The concept of waiting was one Malcolm had never mastered. Knowing that a dolt like Dowland was in the process of infiltrating The Black Strap Club, that an idiot of Dowland’s kind was the one who might pip him at the post and bring Shayles down, made him impatient, short-tempered, and restless for days.

In moments of relative calm, he was willing to admit quietly to himself that Dowland probably was the ideal man for the job at hand. His frustration with the situation was most likely simple jealousy over the way Katya spoke so highly of the younger man. If he were honest with himself, he’d never been comfortable with the company Katya kept. He should have been the man standing by her side for the past fifteen years. He should have been the one warming her bed, not the parade of lovers she’d flaunted in his face. And yes, the argument that had nipped their original affair in the bud had been his fault, but surely fifteen years was more than ample time to be in a snit.

“My lord?”

Malcolm was jolted out of his thoughts as Galston stepped into the doorway of his study, holding a silver salver.

“What do you want?” Malcolm snapped, setting the large tumbler of scotch whiskey he’d been nursing on the mantle of the fireplace he’d been staring into and crossing to meet Galston at the door.

Unperturbed by his foul tempers as always, Galston presented the salver. “A message has just arrived.”

Malcolm swiped the small sealed envelope with a bare nod to Galston. His pulse shot up. He knew the stationary well, was tempted to hold the letter to his nose to breathe in Katya’s scent. Without pause, he ripped the envelope open and pulled out the message.

“Your presence is required at once.”

A devilish grin pulled at the corner of Malcolm’s mouth. He tucked the note into his jacket pocket. “Galston, have my carriage sent around in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Galston nodded and retreated from the room. Malcolm shot out into the hall after him, passing him as they reached the front hall and charging upstairs, three steps at a time. He dashed past Cece’s room, where she was busy packing a small trunk.

“Papa, whatever are you doing?” she called after him, poking her head out of her room. “My presentation at court is tomorrow.”

“I’ve been called away,” he said without stopping, hurrying on to his room.

“But there’s so much to do,” she continued. “Remember the change of plans? We’re staying the night at—”

He shut the door, cutting off the rest of whatever complaint she was making, and stripped off his clothes as he crossed to his washstand.

As fast as he could, he tossed the clothes he’d been wearing aside and bathed in his washbasin, using the lemon-scented soap Katya liked. When that was done, he toweled off and threw open his wardrobe to pick out crisp, clean, and stylish clothes. Ones that were easy to remove. Katya’s note had been clear. His presence was required at once. They both knew what that meant.

As soon as he was dressed, he dragged a comb through his hair, then left his room a mess as he dashed back into the hall. Galston would clean it up. That’s what he paid the man for.

“You can’t be called away at a time like this, Papa,” Cece called after him once again as he whisked past her room and down the stairs. “We’ve far too much to do. The Queen—”

“I don’t understand why all you young girls are so eager to kneel before that old harridan,” Malcolm barked as he descended the stairs.

“Papa!” Cece scolded, fists on her hips as she glared down at him. “Your Scotch is showing. Don’t say things like that outside of the house.”

As he reached the door, Malcolm turned to send his daughter an impish wink. How he’d managed to produce offspring that loved an English queen so much was a mystery to him. He didn’t have time to contemplate it, though. His carriage was at the door already when Galston opened it for him, and Katya was waiting.

The short ride seemed interminable. Malcolm tapped his foot against the carriage’s floor the whole time, feeling far more self-satisfied than he should. It was one thing for Katya to come when he sent her a note letting her know he needed her, but it was far rarer for her to send for him. Their system had been in place for more than a decade, though, and had successfully enabled them to carry on like lunatic children—or perhaps not children exactly—without their friends knowing about it. Peter would probably shake his head and call him a damn fool if he knew how fast he jumped when Katya crooked her finger.

He was out of the carriage and at Katya’s front door within moments, and was pleased when Katya’s butler, Stewart, opened the door without him having to knock. Malcolm smoothed his hand over his hair one final time, breathed into his hand to check his breath, and put on his most seductive grin as he marched straight toward the stairs that led up to her bedroom.

“Malcolm, wherever do you think you’re going?” Katya called to him from her front parlor.

Malcolm froze with his foot raised to mount the first stair. Prickles broke out on his skin as he turned to find her standing in the doorway, dressed in a plain afternoon dress, the bodice buttoned all the way up to her chin. Behind her, Malcolm spotted Dowland and Craig sitting on sofas that faced each other. Both men stared at him with surprised looks.

Heat rose up Malcolm’s neck. There was nothing he could do to stop it from breaking out on his face. He hid his wrenching disappointment with a glower and marched straight past Katya and into the parlor, pretending he hadn’t made an utter ass of himself.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, his voice gruff.

Katya studied him with narrowed eyes and a twitch to her mouth that said she knew exactly what was going on in his mind. The vixen had probably planned for him to make a fool of himself. “Sir Christopher is ready to make his report to Inspector Craig,” she said. “I thought you’d want to hear it.”

“I do,” Malcolm grumbled, moving away from her to stand behind the sofa where Craig sat. His pride couldn’t take the humiliation of standing next to Katya, knowing she was probably laughing at him.

Dowland looked like a confused stoat as he glanced from Malcolm to Katya to Craig, then back to Malcolm. “As I told Inspector Craig just now, I ended up visiting The Black Strap Club on two nights.” His face was redder than Malcolm’s, which was a strange kind of relief. “It’s just as bad as you said it was,” Dowland went on in an apprehensive voice. “The staff, if you can call them that, treated my first visit as though it were a special event of some kind. I was taken to an alarmingly decorated salon at first and given a complete menu of the services the place offered.”

“A menu?” Craig said, sitting forward with a frown.

Dowland nodded and swallowed. “Some of the offerings were startling. Most of them were.”

“Was it printed, this menu?” Craig asked, the excitement of discovering exactly what he needed pouring off of him.

“Yes,” Dowland answered, wiping his mouth. “With illustrations for some things.”

“That’s new,” Katya said, moving to sit beside Dowland. She rested a hand on his arm. It was probably a comforting gesture, considering how upset the man clearly was, but Malcolm hated it all the same. He needed comforting too, dammit.

He also needed to keep his head on if he was going to defeat Shayles at last. “Shayles will argue that was all a charade and that the menu was a joke unless you have evidence to back it up,” he said.

“Oh, I have evidence,” Dowland said with a doleful look.

“What evidence?” Craig scooted to the edge of the sofa, looking like he would either fall off the edge or spring to his feet.

“Screams, for one.” Dowland rubbed a hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut. “We walked past a hallway, and I heard a woman screaming and begging for mercy.” His voice faltered, and he drew in a long breath as though trying not to be sick.

“Go on,” Katya prompted him softly.

Dowland shook his head. “I figured it wouldn’t be enough for me to pick some poor girl and lock myself away with her for an hour,” he went on. “So I pretended I was curious about some of the…stranger things on that damnable menu. Shayles himself was there, and he took me on what he called ‘the grand tour’. We went down to what I can only describe as a dungeon.”

“I’ve seen it,” Malcolm growled. He’d rescued a young American woman named Noelle Walters from that very dungeon a few years before.

“Then you know how utterly hellish it is,” Dowland said, glancing to him like they were comrades sharing a horrible secret.

As much as Malcolm wanted to despise the man for the way Katya sat so close to him and offered such sweet support, after a look like that, he rather liked the man.

“There was more than just the dungeon, though,” Dowland went on. “The entire club is packed full of what looked to me like devices of torture.”

“Photographs might sway a judge,” Craig said as if talking to himself. “They would at least warrant an indictment.”

“But the very worst of it was the women,” Dowland said, more haunted than ever. He shook his head, his face contorting with misery. “I don’t know which was worse, the ones who were trying to look appealing or the ones who cowered as if praying not to be seen. And they were young, too young. The cosmetics couldn’t hide the bruises on some of them,” he reported in a rush.

“I know,” Katya said in her most soothing voice, stroking his arm. “Rest assured, my girls on the inside do whatever they can to help those unfortunate women.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Craig said in a surprisingly vicious growl.

He stood and began pacing, tension rippling off of him. His face was mottled with anger, and his blue eyes burned with fury. Malcolm would have bet his entire fortune that a woman Craig had cared for in the past had been abused in some way. He knew that kind of fury, had lived with it night and day since meeting Tessa and rescuing her from Shayles’s clutches.

“We have to bring Shayles to justice,” Malcolm said, meeting Craig’s eyes and holding them. The time had come to lay all his cards on the table. “My late wife was once married to that bastard. He treated her no differently than he does the women in that club now. I was barely able to save her, but saving one woman from treatment like that is not enough. We need to save them all. I think you know that more than most.”

A light of understanding shone in Craig’s eyes. “I do,” he said, communicating far more with two words than most men did with lengthy speeches. “And we will.”

“So it was all worth it?” Dowland asked, glancing between Malcolm and Craig.

“It was,” Katya answered, the softness in her voice turning to steel.

“I’ll start the ball rolling immediately,” Craig said, cutting around the sofa and heading to the door. “We need physical evidence from the club itself, as well as photographic evidence, and in order to get all that without Lord Shayles getting wind of the impending raid, we’ll have to act fast.” He turned back to them as he reached the door. “Very fast.”

“How fast?” Katya asked, rising from the sofa and meeting Malcolm halfway across the room as he followed Craig into the hall. Dowland got up on shaky legs and followed them.

“Like lightning,” Craig told her, absolute determination in his eyes.

An odd sort of excitement buzzed through Malcolm’s entire body. For nearly twenty years he’d been fighting against Shayles, putting everything he had into bringing the man to justice. His pursuit of the man had stopped him from taking holidays, interrupted relationships, and haunted his every step for almost half his life. Now, all of a sudden, he stood on the precipice of ending the war with a decisive victory. It seemed unreal.

“This may sound odd,” Katya spoke into the sizzling silence that had followed Craig’s single word, “but would you care to stay for supper, gentlemen?” She glanced to Craig and Dowland, sending Malcolm a final look as though she assumed he would stay.

“I wish I could,” Craig said, some of his tension loosening, “but this needs to be dealt with immediately.”

“Oh, but you must stay.” Bianca practically leapt into the hall from around the corner of the doorway to a private, family parlor across the hall from the front parlor. Natalia peeked around the corner after her.

Malcolm rolled his eyes, wondering how much of the frightening conversation Katya’s two wildcats had overheard and how long they’d been spying.

“Land sakes, you two,” Katya exclaimed, pressing a hand to her forehead as though they’d given her a sudden migraine. “Am I going to have to lock you in chains and throw you in the cellar?”

Dowland made a strangled sound, his expression twisting with misery. Katya instantly looked contrite, but it was Craig’s amused grin as he studied Bianca that caught Malcolm’s attention.

“I’m tempted to stay for supper after all, if it means I have the pleasure of such lively entertainment,” Craig said, the formal words sounding odd in his bastardized accent.

“Please stay.” Bianca swept forward, making doe-eyes at Craig. “You could escort me in to supper and sit next to me. I promise I won’t bite.” She twitched an eyebrow, much the same way Katya had when she was that age and too young to know how obvious the gesture was.

Craig seemed to be eating the whole thing up. “I’m certain you’re a brilliant conversationalist, Miss….”

“Bianca,” Bianca informed him, sweeping even closer. “Lady Bianca Marlowe, at your service.” She held out her hand, presumably for Craig to kiss.

Malcolm couldn’t let the farce go on. “She’s seventeen,” he said, glancing from Craig to Katya.

Instantly, Craig’s expression shifted from overt interest to embarrassed caution, and he pulled his hand back before he could touch Bianca’s. He peeked at Katya. “I’m terribly sorry, my lady. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s not your fault,” Katya said, glaring at Bianca. “Go change for supper.”

“But Mama,” Bianca said through clenched teeth.

“Go,” Katya told her in a warning voice.

Bianca growled in frustration, then turned a charming smile on Craig, as if the man hadn’t just witnessed the entire childish exchange. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Inspector Craig,” she said, curtsied, then did her best to march up the stairs with dignity. She might have managed it if Natalia hadn’t dashed out of her hiding place to scurry up the stairs after her.

“So that’s no to supper then?” Malcolm said with a sly grin for Craig.

“Not for a few more years at least,” Craig answered. He nodded to Katya. “Good evening, my lady.”

With a final nod to Malcolm and Dowland, Craig turned to go.

“I must decline your kind invitation as well, Lady Stanhope,” Dowland said. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment.”

“Understandable,” Katya said, taking Dowland’s arm and escorting him to the door. “Another time, perhaps?”

“Certainly.”

Malcolm stood where he was, trying not to seethe with envy at the way Katya fussed over the man as Stewart handed him his coat and hat and saw him out the door. As soon as Dowland was gone, Katya turned back to Malcolm wearing the smile he’d hoped to see from her when he arrived.

“We’re so close,” she said, crossing the hall and sliding easily into his arms. “So close I can taste it.”

Her sudden burst of amorousness knocked Malcolm off-guard. “After all these years.”

He leaned close, intending to kiss her, but the front door flew open again, revealing Cece, followed by Stewart and one of Katya’s footmen carrying trunks. Katya leapt out of Malcolm’s arms, and he stepped back, pretending he and Katya hadn’t been about to light any fires.

“Papa,” Cece scolded the moment she saw him, not a trace of surprise in her expression. “I tried to tell you that if you had just waited for me, we could have come here together.” She shook her head and muttered, “Called away indeed,” under her breath.

“What are you doing here?” Malcolm asked, more alarmed than he cared to admit.

Cece stopped a few feet in front of him and let out an impatient breath. “My presentation at court is tomorrow. Lady Stanhope is my sponsor. We agreed that the whole family should stay the night here so that we can all travel to Buckingham Palace together bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Malcolm glanced to Katya in confusion. “Aren’t you staying at my house tonight?”

Katya blinked at him. “You didn’t remember? We decided it was less of a hassle to have two people relocate to Stanhope House instead of all four of us packing into your house, since the girls insist on not being left out.” Katya rolled her eyes.

The faint echo of something Cece had said to him a few days before, deep in the middle of his preoccupation with Dowland’s part in their mission against Shayles, and in possible connections between Dowland and Katya, came to mind. “Of course I remembered,” he said.

Katya shook her head at him. “Stewart can get the two of you settled. Supper will be served within the hour.” She launched into motion herself, as though there were a thousand things to do to prepare for what amounted to a small, family meal. “You can keep yourself occupied until we eat, can’t you?” she asked him as Cece headed upstairs, Stewart and the footman following her.

“Yes, of course,” Malcolm said.

“Good.”

Katya moved past him, her hand brushing his as she did. A jolt of excitement coursed through him. Maybe the visit wouldn’t be without comfort after all.

As much as she enjoyed subtlety and the clever dance of politics and society, few things filled Katya with as much of a sense of contentment as a family dinner. Especially when family included Malcolm and Cece. Between the six of them—her and Malcolm, Cece and Rupert, and Bianca and Natalia—there were always at least five conversations happening simultaneously. Robert would have had a second heart-attack if he could have seen the way his children carried on at the table, the girls expressing their opinions as loudly as Rupert. But Robert wasn’t there, God rest him, and what society couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt it.

“We should all sleep in my room tonight,” Bianca suggested to the other girls with an excited gasp as they finished their pudding. “That way we can talk about all the gentlemen who are likely to ask Cece to dance at the ball tomorrow night.”

“If you all pitch your tents in the same room tonight, none of you will sleep a wink,” Rupert said. Katya detected a hint of temper in his words, probably at the thought that other men would want to dance with Cece.

“That’s the point,” Natalia told him, rolling her eyes.

“Young women apparently don’t need sleep,” Malcolm added, his expression surprisingly similar to Natalia’s.

Katya hid her grin by taking a last sip of wine. “If you truly want to stay up all night and have dark circles under your eyes when you’re presented to the Queen tomorrow, then by all means, do so with my blessing,” she said with only a touch of sarcasm.

Malcolm grinned in approval at her across the table.

“You have a point, Lady Stanhope,” Cece said with a sigh, then sent a covert smile to Bianca. “Although we could stay up for a bit to discuss a certain gentleman I saw leaving the house as I arrived.”

Bianca burst into a giggle, Natalia following suit shortly thereafter. Rupert rose from the table with a sigh, throwing his serviette down.

“I, for one, want to be well-rested for tomorrow’s activities, so I’m going to bed,” he said.

“I think I might turn in early as well,” Malcolm said, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes. He stood and walked around the corner of the table to kiss Cece’s forehead. “Sleep well, my darling.” As he stepped away from her he added, “That’s an order, by the way, not a suggestion.”

“Oh, Papa,” Cece replied with a laugh.

Katya stood as Malcolm reached her end of the table. “I think I’ll head up to bed as well,” she said, doing a far better job of appearing innocent than Malcolm was. “You young things might be able to look fresh and vibrant after a night without sleep, but when you reach my age, it takes a great deal more effort.”

“Mama, you’re always beautiful and you know it,” Bianca said with a sweet smile.

Katya’s heart thumped with maternal affection for her daughter, but she arched a brow and said, “You’re not going to the ball and you know it. Your presentation is next year, and I’m not willing to put up with wagging tongues if you show up at Spencer House before you’re officially out.”

“But Mama,” Bianca deflated, looking more like a girl than a woman. “It’s eighteen-eighty-one. Nobody cares about those silly rules anymore.”

“Yes, they do,” Katya told her. “So behave.”

Malcolm had already moved into the hall, doing a poor job of pretending he wasn’t waiting for her as he did, so Katya only gave Bianca one, parting look of warning before sweeping out of the room herself.

“When I’m out,” Bianca grumbled behind her, “I’m not going to let a bunch of silly society rules keep me from doing exactly what I want.”

“You will if you want to be received by anybody who’s anybody,” Cece told her.

“Smart girl, your daughter,” Katya whispered as she caught up to Malcolm at the base of the stairs.

“Obviously,” Malcolm whispered back as he took her hand and hurried up the stairs. “What brilliance has she displayed this time?”

“Warning Bianca that she can’t flout all the rules if she wants to have a place at society’s table,” Katya said.

“I’m surprised you would think so,” Malcolm said, as they reached the top of the stairs and tip-toed down the hall. “You’ve never played by society’s rules.”

She turned to him with wide-eyed surprise as they reached the door to her room. “Of course I have. Rule number one is discretion. The finer ladies of society may whisper about me, but they can’t prove anything.”

She followed her bold statement by sending a covert glance down the hall to be certain they weren’t being observed. As soon as she was satisfied, she opened her bedroom door as carefully as possible and whisked Malcolm inside. He chuckled as he went, shrugging out of his jacket as soon as Katya had the door shut.

“Observe,” she told him in a voice that was still hushed, reaching for the lock. “This is how properly discreet women conduct their affairs.” She arched her eyebrow and turned the lock until the tumblers clicked.

“I didn’t expect Cece to come rushing into my room the other night,” Malcolm argued, sitting on the edge of her bed to take off his shoes.

“Really, Malcolm,” Katya shook her head at him as she crossed to her vanity and began pulling the pins from her elaborate hairstyle. “The first rule of illicit romance is to always lock the doors.”

“You’re full of rules tonight, Lady Stanhope.” Malcolm rose from the bed, tossed his shoes aside, and crossed the room to her. He slid his arms around her waist and nibbled at her neck. “One would almost think you were in a mood for discipline this evening.”

She laughed, loving the way his bold suggestion sent a thrill through her that was as fresh as the first time he’d snuck into her bedroom…when she was barely older than Bianca was now.

She turned to him, a strange sort of nostalgia making her wistful. “We don’t need games and ploys to be together,” she said, resting a hand on his cheek.

“No,” he agreed, mischief in his eyes. “But they are fun.”

She burst into laughter, the sound far louder then she’d intended. Her gaze darted to the door, but Malcolm silenced any other noise that could have given them away with a kiss. His hands roved her side, knowing exactly what he wanted from her. She circled her arms around his shoulders for a moment, indulging in the delicious familiarity of his mouth. A new lover every night was exciting to a point, but at her age, she craved the tender and the familiar.

Their kiss ended only when they were both so aroused that clothing became a burden. With a sigh, she stepped away from him, reaching for the fastenings of her skirt. “Someday,” she said as she turned her back so that Malcolm could undo her buttons, “they’ll make clothing for women that doesn’t require a second set of hands to remove.”

“What a horrible day that will be,” Malcolm replied.

Katya grinned and undressed as quickly as she could. Once her buttons were done, Malcolm stepped away to shed his clothes. He tossed them over the chair instead of folding them neatly, as usual, missing the chair entirely as he threw off his drawers.

“Really, Malcolm,” she clucked, taking more care with her chemise and drawers. “Is it so hard to fold your things?”

“It’s so hard. Let’s leave it at that.”

Of all the things that could turn her heart to butter and make her consider swallowing her pride to marry him, it had to be ribald comments like that. Heat flushed through her and her heart felt years younger as she crossed to the bed, where he was pulling back the covers.

“You’re impossible, you realize,” she said.

Instead of answering, when she drew close enough, he spun and sat abruptly on the side of the bed, tugging her off-balance and drawing her, face-down, across his lap. Before she could regain her equilibrium, he smacked her backside hard. The surprise sting was ridiculously arousing. He spanked her again, sending the ache between her legs into a full-fledged inferno.

“Malcolm, what are you doing?” she laughed in spite of the sting and the ache.

“You deserve a few more smacks for the way you’ve been flirting with Dowland this week,” he said, trying to sound stern. She knew him too well to buy the act, though. There was too much humor in his voice.

“I was not fli—”

He brought his hand down hard on her backside, and she finished her sentence with a loud yelp.

A noise in the hall instantly made her swallow what was either going to be a shout of protest or a plea for more.

“Mama, are you all right in there?” Natalia’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Malcolm tensed and cursed under his breath.

“I’m fine, sweeting,” Katya called out. “I stubbed my toe on the washstand.” She deserved a royal commendation for her acting abilities.

“All right, then,” Natalia said. “Be careful. Good night.”

“Good night, dear.”

She and Malcolm remained frozen as they listened to Natalia’s retreating footsteps, whispers from more than one of the girls in the hall, and finally, a door shutting. Then Malcolm smacked her backside again.

“Stop, stop, Malcolm,” Katya said through a rush of embarrassed and relieved laughter. “One of them might be lurking on the other side of the door. You know they all suspect what we’re up to.”

“If they’re listening,” Malcolm murmured, “you’ll just have to stay quiet as I do this.”

He brushed his hand across her pleasantly hot backside, delving his fingers into the cleft between her legs. She gasped as he stroked the wet folds of her sex, the unusual angle of his attentions adding to her arousal. He was relentless in pleasuring her, and he knew exactly how to tease her into what promised to be a fast orgasm. He also knew just when to pull back, leaving her sweating and hungry for more.

“I doubt the likes of Christopher Dowland can make you feel like that,” he purred.

His words were as good as a pail of cold water to douse her mood. She yanked away from him, standing with a sigh. “Would you kindly stop being a jealous prick?” she asked.

“As soon as you stop making eyes at every man that walks past you,” he said, clearly still thinking they were playing.

She shifted to straddle his knees, then pushed his shoulders with her full strength. He lost his balance and splayed on his back, giving her the opportunity to position herself over him and pin him beneath her.

“For the last time, Malcolm. I am not the whore you seem to think I am,” she said unable to keep the genuine anger from her voice.

“I never said you—”

She silenced his tired old protest with a kiss, but it was a kiss on her terms. She loved Malcolm, far more than she was willing to admit to herself most of the time. But the man was an ass more often than not.

He responded to her show of dominance by circling his arms around her and kissing her as though he was the one who had started it all. His cock jutted between them, a reminder that they both gained something from their ridiculous relationship. But that was the problem. She didn’t want to do without him, without all the ways he made her feel, both physically and emotionally. Even without a ring on her finger, he could still hold what little power she had in the world hostage.

“What’s wrong?” he answered as her thoughts sapped her energy. He rolled her to her back, sliding all the way into bed with her.

“Nothing,” she said, looking away from him.

“You’re angry with me,” he said, positioning himself between her legs.

She cursed herself for wriggling her hips in invitation and for feeling so relieved when he pushed inside of her.

“I’m angry with the world,” she admitted as they moved together. He felt so good inside her, like they could actually be one in life as well as in bed.

“I’ll change the world for you,” he said, stroking her leg and lifting her thigh higher against his hips. “If you’ll let me.”

She sighed and dug her nails into his back, closing her eyes so that she could block out everything but the bliss of making love. If she let him, Malcolm would trap her in a marriage as constrictive as the one Robert had caged her in. She could see the same masculine determination to tame, to control, and to make her submit in his eyes that she’d seen in Robert. But sometimes it felt so divine to give in to his will, to have him use her as he saw fit.

“I love you, Katya,” he sighed, picking up his pace. The tension she could feel coiled in him drove her mad with desire and frustration. “I love you.”

I love you too, she thought, tears stinging at her eyes. If only loving him didn’t mean losing everything.