Brilliana couldn’t sleep. She tried, but it was futile. She kept wanting to do naughty things to herself—to touch her body in her most private places, all while reliving her afternoon with Niall.

Determined to squelch her scandalous impulses, she got out of bed, lit a candle, and went to her writing desk to pull out her sketchbook. But as she did so, another one fell to the floor.

Her breath caught. It was her old sketchbook, the one with drawings of Niall. That was the last thing she should be looking at right now, yet she couldn’t help herself.

With a sigh, she flipped through the images. On the one hand, she was pleased to see how her abilities had improved from those early days. On the other, those first drawings catapulted her right back to the naïve hopes of her youth. She’d drawn Niall as impossibly handsome, with a look of love in his eyes and a sensuality that had captivated her even then.

The pesky devil. Even in sketches, he seduced her.

She understood now why some women relished marital relations. She’d always seen being bedded as a chore to be endured. But that was because Reynold had always roused her without making her “come,” which had only succeeded in frustrating her.

She even remembered telling Delia a few months ago that the pleasures of the marital bed were only pleasurable for the man. Brilliana dearly hoped that her sister-in-law hadn’t listened to her nonsense and was having a fine time on her honeymoon with lovemaking. Her new husband was even more of a rogue than Niall, so he undoubtedly knew a thing or two about pleasing a woman.

Unlike Reynold. Brilliana sighed. He had been more concerned about his own satisfaction than hers, and not just in the bedchamber. He’d never encouraged her sketching or her ambition to design for Wedgwood or even her burgeoning interest in matters concerning the estate.

And why? Because that might have taken time away from her catering to his needs. Selfish wretch.

Meanwhile, Niall—

A noise very near made her jump. It sounded almost as if something were knocking against the French doors of her balcony.

She turned to look and nearly came out of her skin. A man was silhouetted there, peering into her room. But before she could raise an alarm, he said, “Open the door, Bree. Please.”

“Niall? Goodness gracious!”

She flew to do as he asked. While he entered the room, she peered outside. “How on earth did you get up here?”

“I climbed the downspout.”

“That tiny thing? Are you mad? You could have fallen to your death!”

He chuckled. “Not likely. I’m an expert at climbing buildings.” He dusted off his coat. “I saw the candle burning in your window and figured that since you were up, we could talk.”

“It’s two in the morning!”

“Yes, but you’re awake.”

Well, she could hardly refute that. She should put on her wrapper, make him go, or do something other than stand here in her nightdress drinking in the sight of him. “Why didn’t you want to wait until morning?”

“We can’t have a discussion about your father’s situation in front of your aunt.”

Oh, right, he’d played cards with Papa earlier. “So what’s he done now?”

“He paid for his losses with a counterfeit twenty-pound banknote.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And that surprises you?”

“Some, yes. I’d hoped he might not be guilty. But clearly he’s in this up to his neck.” Taking off his coat, Niall threw it over the chair by her desk. “At the very least, he’ll probably end up standing trial and being transported abroad for his crime.”

“We knew that was possible.”

“Possible, yes. Certain, no. And now that I consider the result of such a scandal once it becomes public—”

“Oh. I see.” She crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. He was starting to reconsider marrying her. She didn’t blame him, but still, it hurt. “I’ve made my peace with it, but I can see why it might give you pause. You won’t want to marry a woman who will drag your family through the mud.”

“What?” he said, clearly shocked. “That’s not what I meant at all. It’s you and Silas that worry me.” He strode up to where she stood near her bed. “I came here to tell you that if you want me to save your father from prosecution, I might attempt it. I can confront him with this banknote and tell him I’ll turn him over to the authorities unless he reveals everything about the operation. And then I can do my damned best to keep him out of it.”

“Have you lost your mind? You do that, and you risk making an enemy out of Fulkham! Or worse, being forced to keep working for him.”

He shrugged. “Not necessarily. I’m sure I could negotiate something with him.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “No, you are not doing that.”

“It’s not for your father’s sake, but yours and Silas’s. The way I see it—”

“Absolutely not! I lost you once. I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me. We could work the matter out so that—”

She shook her head so violently, her unbound hair swung about her shoulders. “We’re not discussing this anymore. If you’re truly only concerned about me and Silas, then we’ll stick to the original arrangement.”

He got that stubborn look on his face that told her he meant to keep beating at this until he changed her mind, and desperation seized her. So she took a page from his book and did something outrageous to distract him.

She kissed him. Right on the mouth. With all the pent-up need she’d been feeling from the time she’d left him this afternoon.

He jerked back to grab her by the arms. “What the blazes are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

“But we need to discuss—”

“I don’t want to talk right now, and especially not about Papa.” She flung her arms about his neck. “I want to do this.” Then she kissed him again.

He froze, but only briefly before kissing her back so ardently that it made her swoon. He was such a luscious kisser, and tonight she wanted nothing more than to revel in his experience at seduction.

But cursedly he came to his senses and broke the kiss. Sweeping her with a quick, heated glance, he muttered an oath under his breath before putting her aside. “We have to talk.”

“Not now.”

“Bree—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a rogue?” She planted her hands on her hips, perfectly aware of how the motion thrust her breasts forward, and reveling in the dark interest in his eyes. “Why don’t you behave like one?”

He gritted his teeth. “That’s not what I came here for.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“All right, so . . . perhaps I had that in the back of my mind, but—”

“Good.” Feeling every bit the Lady Rebel he called her, she grabbed his hand and drew it to her breast.

He let out a harsh breath. As if in a trance he rubbed her there, softly and silkily at first, and then with a firm touch that had her nipple tightening to a hard point.

“God help me,” he murmured. “I’d swear you have the most supple breasts in all England.” Then, growling her name, he swept her up in his arms and tumbled her onto the rumpled bedcovers with a low cry of exultation before covering her body with his.

And it was glorious, like being consumed by a magnificent beast. Which was precisely what he was, her reckless rakehell. With all the ferociousness of a Bengal tiger, he devoured her mouth while his hands fondled her breasts through her nightdress.

She plucked at his clothes, desperate to touch bare skin and hard muscle, and that seemed to give him pause. “Aren’t you worried your aunt will hear us?”

“She sleeps like the dead, trust me.”

That was a slight exaggeration, but she didn’t care. Niall was her fiancé. What was Aunt Agatha going to do—force him to marry her? At this point, even that sounded appealing.

“Besides,” she went on, “I want you.”

“Do you?” He stared down at her a long moment. “Well then, who am I to protest?”

He rose to dispense with his clothes as she watched in avid anticipation. Their hurried lovemaking against trees hadn’t allowed her a chance to see him naked, so when he started to climb back into bed, she whispered, “Wait. I want to look at you.”

His eyes glinted in the light of the fire. “Does this mean that my Lady Rebel is making an appearance?”

“Apparently.” In the morning, she would undoubtedly rethink her rebellion, but right now she delighted in it. She wanted him in her arms and in her bed. Now.

“Then I want tit for tat. Literally.” He crossed his arms over a chest that was as broad as it was sculpted. In the firelight the hair dusting it glimmered golden, making her want to smooth her hands over every inch. He must have realized it, for he cast her a cocky grin. “Take off your nightgown, sweeting.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. She’d never been fully naked for anyone, even her husband. Yet her answer was decisive. “All right.” She rose up on the bed just enough to tug her nightdress over her head and toss it to the floor.

It left her totally exposed before his hot perusal, which ought to have made her nervous. Yet somehow Niall’s ravening gaze, touching on her breasts, her belly, her thighs . . . her privates, only aroused her further. Niall had experienced all of her body in furtive touches, but this blatant conquering with his eyes was so much more intimate. Erotic. Thrilling.

With her blood pounding in her ears, she surveyed every inch of his male beauty. Lord, but he was fine. He was taut where Reynold had been soft, lean where Reynold had run to fat. He was as different from her late husband as a wolf from an overfed dog. Heaven help her, but that made her desire him all the more.

She held out her hands. “Come to bed, my wild rogue.”

He approached, but didn’t join her. “Is that how you see me still?”

“Do you mind?” she asked, surprised by the disappointment in his voice.

“Not at present,” he said, utterly serious. “But I may in the morning.”

“Then we’ll deal with it in the morning. For tonight, however, can you just be my wild rogue?”

He reached up to stroke her hair, then wrapped a hank of it lightly around his hand so he could then draw it over her nipple repeatedly, until she was gasping at the tantalizing caress.

Firelight caught his smile. “I can do anything, if it means having you. Like this, aching for me, gasping for me. Wanting me as much as I want you. Say it again. That you want me.”

“When you look at me like that, I want you more than you can ever dream.”

“I doubt that,” he said, running his hands down her sides to her waist. “I have pretty vast dreams of you wanting me, sweeting.”

She drew his hand between her legs. “So do I.”

With a sharp intake of breath, he cupped her down there, then took her mouth with a fierceness bordering on savagery. Next thing she knew, he was pressing her back onto the bed so he could lie on top of her. The feel of him surrounding her was so exquisite that she arched up against him, hungry for more.

“Ah, my lovely, wanton girl,” he murmured.

“Take me, Niall,” she whispered against his throat. “The way you do in your dreams.”

“This is ten times better than any dream,” he said hoarsely. Then he filled her with his flesh in one sleek stroke.

She’d have expected such haste to make their joining unsatisfying, but instead it was ferocious and exotic and absolutely wonderful. He drove into her and she felt every thrust to the depths of her soul. She fondled him, and he moaned with each touch as if she’d caught the essence of him.

With silent caresses, they made the sweetest love she could imagine, and she relished every moment. This was what she’d expected of marriage, this union of bodies and pleasure and passion and . . . oh, everything.

“Niall,” she whispered, her heart so full of joy that she wanted to share it with him. “Make me yours, my darling.”

“You’ve always been mine, whether you knew it or not.”

And then he was driving her forward to that lovely place of bliss, and she was clutching him to her and straining upward until he gave a few quick thrusts that sent her leaping toward the stars.

He must have followed her there, for he groaned so feelingly that it tipped her over into heaven.

“My dearest rogue,” she cried. “My darling Niall.”

“Yes, sweeting.” He thrust hard, then spilled his seed inside her with a long, aching moan. “Mine,” he murmured against her lips. “All mine.”

And in truth, she wanted nothing more than to be his. For the rest of her life and beyond.

Lord help her.

Niall lay on his side next to Bree, his head propped up on one hand as he stared down at her nude form. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Like some elusive goddess in a painting, she lay drowsing, with her hair spilling out over the pillow, rumpled velvet lit by candlelight.

Her plump breasts were topped with cheeky pink nipples he wanted to ravage all over again. Entranced by her beauty, he skimmed a hand down the soft contours of her body. Satiny skin, hips lush enough to tempt a man, and between them . . .

God, he had to stop thinking of it, or he’d take her again, and they still had things to discuss. He couldn’t believe that she’d seduced him. It was so unlike her.

Or perhaps not. She was his Lady Rebel, after all.

He brushed a kiss to her rosy cheek, wishing he could stay here until morning, wishing he never had to leave her bed. But since they weren’t married, that wasn’t a choice.

She nuzzled his chin. “You need to shave.”

“That’s all you have to say to me?” he teased.

“What did you want to hear?”

“That I made you swoon. That I’m an excellent lover. That you can’t believe my astounding capability to—”

“Enough,” she said, a soft laugh escaping her. “You know perfectly well that you made me swoon and shiver and shake. As always.”

“That’s more like it.” He cocked his head to listen, but heard nothing in the house. “All seems quiet. We might have gotten away with this.”

She shot him a bemused look. “Since when do you care?”

“Since I first laid eyes on you.”

“What fustian!” She smoothed her hand over his chest. “You’ve always been a rogue and will always be one, no doubt.”

The words cut him deeper than she could know. “Don’t say that.”

She blinked. “Why not? I don’t mind it, honestly. It’s what makes you . . . interesting.”

He sighed. “It’s what makes you think I betrayed you years ago.”

Her gaze grew shuttered. “It doesn’t matter. We’re different people now, and I use ‘rogue’ only in the best sense. It’s what makes you so very good at this.”

“Ah. So you’ve decided to overlook my past because I give you pleasure.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Bree, I didn’t betray you back then,” he said earnestly.

He had to tell her the rest. Clearly she wanted to forgive him without knowing the truth, but the festering sore of her misconception would poison their future, whether she realized that or not.

And in his heart, Niall trusted her to keep his secret. And his family’s.

Because he loved her.

He always had. Even when he’d believed the worst of her, some kernel of him had clung to the hope that she wasn’t the woman his father had made her out to be.

She settled the restlessness in him as no one else ever had, offered him respite from the tumult in his mind. One look at her with Silas, and he knew that together they could make a very happy family.

But she could only learn to trust him again if he trusted her. So he had to tell her the truth—because he couldn’t go on without her.

He took a deep breath. “The duel all those years ago was indeed fought on behalf of a woman—but not the sort of woman you think. I fought Joseph Whiting to gain justice for Clarissa.”