It was late when Malcolm arrived home to Strathaven House, but his night was just beginning. As soon as his carriage stopped, he hopped down, turning to help Cecelia alight and make her way up the stairs of the stately, Georgian townhouse.

“Thank you, Galston,” he nodded to his butler and gestured for Cece to go on ahead. As soon as she had turned the corner into the drawing room, he slid closer to Galston and murmured, “I’m expecting a guest.”

“Understood, my lord,” Galston replied, his expression betraying nothing.

Malcolm nodded to him again, then strode across the hall and into the drawing room. Cece had taken a seat on the sofa nearest the fireplace and tucked her feet up under her. How any woman managed to look so comfortable in such restrictive clothing was beyond him. Young people seemed to be made of rubber compared to his tired, old joints.

“Shall I have Cook send a light supper up to your room?” Malcolm asked as casually as he could, inching toward the window that looked out on the square where his townhouse stood.

“Don’t you want to have a bit to eat with me, Papa?” Cece asked. “We’ve so much to discuss after that session of parliament.”

Malcolm parted the curtains, looking out onto empty, lamp-lit streets. It took him a moment to realize his daughter had addressed him. He let the curtains drop and turned to her. “It was a damned boring session and you know it,” he said.

Cece didn’t flinch at his curt tone or his mild cursing. He’d raised her by himself, and she’d heard much worse. “There was some useful debate tonight,” she said. “Irish Home Rule seems closer than ever.”

Malcolm snorted, crossing to the fireplace and tapping his hand impatiently against the mantle. “The Conservatives won’t let Ireland go without a fight, I can promise you that.”

“Home Rule sounds like such a sensible option, though,” Cece said, leaning back and toying with a lock of her hair that had come loose from its fashionable style.

She had the same honey-blonde hair as her mother. She had Tessa’s bright, blue eyes as well. If not for the stubborn set of her jaw and her feisty attitude—something most definitely inherited from him—he’d be tempted to wonder if Tessa had strayed.

An old ache squeezed his heart, but he batted it away before it could take hold and make him melancholy. Tessa was gone, and she’d taken that part of his heart with her.

“I’m not interested in Irish Home Rule,” he said, his tone sharp once more. He took his pocket-watch from his waistcoat, glanced at the time, and slipped the watch back into his pocket. The minutes were ticking by fast. “You should be in bed by now,” he told Cece with a frown.

Cece, imp that she was, glanced up at him with a lopsided grin and eyes that weren’t fooled. “Are you expecting something, Papa?” she asked. “A visitor, perhaps?”

“No,” Malcolm answered, a little too quickly. “It’s too late for company and you know it. You need your rest. You’ve a big week ahead of you.”

“Yes, I do.” Cece’s face lit up, and she stood, crossing to join him at the fireplace. “I’m so excited and so nervous about it.”

“Which is to be expected,” Malcolm said, though in truth, he knew nothing about young women being presented at court. All he knew was that the moment he’d been dreading for the past eighteen years, the moment his darling little girl became a woman in the eyes of society, was upon him.

“I’m so grateful that Lady Stanhope has offered to sponsor me,” Cece went on, the devilish light back in her eyes.

Malcolm’s face heated. “Katya is a good friend.”

Cece’s grin was more lopsided than ever. “Of course she is.” She schooled her features into a perfect mask of innocence. “She’s been so kind to take me shopping and to make certain I have everything I need for my coming out. Why don’t you invite her to stay with us at Strathaven Glen for a while?”

Malcolm laughed. “Katya hates the country, especially in Scotland.”

“Does she?” Cece batted her eyelashes, overdoing the false innocence. “I think she would enjoy it in the right company.”

Malcolm crossed his arms and stared at her. “Go to bed, Cece.”

“What’s the rush?” she asked, mimicking his stance. Yes, she was his daughter, for good or for evil.

“I’m your father, and I say it’s time for you to go to bed,” he said.

“Lady Stanhope, Bianca, and Natalia are staying the night here on Friday anyhow so we can all travel to the palace together in the morning,” Cece continued to argue. “Why not invite them to stay longer?”

“Because they already have a London residence,” he told her. “And Stanhope House is perfectly adequate.” He didn’t need to add that Katya kept a second apartment in St. John’s Woods for other purposes. He was beginning to see why as well. The longer it took Cece to go up to her room, the more of a risk of exposure he ran. Then again, it was fairly obvious he wasn’t fooling Cece one bit.

“I think you and Lady Stanhope look dazzling together,” Cece went on, the teasing light in her eyes growing. “I’m not going to live here with you forever, you know. You might want to think about bringing another woman into your life.”

If she’d said the same thing five years before, he would have taken it as the not-so-subtle hint that it was. Under the circumstances, however, her words tugged at his heartstrings. “You’ll always be my little girl,” he said, cradling her sweet face in his hand. “No matter how old and mischievous you get.” He bent to kiss her cheek, his throat tightening with sentimentality that would cause his friends to roar with laughter if they could see it.

When he straightened, Cece’s eyes were glassy with emotion of her own. That only brought him closer to the edge of doing something unmanly. He sniffed, cleared his throat, and stood straighter, fighting to hide how much he wanted to pull his daughter into his arms and never let her go. If he could hold back the hands of time for just a little while longer, freeze the two of them in a moment where nothing would change and it would be the two of them against the world forever, he would. But time was merciless, and even the sweetest of children flowered into adulthood.

He cleared his throat again and frowned. “Now, go to your room. I want you fresh and lively as you face everything coming this week.”

“You want to get rid of me for your own, nefarious reasons,” she countered, picking up her skirts and heading away from the fireplace. “I’ll go,” she fired over her shoulder as she reached the door. “But you don’t have me fooled, Papa. Not for one moment.” She winked at him before sailing through the doorway. A moment later, he heard her footsteps on the stairs.

He turned to stare into the fire, swallowing the lump in his throat. Love had never come easy for Malcolm, much less affection. But raising a daughter had broken open things inside of him that he never thought anyone would be able to crack. Not after all he’d been through. And Cece was right. He wasn’t sure what he would do once she married and started a family of her own. Thinking about it made him feel old in a way nothing else could.

“Well, this is hardly the Casanova I expected to find, based on this note.”

Malcolm jerked straight and turned away from the fireplace to find Katya standing in the doorway, holding his note, a sly grin adding heat to her striking features. His aching heart leapt in his chest, renewing his energy. He launched into action, striding across the room to her.

“Would you prefer something more like this?” he asked before taking her in his arms and kissing her with searing passion. He didn’t stop there. He pivoted with her in his arms, pressing her back against the doorframe and leaning his body into hers. The bulk of her bustle served to thrust her hips forward, and he wedged himself between her legs, certain she could feel the evidence of what one sultry look from her did to him.

A whisper of relief washed through him as she responded to his brutish advances with equal passion. She hummed low in her throat as their mouths met, teasing and tasting, and raked her fingers through his hair. She lifted one knee just enough to signal for him to grab her leg and hike it over his hip as best he could with her restrictive skirts. He broke away from her mouth and trailed kisses down the lithe line of her neck to the low scoop of her bodice. She sighed in encouragement, and he cupped her breast, pushing it up to meet his hungry mouth. The temptation to lift her skirts, loosen his trousers, and take her right there in the hall was almost too much to resist, and if they’d been ten years younger, he would have tried it.

“Upstairs,” he panted, breaking away from her instead.

Her eyes flashed with desire and her kiss-reddened lips spread into a naughty smile. He grabbed her hand and practically sprinted to the stairs, ignoring the slight ache in his knees. She followed without a word, doing her best to keep her footsteps as silent as possible, especially when they brushed past Cece’s room at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t the first time they’d had to sneak past without waking Cece, and, God willing, it wouldn’t be the last.

As soon as they reached his bedroom at the end of the hall and slipped inside, silently shutting the door behind them, Katya whirled about and backed Malcolm into the wall. It was her turn to trap him with a kiss that left him senseless and burning with need. It didn’t matter how many times they’d ravished each other or how much their bodies had changed since their first, fateful meeting seventeen years before. She worked with deft fingers to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt as he did his best to wriggle out of his clothes.

“You seem sad tonight,” she said, breathless with passion, as she helped him tug his shirt over his head. As soon as his chest was exposed, she smoothed her hands across his muscles, teasing his nipples, before leaning in to kiss and nibble his shoulders. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she returned to his lips.

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything but tearing Katya’s clothes off and seeing her naked, splayed, and wet on his bed. “I want you,” he answered, meaning it on too many levels. “I always want you.”

She laughed, low and deep in her throat, and reached for the fastenings of his trousers. As soon as they were loose, she slid one hand inside to play with him. “I know,” she hummed, sending unbelievable pleasure coursing through him. More potent still, she sank to her knees, tugging his trousers and drawers down with her, then drew his cock into her mouth.

The heady pleasure of moist heat and sucking threatened to pull him under as she toyed with him. She was beyond skilled with her tongue and capable of swallowing him deep. Every nerve throbbed with pleasure as the wet heat of her mouth sheathed him again and again. A younger man would have come in thirty seconds, but he was seasoned enough to enjoy the slower journey toward climax that came with age. And he and Katya knew each other well enough to know how to drive each other wild.

She pulled back, took a deep, gasping breath, then stood, shaking slightly with the force of her desire, and turned her back to him. Without hesitation, he fumbled through the row of buttons down her back, helping her out of her stylish gown with lightning speed. Once all the fastenings were loosened, they broke apart to finish discarding clothes on their own—something they’d learned was far more efficient than the so-called romance of stripping each other naked. Katya tossed her things over the large chair by the fire as she always did, and he gathered his clothes and shoved them haphazardly into the wardrobe before crossing to the bed and tearing back the covers. She joined him in bed a minute later, and he rolled her to her back. The two of them had perfected the routine of getting as close as possible as fast as possible into a science.

“Why are you so sad, Malcolm?” she asked again as he nibbled his way from her shoulder to her breast. He raked his thumb across her nipple, causing her to suck in a breath. She let that breath out on a sensuous hum as he closed his mouth over her nipple and stroked it to a point with his tongue. She wasn’t about to let him ignore her question, though, no matter how much pleasure he brought her. “Is it because of Sir Christopher?”

He pulled away from her, narrowing his eyes as he stared down at her. “The man is a boob. I don’t know what you see in him.” It was likely that she saw nothing in him. Katya adored making him jealous and always had. And damn him, but jealousy made him hard in ways he didn’t want to think about. “He could never make you feel the way I do,” he growled, proving his point by skipping about twenty steps in their lovemaking routine to thrust inside of her.

Katya gasped, her eyes popping wide at the deviation from the norm. “If this is what I get for flirting with a passing stranger, then I should do it more often.”

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, thrusting hard and deep. He reached for her leg, bringing it up over his hip so that he could increase the pressure of his thrusts. For a woman past forty, Katya was astoundingly flexible—something they routinely made full use of.

“I like you when you’re on fire like this,” she panted as he increased the pace of his thrusts, her words turning into impassioned cries.

“You just like to be fucked,” he said, doing his best to give her everything she wanted. All the same, the agonizing whisper that hinted she liked it whether he was the one inside of her or not dampened the pleasure he felt.

His pace slowed, and the energy pulsing through him subsided somewhat. Katya obviously sensed it. She pushed him to the side, then rolled to straddle him, impaling herself on his cock and riding him without mercy.

“That’s more like it,” she said with a devilish sparkle in her eyes, her face flushed with need.

The sight of her body moving over him, still amazing even at her age, her full breasts with their large, pert nipples bouncing, and her face contorting with pleasure, fanned the flames within him into an inferno once more. She was everything he’d ever wanted, the only woman he’d wanted since the moment they’d met. She could reach into his soul, grab hold of his heart, and hold him in a state of arousal that drove him to blissful madness. He was completely at her mercy, and she knew it. But he doubted she felt the same way about him.

He spread his hands across her hips, meeting her movements with thrusts as she pleasured herself on him, and stroked his way up her sides to cradle her breasts. He knew her so well, knew that she was close to coming, and that it would be astounding for her. Thank God he’d read her signals right, sensed that she was in a randy mood, and sent her the note ordering her into his bed that night. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers before pinching them with just the right amount of pressure.

She cried out as the muscles of her pussy clenched around him, milking him into his own orgasm. Her shattered look of ecstasy as she came kept him pumping until he was spent. The searing intensity of climax slowly gave way to the sated feeling of contentment that he’d grown to enjoy almost as much as the flash of orgasm over the years. Katya rode out the waves of her pleasure, then loosened, sinking to lie splayed across his chest, panting into the pillow beside his head.

The urge to sleep was almost overpowering, but he fought it. He reached awkwardly to cradle the side of her head, nudging her to face him. When she did, he surged into her and kissed her with a tenderness far more powerful than the lust they’d just spent in each other’s arms. His heart swelled to fill the places that raw need had inhabited. He circled his arms around her and simply held her, brushing her lips with his own and wishing he could melt into her and be one with her forever.

Their light, bleary kisses continued until the heat of their bodies subsided enough that Katya reached for the bedcovers to envelop them in a cocoon of warmth.

“Tell me why you’re so sad tonight,” she said, her tone infinitely more patient and less demanding than before their lovemaking.

“I’m not sad,” he insisted, rolling to his side and fitting her against his body.

“Malcolm.” She pursed her lips and sent him a scolding look across the pillow. “I know you. I know when you’re sad.”

She did, and he wouldn’t be able to get away with lying to her for long. “Cece was talking about her coming out earlier,” he admitted. “It made me realize that she won’t be mine for much longer.”

The tender sympathy that filled Katya’s eyes was enough of a reward to make him wonder why he hadn’t confessed to her from the start. She smoothed a hand over his cheek, brushing her thumb across the stubble on his chin.

“My dear Malcolm,” she sighed. “You’re a sentimental old fool.”

He intended to reply “I know,” but the words that blurted past his lips were, “Marry me, Katya.”

She stiffened, pulling away slightly, her gaze dropping.

“We both know it’s inevitable,” he went on, urgency burning inside of him. “We belong together. We don’t work when we’re apart.”

“We don’t work when we’re together either,” she said in a voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. He wished he hadn’t. Her gaze flickered up to meet his. “You know that.”

“No, I don’t,” he insisted. He cupped her backside, pressing his hips into hers. “We just experienced how well we work together.”

“We know how to give each other pleasure,” she said, her expression stern. “But we don’t know how not to cause each other pain.”

Malcolm frowned. “Life is pain. It’s unavoidable. And it’s easier to face when we’re together.” He wanted to add that he could only face the pain he knew was coming for him if she was with him, but he’d humiliated himself enough for one night.

She reacted as though he’d said it anyhow, smiling gently and kissing his tight lips. “Oh, Malcolm. There are so many things I wish I could tell you.”

His frown deepened. “You can tell me anything. You’ve always been able to tell me anything.”

She shook her head and stroked his cheek again. “No, I haven’t. There are far more things I can’t tell you than ones I can.”

His body began to heat all over again, but with frustration more than desire. “What things?”

She let out an impatient breath. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because you wouldn’t listen,” she said, inching away. “You’d pretend to listen, but you wouldn’t really hear.”

“Is that what you think of me?” He pushed away from her, the cozy feeling of completion changing to an ache of emptiness inside of him.

“It’s what I think of all men who try to learn all my secrets and toss me aside with all the other puzzles they’ve figured out,” she snapped, propping herself up on one arm.

“I see,” he growled, sitting up. “I’m just like every other man, am I?”

“I—” She blinked, sitting, her mouth hanging open for a moment. “No, actually. You aren’t like every other man. Not even close.”

Hope warred with anger and disappointment in his gut. “I’m special then?” he said, knowing there was too much sarcasm in his voice. “Not like all the others. I’m the only fool who’s stuck around long enough to know just how replaceable I am.”

“You are not replaceable,” she said, glaring at him. “Far from it.”

“Then marry me.” He twisted toward her, cursing himself for sounding like he was begging.

“It wouldn’t work,” she said, turning away.

“Why not?” he demanded.

She snapped back to him, her eyes wide with indignation. “You know full well why not.”

“Impossible woman,” he hissed to himself before saying louder, “I have no idea why I’ve never been good enough for you.”

She laughed as though he’d said something ridiculous. “You’ve always been good enough for me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you—”

A sharp knock on the door silenced Katya before she could finish her thought.

“Papa,” Cece called from the hall, her voice high with excitement. “Papa, a messenger’s just arrived.” She knocked again. “I told Galston I would fetch you.”

Katya swore under her breath and dove off the far side of the bed.

Malcolm leapt from the other side of the bed and snatched at his robe, hanging over the wardrobe door. “What messenger?” he called.

He threw on his robe and fastened the belt. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Katya scrambling on hands and knees to retrieve her clothes from the chair. She barely made it under the bed with the bundle of her things in her arms when Cece knocked one more time, then threw open the door.