“Come on, darling, you need to eat something. Just a little bite of creamed potatoes?”

Lips twitching at her aunt’s coaxing tone, Samantha picked up her fork and scooped up a mouthful of food. Truth be told, she did feel like a toddler in the nursery on a rainy day, trapped, irritable, and ready to have a sobbing tantrum at a moment’s notice.

Two days had passed since William’s rejection of her and the baby. He hadn’t sent for her or even penned a note, and his deafening silence made life utterly grim. With her mother gone to a house party, and Papa called away to some serious business meeting, she had fallen on the invitation to dinner and an overnight stay from Aunt Jane like it was a lifeline for a drowning person. Which it might well be.

With time and distance, some of the things she’d said to William made her cringe. Looking at the situation through his eyes, it would have been easy to come to the conclusions he had, even if they were completely incorrect. He cared. He must care to have been so angry at the supposed betrayal, but instead of digging her toes in and making him understand, she had lost her temper. As if she would ever marry anyone else with him alive and well.

“I guess I’m not very hungry, Aunt Jane,” she replied, putting the fork back down when the rich scent of butter and cheese and cream threatened to turn her stomach inside out for about the five hundredth time.

“Eat something, Sam,” said Stephen, from the head of the long, heavy oak table. “Otherwise Mama will start feeding you like she did when you were a baby. She might even have your spoon still tucked away somewhere. Now, how did the horse tune go, Mama?”

“Mock all you like, my angel,” Aunt Jane said, grinning. “But you insisted on the pony song at every meal for the best part of a year when you were small.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have no recollection of that.”

Caroline sat forward in her chair. “I insist on hearing the pony song. I have a feeling it may come in very handy with Olivia and Serena in the future.”

“No doubt,” said Aunt Jane. “As it’s firmly etched in my mind, allow me. My boys and Samantha kept fed because clip clop, clip clop, the happy little pony goes innnnnnnntooooo the stable.”

Samantha laughed. “I must remember that. Just in case mine is a fussy eater.”

An awkward silence settled over the table and she immediately regretted her foolish words. Naturally Aunt Jane, Caroline, and Stephen wanted to be reminded of an impending scandal more than anything in the world. What better topic for a family meal.

She stared at them. Despite their teasing, despite their smiles and good cheer, the strain of her situation was evident in their eyes, and a wave of guilt hit. How awful for them to be stuck in the middle of her and William’s fight, loving both parties as they did.

Stephen cleared his throat. “I have to call him out, Sam.”

“No!” she shouted, horrified.

“William’s behavior is nothing short of appalling. That is undisputed.”

Caroline glared at her husband. “You were shot. Lord Standish has two bullet wounds right now. Your brother died. That isn’t more than enough pistols for one lifetime?”

Stephen threw his fork down onto the table. “Damn it, what would you have me do? Sam won’t be able to hide her belly forever. God, to think I used to hold William up as the most honorable, least rakish man I knew. Never thought he would be the one to ruin a lady and leave her stranded. Especially not a member of our family, after everything we’ve done for him.”

“That is quite enough,” snapped Aunt Jane. “You don’t know, there might be a perfectly good explanation.”

“Oh please, Mama. Do not defend the indefensible. What he’s done makes him a bastard of the highest order, and you know it.”

“Stephen!”

“Stop it, all of you!” Samantha said near-hysterically, unable to bear the friction between three people who were so close. Especially when it was because of her. “I greatly appreciate your care and concern, but this is my situation to deal with. And I still have time to...to make plans should William’s decision be permanent.”

“By God, it won’t be!” Stephen exploded. “He’ll do right by you if I have to drag him to the chapel myself!”

“No! There will be no dragging. Or dueling. I don’t want to be married to someone who doesn’t at least care for me a little bit,” Samantha said, although even saying the words felt like a rusty dagger to the heart. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am feeling quite tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Of course, poppet,” said Caroline anxiously, obviously equally eager to make peace. “How about a nice warm bath? It’s no trouble.”

“Actually, I’d love that.”

“I’ll have one sent up at once.”

A short time later, Samantha sat ensconced in a copper tub so large she could nearly swim in the blissfully steaming water. Tilting her head back on the side, she let her limbs float as the bath worked its magic. It was uncanny, but things never seemed quite so bad during a long soak.

Eventually, reluctantly, she took a bar of rose-infused soap, and leaned forward to lather her legs, then her arms and shoulders.

Oh. Had her skin always been this sensitive?

Glancing down at her taut nipples, she blushed guiltily but allowed the hard pink square to drift downward across her collarbone and the tops of her breasts. Soon that wasn’t nearly enough and she dragged the soap lower until it rubbed back and forth and around the rock-hard peaks.

“Ooooh,” she moaned, as sensation shot straight to her quim, making it throb and ache. Did she dare go further?

Most definitely. It wasn’t like she had an audience.

Once she’d rinsed her hands, she trailed them leisurely over her stomach and inner thighs. Then she threaded her fingers through the tight curls between her legs and began to stroke the delicate flesh. It felt so good her head fell back and hips circled involuntarily, causing bathwater to splash over the side of the tub. But she couldn’t stop now. Grinding the heel of her hand against her mound, she rubbed her clitoris until release rolled over her in a gentle wave. Nothing like what she’d experienced with William, but delicious all the same.

Well. Perhaps there were benefits to pregnancy after all.

Boneless, she climbed out of the copper tub. After drying herself with a thick, soft towel, she put on a night rail and made her way over to the guest chamber bed. She might have five hundred problems, but after a bath and hopefully a good night’s sleep, they might not seem quite so horribly daunting.

Suddenly a large hand clamped around her waist, another across her mouth and a rough voice whispered harshly, “Don’t scream.”

Terror seized her in a vice-like grip, and she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to move or speak again. One thing was for certain, the intruder was serious, and her reticule with its trusty dagger sat on the other side of the room. Not that it would have done much good—the greatcoat he wore was so thick she could scarcely even make out the lines of his body.

“P-please don’t hurt me,” she choked out, her words muffled by his hand. “I’m p-pregnant.”

“I know,” he replied, the hand around her waist dropping lower to cup her belly. Fear became confusion at the gentle, affectionate caress. Then the scent of sandalwood drifted toward her and fury nearly had her swooning again. How on earth had he gotten into her room?

And how did one heave a fully grown marquess out the window?

* * *

Before he could blink, Samantha yanked out of his grasp, turned, and cracked her palm across his cheekbone for the second time in a few days.

“That is a very bad habit you are developing,” William muttered, flexing his jaw.

“It is the very least you deserve!” she hissed, stalking away from him to sit at her dressing table. “You frightened me half to death! What on earth are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“To your first question, I’m here because we need to talk. To your second, because Stephen and I both know half a dozen ways to get into Forsyth House that don’t require the front door. And no, I’m not telling you them. Not at the moment, anyway.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” she asked sarcastically, beginning to pull hairpins from her head.

William perched on the bed, watching the heavy mass of curls begin to fall like a golden tower being demolished. He’d never watched a woman unpin her hair before, and it felt incredibly intimate. Arousing.

Sighing, he silently thanked providence for having the foresight to wear the heavy greatcoat. It was stifling hot, but at least she couldn’t see the exact state of his huge erection. A man could only take so much, especially after seeing her in the bath, stroking her nipples and quim until she came.

“Thirty-five,” he said roughly, forcing himself back to reality. “You have just removed the thirty-fifth pin. It is quite remarkable you could have so many in your hair, and still the coiffure unravels.”

“My hair is remarkable, full stop,” Samantha said with a disgruntled frown, picking up her hairbrush to attend to the tangles. “There could be twice as many pins and still it would find its way back down. And don’t change the subject.”

“Such complaints, my lady. Why don’t you go bald and wear a wig like Queen Elizabeth did? Would definitely save time.”

In the blink of an eye, the hairbrush flew out of her hand and thudded into the bedpost just inches from his head.

“Oh!” Samantha cried. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw that.”

“Yes you did,” he replied slowly, picking up the would-be weapon and examining its solid silver handle, now dented beyond recognition. “And at the same time gave no thought to my reputation. It would be a sad state of affairs to survive a French assassin, only to succumb to a hairbrush. Who wants that inscribed on their tombstone?”

“You...you don’t sound terribly cross.”

He shrugged. “Why would I be? I probably deserved it.” Then deliberately, “It’s not like you threw a knife. Now that would be a different matter altogether.”

Samantha stilled, a range of emotions chasing each other across her expressive face. Would she tell him of her unique ability as easily as she had demonstrated it in front of David Underwood? Or would she lie and dissemble?

Hopefully she’d choose the truth. Because whether she liked it or not, he would be revealing some truths of his own tonight.

Visibly taking a deep breath, Samantha lifted her chin. “Well, you have something else to deal with, then. Because I can throw a knife. I have my own, which I carry in my reticule everywhere I go. As a matter of fact, while you were in France I stopped a fleeing thief in Hyde Park by embedding a dagger in his backside.”

Relief swamped him and he stifled a grin. “Really? I’m surprised such an interesting event didn’t make all the scandal sheets.”

“I was with Uncle David and told everyone he threw the knife.”

“Ah.”

“William,” she said tentatively, walking over to sit next to him on the bed, close enough so the scent of roses teased his senses. “I know what he saw in the garden sounds bad, but I want...no, I need to make you understand. About me and Alexander.”

He concentrated on her words, trying desperately not to be jealous of the affectionate way she talked about his friend, and failed utterly. “When did you become so close he gave you leave to call him by his given name?”

“After a particularly memorable morning when I hurled brandy in his face and punched him several times,” Samantha said stiltedly, her cheeks crimson as she stared at a spot behind his left shoulder rather than meet his gaze.

William choked on a cough. That sounded like a story he would have to coax out of her at a later date. Something like that would never pass Alexander’s lips, even under torture.

“Do you love him?”

“I love Alexander’s honor and strength because those qualities remind me of you. But as a man? No. His smile never made me dizzy. When he took my arm my skin didn’t tingle. And I never, ever felt the urge to rip his shirt off.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” he said, as light and warmth unfurled through his body. “Calling him out was not something I wanted to do.”

Samantha sagged against the bedpost. Then she leaned forward and rested her head against his uninjured shoulder, letting her hair spill freely onto his chest. Right where she should be.

“I wouldn’t kiss another man. Ever,” she mumbled.

“Good. It would be extremely tiresome travelling around the countryside requesting dawn appointments, and his majesty really doesn’t approve of dueling.”

“Don’t joke. I would do the same.”

“Excuse me?” he said, confused.

“If you kissed another woman I would request a dawn appointment with her. Not with pistols, though, because I don’t know how to shoot.”

“Hmmm. I could teach you, although I don’t think you’ll have too many problems with other ladies. You staked a definite claim—my feet still carry the heel imprint from the night we re-met at Almack’s.”

She didn’t smile. “If I promise to refuse all future dance invitations, will you promise to be careful if you keep your government post? When they said you were shot and might die, I wanted to die too. And forget what I said in your bedchamber, I don’t want to marry anyone else.”

William curled his good arm tighter around her hip. Despite everything, all the risks and excellent reasons why not, he had come here tonight because he’d made a decision.

“Stop it,” he said sternly, glad she couldn’t see his annoyingly wayward grin. “That sounded like the start of a proposal, and it’s the man who does the asking, not the lady.”

“Well, if you are going to do it, hurry up!” she scolded, twisting her head to look up at him. “This baby is already going to be far too early.”

“Good point. We also have the relatives to consider. I imagine Stephen threatened all sorts of dire and ghastly punishments if I failed to marry you and atone for my disgraceful and ungentlemanly behavior.”

Samantha flushed again and bit her lip. “Er...”

“I’ll forgive his hypocrisy, poor thing. Because he has never been caught behaving badly with a lady. Not ever. Indeed, it is me who is the black sheep. The most rakish rake who ever raked.”

“Do not wiggle your eyebrows at me, Lord Standish! It’s nothing to be proud of!”

“Oh, very well. Anyway, for the sake of your health, and mine, you’ll need to marry me sometime in the near future. We’ll worry about all the problems later.”

“Problems? What problems?”

Your father wants to kill me.

“Don’t think about them. Just answer the very important question I asked you.”

“Oh? There was a question?” she replied pertly. “I must have missed it amongst the mocking and crowing and insistence I marry you because of my precarious health. Worst proposal in the history of the world.”

“You won’t take pity on a poor, frail, terribly injured man and let that go?” William said weakly, adding a couple of pathetic coughs for good measure.

“No,” she growled, every inch a warrior cherub.

“All right, all right, I surrender. Lady Samantha Buchanan, I am most partial to your rosy cheeks, wild hair, and both your left feet. Not to mention the way you hurl a hairbrush. I’ve never met anyone I like half so well, and I’d very much enjoy spending the rest of my life with you. If, of course, you’ll have me.”

“Hmmm. It is a very big decision.”

“Yes, but the baby would also very much like you to marry me. So I count two voting for...”

“Goodness me, a clear majority.”

“Indeed.”

“Well,” she said sniffing suspiciously, her words getting wobblier by the second, “I do believe this could w-work out quite nicely. So, Lord Standish, your b-betrothal offer is accepted.”

“Most obliged,” he replied, giving into laughter at last, then he leaned down and she tilted her head up, and finally their lips were sealing a long, hot promise for the future.

* * *

Equal parts relief and joy buffeting her body, Samantha cuddled closer to William. Nothing could take away her happiness right now. Soon she would have a home of her own, a place where she belonged. Someone to belong too. A husband and a baby to love.

Unable to be still in her excitement, she adjusted her position so she knelt astride his hard thighs. But her fiancé tensed. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he muttered, but his strained voice made the word a laughable lie.

“William.”

“I’ll be fine when you stop moving,” he said reluctantly.

Hmmm. Now that he mentioned it, his greatcoat had parted, and she sat nestled right on top of a very large bulge.

Smiling wickedly, she allowed her hips one slow circle while her breasts rubbed against William’s chest. His hips jerked, forcing his thick erection against her mound, and they both sucked in a harsh breath.

“Samantha.”

“Yes?” she said, innocent as a newborn kitten while she plotted the exact moment to rub against him again.

“Do. Not. Wriggle.”

“Really? What might happen if I did?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” she said incredulously, “You can’t say you don’t want me. That lie is about to split your trousers.”

“Of course I want you. So damned much it hurts. But nothing can happen.”

“Why? Because we’re at Forsyth House and my relatives are finishing their dinner a floor below?”

“There is that,” he muttered. “But it’s more because you are with child. I made some, ah, enquiries, and it is at best discourteous and at worst barbaric to make demands when your lady is expecting. So I’m trying to do the decent thing and refrain.”

Samantha scowled in displeasure. Whoever had felt compelled to pass on such ridiculous and old-fashioned advice could go straight to perdition.

“What if your lady makes demands of you?” she asked softly, reaching down and stroking his cock so there would be no misunderstanding what she meant.

William exhaled unevenly. And in the work of a moment, her night rail was in pieces, and she lay naked on her back.

“Well, my lord. What next?”

He stared at her hungrily. “You place a pillow under your head, and another under your hips.”

Samantha gave him a quizzical look, but obeyed. It was rather a decadent pose, arching up both her breasts, and quim…oh. “You have sinful plans, you rakish rake.”

“Me? I’m unsure what you mean, madam. When faced with generous hills, and a succulent golden valley to conquer, an explorer can only rise to the challenge.”

She laughed, but the laugh became a whimper as his mouth fastened on her nipple and sucked hard. With the extra sensitivity, it felt incredible. While he sucked, two fingers plucked her other nipple, and then he changed over. Again and again he went back and forth, lapping and scraping and pinching the taut peaks until she was panting for breath.

Then he moved, and settled himself between her thighs, nudging her until she draped them over his shoulders.

“William?”

“If we’d had more time that night at Hastings House, I would have spent hours acquainting myself with your quim. I’ve seen it and felt it, and the scent of you makes me so damned hard. Now I’m going to taste you while you watch.”

Samantha shivered. The tight curls between her legs glistened with her own wetness, and her clitoris throbbed unbearably. Was he actually going to…

Oh God. He was.

Acute pleasure buffeted her entire body as his tongue dragged against her secret flesh. Up and down and around he licked her, only stopping to torment her with delicate flicks of her clitoris and deep plunges into her quim. It was almost too much, and yet instead of halting him, her hands slid down and cupped his head, threading fingers through his silky hair and pressing him closer.

“More,” she pleaded.

“Greedy darling, wanting to come so soon. A feast must be savored.”

“I c-can’t wait.”

William shook his head, the action making her moan as the slight roughness of his jaw stimulated her to further heights. “You have to.”

“No. Please. Please,” she sobbed, desperate for the release that danced just out of reach. “I need you.”

Finally William took pity on her, and just as he’d pleasured her nipples earlier, he fastened his mouth over her clitoris and sucked hard.

Her climax exploded, a rough, powerful wave of sensation that began at her core and spread out, leaving her screaming helplessly into her pillow. Yet he didn’t stop, but kept sucking and lapping her with his talented, dexterous tongue until she came a second time.

At last he gently shifted her legs from his shoulders and moved away. Instead of boneless lethargy, raw energy fueled her, and she scrambled up onto her knees and pushed him onto his back.

“Why, Lady Samantha. What are you doing?”

“Nothing at all, my lord,” she replied, attacking the front flap of his trousers.

Soon, hot, hard flesh spilled into her hands, and when she caressed the engorged head of his cock, he groaned.

“It’s all right…you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” said Samantha, fascinated by the pearly moisture gathering at the tip.

Leaning down, she darted out her tongue and tasted him as he’d tasted her. The moisture was salty-sweet, and as she licked, more began to appear.

“Christ,” said William hoarsely, his hands gripping the quilt as his hips bucked. “You are a very fast learner.”

She smiled inwardly. Good. He deserved to suffer a little. It wasn’t like he’d shown her mercy as soon as she begged for it.

“Oh no,” said Samantha, idly cupping his cock with both hands. “I have so much to learn. Perhaps you might give me some instructions?”

“What. You are doing. Is fine,” he ground out.

“And if I do this?” she asked, closing her lips around the head and sucking.

William gasped. “I’m going to come. Hell, I’m going to…” and he pulled away, just as his whole body shuddered and his seed spurted forcefully onto her breasts.

Half-dazed, he stared at her. She beamed. “Well, that was fun.”

“I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to move again.”

Samantha laughed. “Oh dear, you poor old thing. Shall I fetch your pipe and slippers?”

“Minx,” he said, carefully cleaning her breasts with a sheet corner. Then he inched himself around so his head rested on the pillows, and tugged her into his arms.

“Mmmm.” She cuddled against him. “You have a lot of nights to make up for.”

“Planning on being a demanding wife?”

“Very much so. But only if you swear to never, ever take marital advice from other people again. If you are going to talk to someone, talk to me.”

Abruptly, William tensed. “Not all things will be easy to hear. In fact, some will be very difficult indeed.”

Samantha glanced up, unease banishing her languor. “What do you mean?”

“There is something. Something I should have said a long time ago. I just hope you won’t hate me.”

Unease became cold dread. William looked so grave, a shiver passed through her. Surely nothing could be so bad? “How could I possibly hate you? Unless…unless you were intimate with another woman in France? Is that it?” she whispered, pain slashing through her.

“No! Never. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

He cursed. “I don’t even know how to say the words.”

“Please, just say them,” she begged. “I can’t bear this.”

“Very well. Your…your father is being investigated for treason.”

Shock hit her like a bucketful of icy water, and she jerked away from him as a hundred screaming denials raced to her lips. How could he say something so evil? Treason was practically the worst offence a person could commit! “You’re lying! My father would never do such a thing. Just because he drinks too much and has business meetings doesn’t make him a traitor!”

“He would, and he has. Claremont has been in league with the French a very, very long time.”

“No,” she denied vehemently, “You can’t say…where is the proof?”

“You’ve witnessed a few odd things yourself,” he said calmly. “The altercation in the garden where your father hit that man. The very talkative guest at your mother’s arts dinner.”

“Mr. Ashcroft?”

“There is no Mr. Ashcroft, or a grandson. Whoever sat next to you made all that up, so you would trust him and think badly of me. After you told me about it, I went straight to the Home Office.”

“And informed them my father is a traitor?” she said, bitterness coating her words.

“No. They were already aware. I mean, this investigation has been underway for some time, I don’t even know how long. My superiors were worried, and I was too, that your father and his associates had started and would continue to use you to get to me. Your life might have been in danger. That is why they sent me to France. I wasn’t truly needed there, but as long as I stayed away, they wouldn’t concentrate on you.”

Chills swept through her body and she pulled the quilt up over herself. It couldn’t possibly be true. Surely she would know if her father was a criminal. And yet, if she were honest with herself, how much time had she actually spent with him? Her childhood had been extended visits to Westleigh Park and over a decade at Miss Chadwick’s. Even since she had returned to town, he continued to attend his frequent meetings or lock himself away in his library. They had only really started talking a few months ago. For an hour at a time.

Where he had always made a point of enquiring about William. Asking where he’d been and who he’d been with. What he’d been doing. What his plans were.

And she’d always told him. Chirping away like an excited little bird.

“William,” she said, as a hideous thought lodged itself in her mind, “Your getting shot in France, was that…was that an accident?”

He looked away, and an agonized whimper escaped her throat.

Oh God.

“It’s my fault you were nearly killed,” she cried, burrowing against his warm, hard body for comfort. “I’m so sorry. A few days after you left I couldn’t bear it. My father asked me what was wrong and I told him about the French mission. I’m sorry. I love you.”

He pulled her tighter against him. “I would do it again. Take more bullets. I just want to keep you safe.”

Hours later, Samantha remained wide awake. Tomorrow she had to go home and face the biggest liar, the most shocking fraud she knew.

How on earth could she do it?