London, 1843

Lady Jane Shillington had never been a social butterfly. Gentlemen did not fall all over themselves to court her. They most certainly did not spend their time calling on her. At two and twenty she had never even been kissed…until him. She lifted her hand to her lips and stared at the handsome rogue sleeping in her bed. When he entered her chamber last night, pure madness overcame her senses. She lay still as if she had expected him, excitement thrumming through her veins where fear and outrage should have been.

The sight of Lord Keery, stripping off his overcoat, boots, and breeches in the dim light of her bedchamber, caused her body to warm and ache in places it never had before. As the rest of his garments followed, she found herself powerless to look away, her gaze scanning every uncovered muscular inch of him.

When he climbed into her bed and pulled her into his arms, she melted into him. Like a wanton, she had reveled in his deep probing kisses. She did not resist when he slid his hands under her chemise, and did not push him away when he fondled and kissed her breasts. She had wanted everything he offered and longed for more.

He rolled over and pulled her against him, her cheek resting against his chest. Moments later his soft snoring filled the room. She laid against his warm skin, caught in a storm of desire and anger as he rested peacefully, his arms still around her. How could he have fallen asleep in the midst of what they were doing?

She could only assume the port he’d consumed was to blame. Intoxication was no doubt what had led him to her room in the first place. She had tasted the sweet wine on his lips and smelled its heady scent on his breath. She should wake him and demand he leave at once.

Surely he had meant to join another lady. One experienced in the art of lovemaking, not a forgotten wallflower who was fast becoming a spinster. Still, she was captivated by his touch, and more than willing to give him her virtue. Disappointment sat heavy in her chest this morning as she lay on her side next to him, her head propped up on her hand, gazing at him.

She studied Lord Keery from his mussed dark-blond hair and thick lashes to his aristocratic nose and full lips. Her gaze dropped lower to his sculpted chest and the patch of hair covering his sternum. Her fingers twitched to touch him, but she dared not risk waking him. Surely when he did awaken, he would leave her without so much as a by your leave. Her stomach sank. Notorious rogues did not spend their time with chaste ladies. The two of them were worlds apart. She would wager he did not even know her name.

Her gaze stilled where the sheet draped across his narrow waist. Perhaps if she used extreme caution she could move the linen without causing him to stir. Her cheeks warmed at the wicked idea even as she inched closer, intent on having a quick peek. Last night, the darkness of the room had distorted her view. She had seen enough to heat her blood, but failed to take in any critical details. Her heart fluttered at the thought of what she might behold in the morning light.

He shifted. Jane froze, waiting for him to settle, her pulse racing. After a moment, his light snore drifted through the chamber once again. She reached out a shaking hand and lifted the linen sheet a fraction. When he did not move, she pulled it farther into the air, allowing herself an unrestricted view of the impressive anatomic display concealed beneath.

Merciful heaven! Her eyes went wide at the sight of his manhood, which, to her fascination and delight, was inflating before her very eyes. She brazenly leaned closer to get a better vantage point. The appendage now jutted out from his body, appearing both soft and hard at the same time. Her blood heated as she wondered how the mechanics of lovemaking actually worked.

Without a thought for the consequences of such an action, she slipped her hand under the sheet and touched him. Fascination filled her as she feathered the tips of her fingers over his firm, silken skin. Her breath caught when his hand covered hers and shaped her fingers around his manhood.

“Stroke me,” he ordered in a low, husky tone.

Stroke him? Surely he did not mean in the manner one would pet a horse or a dog. “W-what?” Confusion and surprise swirled in her mind as he guided her hand up the length of his engorgement. She lifted her head to look up at him in wonderment.

Then, all at once, he pulled her hand away and shot from the bed. “How the bloody hell…?”

Her breath seized, panic clutching at her. She should say something, but what?

He looked around the room, swept up his shirt, and held it in front of him as if suddenly modest. Then, peering at her through stormy brown eyes, he asked, in an accusatory tone, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Me? This is my room.” How dare he treat her so crassly? She slid out of the bed, strolled toward him, pointing an accusing finger at his bare chest. “It is you, Lord Keery, who is the intruder here, not me.”

He glanced at the mussed bed, then raked his gaze over her barley concealed body, the thin fabric of her nightgown doing little to conceal her favors. “It seems you welcomed me with open legs, madam.”

The chill in his tone sliced through her. To think she was bemoaning the fact they had not made love mere minutes ago. Anger flared to life, burning her from the inside out. She jabbed her finger into the bone and muscle of his chest. “That is an invitation you shall never receive from me! You are a blackguard unfit for the company of ladies.”

“If that is true, it is a damn good thing there are no ladies present.” He pulled his shirt over his head.

“There seems to be a shortage of gentleman as well.” She bent to retrieve his breeches before flinging them at him.

The door swung open behind her, spinning her around. To her horror, her brother and his wife had entered her bedchamber, worse still, the Countess of Bailey, an older woman renowned for her gossiping, stood wide-eyed in the hallway. The blood drained from Jane’s face as she averted her gaze to the pane glass window, wishing she could fling herself out of it.

“Explain yourself,” her brother, Henry, demanded of Lord Keery. Claudia remained behind her husband, her hand on her chest and her mouth agape.

Jane’s heart pounded, head spun with all the excuses she could make, but no words came. Nothing she could say would make any difference. She stood in the middle of her room in nothing more than a chemise with a more than half naked man. Hells bells! She was ruined. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Claudia moved to the door and pushed it shut, closing off the Countess’s view as well as any other houseguests who may come upon them. “Do lower your voice, Henry. Is it your wish to see Jane ruined?”

“Keery has already seen to that, I daresay. Bloody hell, the countess stood witness to this…this atrocity.” His attention remained riveted on Lord Keery. “You took advantage of my sister. Have you nothing to say?”

Jane found her strength and rushed forward. “All is not as it appears. I swear it on my life.”

“Silence!” Henry bit the word out from between clenched teeth, his eyes burning with unsuppressed anger.

Jane pressed her lips together, but stood her ground. She could not allow Lord Keery to shoulder all of the blame for their predicament—not when she’d been a willing accomplice.

Henry removed his glove and slapped it across Lord Keery’s cheek. “I challenge you to a duel.”

Lord Keery stepped back to lean casually against the dressing table. “There is no need for that, Shillington, for I intend to do right by your sister.”

Jane’s stomach lurched as she took in his words. Doing right by her could only mean one thing. Lord Keery wanted to marry her. An hour ago she would have been thrilled, but now the prospect terrified her. She fought through the fog and pinned Keery with her gaze. “I would not marry this scoundrel were he the last man on earth.”

Her brother jumped in, his gaze as condemning as her own. “You forfeited any say in the matter, dear sister, the moment he entered your chamber.”

Keery shook out his wrinkled breeches. “I will procure a special license right away.” He pulled them on, tucked in his linen shirt, and secured them. “Just as soon as I find the remainder of my clothing.”

Jane fisted her hands, wanting to scream. How could he be so casual? His nonchalance further enraged her. He no more wanted to wed her than she wanted a rogue with the manners of a wild boar for a husband. Fuming and flustered, she went about the room collecting his garments before pushing them against his chest. “Do not bother. I refuse to marry you, regardless of what my brother demands.” Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were untrue. She could not refuse his offer when doing so would bring shame upon her entire family.

Henry took hold of her arm and gave a gentle shake. “That is quite enough, Jane. You will marry Keery. Not another word from you unless it is ‘I do’.”

Lord Keery, clothing in hand, moved toward the door. Before he took his leave, he turned back and flashed her a rakish grin. “It seems you do not have a choice in the matter, my future bride.”

Jane was perplexed and enraged by his contradictory behavior. Why offer her marriage to save her reputation one moment only to ruin her good name the next moment by leaving her room in so shocking a state of undress? “Surely you do not intend to go out there like that.”

His mouth hitched up into a devilish grin. “Whyever not, when you are already compromised?”

And, at that, he took his leave.