The day went by so quickly that Lavinia hardly knew where it went. She was particularly grateful to Sarah for bringing her food at the sand pit, for she’d been so wrapped up in talking to people about the geology of the place, she hadn’t taken time to eat.

When things had finally begun to calm down, she’d been attended upon by three different gentlemen, most notably Sir Martin, who’d found her geology discussions enlightening. It was a shame her mother wasn’t here. The countess would be delighted with the attention Lavinia was receiving.

Lavinia, on the other hand, found herself looking for just one man—the one who was falsely courting her and probably wouldn’t need to do so any longer. She saw him dodge into a stand of trees away from the picnic area.

Glancing toward where the picnic was being cleaned up, she stole toward the trees. A light breeze stirred her skirts as she stepped behind the shoulder-high hedgerow that stood between the grassy expanse and the copse.

“Beck?”

He stepped from behind a tree. “Are you following me?” The question was light, but there was a crease in his brow—she could see because she’d donned her spectacles, something she’d done throughout the day as needed. Indeed, she’d worn them in front of Sir Martin, and he’d said they made her look brilliant.

“I saw you come into the trees, and here I am, so I suppose I am following you. I wanted to thank you for arranging today.”

He leaned against the tree he’d stepped around. “You’re wearing your glasses.”

She adjusted them on her face unnecessarily. “Yes.”

“I like it when you wear them.” He glanced toward the picnic area, which was shielded by the hedgerow. “I didn’t do anything to arrange today—that was entirely Felix’s management.”

“But Felix wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t asked.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “True. It seemed a grand success for you. I’m so pleased.”

The warmth in his tone showed her how much he meant it. “Yes, everyone was quite interested in geology. I can hardly wait to tell my mother.”

Beck laughed. “Will she believe you?”

Lavinia shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Aside from that, I meant success in your marital quest. You seem to have several suitors who may be serious—or have I read that wrong?”

She reached for the tree next to her and ran her gloved hand over the bark. “No, you are correct. Sir Martin in particular seems as though he’ll come up to snuff. He plans to call on me.”

Beck pushed away from the tree and took a step toward her, decreasing the distance between them. “Will that make you happy?”

Happy. She wasn’t sure if that was the right word. “It won’t make me unhappy. I like Sir Martin. He’s certainly not dull to talk to, provided I can keep him focused on science instead of horses.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to keep him from speaking of horses for an entire marriage?” Beck asked.

“Of course not, but I can put up with that.”

“That’s not a particularly favorable perspective of your marital future with him.”

No, it wasn’t, but neither was it terrible. So she didn’t love Sir Martin, but she was learning that love was perhaps a luxury she couldn’t afford. Better to wed someone she liked well enough than allow her parents to manipulate her into a union with someone she detested. “I’m running out of time, as you know, and Sir Martin is my best option at present.”

Beck moved closer. “I was hoping you’d find love,” he said softly. “Have you ever been in love?”

She shook her head, captivated by his sultry gaze and the seductive timbre of his voice.

“I was—as you know. Her name was Priscilla. She was three years older than me, and so intelligent and so beautiful, it stole my breath. I thought of her night and day. I could scarcely eat or sleep for want of her company. I began to write love poetry—horrendous verses of maudlin tripe.”

Lavinia’s chest squeezed, and she knew exactly what he meant when he talked about losing his breath. Jealousy, bitter and thick, clogged her throat. She somehow found her voice. “I’ve never felt that way.”

“Good. When it’s not reciprocated, it’s the worst feeling in the world.”

“She didn’t love you?”

He shook his head. “I was too young, too desperate, too bad at poetry, probably.”

She laughed and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth until she reined in her amusement. “Sorry.”

He smiled. “Don’t be. I love the sound of your laugh.”

Every drop of laughter evaporated. When he spoke to her like that and looked at her as he was now—as if she were Priscilla—she only wanted him to touch her, to kiss her again. “Did you ever kiss Priscilla?”

“Why would you ask me that?” the question was a near whisper.

“If you had, I’m sure she wouldn’t have spurned you.”

He took another step toward her, bringing them so close, they almost touched. “How do you know?”

She couldn’t keep from staring at his mouth. “From experience, of course.”

“Lavinia, you are tempting me to do it again.” He sounded hopeful.

“‘Temptation is the marriage ’tween stark curiosity and need.’” It was a line from the first poem he’d written about her.

His gaze lit with admiration. “You’re quoting myself to me.”

“It’s a beautiful line.”

He reached for the ribbon of her bonnet and teased it between his thumb and forefinger. “I wrote it about you.”

“You barely knew me then,” she breathed.

“And how well do I know you now?”

“Not well enough.” She grabbed his coat by the lapels and pulled him against her. Standing on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his.

His arms came around her and held her tight to his chest as his mouth plundered hers. She’d thought of his kiss for days, and now that his lips were on hers once more, she realized she hadn’t remembered it quite right. This was so much better.

His body was warm and hard, and he smelled of pine and grass. Or maybe that was just that they were outside. No, it was him. He smelled of outside, and damn if that didn’t make him the most attractive man in the history of men.

Well, in her history of men.

Good Lord, could her mind possibly travel down a rabbit hole while Beck was kissing her? Apparently it could, but it didn’t matter. She was drowning in wonder and delight, and she didn’t ever want to come up for air.

She clutched at his shoulders and neck and pressed herself into him. She’d relived that kiss in the library, plotting what she would do if she were afforded a second opportunity with him. And here it was.

Tilting her head, she was vaguely aware that she knocked his hat from his head with the brim of her own. She slid her tongue along his, reveling in the sensation of their coming together. Her breasts tightened and her core heated, and she became aware of other ways in which they could join.

Did she want that?

Oh, for the love of God, Lavinia, stop thinking!

She pushed her thoughts away and concentrated on just feeling. His hands clasping her back, his lips and tongue mating with hers, his body urgently pressing into hers. She wanted more.

Tentatively, she pushed her hips to his. His hand came down and gripped her waist, pulling her into him. He moved against her, and she gasped into his mouth as friction sparked between her legs.

He pivoted her body and guided her back two small steps until she felt a tree against her back. His mouth left hers, but only to nip and lick at her jaw and ear. She tipped her head back until it met the bark, closing her eyes as he worked magic over her flesh.

“Your collar is too damned high,” he muttered, pushing it down and away so he could access her neck.

She had to agree. And yet he was managing quite well, it seemed. His hand moved up her side, gliding over her until he cupped her breast. The touch was woefully inadequate given his gloves and her clothing, but her body reacted as if it were more than enough.

Her nipple tightened as he caressed her through the gown, all while he kissed her neck. She pulled him harder against her, wanting to feel as much of him as she could. His hand left her breast, and she might have whimpered softly. Yes, she definitely whimpered. And she didn’t care.

He reached down and lifted her skirt. Cool air rushed over her stocking-clad leg as his hand brushed along her thigh. His fingertips grazed the apex, lightly touching her flesh. Then he stilled.

“Forgive me.”

She tugged on the hair at his nape. “Look at me.”

He lifted his head and stared into her eyes.

“There is nothing to forgive. At least not if you don’t stop. If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You want me to continue?”

“Whatever you were going to do…” She could barely find the words. She felt utterly brazen. But him touching her there was a sensation she didn’t want to let go. “Do it,” she begged.

“Have you ever done that before?” he asked quietly. “Orgasm, I mean.”

“I don’t know that word.” She’d talked about sex—briefly—with other young ladies, but until Diana, none of them had possessed any practical experience. And the conversations she’d had with Diana since her marriage had been woefully devoid of exciting details. She’d only said it was marvelous, and she dearly hoped Lavinia was as lucky in finding her husband as Diana had been.

“It describes what your body does when it releases with sexual satisfaction. Think of pent-up anticipation for an event and the rush of sensation when that event occurs.” While he spoke, he touched her gently, his fingertips sliding over her flesh.

She opened her thighs, giving him better access because it seemed she should. She wasn’t sure what he meant to do, but knew it had to be more. That anticipation he mentioned was building inside her. She clutched at his neck and held on tight as he slipped his finger along her crease.

She sucked in a breath just before he kissed her. It was short but wondrous, and his mouth continued across her cheek, his lips dragging across her flesh. He whispered in her ear, “I could try to make you come—to your orgasm, that is—by just touching you here.” He pressed his fingers against the top of her sex and moved them back and forth, creating a delicious friction. “Or I could put my finger—or fingers—inside you and make you come that way. Which would you prefer?”

Oh God, how could she possibly know? “Can’t I choose both?”

He laughed softly. “Lavinia, you never fail to surprise and intrigue me. And in this case, excite me. How I wish we had a proper location and far fewer clothes. I would show you all the ways I could make you come. With my fingers. With my mouth. With my cock.”

Good Lord, he was a rake. His words enflamed her already heated body. She was desperate to come, to feel this thing he was talking about. “I don’t care what you do, but please do it.” She clasped his nape and made him look at her. “Please.”

His gaze was dark and seductive as his fingers began to move over her sex. He concentrated on that first part, rubbing her flesh. With each stroke, the anticipation grew. Then he kissed her again, his mouth sweeping over hers and his tongue driving deep into her mouth.

A moment later, his finger mimicked his tongue, sliding into her sex. She groaned as lights danced behind her eyes, and her legs began to quiver. He worked his finger in and out of her, slowly at first and then picking up speed. Then his thumb found that other spot, and he pressed while he penetrated her.

His movements grew faster, then his hand focused on the outside for a moment before his finger—or was it fingers now?—plunged into her again. Back and forth, he alternated his focus, and her passion increased apace. She was so close to what he’d described. She could feel it in her bones, in the blood coursing through her fevered body.

He broke the kiss and pressed his lips to her ear. “Come for me, Lavinia.”

He speared into her and pressed the heel of his hand against her. She knew precisely what he meant by the word release. Her body felt as if it were coming apart. Her muscles tightened first, clenching everywhere as sensation rioted through her. Then came the release, a loosening of all the ecstasy that had built within her. But his hand didn’t still, and she tightened again. And whimpered again. She was glad for the tree at her back, for she would surely have slumped to the ground. On and on it went, his hand coaxing her to heights she never dreamed existed.

Then finally, her body wilted. Spent, she worked to catch her breath. His hand was gone from her flesh, and her skirts dropped down around her legs. He took a step back and bent to pick something up from the ground. His glove, she realized. She hadn’t even noticed him taking it off. And then his hat. That she remembered.

“That was rather ill-advised,” he said, his voice sounding rather tight.

“Perhaps.” Lavinia straightened her bonnet, her glasses, and her dress. Her face was probably flushed, but there was no help for that. Hopefully, a breeze would cool her off. “I won’t regret it however, and I hope you don’t either.” She winced. “Unless… I shouldn’t have urged you to do that.” She hadn’t urged. She’d begged. She was completely shameless.

He came back toward her and took her hand, pulling her away from the tree. “My dear Lavinia, if I hadn’t wanted to do it, I wouldn’t have. But now you must go. We’ve been gone too long, and I can only hope our absence—at the same time—hasn’t been noted. You go back, and I’ll follow later. I’ll be the last to leave with Felix anyway.”

What he said made sense. And also filled her with a bit of dread. What if their absence had been noticed? They hadn’t been here that long, but apparently long enough…

“I really did want to thank you for today, and now I’ve even more reason to.” She gave him a saucy smile, then kissed his cheek. “You are a kindhearted gentleman, just as Fanny and Sarah thought about the Duke of Seduction. I’m sorry I presumed you were anything else.”

A storm gathered in his eyes. “I’m still a rake, Lavinia. Lest you forget, just consider what happened here. Kindhearted gentlemen don’t seduce unmarried women in the forest.”

“Is that what you did? I’m the one who asked you to go on. Perhaps I’m the one who seduced you.” She lifted her shoulder, then turned and walked away, feeling supremely satisfied.

Yes, from her perspective, the seducer had just become the seduced.

* * *

A light drizzle began to fall as Beck and Felix rode back to London in Felix’s coach. “Glad I didn’t drive the phaeton,” Felix said, glancing out the window.

Beck barely nodded in response. His brain was stuck on Lavinia and his transgression and the unfulfilled desire still teeming in his body.

“I still can’t believe they were fucking in front of everyone.”

Blinking across the coach at Felix, Beck tensed. “What?”

Felix had crossed his arms over his chest as he stretched his legs out as far as he could. “That finally snagged your attention.”

“Who was fucking?” Beck was afraid to ask—what if someone had seen them? But no, Felix would have said something immediately, and they’d already been in the coach nearly a quarter hour.

“No one. I was trying to see if you were listening.” Felix narrowed his eyes at Beck. “What the devil is wrong with you today? You’ve been brooding all afternoon.”

“Not all afternoon.” Really, not until he’d spoken with the Duchess of Kendal.

“Don’t be a dolt. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Beck inwardly winced, thinking that it might be nice to unburden himself and Felix was someone—one of the only people, really—he could trust.

Felix’s lips flattened into a straight line. “You’ve become rather secretive of late. And I noticed you disappeared for a while. As did Lady Lavinia.”

Shit. If Felix had noticed, who else had done so?

“Don’t worry,” Felix said. “I doubt anyone else was paying attention. The only reason I put it together is because I’ve seen you with her the past few weeks. There’s something going on there.” He unfolded his arms and waved his hand. “Oh, you can deny it or ignore it or pretend there’s nothing, but I’m not stupid. And if I see it, you must ask yourself who else does.”

“Her parents.”

Felix stared at him. “What?”

“Her parents will notice. That’s the point. I’m supposed to be courting her.”

Felix’s eyes widened, and his jaw loosened. “You plan to wed? That seems an important thing you might share with your closest friend.”

“I do not plan to wed. I am being extorted.” Beck exhaled and scrubbed a hand over his face. He sank back against the squab and let his legs sprawl in front of him. “I have a secret, and her parents are using it against me. I’m to pretend to court her to encourage others to step up their suit.”

“What’s this secret?”

“I should have told you before now. I’m the Duke of Seduction.”

Felix blew out a whistle. “I’ll be damned. I knew you could write, but I never would’ve imagined you’d do that.” He leaned forward slightly. “Why did you?”

Beck turned his head and stared at the window, where slender rivulets of water sluiced down the glass. “I wanted to help those young ladies who are overlooked, who deserve a chance at happiness.”

“On the Marriage Mart. Which you despise.” His tone was heavy with disbelief. “I still don’t understand.”

“I don’t think I ever told you why I hate the Marriage Mart.”

“I assumed it was because of Priscilla. Because she broke your heart. You swore off marrying anyone.”

“That was sort of true. However, there was more to my bitterness. My sister Helen failed on the Mart.” He moved his gaze back to Felix’s as darkness moved through him. “It was more than that, however. People were cruel, and I’m starting to wonder if she was pursued by a knave who drove her to the unthinkable.”

Felix paled. “Your sister died. You’re saying she—?”

Beck hesitated, even though it seemed Felix had deduced the truth, which he should have after what Beck had said. Still, it wasn’t something his family discussed, and to say it out loud brought his family’s shame into the light. Beck hadn’t even known what had really happened until after his mother had died a few years later. Then, in a fit of despair, his father had revealed everything.

“Yes, she was poisoned and likely by her own hand. Or so it seemed to my parents. She’d spoken of not wanting to endure another Season and of an end to her loneliness and suffering. She’d always possessed a dark nature, and it seemed to engulf her.” Beck’s throat tightened. He recognized that feeling of loneliness, of helplessness, of utter darkness. But it didn’t swallow him. Not yet, anyway. Not as long as he had music and words to keep himself from the abyss.

“She killed herself.” Felix wiped his hand over his brow. “I’d no idea. And why should I—you wouldn’t want that getting out.” He leaned back against the seat. “You think a man pushed her to do it?”

Beck rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know what to believe. I only know two women told her she’d be better off dead, some man was pursuing her, and then she died of poison. It never sat right with my father.”

“You’d like to know what happened,” Felix said softly.

Beck lifted his head slightly and peered over at his friend. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. How can I help?”

Exhaling, Beck dropped his head back to his hands. “I don’t know. Today, I found out who those women were. I’d like to ask them what they know. I want to know who this man was.”

“I would too,” Felix said. “Who are these women, and how can we get information from them?”

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Beck tipped his head back against the squab. “I’ve been thinking about that—hence my broodiness.” He said the last with a wry tone, provoking a brief smile from Felix. “I think I’m going to write a poem addressed to them.”

“Hell, that’s brilliant.” Felix sat straighter. “Not your typical poem, of course.”

“No. This one will carry a far different purpose.”

“How will that get them to talk to you?” Felix asked. “You’ve kept your identity secret, and I can’t imagine you’d want to reveal yourself over this.”

“No. That’s the part I’m trying to work out.”

Felix cocked his head to the side. “What if you use the poem as leverage? Threaten to continue to write them unless they tell you what they know about Helen.”

It wasn’t a terrible idea. “And how will I communicate that? I can’t put that in the newspaper.”

“No, but you can send them a letter via the newspaper—so they won’t know who wrote it.”

It also wasn’t a great idea. “If I ask about Helen, don’t you think they’ll puzzle it out?”

“Damn. Of course they will.” Felix banged his head back against the cushion. “You need an intermediary—someone who can ask them what they know without leading back to you.”

“Well, if you think of something, let me know. In the meantime, I wrote to my sister Margaret and asked if she recalled a gentleman who may have been paying attention to Helen. They corresponded regularly, and I’m hoping Helen might have told her.”

“I shall hope so too.” Quiet reigned for a moment before Felix asked, “Then what will you do?”

Once he found out who had wooed his sister and perhaps driven her to kill herself? He didn’t know. “I want the truth. Until I have that, I can’t say what I’ll do.”

Felix nodded slowly. “I’ll stand at your side no matter what.” He said this with such ferocity that it warmed Beck’s chest.

“Thank you.”

“Now, about Lady Lavinia,” Felix said, abruptly turning the conversation in a far lighter direction. Or was it? Beck had overstepped propriety in spectacular fashion and feared he would eagerly do so again. Which meant he should stay away from her. Hell, he should stay away from her anyway. Sir Martin was going to call on her, and a week from now, she could bloody well be betrothed. Their faux courtship was no longer necessary.

“There’s nothing about Lady Lavinia. I told you—it was a fake courtship.”

“There’s nothing fake about disappearing with someone for a quarter hour,” Felix said with a sardonic arch of his brow.

Beck scowled. “I think I’m done revealing things today.”

“Fair enough.” Felix fell mercifully silent for quite a while. However, as they neared the city, he spoke up again. “Perhaps it’s time you gave love another chance. Priscilla was an awfully long time ago.”

It wasn’t that Beck hadn’t given it a chance. He’d simply never encountered it. And the desire he felt for Lavinia wasn’t love. He wanted her—desperately—but love?

Beck eyed his friend. “You might take your own advice. But then I don’t think you’ve ever given it a first chance.”

Felix’s gaze iced over, and Beck felt the chill. “No, I haven’t, nor do I plan to.”

Beck knew that, of course, but Felix had pushed, and dammit, Beck would push back. He wasn’t foolish enough to continue, however. For all his good nature and ability to create amusement wherever he went, there was a wall around Felix’s heart that no one penetrated. Not even his closest friend.

Settling back for the remainder of the ride, Beck focused his mind on what he would write. He’d draft the poem as soon as he got home—what better way to channel his anger and frustration?

And his unsatisfied lust.