman with the note. She wouldn’t know if Oliver was receptive until she got there and the kitchen door was left ajar, as she’d requested. She tucked the message into her reticule. Lord Beaumont arrived promptly. She had a moment with him in the great hall as they waited for her sister and brother-in-law. The questions from earlier plagued her, and she decided that knowing was better than not. Lord Beaumont helped her with her wrap. Overall, he was an attractive man and seemed amiable enough. He wouldn’t be a terrible husband, but he wouldn’t excite her the way Oliver did, either. They both knew what he was meant to do. Though they’d never discussed the expected arrangement, could it be so terrible to admit to it when they faced a public betrothal? “My lord, have you always wanted to be a caretaker?” she asked, cautiously. His hands settled on her shoulders where he placed her wrap. She turned around, looking up into his pale blue eyes and perfectly combed hair. His high, starched collar was the epitome of perfection in attire. The collar was so rigid that tipping his chin downward to look at her seemed unadvisable at the risk of dangerously crisp white corners. But he managed and the effect was as though he looked down his nose at her, despite the small smile softening his expression. “I know my place, Miss Preston.” Frustrated, she frowned. “Don’t you have your own desires? A life to lead of your own making?” “Choices made from the heart will lead to discord. Choices based on logic guarantee a predictable outcome.” “I like surprises, my lord.” She thought she saw something flicker behind his eyes, but it passed quickly. “Do you ever behave impulsively?”

“No, Miss Preston, but I’ll endeavor to create surprises for you in our life together.” He smiled warmly. She smiled back, but her heart ached for him. “I do behave impulsively at times. Will that bother you?” “I’m a caretaker. I’ll make sure you’re not discovered, no matter the consequence. It’s my duty to the families and to you. I won’t disappoint you.” “No,” she mused. “However, you’ll very likely disappoint yourself.” His brow furrowed, and it appeared as though he meant to ask her something, but Lord and Lady Whiteside joined them, laughing amongst themselves. Claire watched them. Susan had married her caretaker, but she’d been in love with him. They had passion. It had been there from the beginning. Claire looked to Beaumont. She sighed. She had no passion for him, nor he for her it seemed. A wry smile curled her lip humorlessly. But what they lacked in passion, he’d make up for in horses no doubt. The ride to the Tidesdale estate didn’t take long. This dinner party, however large it was, would be the last one for the next several days as the ton prepared for the following week of festivities. Unless she made a point of speaking to Oliver, there’d be no further discussion until after her betrothal was announced. The passing few moments she’d been in Beaumont’s company had shown her exactly how boring life with him would be. Life planned to the minutia. Her soul craved Oliver’s spark. It was a flickering temptation at the edge of a gray stone world. She prayed he’d be there. She needed him one more time. Just once more to remember the feel of his arms around her. To bathe in the tempestuous storm of his lovemaking. Claire wanted to give herself over to him, scorch her senses with him so that she never forgot. Now she knew he’d been telling the truth, and it had taken all of Claire’s willpower not to go to him after he’d left. She no longer felt like denying herself. She prayed he’d accept what she had to offer, and not cast her aside as she had done to him. **** Oliver tried to ignore her over dinner and afterward when the men and women mingled in adjacent gathering rooms. Claire drew his eyes no matter where she stood. Reggie bumped his shoulder against Oliver’s. “Have you secured an introduction?”

Oliver glanced at her, an unformed chuckle huffed through his nose. She reminded him of that oversight more than a few times. It almost sounded like a joke, coming from his friend, except his friend didn’t know how it ended. Oliver did. His spine tingled thinking about the end of every one of those discussions. Sex. Whether a kiss or some other contact, her reminder had reduced to hot breaths and panting cries. He shifted as his body began to respond to the memories. He couldn’t allow that. “Is that a no?” Reggie asked. Mr. Hugh craned his fleshy neck to see her. “She’s quite chummy with Beaumont. Perhaps you ought to look to that. He might sweep the chit from under you.” “Under you is precisely where you want her,” Barkley quipped. “Enough,” Oliver snarled. “You won’t speak of her like that again.” “It’s his future wife you’re maligning, Barkley. Have a care,” Reggie warned. “I’m not marrying her,” Oliver commented flatly. “The challenge!” Barkley reminded. “I’m withdrawing.” “You can’t. None of us has and you’re the last,” Mr. Hugh argued. Oliver leveled a look on him. “I can and will. That none of you thought to do so is your own peril. The challenge was a boys’ game that played with our futures and the futures of our wives. It’s time we all grew up.” “Easy for you to say. We’re trapped,” Reggie reminded him. “You love your wife,” Oliver told him. “It’s hardly a disappointment to you.” “Well, it is to us,” Mr. Hugh sputtered indignantly. “See it through. It’s a matter of keeping your word, man!” “You disgust me. Was this your expectation all along?” Barkley asked. “A jolly prank you tired of. We’ll remember this moment, Elby. Count on it.” The edge of threat carved Barkley’s words. He knew Hugh would follow suit with whatever Barkley decided. Reggie might understand, but he’d be put in the middle. Oliver was sorry for that, but it couldn’t be helped. “Gentlemen, I believe the time has come for our paths to diverge. I can’t allow the drunken babblings of four University boys to determine my life. It was foolish for us to think we had the answers. Still, you’ve all married well as you’d hoped. I won’t be among you.”

“This will be your last season, sir,” Hugh blustered, “as a respectable man! We’ll ruin you.” “I’m already ruined.” Oliver’s gaze snagged on Claire. She looked back at him. He thought he detected a nod, but he couldn’t be sure. Lord and Lady Whiteside, Lord Beaumont, and Lady Tidesdale surrounded her. Oliver’s position fell far beneath theirs and without introduction, he truly couldn’t find an excuse to speak with her. His gaze tracked along her shoulder then down to her breasts. He intimately knew how beautiful they were, how responsive. “I won’t have funds, nor reason to return after the winter session,” he murmured. “It was a pleasure knowing you. However, we’ve nothing in common any longer. I’ll keep my distance.” Oliver clapped Reggie on the shoulder warmly. “I hope you’ll still come around to visit, but I will understand if you can’t. You have a position to maintain here. I simply don’t belong.” Oliver walked away. His shoulders felt tight and he kept his spine straight. He circled near the fireplace. Any closer to Claire, and he’d appear to be eavesdropping. After a few moments, he found Lord Tidesdale and pardoned himself with an excuse about urgent business to attend the following morning. It wasn’t until the estate doors shut behind him, and he tugged on his gloves as the cabby pulled up to him, that he finally felt alone. Oliver climbed into the carriage. He stared out the small windows. In one day, he’d lost three friends and the woman he loved. Although to be plain, he’d never actually had Claire, but the idea had been alive in him. What had begun as finding the best solution to a childhood game, had turned into a longing he couldn’t have predicted. He absently tugged on the wrists of his gloves. The first flakes of snow began to fall. It couldn’t have been more appropriate. The world seemed as tired of the games as he did, and chose to conceal them beneath a fresh start. Oliver inhaled in the cold air, taking it as deeply as he could draw breath, then slowly let it out. If only forgetting Claire could be as easy as blanketing his memories with the same white chill. **** She’d sent the note with the footman after they arrived at the Tidesdale estate. It had been the only way to get word to Oliver without being caught. That, she’d save, for afterward. She

hoped there was an afterward. It was nearing one in the morning when the house finally fell silent. She shifted and slipped away. Claire darted through the night. The snow left her the pads of her feet numb and achy. Only an inch had fallen, but it was enough to leave its sting on unaccustomed paws. She reached the alley behind Oliver’s townhouse. Darting around mud-soaked snow, Claire’s pulse elevated with each step she drew closer to her goal. Claire rose up on her hind legs and rubbed her front paws on the door. The slight force pushed it open. Her heart soared. Oliver sat on a stool in the kitchen, facing the door she’d entered. “Hello again, Kit. Tell me. Did you bring a pretty blonde lady with you?” he murmured, bending to scratch under her chin. She purred, rubbed her body against his legs as she wound a figure eight pattern between them. Oliver laughed. “Let me check the alley, then I’ll fetch you a treat.” She meowed loudly and leaped to the butcher block. Oliver looked into the alley, then shut the door just to its catching point. When he turned, he smiled at her and scrubbed a hand over her head to the unreachable space between her shoulder blades. She ducked her head, allowing him better access. He seemed to know just what to do with her, whether human or feline. Next, he caught her face and firmly rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs on either side. “Perhaps I’ll take you with me when I leave, Kit. I should like to have you around. First some cream.” He brought the saucer. Claire lapped it up happily, wondering what he meant about leaving. Did he intend to go soon? The thought hit, and she lifted her face as sadness speared her chest. She’d miss him. It was inevitable, she knew, but she didn’t want to lose him even though she was expected to marry Beaumont. She darted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “Kit!” He called after her, but he didn’t follow. She’d anticipated that. It gave her plenty of time to shift out of her cat form and wait for him in his bedroom. Her heart seemed to slam within her. The risk she took was enormous. Would he understand?

Chapter Six

Oliver glanced over his shoulder, hoping to see the cat come back. It didn’t. He waited for Claire. Occasionally he paced to the door and looked out. One thirty approached. “Oliver.” He heard her voice, but it sounded like it had come from inside the townhouse. “Claire?” “Upstairs,” she replied. Oliver latched the kitchen door. As he passed the front, he checked that door also. It was locked. He climbed the steps, beginning to wonder if he’d only imagined her voice calling to him. A candle burned on his night table. He’d snuffed it before coming downstairs, leaving only the fire in the grate to light the bedroom. He pushed the door farther open. His breath left him when he saw her. Claire stood nude beside the fire. She faced him and opened her arms by her sides. Her hair fell in loose golden waves. Proud, beautiful, and seemingly terrified, she didn’t speak as he looked his fill. Oliver entered the room and shut the door behind him. “How did you get in?” “I’ll explain everything later.” “Why are you here?” he asked, moving toward her. She held her ground. “To ask you to make love to me one more time.” Feather-light hope dropped like a brick in his belly. “Before?” “My betrothal is being announced next Sunday,” she answered. “He wouldn’t appreciate another man taking his wife, Claire. I promise you, if it were me, I’d kill the man who laid a finger on you.”

She licked her lips. The small motion showed her nervousness. “I won’t take a lover, but until I’m betrothed, I want to be with you. If you’ll have me.” He cupped her hip and coasted his hand up her side, relishing the dip in her waist and slight flare toward her ribcage. He stopped below her breasts. They rose and fell rapidly. As he watched, her nipples puckered and lifted. “A consolation of sorts,” he said. “You have me at a disadvantage.” He smoothed the back of his fingers over the outer curve of her breast, then traced the sweep of her collarbone before sliding his hand down her arm to catch her palm against his. She swayed slightly. “You know I want you with every fiber of my being, and you know I’m proud enough to hate the idea of taking another man’s leavings. But, he’s not had you. I have, yet you can’t be mine. One more time isn’t nearly enough, Claire. It’s fresh torment that you don’t belong to me and never will.” “My choice is irrelevant,” she pled. “My choice wouldn’t be Beaumont.” His gaze lifted to hers. “You asked me to leave. That was your choice, and it was one that secured him as your husband.” She shook her head urgently. Her golden tresses spilled over her shoulders tantalizingly. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Lord and Lady Whiteside already know about us. Beaumont wouldn’t like it, but he wouldn’t reject me either.” “Ridiculous. How can a man have you and not care who else has you?” Her cheeks burned. She ducked her head. Oliver lifted her chin. “I have only tonight?” he asked, changing the subject. Her bright green eyes beseeched him as she nodded her agreement. “I want you.” “What changed, Claire? Only yesterday morning did you tell me to leave and not come back? That you didn’t believe my sincerity. Is it sex you want from me only, or is there something more?” “You proved yourself when you left. You could’ve demanded Whiteside listen to you, or you could’ve caused me scandal, but you didn’t. In leaving, you lost your bet with those men and that was the thing you seemed most fearful of doing. It meant you gave up your leverage and the possibility for wealth through me.”

It had meant those things. It had also meant he’d lost her to a boring breed of man. Beaumont would have the pleasure of her company. He’d have the right to her body and her smiles. He’d get to explore all the adventurous aspects to Claire. But would he? “One more night,” she said again. “Once more and I’ll share all the secrets I couldn’t before.” “Are there many? I only know of the one that means you’ll marry Beaumont.” “It’s bigger than you realize.” She took a step toward him. “I’m cold, Oliver. Please make me warm again.” He groaned. How could he resist her? She rose on her toes and kissed him. Pride left him, replaced by the sudden need to prove to her she’d made the wrong choice. Oliver lifted her easily and carried her to the bed. He lowered her, and stripped his already loosened cravat and dress shirt from his body. The boots and breeches were a matter of course, easily dispensed of beside the bed. He’d need those articles in a few moments. But first, he required the feeling of her bare skin against his.

Oliver sat down beside her on the bed, at her hip. The mattress dipped. He reached for his discarded clothing and pulled back his cravat and dress shirt. “You intend to clothe me?” she asked laughing. His smile was mysterious. He bent to kiss her, and Claire closed her eyes, abandoned herself to the heavenly feel of his mouth against hers again. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she parted for him. Like last time they were together like this, Oliver gently took her wrist and held it above her head. Fabric touched her and tightened where his hand had been. She ended the kiss, wondering what he was up to and watched with nervousness as he tied the other end of his cravat to the bedpost. The narrow mattress wasn’t grand and likewise the headboard post didn’t cause her to stretch too far, but still she was caught. Claire tugged her tied wrist. “What is this?” she demanded. “This is insurance.” “Of what kind?” “That you’ll stay to the end of our love making,” he told her. “That you won’t hold anything back when I show you how much you’re going to miss me.”

She’d been distracted by questions. When he lifted her other hand, he’d already tied his shirt around the post, and easily cinched her arm toward the other side. “I don’t like this.” Nervous flutters filled her belly. Despite her wavering words, her pussy moistened. Oliver got up from the bed, heading toward his chest of drawers. Once there, he removed two more strips of fabric. He reached for her ankle but she jerked it away. “Come now, Claire. Didn’t you say you wanted to play roughly?” “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered. Fear tightened her throat, yet an equal part of excitement already coursed through her veins and set her heart to a frenzied race. She needed to see what he would do to her. Claire opened her eyes, trying to gauge his expression for truth. She relaxed her leg, letting him take her foot and tie her ankle to the post. He repeated the action with her other leg. Claire closed her eyes, not only was she cold but he’d tied her down, her body open for whatever he wished to do. “Hush, sweetheart, I’m not trying to scare you. You’ll enjoy this.” “What if I don’t? What if I wish to be let go?” she wondered. “Then you’ll say so and I’ll release you.” “You promise?” “I promise.” Oliver walked to the window. He opened it, and winter wind slunk into the room. Claire shivered. She lifted her head, watching him. Oliver reached outside toward the top of the window where the roof came low. He broke off several long, clear icicles and put them in the washbasin. He closed the window and returned to her side. “What will you do with those?” she asked. Oliver cocked an eyebrow. “You ask far too many questions. Should I gag you, Claire?” Her eyes widened, and she clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head rapidly. “Shall I show you what I intend to do, or did you wish to keep asking me?” Claire looked from him, his gentle smile and twinkling brown eyes, to the bowl of icicles. Her mouth felt dry, but that was the only part of her that was. Though she didn’t know how being tied up and collecting icicles might be objects of sexual play, the rest of her body seemed ready to discover it. She licked her lips. “Show me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She turned her head as he reached for the side table. He took an icicle and brought it to her mouth. He traced her lips with the pointed tip. As thirsty as she was, she opened her to take it. Oliver’s nostrils flared as his attention fixed on her mouth. She didn’t know what she’d done, but, from his expression, she imagined she’d pleased him. He moved it in and out between her lips, she took it, water dribbling from the corners of her mouth. He pulled the ice away and kissed her. Her cold tongue in his warm mouth drew a pleasured murmur from her. It made the kiss taste sweet, though she didn’t know how that was possible. She reached for him, only to find her arms restricted. Claire grunted her dissatisfaction as he pulled away chuckling. “Patience, darling. There’s so much more to experience,” he soothed. He dragged the tip of the icicle, now blunted from melting in her mouth, down between her breasts. He drew a crescent beneath one bringing it up the side. He circled her flesh, drawing the wet cold circle tighter and tighter toward her cold, pinched nipple. Her eyes tracked him, desperately feeling, wondering, waiting. Gooseflesh rose up and water trickled from the path he took. Finally, he reached her pink tip. Claire gasped as unimaginable cold teased her, back and forth, round and round, until it was numb and still her breath shuddered in her lungs. Moisture flooded her pussy, and she squirmed to alleviate the drawing need between her legs, which seemed impossibly attached to the cold plaguing her breast to the point of painfulness. Oliver captured her icy nipple, pulling it hard into his hot mouth. Claire cried out, arching under the sensory onslaught. He suckled her, and as he did so, he began the slow passage of ice around and around her other breast. One hot and trembling, the other cold and drawn. Her mind split between the two vastly different sensations, not knowing which to concentrate on. He pulled off her breast with a pop and treated her other nipple to the same warm, sucking torment. Cool air on her wet, unattended breast made her flesh sting. Claire liked it. It felt naughty, wild, decadent. Claire tossed her head against the mattress. She tugged at her restraints, wanting to hold his head to her breast.

Oliver left her other breast, too and Claire objected loudly. He chuckled as he reached for another icicle, the first having gone the way of melt. This time he drew a line with it between her breasts and her belly. He circled her belly button with the rasping tip. Oliver sank lower. His tongue plunged in and out of the tiny indent. Then, laying the long piece of ice vertically on her stomach above the button, he gave his attention over to kissing her belly, hips, hipbones. When the backs of his fingers brushed gently up and down her parted mound, petting her outer female folds, Claire nearly came undone with need. “Oliver, please stop teasing me. I need you.” “The night is just beginning.” Her thighs trembled. Her pussy ached deep inside and the cold water charged every nerve in her being with sensitivity unlike anything she’d felt before. Dear heavens, if she never had this again, she didn’t think she could go on knowing it existed. Oliver sank lower still. He kissed her inner thighs and nuzzled the feminine curls he’d so recently stroked. He climbed her body and smiled. Again he reached for the bed table. This time, instead of picking up the ice, he brought the candle over. She started to ask, had inhaled to do so, when Oliver sent her a quelling look. Claire closed her mouth again. He held the candle high over her body. “Now, to put your mind at ease, I won’t hold the candle close enough to burn your silken skin. Up this high, the wax cools enough to keep from hurting when it spills.” He wanted to spill hot wax on her? Had he gone mad? When he tipped the candle and pearlescent wax spilled, it was as though she it fell slower than gravity would have allowed. Warm wax splattered on her breastbone. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it rushed out of her. He’d been right. There’d been no pain, only heat and a seductive heaviness off liquid beeswax weighting her skin. He dripped a pool of wax at the hollow of her throat. Her face flushed, and she liked the sensation of it, like a collar of sorts that made every breath she took a conscious one. Wax dripped on her breast. Her gaze darted to his. Their eyes locked. He tipped the candle. Another drop fell on her breast, close to her nipple. Claire’s lips parted. “Do you approve?” he asked, seeming to already know her answer before she gave it.

“I do.” “Where shall I spill it next?” he asked. She knew where she wanted it. She wanted it to drop on her nipple. Her curiosity flared to life. Having felt ice, and his mouth on her flesh, she couldn’t resist the direction of her thoughts. “Where?” he pressed. Did she dare tell him? “On the crest.” “Use the word, Claire. And say please.” Embarrassment heated her cheeks and the scandalous request she was about to make. “Pour it on my nipple—please.” “Well done,” he praised. The candle tipped, and hot wax spilled over her nipple. Claire gasped sharply, a soft moan tailing it as her body adjusted to the initial warm sting, into drying wax that captured her tightened nipple in its hold. He transferred the candle to his other hand. “Tell me where you want it, Claire.” Her mind swam. Oliver took another icicle and shifted to a sitting position. She looked down at his straining cock. His play wasn’t just for her, she noted. He placed the length of ice between her folds. Claire yelped, squirmed to get comfortable only to discover that the roughness of the ice felt very good on her heated flesh and swollen clitoris. She bit her lip to contain the sob building inside her. “I’m waiting.” His words drew her back to the wax. “My nipple, please. Spill it on my nipple.” Wax dropped heavily over her nipple. He’d held the candle a little lower this time and the wax stung with heat. “Did I hurt you?” he asked when her eyes slammed shut. “Yes.” She opened them again in time to see him reach for the bowl. “No. I liked it.” Oliver smiled, his brows rose. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He removed the ice but held it as he dripped wax over her belly, into the buttonhole he’d tongued. Every drop was exquisite. She’d never imagined love making like this. Susan had never her told her such things could be done. It opened a new world of possibilities to her. What would

a pearl necklace feel like between her folds? How would a feather across her breasts feel? Was it too strange to hope he might lick honey from her inner thighs? Thought dropped away as Oliver put aside the candle and sank between her legs. She blushed at the proximity of his face to her cunt, but she remembered last time. So did her body. However, Oliver had another surprise for her. Ice pushed between her folds, deep into her heated channel. Claire whimpered as it stretched her open and chilled her inside out. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear another moment, Oliver pulled it out. He sank on her, dragging his tongue over her parted flesh. From cold to hot, wet and ticklish, to sucking lips and tongue, grazing teeth and slowly penetrating ice, Claire bucked against his mouth as orgasm shook her beyond her limits of comprehension. Oliver tossed the ice aside. Thumbing her pussy open further still, he settled himself and began another tender round of feasting. She came again immediately, and again he kissed her until she returned to herself. Claire’s wrists ached. Her arms were sore from pulling. Her thighs twitched with fatigue. Oliver gently untied her legs. He crawled up the length of her body and released her arms too. He lifted her in his arms, cuddling her close as he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck holding him in place. He rolled to his back, leaving her to sprawl on top of him. Claire laid her cheek on his chest and Oliver kissed her hair. “I love you, Claire.” His whispered words fell like balm on her parched heart. He’d said the words before, but now she believed them. Beyond his original purpose, which she knew he’d forsaken, they were words uttered by a voice cracked with emotion. Claire pushed up to see his face. He smiled at her. His hands settled on her hips, moving her into place until she felt the prod of his cock head intimately. She looked to him for guidance. “Like riding a horse, sweeting.” She lifted and sank on his shaft. A seductive tingle climbed her spine and crawled over her scalp. Was lovemaking with him ever bad, she wondered? Oliver helped her when pleasure swamped her too greatly to continue. He slipped a finger between their bodies and rubbed her clitoris. It wasn’t exactly where she wanted it, and she moved to make it so. The walls of her pussy lit with sensation. She chased

his finger again, seeking her pleasure and gaining it both from the contact and from the way his cock moved inside her each time she did. Then he cupped her breast and Claire fell into a rhythm. Oliver’s breathing changed. When his hips lifted to hers, she knew he’d nearly found his climax. She focused on that, wanting to share with him what he’d given her. But the harder she tried to please him, the more her body responded. Claire cried out, her internal muscles clenching and releasing him deep inside her body. Oliver grabbed her hips. He lifted her and bucked into her from below. Claire’s orgasm seemed endless as he pounded her, and her breasts jiggled roughly. Oliver shouted, slamming into her one last time as he arched and held. She curled in on herself as he spilled inside her. Hot and cold raced over her body. Claire collapsed, panting against his sweat slicked chest in awe. She laughed delightedly. He joined her, running his hands up and down her back. “Truly amazing,” she proclaimed. “As were you, my love.” They lay there for several minutes. Claire tried to take it all in. The smell of their bodies, the fluid they shared, the wax that still perfumed the air though it had long since crumbled and fallen away. Even the lingering scent of cold from outside. She closed her eyes and smiled against his shoulder. She’d never forget this moment. Perhaps she could finally tell him. After all they’d done tonight, after his proclamation of love, tonight didn’t have to be a memory. It could be the beginning. Her chest tightened with hope and nervousness. “Oliver?” “Mm?” “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Chapter Seven

Oliver folded his arms behind his head. “Oh?” Claire propped her chin on her hands, looking up at him from his chest. Golden curls fell in complete disarray over her face and around her shoulders. She peered at him though the curtain of hair. Her green eyes sparkled and her cheeks were still flushed pink from lovemaking. “Is it the big secret?” he asked. “Or will you finally admit you’re in love with me?” She lowered her eyes. Oliver wondered if she knew how impossibly adorable she looked at that moment. She nodded, her chin pushing over the back of her hands awkwardly as she kept her eyes averted. “I’m ready.” Her gaze flicked to his. She sat up, trailing her hands down his chest thoughtfully. “My family has a characteristic of birth that occurs once every two generations. When it does, all the siblings of that generation have it. When siblings with this trait are born, they are predestined to find a spouse from one of four families, depending on which family they themselves were birthed from.” “A defect?” he asked. “Not a defect. A gift. My family is one of the four. Whiteside, Beaumont, and Chillworth are the other three.” “All noteworthy. Well done, your family,” he mocked lightly. “Shall I tell you, or do you wish to make jokes instead?” “I’m a church mouse. Continue.”

She’d begun tickling his chest with random circular patterns through his sparse chest hair. Claire cocked her head, and he very much felt the urge to protect her. Whatever she had to tell him, it couldn’t be horrible. Her magnificence astounded him in every matter of grace and poise. “My sister married Whiteside. I would have too, had his brother not been a child. That’s the way it’s done. When I was born, and the first five years following, we waited for another Whiteside. There wasn’t one, and the only marriageable male of the families not mine, was Beaumont.” “Why must you marry one of them at all? What quality of birth requires you marry a distant cousin every few generations?” “The families without the birth of this trait are raised as caretakers. No matter what else happens, they guarantee the safety, security, and care of the ones who are born with the trait.” “Maybe you should tell me what the trait is.” Claire covered his mouth with her hand, laughing. “You, sir, are no better holding your questions than I am.” He winked at her above her palm. Her hand slid away and her smile went with it. “I’m going to. My heart is racing in my chest, and my stomach is unsettled with fear, but I’ll tell you. Give me a moment.” He cupped her breasts. Her fragile skin did tremble with her racing pulses. He concentrated on touching her, calming her, trying to ease her fears with gentleness. “You and Lady Whiteside were born with the attribute,” he pressed encouragingly. She leaned into his hands. “Yes,” she agreed. “We are the only two women of age who have it.” “Are there men who have it?” “Yes, but my kind doesn't marry one another. We marry caretakers.” She’d closed her eyes, and seemed caught up in the touches. He lightly pinched her nipples. “Why not marry each other?” “Any offspring would be a pure breed. We only know stories of what would happen as a result. It’s not done,” she answered. Claire covered his hands with hers. “But I trust you to know the secret.”

“Why?” Oliver asked. With as much importance as she was raised to give the caretaking family—Beaumont—he wondered that she had any care to tell him anything about herself. “Because I love you, too.” His chest swelled. He pulled her down and sank his hands into her hair as he ravished her mouth. He held her as he managed to lay her beneath him. His cock had been interested during the lazy conversation and play. At her words, he no longer felt like playing. He wanted to be inside her. He rocked against her until he had fully hardened, then pushed inside. Their lovemaking was frenzied, desperate, eager. She clawed at his back, he bit her neck and rammed her cunt so hard that she had to put her hands to the headboard to keep from bumping against it. Claire folded her legs around his hips. “Say it again,” he demanded. “I love you.” She tossed her head. “Again.” “I love you.” “Again!” “I love you, Oliver!” Cum shot from his cock as he bucked hard. Claire’s pussy shivered around his shaft, milking him as she came with him. Oliver peppered kissed over her face. “My God, I love you, woman.” She had tears in her eyes, but she smiled and hugged him. “This is why I want you to know about me. I trust you’ll understand.” “Bland Lord Beaumont can understand, and I firmly believe I have more fortitude than he.” “Then I’ll show you. Let me up to clean.” “You must be clean first?” he joked. She laughed but when he let her up, she took the basin to the stand and carefully cleaned up. She wrung the cloth and brought it to him. He did the same, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze from her. They’re gazes met and one or the other of them smiled.

Finally, he put it all aside and stretched out on his bed. He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve had my history lesson on all things Miss Preston and Beaumont. Show me this horrific birth defect of yours, because you’re utterly perfect, and I’ve seen a lot of you.” Claire pushed her hair out of her face. She giggled, though it was clear she was nervous.

He’d taken the information well thus far, she reasoned. She didn’t think she’d be this anxious sharing the secret with someone else, but her motive had changed. Now she wanted to keep him, not scare him away. The risk was enormous. Oliver was different. She hoped he understood and accepted. If he did, she could reasonably bring him before Lord Whiteside and insist she be permitted to marry him. Excitement and fear rose up in her, unified. She girded herself. This would be the moment of truth for them. The potential for loss, losing him, seemed almost unbearable. Without showing him, she’d lose him anyway when she married Beaumont. Claire took a deep breath. The change came over her. She barely registered his confusion. He sat up. Claire, already well into the shift, forged ahead. Her stature shrunk, and her vision changed noticeable. She detected the speed of his pulse rate and the stink of fear. Her senses screamed in alarm as though she’d backed wounded prey into a corner. “What in God’s name?” Oliver shouted. Claire sat, staying as still as possible so he wouldn’t run away. She purred, hoping the sound would reassure him. “Can you talk? Can you understand me?” She meowed. Horror contorted his features. “This is your birth attribute?” She meowed again. “This is why Beaumont must marry you? Keeping this a secret? Keeping you safe?” She took a step toward him, relieved he understood. Oliver held up his hand. “No! Stay where you are.” Claire shifted out of form to stand before him. “Go. Just go,” he rasped. “But you said—” “What I said dealt with the realm of possibility, not abomination! Leave.”

Claire clutched her chest, trying to contain the ache. Tears swam in her eyes and a sob escaped her. She ran to the tiny window, opened it and shifted back into her cat form. She leaped easily to the ledge and out across the first floor overhang to the street below. She shivered with rejection and cold, his words of disgust ringing in her ears as her wounded cries echoed in the streets. **** The next six days were a flurry of energy as Susan prepared the house and menu for Sunday’s betrothal dinner. And each day that brought it nearer left Claire feeling more and more empty. She’d spent the first few days, racing to check the mail, or startling when someone came to call. The door never opened on Oliver. She’d hardly eaten in days, and it was Sunday morning when she realized she’d never actually secured a promise from Oliver not to tell her family secret. Blood roared in her ears as cold touched the pit of her stomach. She felt rather certain he wouldn’t, but she had no guarantee either. She took a sip of tea and cringed when what she’d expected to be warm, had long since gone cold. “Is it Mr. Elby, or Lord Beaumont,” her sister asked from the doorway. Claire looked up. “I didn’t hear you come in.” “I’ve been here for a few moments,” she confessed. Susan pulled a chair out beside her. “Beaumont is a good man. Give him a chance.” “I’m in love with Oliver.” “Mr. Elby?” Susan asked. When Claire nodded, Susan put her hand over Claire’s. “Learn to fall in love with Beaumont.” “Is that what you did?” Was it that easy? Could she have a love with Beaumont the way Susan did with Whiteside? But Susan’s mouth twisted down. “No, dear. I loved him before I had to.” “I told him,” Claire said, jumping subjects. Susan seemed to know instantly what Claire meant. She tensed. “I told him about the caretakers and why I was expected to marry Beaumont. Then I showed him.” “What did he say?” she asked tightly.

“He told me to leave.” Claire choked on the tears welling up for another spill. She felt like a watering pot, unable to keep from crying at the smallest things. She didn’t like weakness. She especially hated it in herself. Susan hugged her. “I’m so sorry.” Claire lifted pulled away from her. What she needed to say wouldn’t be received well and she needed her sister to understand. “I can’t marry Beaumont.” “We can postpone the announcement. It doesn’t have to be tonight.” “You aren’t understanding me. I won’t marry him.” “Has Mr. Elby spoken for you? You said he sent you away.” Susan’s confusion was evident. “Before I showed him, he told me he loved me, many times.” “He couldn’t, to treat you so badly. I warned you about seeing him privately, Claire.” “I forgive him his shock. I suspect any man who sees a person become a cat in the blink of an eye would have some difficulty accepting it.” “Are you waiting for Mr. Elby to come around, then? You could be waiting a lifetime and Beaumont is ready for you now.” “Susan, please listen to me. I can’t marry Beaumont. I don’t love him. I have no doubt that as a caretaker, he’d do very well by me. But Oliver showed me what love could be like. I can’t settle for less, even if he won’t have me.” She took Susan’s hands in hers. “After loving Whiteside and living with his returned affection, would you be content with perfectly acceptable?” Susan studied her for long moments. Finally, her shoulders drooped slightly and she sighed. “No, I couldn’t.” Claire sent her a watery smile. “Thank you.” Susan hugged her. “Don’t thank me yet. I still have to explain this mess to Whiteside and pray he holds his temper long enough to inform Beaumont. What will you do about Mr. Elby?” “I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something,” Claire promised. **** Tonight was the night. Oliver had been alternately raking himself over the coals for turning Claire away, and staring off as he tried to make sense of her affliction. He’d long since

foregone any scientific explanation, and chosen instead to reassess every moment he was in the proximity of Claire’s alter ego. The night the men had come to drink and present the challenge. Hadn’t Hugh brought her into the townhouse? She’d started the evening exploring under furniture and ended up on his lap. He’d taken her to his room and awoken to her naked magnificence, she as surprised as he to be discovered. He could only guess that she hadn’t intended to change forms before escaping. Now he knew how she’d made her exit. The open window had been testament to that. Understanding dawned on another memory. The first time he’d kissed her in the library, and he’d left with his jacket in shreds. Another time, she’d clawed him in the garden and broken skin. Had she been in some partial state of transformation? He could only assume she had been. It was unnatural. Yet it wasn’t the only surprise he’d discovered in her. She had a curiosity that, in light of new information, he found amusing. Claire excited him like no other woman. He could see a lifetime knowing her without truly knowing everything about her at all. There were too many angles and each of them was more complex than the last. He also couldn’t get her out of his mind. Beyond the gasps, the thrill of her body moving with his, the fight in her, the fearlessness under the demure facade, she embodied everything he wanted to attach himself to. The guilt assailed him. She couldn’t help what she was, and he’d cast her out. The pure devastation on her face would stick with him for an eternity. In hurting her, he’d felt the pain of rejection just as keenly, and he hated himself for it. She deserved better than he offered. Beaumont came to mind. Bile rose in his throat of the thought of him touching her. He might have been raised with the knowledge of his place among the families, but that didn’t entitle him to such perfection. Perfection? Yes, he decided. And the thought of never being in her company again left Oliver cold. He wouldn’t abide it. Oliver pulled on his superfine and gloves. He stepped out of his townhouse and hailed a cab. Tonight was the night of the betrothal dinner. He didn’t care what it took, he intended to stop it from happening even if it meant scandalizing all of London. He banged on the front door until Whiteside’s butler opened it. Not bothering to present a calling card, Oliver pushed passed him and strode to the dining room. He threw the doors open.

“Stop the announcements!” he ordered. “I won’t allow it.” He blinked. Lord Whiteside was holding up a glass of wine. Lady Whiteside stoically looked toward him with mild curiosity. Miss Preston held a napkin to her lips as she evidently tried to swallow. No other guests were in attendance. “Beverly, tell cook to set another place,” Lord Whiteside informed the Butler. “Have a seat, Mr. Elby. We wondered when you’d show up.” Numbly, Oliver took a seat beside Claire. She smiled tentatively, but he could see the discomfort in her eyes. He expected no less after the way he’d treated her. Under the table, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You knew I’d come tonight?” Oliver asked. Lord Whiteside cleared his throat. “I’ve looked into you. I have been making inquiries ever since Miss Preston caught your attention, and you hers.” Claire groaned. If he hadn’t been next to her, Oliver wouldn’t have heard it. Lady Whiteside did, though, and she chuckled delicately. “I’m well aware of your attachment to one another, and Miss Preston has made it painfully clear she won’t accept a betrothal to Lord Beaumont. She’s also informed us that you are aware of all her qualities.” “I am, my lord.” Lord Whiteside put down his goblet. “As I said, I’m acquainted with your character.” He leaned on the table. “Are you prepared to keep the family secret?” Oliver squeezed her hand again. He looked into her eyes earnestly. “Your secret is safe,” he told her. “I can’t stop loving you, no matter what surprises you bring me, Claire. Don’t marry Beaumont. Marry me.” Claire threw her arms around him. “Yes, of course I will.” Lord Whiteside murmured his approval. “We’ll make arrangements after lunch.” Oliver buried his face in her neck, and pulled her onto his lap. Lord and Lady Whiteside excused themselves. Oliver waited until the dining room doors shut. “I’m an idiot. Can you forgive me?” he whispered. “I already have.”

Oliver cupped her face, kissed away her tears, and settled his mouth on hers. When they broke apart, their foreheads touched as they breathed the same air. “I don’t know how you could.” “As you said, I’m full of surprises.” “I thought you were my prey when I pursued you. How very wrong I was,” he noted. “There’s a lot you have to learn about my kind,” she told him. “And a lot I have to teach you about yourself,” he teased. “Feathers,” she suggested. “Before or after you catch the bird?” “How about if I catch you?” she murmured, pulling him down for a long, slow kiss.

About the Author

Hi, I'm Katie Blu, the alter ego of Mia Watts. After unsuccessfully mixing genres under one name, I realized that readers needed to know what they could expect from me. So, Katie Blu has been recreated to explore the relationships between men and women.

Like Mia (because if you note above, I am Mia), I make my home in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I spend my days at my day job and every other available minute writing. I strive to make my characters believable, loveable, unforgettable, and--oh yeah--hot for each other.

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