Offering her a formal bow, he thanked her again for her assistance, reiterated that he was grateful she wasn't harmed, then bid her good-night.

He had to force his legs to walk away from her.

Force himself not to turn around in hopes of gaining a glimpse of her during the short walk back to his town house accompanied by Rayburn and Mayne.

Samuel opened the door to admit him, and the instant the oak panel closed behind him, his clearly nervous footman asked why the magistrate and Runner had accompanied him home. Daniel quickly explained the situation, concluding with, "Hopefully, Rayburn and Mayne will find that bastard Tolliver." His hands clenched. "If they don't, I'll simply have to locate him myself."

"Ye can count on me to help with that, milord," Samuel said, his dark eyes flashing with anger. "Anybody wot tries to harm ye will have to get through me first."

As always, Samuel's loyalty humbled him. "Thank you, but hopefully that won't be necessary. Rayburn and Mayne seem very capable. And determined." Yes, determined that he was a suspect in Blythe's murder. "Now tell me, how is Katie?"

"Still asleep. Gertrude's with her."

"Then she's in good hands. You should go to bed, Samuel. Get some rest."

"I'll go to bed, milord, but I doubt I'll be gettin' any rest. Can't stop picturin' Katie in my mind."

As he couldn't stop picturing Carolyn in his mind, Daniel doubted he'd get much sleep, either. After bidding Samuel good-night, he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber, but instead of heading toward his turned-down bed, he poured himself a brandy then stood before the fireplace and stared into the remnants still glowing in the grate.

And all he saw was her. Her smile. Her beautiful face. Her gorgeous, expressive eyes. How many hours would he need to stare at her before he'd tire of looking at her? Hundreds? Thousands? A humorless sound escaped him. Somehow he suddenly couldn't envision ever growing bored of looking at her. Hearing her laughter. Listening to her voice.

Good God, he was going daft. When the bloody hell had the mere look of a woman, the sound of her laughter and voice, ever been enough to give him such a deep sense of satisfaction?

Never, his inner voice instantly answered.

His intense desire for her seemed to grow with each passing moment. He closed his eyes and recalled her in his conservatory. Gown bunched up, legs splayed, sex glistening with need. He swelled against his breeches and groaned. Bloody hell, he could still taste her on his tongue. And God knows he longed to have her beneath him, over him, wrapped around him.

Yet, also strong was this unfamiliar desire to simply talk to her. Spend time with her. Dance with her. Hold her hand. Be in the same room with her. Tell her things he'd never told anyone else. He'd never experienced such a thing before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Sex, desire, lust were purely physical and ultimately uncomplicated. These unprecedented… feelings Carolyn inspired felt so extremely complicated. And dangerous. As if he were navigating rough seas without benefit of a boat.

With a sigh he glanced at the mantel clock.

Only eight hours twenty-seven minutes until he saw her again.

He groaned and performed a quick calculation in his head. Then, for the second time that evening, he found himself praying, this time that the next five hundred seven minutes would pass very, very quickly.

Chapter Thirteen

I'd always thought chess a boring game until my lover and I played a version where an article of clothing is discarded every time a piece is captured. Since I became naked before him, he named me the loser. Given the way he pleasured me with his mouth and tongue, however, I declared myself the winner.

Memoirs of a Mistress by An Anonymous Lady


As was her habit following breakfast, Carolyn retired to the drawing room to enjoy a second cup of coffee. Normally she sat at her desk near the window and tended to her correspondence, or if it were sunny, just enjoyed the warmth of the rays streaming through the glass panes. Today, however, she paced, too restless, too stirred up from the tumultuous events of the last few days. First a murder, then taking Daniel as a lover, the fright of nearly being shot, the knowledge that Daniel was the intended victim…

She drew in a shuddering breath. It was little wonder she could barely sit still. And all her churning thoughts circled around a single word.

Daniel.

After another lap around the Turkish rug, she paused before the hearth. Clutching her copy of the Memoirs to her chest, she looked up at Edward's portrait.

As it did every day, his handsome face regarded her with that same gentle expression. Not a trace of condemnation showed in his eyes.

"Do you understand?" she whispered around the lump clogging her throat. "I pray you do, although I'm not certain how you can since I barely comprehend what's happening myself."

Edward merely continued to gaze down on her with benign affection.

"You own my heart," she continued. "You always will. But Edward, I'm so desperately lonely. I didn't know how much until he kissed me. I hadn't realized how deeply I wanted, needed, to be desired in that way again. How much I missed being touched… and touching in return. How much I truly wanted to live my life to the fullest until that shot nearly ended it all."

She looked down at the book she held, at the single blush-colored rose Daniel had given her, now pressed between the pages. The things he'd done to her last night… Her breath caught at the memory of the shocking, stunning pleasure. There was no use lying to herself. She'd wanted that pleasure. Had craved it.

And she wanted it again.

Was her reading of the Memoirs the only reason she felt this way? If so, why had these feelings manifested themselves with this particular man? She couldn't explain it, but they had, and they were impossible to ignore. Even more so now, given all she'd discovered last night about Daniel-the kind, caring, and generous side of him she'd known nothing about. A side she found both intriguing and very attractive. And again, impossible to ignore.

She raised her gaze to the portrait. "I'm stunned by my reaction to him," she whispered to Edward's image. "I never thought… never expected… but I cannot deny I desire him. Of course I won't let him touch my memories of you. Will never allow him to come between what you and I once shared."

Yet even as she said the words, she wondered if it were truly possible. Feared it might already be too late. That at some point the reality of making love with Daniel would overtake the memories of what she'd shared with Edward. Ever since Daniel had kissed her at the masquerade ball it was his face that haunted her dreams. Conjuring Edward's image in her mind's eye was proving increasingly difficult with each intimacy she shared with Daniel.

Unless she stood here… gazing up at Edward's portrait. But even then, she sometimes couldn't quite recall the exact timbre of his voice. The precise cadence of his laugh. The actual way his hair and skin felt beneath her fingertips. Although those lapses in her memories had started before she'd been reacquainted with Daniel during Matthew's house party, there was no denying they'd increased since the handsome earl had come on the scene. No, she couldn't deny that the reality of Daniel's touch was more thrilling than the fading memory of Edward's-a fact that, in spite of her determination to move on, dismayed and frightened her and filled her with a profound sense of guilt.

Yet, despite the dismay, fear, and guilt, she simply could no longer ignore the fact that she hadn't died along with Edward. Or ignore the way Daniel made her feel, which she could sum up in one word.

Alive.

In so many ways. He made her laugh. Dear God, she hadn't laughed in so long. He made her want. And need. Things she'd never thought to want and need again. He made her feel young. And desirable. Made her want to spread her arms and simply twirl in circles of delight, for no other reason than knowing she could. And that he would take her hands and circle about with her. He made her feel…

Not alone.

Yet just when she discovered all this, she'd nearly lost her life. And his was in danger. Please, God, let that madman Tolliver be caught quickly…

She drew a deep breath, then told the portrait, "I've felt nothing save emptiness for three years." Hot moisture pooled in her eyes and she blinked. "Please, please, don't hate me, Edward. This… arrangement between Daniel and I is nothing more than physical. And only temporary. I never wanted to be here without you, but since I am… I'm just so tired of being alone."

Carolyn, my darling… I love you. Be happy.

Edward's last words, uttered with his final breath, whispered through her mind. She wasn't certain what happiness was anymore and certainly doubted she'd find it with this affair, but she knew it would ease the loneliness. Fill a small part of the emptiness. And until Daniel moved on to his next conquest, as she knew he would as soon as he tired of her-which, given his reputation, wouldn't be long-she'd enjoy his company and their time together. And when he moved on, so would she-reenergized and ready to do something worthwhile with her time.

With that settled in her mind, she crossed to her desk to slip the Memoirs into the top drawer. Before doing so, however, she ran the tip of her index finger over the gold lettering on the black leather cover, and images inspired from the book flickered through her mind. All mental pictures she wanted to turn into reality. With Daniel.