Nursing his third glass of brandy, William stared at the flames dancing in his library fireplace. The pleasantly mild spring weather made a fire rather redundant, but the light and warmth were soothing, and the crackling and hissing far better than silence.

Most of the time silence didn’t bother him at all. He liked it. Felt renewed by it. But sometimes it closed in on him, and even in this enormous townhouse surrounded by servants and activity, it could be smothering.

Tonight was one of those times. He shouldn’t feel such unease over a mission, especially when in this case deception was the right and best thing to do. One mission, two positive outcomes: Robert rescued, and Samantha no longer put at risk through their association. But the sight of her pale face, the concern he’d heard in her tone…the temptation to provide more detail had been strong. He’d had to remove himself from the situation so he didn’t make any more mistakes. Although it had taken a concerted effort not to turn around, hoist Samantha over his shoulder, and remove her permanently from the threat her father posed with his treasonous games.

“Ahem,” coughed Jensen, peering around the doorframe, a look of pursed-lipped disapproval on his face.

“Yes?”

“You have a visitor, my lord.”

William frowned. “I’m not expecting anyone. I take it I know whoever it is, otherwise you wouldn’t have admitted them…for God’s sake, Jensen, you look like you’ve been sucking on lemons. Is it someone wanting a loan?”

“No, my lord. And do hurry. Your caller is not dressed for visiting.”

Raising an eyebrow at the odd reply, William straightened his cravat and followed his butler from the room and down the hallway. Whoever it was would just have to accept him sans jacket and waistcoat, and with shirtsleeves rolled up. It was late. Although if they weren’t dressed for visiting, they could hardly complain about his attire.

Jensen scooted away to the kitchens, his shoulders rigid. In the vast marble foyer, William found a cloaked figure crouched in front a half-sized statue of Minerva. Too small to be a man, but not slight. Curved. Rounded backside.

His heart began to thump. Surely it couldn’t be…

William cleared his throat. “Minerva is one of my favorites too. Always thought it was a good thing, keeping the warrior goddess of wisdom and protection close by.”

The woman shuddered and pushed the hood off her head, allowing golden curls to tumble down her back. “Rather important in your line of work, I would think.”

He rocked on his heels. Suspecting it was Samantha didn’t lessen the impact of seeing her. And it was no wonder Jensen the fusspot had fled. His unexpected late night guest appeared to be wearing a cloak and slippers and not much else.

Christ.

“What are you doing here, Samantha?” he said carefully, as rampant curiosity and disbelief at the fact she was here in his home was well overtaken by far more rampant lust. She might admire Minerva, but had the figure of Venus.

Trembling, she linked her fingers together and looked back at the floor. He walked over and took her hands in his, chafing at them when he realized she was chilled to the bone.

“Samantha?”

“After you left, I sat in my room for hours. I didn’t have supper because I couldn’t eat a bite. Then I couldn’t sleep thinking about what you said. I want to...I need to know about your mission. I couldn’t bear it if something bad happened and I never knew.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Please, William,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with tears. “I’m sick with worry already.”

He sighed. Giving her any kind of detail went against everything he’d ever been taught by White. And yet, having someone who cared, and not in a maternal or brotherly way…

Perhaps you could give her a little information. Just a little, to ease her mind.

“Very well,” he replied slowly. “Southby’s younger brother, Colonel Lord Robert Langley, was injured in a skirmish with French soldiers. Our mission is to go to Paris, bundle him up, and bring him back to England. That’s all. No fighting or storming of castles, I swear.”

Samantha tensed, suspicion at his bland reply clear on her expressive face. “But why must you go? Surely the government has many men who could undertake such a mission.”

He gritted his teeth. “Because I can speak French with any regional nuance needed. I am trusted implicitly by the Home Office to carry out delicate negotiations, and can send and receive missives in code. And Robert is a friend of mine. It is in my power to help, so I will.”

“I know you would,” Samantha replied, her gaze fixed on him. “It just sounds like a plan where things could go horribly wrong at any time. Not because of you, but because of what is going on over in Paris. Men signing up for the army by the thousands, and the Bourbons fleeing.”

“That is true. I admit, there is a small element of danger. But to save a man from the pain of losing a brother…you remember how it was for Stephen when Gregory died.”

She flinched. “Yes. I was so far away, and couldn’t do anything. They wouldn’t let me return. I could only write letters.”

“Well, I was relatively close. So many times I have gone over that day in my mind, wishing I had accepted the invitation to Nexham’s. I might have been able to help Gregory. Or stopped Uncle Andrew from getting on that horse with the bloody doctored saddle. Instead, I had to help pick up the pieces of two shattered souls left behind. It might not seem like it to others because Southby is, well, you know how he is, but he cares about his brother very much. To lose Robert would…I will not permit that.”

Samantha stared at him, wide-eyed. Truth be told, he was off-balance himself. He’d never shared his thoughts on the terrible aftermath of those two murders with anyone except Stephen. It brought to the surface paralyzing memories of another time, the hideous, cruel day he’d been orphaned. And he couldn’t think about that and remain sane.

“I understand,” she said, swaying forward until her forehead came to rest on his chest. “But I still think you are too loyal and dutiful for your own good, William.”

He wrapped one arm around her waist, while his other hand cupped the back of her head. Samantha might call him dutiful, but that was about the last thing on his mind right now. A dutiful man would be marching this twenty-year-old virgin to an unmarked carriage while giving her a blistering lecture about propriety. Not inhaling the scent of her floral soap and holding her so close that her lush curves pressed against him.

“So you say,” he answered, reluctantly stepping back and taking her hands in his instead. “However, I think we’d better get you home before I forget I’m saintliness incarnate.”

“What if you did forget?” she whispered, her cheeks pink.

“Excuse me?”

“Would it really be so bad…if you sinned?”

William froze. Or at least most of his body did. His cock jerked, hardening and straining against his trousers at the thought of sin. Hot, naked, pleasurable hours of sin. “Yes.”

“I disagree.”

Hell. Her cloak had parted, and all she wore underneath was a chemise. Knee-length, but damned near-transparent, and in the well-lit foyer he could easily make out the outline of large pink nipples ready to be teased. Sucked hard until she moaned. And further down, the curve of her belly and the shadow of soft hair guarding the succulent folds of her quim. Even now, her clitoris could be swelling. Her thighs pressing restlessly together as her body grew wet to receive his cock so very, very deep inside her…

No. No! What the hell is wrong with you?

She was a virgin. A lady.

Near the center of a treason investigation.

“Samantha,” he said hoarsely. “You need to leave. Now.”

* * *

His mouth said one thing, but his body said something else entirely.

Samantha stood her ground, her keen gaze traveling from head to foot and back again. William’s blue eyes were glittering. His grip on her hands was firm, and his thumbs were rubbing over her knuckles so sporadically, he probably didn’t even know he was doing it. But most telling of all…the huge bulge pressing against the front flap of his trousers.

He wanted her. She wanted him. Tomorrow he would be sailing away, potentially into great danger. Why couldn’t they have tonight?

“I don’t think you want me to go, William,” she said softly. “I don’t think you want that at all. I think you want me to stay and keep you company, so you won’t be alone with thoughts dark enough to drive you mad.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he bit out. “What matters is propriety. Duty.”

Samantha shook her head. “I care about you. But if you aren’t attracted to me, if you haven’t thought about us kissing again, touching each other everywhere…tell me truthfully and I’ll leave at once.”

He shuddered, and the bulge between his legs grew even more prominent. “I haven’t…haven’t thought about it.”

“Liar,” she whispered, and loosening one hand from his grip, she delved into the gap below the collar button of his shirt and splayed her fingers across warm, hard flesh. His skin was smooth, but crisp hair lightly scratched her fingertips, and she wanted to tear the fabric away and explore him fully.

“Goddamn it, Samantha. Don’t do this to me.”

“Do what, my lord?”

“Make me want you so badly, when I can’t have you.”

Samantha leaned close to him, and pressed her lips to the bare flesh her fingers had found. “But you can have me. Tonight. Well, we can have each other, because I want to kiss and touch you so much. I’ve thought about it over and over since that taste at the Hartley’s.”

“No,” said William, rigid as a statue even as his heart pounded near her ear. “You’re a virgin. And I won’t make promises I don’t know if I can keep. My work…I won’t put you at risk. Not for the world.”

She stilled, her cheeks heating. This was it, the moment of confession for a foolish act from her past that she couldn’t change. It was a thoroughly humiliating subject to discuss, but if she didn’t, he would send her away for sure. “I’m not. A virgin, I mean. A few years ago…I was with a gentleman in Yorkshire, just once. He was the son of a viscount, so persuasive, so full of flattery…promised it would be marvelous and just the start of our future. Actually, it was swift, on a chaise, and, um, hurt a lot. Much ado about nothing, as they say. Two weeks later he married another lady, and I refused all invitations after that…until you kissed me at the Hartley’s.”

There was a long moment of silence, and her spirits plummeted. William didn’t want her. He thought her soiled goods. Now he would throw her out.

“That man was a complete fool,” said William, his tone so low and rough, she quivered. “If that had been me, I would have taken my time. Spread you across my bed and worshiped every inch of you until you were so wet, so ready, you begged me to fill you.”

Samantha blinked in confusion. “Wet? Do people usually bathe during the act? I don’t understand.”

He smiled, a slow, wicked grin that hardened her nipples and set a pulse throbbing between her legs. “I know some couples enjoy being intimate in a bathing chamber together. But I am speaking of something different. When a lady is prepared…properly prepared…her body creates a special wetness to ease a man’s way inside her. And it doesn’t hurt, it feels good. Very, very good.”

“Then why, my lord,” she murmured, lighting running her fingernails against his chest, “are we still here in the foyer when we could be upstairs?”

“You’re sure?” William stilled her venturing hand, serious now. “Because once I have you in my bed, I’ll want all of you. And once won’t nearly be enough.”

Heat jolted through her and she squirmed, the heavy cloak and chemise she wore far too much for her suddenly sensitive skin. “I insist.”

Seconds later he scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing at all, and walked toward the wide, sculpted staircase leading to the upper floors. Every step was both a delight and a torment, as he held her tightly against him, and her breasts rubbed back and forth against his chest. By the time they reached the marquess’s bedchamber she was desperate, her taut nipples aching to be touched, and the pulsing between her legs unbearable.

“Welcome to my quarters,” said William as he set her down in the center of the surprisingly warm room, the roaring fire adding heat as well as light. An oversized four-poster bed draped with bronze satin brocade curtains dominated the east wall. In another corner was a screened off area for bathing and dressing, and two comfortable-looking chairs sat facing each other along with a low table in front of the fireplace. The walls were plain cream, but the burnished wood paneling and bronze-striped rugs thick enough to sink into gave the room an elegant, opulent feel.

“It’s beautiful,” she replied, her breath hitching when he trailed the back of one knuckle along her jaw.

Oh God. This was really happening.

Her fingers trembled and she fumbled with the clasp of her cloak, eventually managing to shrug the garment off. “I’m not really sure what to do. Last time…I didn’t disrobe.”

William’s eyes flared, and he nodded. “Good. Because I’m going to enjoy unwrapping you.”

Then he leaned down, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. It may have started sweet and gentle, as though to reassure her, then the flame sparked to life, and all thoughts were forgotten in a mad, needy tangle of lips and tongues. They didn’t stop, even when a few expert flicks of his fingers unfastened the ribbon of her chemise and tugged it over her head. Helpfully, she sent her slippers flying with two inelegant kicks behind her.

“My stockings,” she said, starting to bend down and unfasten the little rose garters holding them up.

“Leave them,” he growled, his gaze both approving and appreciative. Then he cupped the lush fullness of her breasts in his hands and dragged his thumbs back and forth against her swollen, jutting nipples.

Samantha moaned at the exquisitely pleasurable sensation. But here she was, practically naked, and he was still fully dressed. This wouldn’t do.

Reaching up, she grappled with the collar button of his shirt. After a few frustratingly unsuccessful attempts, she gripped each side and tore the fabric in two. “There.”

“My lady is impatient,” said William with a grin, but soon it was him breathing unsteadily as she explored his hot, smooth skin and the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest.

“Indeed I am, my lord, “she replied in a husky, sultry voice she didn’t even know she possessed. “What are you going to do?”

“Take you to bed.”

Again he lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and carried her over to the bed. After pulling back the embroidered quilt and setting her down on crisp linen sheets, he began to unfasten his trousers. She swallowed hard at the size of his erection, but he didn’t fully remove the garment. Instead, he gently parted her thighs, and shifted position so he knelt between them. It was a strange sensation, being so open and vulnerable. And yet the absorption with which he was studying her breasts and belly and the secret place between her legs gave her a heady feeling of power, too.

“Well, William? Are you going to touch, or just look?”

“So impatient,” he murmured, although his lips twitched. Finally he leaned down and cupped her right breast, capturing her nipple between his teeth and scraping it.

She jerked, crying out. Yet he was merciless, tormenting her nipples with his mouth as he alternately bit and sucked them until they were so sensitive she could scarcely bear it. Her legs were shifting in agitation, wanting to press together to ease the ache between them, but she couldn’t. “Please.”

As though he understood, William trailed his hand along the soft skin of her leg, stroking behind her knee then continuing further up. She nearly stopped breathing when he reached the tangle of blonde curls guarding her mound, but instead of cupping and pressing, he skated up and around and back down again. Samantha groaned.

“Again, so impatient, darling. Anyone would think your clitoris was in desperate need of attention. Or is your aching quim the issue?”

Uncertain, she frowned at the unfamiliar words. “I…I don’t know.”

William’s gaze sharpened. “Ah. Allow me to demonstrate, so you may make an educated decision. This,” he said parting her nether curls and pressing a spot near the top that forced a gasp of delight from her throat, “is your clitoris.”

“There!”

“Wait,” he admonished, trailing the same finger down between her damp folds, back and forth until she tingled and his finger was slick with the wetness he’d spoken of earlier. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he pushed it inside her and stroked her inner walls. “Your quim.”

Panting hard, Samantha stared at him. How could anyone be expected to choose? Both felt so wonderful. “I…ah…”

“Hurry, now,” he said, tormenting her once more as he pressed that swollen nub then swirled his finger inside her. “Clitoris or quim?”

She whimpered, her hips bucking. “I…please…”

William’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Hmmm. I do believe my greedy lady wants both. Clitoris stroked and quim fingered, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then ask me nicely, and I’ll gladly oblige.”

He wanted her to say those wicked words out loud? Her mind protested, even as her body screamed for her to obey. The ache between her legs had gotten so much worse, almost pulsing in time with her heartbeat, and the copious wetness gathering there was perfuming the air with a spicy, earthy fragrance. “William…”

“Say it,” he said sternly, smoothing her nether curls with the back of his knuckles and yet maddeningly avoiding both special spots he’d just awakened.

Samantha quivered. “B-both. My clitoris and my q-quim.”

“Good. Very good, darling,” he replied, finally taking pity on her. His big hand cupped her entire mound, his thumb teasing her clitoris, and his middle finger again slid inside her.

With a low cry, she writhed against him, frantically circling and lifting her hips to increase the friction. Perspiration glistened on her skin as she strived toward a goal she couldn’t even name but wanted more than anything in the world. “William…I need…”

“I know,” he said, and simultaneously pressed hard with his thumb while plunging his finger deep.

Her world splintered, sending throbbing waves of intense sensation rushing through her, and she screamed.

Oh God.

What on earth had just happened?

* * *

He’d just given Samantha her first orgasm.

Fierce satisfaction surged through William, making him a trifle lightheaded. That other bastard in Yorkshire didn’t matter a whit. He was a technicality. He hadn’t seen Samantha’s beautiful body, didn’t know the sweetness of her nipples or the delicious scent of her arousal, and he sure as hell hadn’t seen her look of stunned wonder and excitement as he introduced her to passion or made her come.

William Hastings had.

And now he needed to be inside her as soon as possible. His cock had never been harder, and it was humbling to think how fast he would probably climax. Well, it had been a while, and Samantha was like an erotic painting brought to life the way she lay sprawled on his bed, her creamy skin flushed and glistening, her nipples darkened to raspberry from his mouth, and her thighs spread wide.

Gently extracting his finger from her soaked quim, he again slicked his fingers in her wetness, then lubricated his engorged cock.

Samantha bit her lip and sat up. “Can I touch it? Your, ah…”

This woman would be the death of him. “My cock?”

“Yes,” she said, her cheeks scarlet.

He nodded, one short jerk of his head, and quickly discarded his shoes, stockings, and trousers.

With an adorable frown of concentration, Samantha stroked his erection with a fingertip. Up and down, all the way from his swollen balls up to the head, damp with his own moisture and hers. But when she began to encircle him with her fingers and added the lightest of squeezes, he groaned and grabbed her hand.

“You are too fast a learner,” he said ruefully, and her look of disappointment eased into a smile. “If you keep touching me like that it will be all over before it has even started, and I want to be inside you. I hate to be indelicate, but have you used a sponge before?”

“No…why?”

“Soaked in brandy, they are a way to prevent pregnancy,” he said, moving away from the bed and over to a drawer. Sifting through several items, he finally found a small drawstring bag with a sponge inside, a purchase made so long ago it was embarrassing for it to still be unused. “Like this.”

“Oh! Do you know, years and years ago I was snooping in Mother’s things, and I found some. I thought I could use them for my dolls when they had bath time. Actually, I think that is when I may have been banished to Miss Chadwick’s…stop me, I’m babbling.”

William smiled as he fetched a decanter of brandy and glass, then returned to the bed. “No you aren’t.”

“I hope you know what to do with that. Because, um, I don’t.”

Leaning forward, her cupped her cheek and brushed his lips over hers. “Don’t be nervous. It will be fine.”

“All right,” she said, taking a deep breath and lying back down on the bed.

“This will only take a moment,” he continued, swiftly soaking the small sponge in brandy, then, parting her thighs wide, he carefully pushed it inside her up as far as it would go, leaving the string outside so it could be easily removed later on. “There. How does that feel?”

Samantha’s brow furrowed, then she smiled. “Good. I can hardly feel it.”

Thank Christ for that. He was well out of practice.

Resettling himself on the bed, William balanced on one forearm while he fisted his cock, pumping it once and rubbing it against Samantha’s slick flesh to recoat it in wetness. Even that action had him gritting his teeth against a surge of pleasure, although if her low whimpers were any indication, it felt equally good for her. Then he fitted the swollen head to her entrance, and slowly, so slowly, pushed inside.

Tight. Scalding hot.

Paradise.

A guttural sound escaped and his hips jerked, forcing his cock in to the hilt. Samantha groaned, and her fingernails briefly dug into his arms. William immediately paused, sweat gathering at his temples as he waited for her to adjust to his size, and soon he was able to start a delicious game of advance and retreat.

“Yes,” he gasped, grinding himself against her clitoris. “That’s it, sweet. Come for me again. Come when I’m buried deep in your quim.”

“Please,” Samantha moaned, her thighs locked around his waist and her taut nipples scraping his chest. “William, please…more…”

Faster and harder he plunged, reveling in her wild orgasmic cries as her inner walls gripped and released his cock, until finally he reached that brutal, blessed point of no return and came with a hoarse shout, his seed gushing inside her in several exquisitely wrenching spasms.

Barely able to catch his breath, William collapsed on top of Samantha. He made to move away so he didn’t crush her with his bulk, but her legs remained around his waist and her arms pressed into his back, as though holding him in place. His neck prickled, and he sighed as she threaded her fingers through his hair and gently massaged his head.

It felt good. Too good. Like returning home after a long absence.

Like something he might want to do for the rest of his life.

Imagine. Samantha Standish telling you her plans for the day across the breakfast table each morning. On your arm at the theater, or whispering amusing asides in your ear at dull soirees. Naked and eager in your bed each night. Her belly growing big with child. Dark-haired sons and daughters with golden curls running amok in the nursery, bringing Hastings House to life with laughter and banishing the dark and lonely times forever…

No.

Shaking his head, William forced himself to withdraw from the haven of her warmth and comfort. He’d already made too many mistakes tonight. White would string him up if he knew, and “I wanted her so badly” would never be an acceptable excuse for the destruction of a mission that could be the difference between life and death for so many Englishmen. Not to mention the uproar if Aunt Jane and Stephen found out.

Silently, he settled himself beside her in the bed, pulling the quilt up over them both.

Samantha blinked sleepy, sated eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he lied, unable to stop himself smoothing a disheveled blonde curl behind her ear. “Rest now.”

“Mmmm,” she said, tucking herself against him.

Soon she was fast asleep, and he stared at the ceiling. This absolutely would not happen again.

Hours later, he sat perched on the side of the bed, bathed and dressed, drinking in the sight of her as she slept. Her hair was a tangled mess, her skin patched with pink where the overnight growth of his beard had rasped it, yet he had never seen anyone look more lovely. His self-imposed ban had lasted approximately an hour; when she’d moved against him, all warm and wet and willing, he’d had her a second time. Next he’d woken to her caressing hands, and he’d lifted her on top of him, sucking her nipples and stroking her clitoris while she rode his cock to ecstasy. Then the last time. It was difficult to believe that had been him as he’d put her on her hands and knees and taken her roughly from behind. Christ. The primitive, crude things he’d said as he thrust impossibly deep and bit her neck like some sort of animal. But he’d been desperate, knowing their time together would soon be ending, and Samantha had urged him on. She’d screamed his name as her soaked, greedy quim pulsed around him in a violent orgasm, and he’d come harder than he thought possible.

Yet far worse than what he’d done…now he didn’t want to leave. Duty weighed heavier on his shoulders than a cart full of rocks.

Giving himself a mental slap, William slung his large leather satchel over his shoulder, leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead. She murmured unintelligible words, her nose twitching in a way that made him smile, but then sat bolt upright, one hand clutching the sheet to her breasts while the other reached for him.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Stay here with me, where it’s safe. They can find someone else for the mission.”

Shaking his head took every bit of willpower he had. “I have to. But I’ll be back before you know it. Now…no other men in my absence, all right?”

Samantha stared at him, and heat streaked along his cheekbones. Indeed, he had said the ridiculous words out loud. “Are you…are you asking me to wait for you, William?”

A bland, noncommittal answer formed. Instead, the word “yes” broke from his lips. As if she understood the raw uncertainty churning through his mind, she went up onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his waist. Eyes closed, he allowed himself one long, luxurious moment of returning the embrace and breathing in her unique scent before pulling away. “I really have to go now. Be safe, Samantha.”

“Goodbye. I...” she whispered, her voice catching, but he forced himself to leave the bedchamber without looking back.

At the end of the hallway, his housekeeper Mrs. Kingsley attended to a neat stack of freshly laundered linen. “Morning, my lord,” she said briskly, bobbing a curtsy. “I’ve sharpened your dagger and Jensen has cleaned your pistols. Has your satchel been oiled to waterproof it? Hmmm, perhaps I should have done it myself.”

William resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why his mother had adored this blunt, overbearing woman with a chronic inability to mind her own business he’d never understand. But damned if he could let her go—it seemed the person who had changed your small cloths would always hold a certain amount of leverage over you.

“Everything is fine, Mrs. Kingsley. As usual, you’ve done an exemplary job with the preparations.”

“Well, one would hope after thirty years in this household I had learned a few things. Now, do you have any instructions regarding...?”

“Regarding?” he said innocently, pretending not to understand her deliberate head tilt towards his bedchamber.

“Your overnight guest!” she snapped.

“The lady will require a bath, fresh clothing, and breakfast,” he replied in a warning tone which made her blink.

“I see,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “Well. Of course it’s none of my business—”

“You’re correct. It is not. But you, and everyone else here, will treat her as if…as if she were the lady of the house. Am I making myself clear?”

His housekeeper gasped, her eyes softening. “Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Rest assured we’ll mind her properly.”

“All right then. I shall rely on you to keep the home fires burning until I return.”

“Godspeed, sir.”

Inclining his head, William hurried downstairs and out the front door, throwing his satchel into an unmarked carriage waiting at the steps.

For better or worse, the mission to rescue Robert was underway.