"With you as incentive to stay," Isabella lightly replied, her gaze slowly surveying his splendid form, "I shall overlook any momentary embarrassment."

He winked. "Smart girl." And with a small deferential bow to her, he turned to the door and called out, "Come in."

Pomeroy looked neither right nor left when he entered the room, his gaze scrupulously on his employer. Isabella could have been absent for all the notice he took of her. "You rang, sir?"

"Miss Leslie is ready to sup."

"Very good, sir. Here, sir?" The butler's demeanor gave away nothing of the chaos below stairs, where the chef had thrown a tantrum and stalked off when the food that had been ordered hadn't been sent for immediately. He hoped the lady wasn't particular about her menu, because several of the dishes were now cold and ruined and the sous-chefs were frantically trying to deal with the crisis.

"Yes, here." Dermott began clearing the books and papers off a table.

"Immediately, sir?" It seemed a pertinent question considering the irregular scheduling of events.

"Yes, yes, of course, immediately." Dermott looked at him as though he were dense.

"Very good, sir." With a bow, he left.

"Is he always so grand?" Isabella asked, comparing him to her servants, who were more apt to tell her what to do than to take orders, since they'd raised her from a child.

Dermott looked up from his cleaning. "I suppose so. I hadn't noticed."

"Has he been with you long?"

"Always. My mother had him first."

"Does your mother live in London?" Obviously, she didn't live here or he wouldn't have had her over, she speculated.

"She lives at Alworth." At her blank look, he added, "My country home."

"She doesn't like the City?"

He shook his head. "Come, sit down. I've cleared off enough space, I think. Do you have any favorite foods?"

Obviously, he didn't care to speak of his mother, although she supposed it was highly irregular to discuss your mother with a paramour. "Right now," she politely said, responding to his bland question, "I'm ready to eat just about anything, I'm so hungry."

He half turned from his stacking of books.

"What?" The conjecture in his gaze baffled her.

A small smile curved his mouth. "I misunderstood. Please, sit down. I'm almost finished."

"You're not afraid of domestic duties. How delightful in a man of your notorious repute." She sat on a heavily carved chair with a cane seat and back, of Indian manufacture she suspected.

"When one campaigns in the hinterlands, servants are at a premium."

"Did you enjoy India? Molly said you'd spent some years there."

"I enjoyed some of it." His voice had changed, and setting the remaining books down, he walked to the liquor table. "Would you like a glass of wine or some brandy? It's my personal favorite to blur the harsh edges."

"I said something wrong again." His expression had altered, as it had in the library. "Molly will be quite frustrated with me," she went on, feeling a need to fill the silence. "I was supposed to speak in the most bland way. Please, forgive me."

He smiled, but the easy charm was absent. "It's not your fault. Brandy or wine?"

She understood the Earl of Bathurst had his share of demons; Molly had said as much. "Brandy, please." She was as capable as he of politesse. In future, she would raise no personal subjects.

He drank down one glass before refilling his and bringing hers to the table. "Tell me why you didn't consider a lawyer to curtail your relatives' greed," he said, sitting down opposite her.

Apparently, he was allowed personal questions, she reflected, but enamored of his company, infatuated with the sight and scent and taste of him-a not uncommon response to the earl-she obligingly replied. "My relatives would have never given up their pursuit of my fortune. Since that required marriage to me, I didn't feel any lawyer could physically protect me from them. Not twenty-four hours a day."

"And you don't regret your plan?"

"I haven't accomplished my plan yet. And please, don't start being honorable again. If it bothers you, consider this my problem alone. You are but a vehicle for its achievement."

He couldn't help but smile.

Gratified, she went on in a teasing tone. "So you see, I am blatantly using you."

"An interesting concept."

"Are you reassured, my lord? I wish nothing more than your lovely penis."

He laughed. "And I'd be a damned fool to refuse."

"I believe most of your gender would agree."

"Damned if they wouldn't. I suppose I have my reputation to uphold."

"Would you not be condemned, my lord," she playfully said, "if word got out that you refused a lady?"

He didn't answer.

"You do… you have," she said, understanding his silence. "My goodness, what do you say to an importuning female?"

"Something pleasant."

"I shan't let you do that to me."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "So I've noticed."

"Nothing you could say would be pleasant enough. I hope you understand."

"Am I obliged to make love to you?" he teased.

"Of course, absolutely. A promise is a promise."

"Then, I see I must," he softly said, the look of her in his oversized dressing gown, her golden hair in tousled ringlets on her shoulders, her cheeks still pinked from her orgasm-a sight even a monk couldn't resist. And monkish he was not.

"All this talk of making love"-she drew in a deep breath-"is quite intoxicating. I was wondering if perhaps"-her gaze came up and held his for a heated moment-"we could postpone supper for a time."

"I'd like that." How provocative she was, like a sultry houri asking for the favor of his arousal. Reaching across the small table, he eased open the front of his robe, exposing her large, pale breasts. "Why don't we start with these for a first course instead," he murmured, his voice touched with a provocative warmth. "Come closer, set these on the table…" He gently tugged on her nipples, pulling her nearer until she was leaning forward over the tabletop, her plump breasts resting on the polished mahogany.

"I don't know how long I can wait," she whispered, the insistent throbbing deep inside her sending ripples through her vagina, her sensual receptors on total recall, wanting another orgasm.

"You have to wait." He touched the tips of her nipples, gently stroking them until they were taut and hard. "If you want me to make love to you." His hands drifted over the fullness of her breasts, sliding over the flaring curves, easing downward until he cupped the ripe fullness in his palms. "Maybe we'll let Pomeroy see you. Do you think he'd like your large breasts?"

"No!" she breathed, but the shameful thought burned through her brain, coursed downward between her legs in a liquid warmth. A soft, needy whimper escaped her lips.

"It sounds as though you'd like that," he whispered, lifting the twin mounds higher. "He saw you in the entrance hall. Your dress didn't conceal much. You didn't mind then…"

"You wouldn't-" Her mouth was half open, her breathing erratic.

He shrugged. "Other men might like to see these… and the rest of you…" Easing his hands down, he carefully placed her breasts back on the tabletop, sliding his fingers down her deep cleavage, forcing the mounded flesh wider.

"Please, don't… say that."

"What would you do for me if I kept Pomeroy out?"

"Anything…"

Taking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, he gently squeezed them. "Anything?"

"Yes, yes…" She was slippery wet with desire, her need for him overwhelming all else. "I'll do anything."

"May I whip you?" It was a test query only; he wasn't a devotee.

Her eyes grew large for a moment. "Would you make love to me?"

"Afterward."

She took a small breath and nodded.

"You're very hot, Miss Leslie, aren't you?"

She didn't answer.

"Don't be shy. I can see you squirming. You're wet and hot and wanting my cock inside you, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"Tell me."

"I want-"

"This cock." He unbuttoned his breeches and drew out his erection. "Say it, Miss Leslie, if you want me to put this inside you and make you come again."

She shut her eyes and softly said, "I want your… cock… inside me."

"Now open your eyes and look at me when you say that."

"Please-I want your-cock… inside me." The heat in her voice matched the heat in her eyes.

"I don't suppose you've said that before."

She shook her head.

"No more than you've ever felt a prick inside you."

She nodded, her eyes downcast.

"You're very quiet when you're aroused, Miss Leslie. I do believe I've found a way to muzzle your tongue."

Her gaze came up, the heat in her eyes fueled by more than passion, such spurious mockery galling. "How insolent you are, my lord. It almost makes one inclined to show you exactly what I can do with my tongue. Perhaps I'll take the initiative," she remarked, beginning to undo the tie on her robe. "What do you think of that?"

"I was only teasing, darling."

"I'm not." Rarely docile, she'd already exhausted her quota in the previous few exchanges with the earl. Rising from her chair, she walked the few steps to stand directly before him. Slipping his robe from her shoulders, she let it slide to the floor. "Look now, my lord, and if you're very good, I may let you touch me." She slid two fingertips down the cleft of her mons. "Would you like to feel this with your cock," she murmured, gently massaging her sleek, heated passage. "I'm not sure how far I'll let you go. Maybe I'll let you in only partway." She shrugged minutely and her breasts quivered. "Or if you're very good, I'll let you put that cock of yours all the way inside me. Do you think you'd like the feel of that?"