A long silence ensued, during which Sara tried to make herself leave his bed. She’d notified two hiring agencies of her availability for a post in the West Riding. Not even Tremaine would think to look for her there.

“What are your plans for me, then, for this night?” Beck leaned up and kissed her temple, as if he’d kiss her thoughts.

“To have my wicked way with you, except, given I might conceive, I’m not quite sure how to go about it.”

“I have a few suggestions,” Beck murmured, his hand moving around to the front of her and finding her naked breast. Within minutes, Sara was gliding her wet sex over the hard, hot length of him, while Beck plied her breasts with mouth and hands.

“This is…” She was panting, aroused, frustrated, and determined all at once.

“Hmmm?” He took a nipple in his mouth, as if he could play with her for hours.

“Beck…” She slid a hand behind his head. “I want… I want you inside me.”

“No, you don’t.” Beck shifted his hips against the mattress when she would have tried to slip herself over him. “You want to come, and you’re having to do more of the work yourself this way. Allow me to remedy the situation.” He pulled her down to kiss him, kept one hand on her breast, and slipped the other between their bodies.

“Yes…” Sara felt his thumb on the seat of her pleasure and slowed the undulation of her hips to find a rhythm with him. In moments, she was rocketing up, climbing toward satisfaction.

“You too,” she whispered, teasing her fingers over his nipple, feeling him arch into her hand. She cast off first, hanging over him, keening as she moved on his cock and his fingers, her hair falling forward as passion washed through her. When she lay spent and panting on his chest, he gathered her hair and brushed it to one side.

“Again,” he whispered, “but easy.” He moved slightly under her, and Sara knew she should be doing something—kissing him, petting him, synchronizing her hips to his—but she was too undone. His hands shifted to her hips, and his grasp there provided her the encouragement she needed to join the languorous slide and pull he’d set up.

“No more than that,” he said. “Let me do the work.”

She sighed, content to feel him moving easily against her sensitized sex. Without her making any effort, she felt arousal gathering again, fueling her to more enthusiastic movement.

“No.” Beck slowed his tempo more. “You let me.”

She relaxed, and like a long, slow wave coming to shore, he built their arousal until it broke over them, gently and at length, bringing a deep sense of pleasure, satisfaction, and joining, though he hadn’t even been inside her.

A sense of coming home, Sara reflected when he’d tidied her up—the prodigal returning.

“Go to sleep,” Beck rumbled, his voice resonating against the ear Sara had pressed to his chest. “I’ll get you back to your own bed before the household wakes up.”

Sara forced her eyes open despite the appeal of that offer. “Beckman, there are things we must discuss.”

He spent a moment considering then reached around to tuck the covers over her bare back. “This is probably the only place we have privacy, and you have my undivided attention.”

“They’re difficult things.”

“So let’s tackle them now, when we have some time and we’re in charity with each other. I am in charity with you, in case you couldn’t tell.” He hitched his arms more snugly around her, and the sense of being treasured and protected almost cost Sara her resolve.

But he was right; his bed was the best place they had for this discussion.

“I am ready to end this aspect of our dealings, Beckman.” A beat of silence followed, then Sara felt his fingers circling gently on her nape. “Beckman, say something.”

“Do you have my successor picked out?” Beck asked, his tone almost amused. “Somebody less inclined to interrupt your sleep, perhaps?”

“There is no successor. It’s just… I have a daughter, and cavorting with you sets a bad example for Allie. I simply haven’t had the discipline to resist.”

“I pride myself on my irresistibility.” Beck drew the covers over her again. “But you aren’t making sense, love. I intend to be underfoot here for the rest of the growing season at least, and having enjoyed my attentions, I doubt your self-discipline will keep you out of this bed—and don’t think I’ll make it easy for you. And, Sara? I’m going to propose again, too, so man your defenses as best you can. Or woman them.”

“Don’t tease me,” Sara wailed quietly. “I’m serious, Beck. You have to leave me alone.”

“Reasoning with you hasn’t gotten me very far, and you are a very reasonable, rational, self-disciplined sort of lady. I’m not teasing you, Sara. Who is Tremaine?”

Sixteen

At first Beck thought Sara was stiffening with indignation, but then he realized she’d started to cry, softly, miserably, making him regret the shot he’d taken in the dark. But having gotten a response from her, he decided to press his advantage, though North had already told him Tremaine was Sara’s deceased husband’s brother.

“You must be very upset, Sara”—he stepped around the word frightened—“to be casting me aside like this. Talk to me, and I’ll listen. I promise.”

He kissed her crown and prayed she’d believe him.

“Tremaine is Allie’s uncle,” Sara said, levering up to reach for a handkerchief on the night table. Beck forcibly restrained the urge to take the ripe fruit of her breast into his mouth, because they were—God help them—talking.

“Has he threatened you in some way?” Beck didn’t see any point in subtle questioning, and given the recent events at Three Springs, he was quickly coming to conclusions of his own.

“He has not.” Sara sat back on his lap, and Beck obligingly raised his knees to support her. “Or not overtly. He’s written to inquire regarding Allie’s well-being, and Polly’s and mine, and suggested he’d like to take a more active role in Allie’s upbringing.”

“I’d do the same should Nick’s countess be widowed, but Allie’s been without her father for several years now. What has Tremaine been up to?”

“He says only that he’s been putting the family finances in order.” Sara tossed the handkerchief back to the night table and leaned back against his knees, closing her eyes. “In truth, I think he’s been looking for us, and it took him this long to find us.”

“Tell me about Tremaine St. Michael, love.” Beck smoothed her hair from around her shoulders, leaving her breasts exposed to his gaze. That she didn’t notice was a measure of significant upset.

“I wish I could.” Sara rolled off him and tucked herself along his side. “I’ve met him only three or four times, when we came across him on the Continent. He’s like Reynard, and not like Reynard.”

Beck angled an arm under her neck and drew her closer. “Explain.”

“Reynard was wily, conniving, and determined,” Sara said, “but he also had a pragmatic streak. If the prize became too costly, he’d shrug, mutter a curse or a joke, then find some other scheme to focus on. Tremaine is wily too, but he’s… quiet. No Gallic bursts of temper, no little slips or asides to give away his game. He’s cold, Beck. Not just reserved, but cold.”

“And why would such a man take an interest in a niece?”

“Because she’s a prodigy. She paints as well as Polly ever did at her age and even better. She paints too well.”

“He’d exploit that?”

“Reynard would have. He exploited me, and he exploited Polly.”

“So here I am,” Beck said, “trying to get under your skirts while this Tremaine may be trying to take your daughter away?”

“I’m not wearing skirts.” Sara had smiled against his shoulder, thank God. “But yes, should Tremaine decide to impose on us here, I cannot present a picture of maternal devotion while I’m stealing into your bed.”

“And he’s on hand, this Tremaine, to keep track of who’s sleeping where?” Beck brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, then her palm, then her wrist.

“He could show up at any point,” Sara said, her cheek heating where it touched Beck’s arm. “I told him we are doing quite well here at Three Springs. I did not tell him I’m looking for a post in the north.”

The hell she was. “Why not invite him here?”

Beside him, Sara went still. “I very nearly have, and now I think he’d like nothing better. He’ll charm Allie and tantalize her—she still recalls our trip to London when she was little more than an infant. Tremaine could take her back there, promise her lessons and ponies…”

Beck shifted to cover her. “Hush. Tremaine has no legal claim on the child, and you are a good mother. A wonderful mother, and Allie will not choose him over you.”

She clung, and she didn’t argue. Beck took both as progress. “Sara?” Beck’s nose was against her temple.

“Beckman?”

“I’d rather he be right here under our noses, where we can keep an eye on him and know what he’s about.”

He’d used the word we, used it as carelessly as another man might have referred to his favorite horse as a he, not an it—then he waited to see if she’d object.

“I honestly don’t know what to do,” Sara said. “If he can be convinced Allie is thriving here, and a lawsuit for guardianship of her would be unavailing, then he might take himself off and at least wait until Allie is an adult to attempt his schemes with her. Polly says female artists are becoming less and less accepted, at least as professionals.”

Beck silently cursed the departed Reynard, because even from the grave, the man’s perfidy was ruining Sara’s happiness. “Sara, you have to have considered that Tremaine could snatch her from under our noses and pack her off to the Continent, claiming she’s his child or that he has guardianship of her. Court orders can be forged. Would he do such a thing?”