Moments later, she lay replete in his arms, a sleepy novice, a lush beauty, and his, he uncharacteristically mused, captivated when he never was, charmed by her sweetness, by her gratifying propensity for sex. He kissed her cheek as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Would you like to go upstairs and sleep?" he whispered.

She moved her head in negation, the warmth and strength of his body, her sated senses, heavenly.

"A sip of wine?" Oddly, he wished to care for her, when he was the least likely person to experience such feelings. When he'd cared only for himself since his return from India.

"Will you make love to me again?"

"Now?" He moved inside her, his arousal still in full fledge.

She shook her head and softly groaned. "Later…" She wanted to know she could hold him, touch him, feel what she was feeling again.

"You tell me when," he softly said, gently stroking her back.

They made love twice more before he carried her upstairs, lay her on his narrow bed, and tucked her in. She fell asleep almost instantly, fatigued by excess, unfamiliar with such sustained intensity. And he sat beside the bed, his feet up on the coverlet, a brandy in his hand, his gaze resting on her.

He should take her back to Molly's instead of gazing at her like some love-struck moonling. But he wouldn't. Draining his glass, he reached for the liquor bottle placed conveniently on the floor beside his chair and poured himself another drink, at a loss to explain his motives or her outrageous appeal. And as the bottle emptied, he debated Miss Leslie's place in his life. But no palatable answers came to mind, no easy resolution disentangled his muddled feelings.

With dawn breaking, he was no further along in solving his dilemma.

He softly swore.

He should send her back. It was as simple as that.

He inhaled deeply. If he could.

Suddenly she rolled over, opened her eyes, and catching sight of him, smiled.

And it seemed as though the sun had suddenly risen.


He didn't return Miss Leslie that morning, nor the following day. In fact, late on the afternoon of their third day together, as they rested in the marble tub amid the decorative fauna and flora, he said, "Come down to Richmond with me. I have a small home there with no neighbors."

"I'll go wherever you want."

She always surprised him with her directness. A reaction, perhaps, to all the other women he knew who never said what they meant.

"I'll have Molly pack your things. We'll leave in a closed carriage in the event your relatives are on the outlook for you."

"Tell Molly I'll thank her properly when my problems are resolved and I can travel about undisturbed. Tell her too," Isabella added with a smile, "I owe her a portion of my pleasure."

"We both do."

"And I'm learning so much," she murmured, a teasing light in her eyes.

He was as well-about unsatisfied desire and continuous rut. And in his infrequent cooler moments, he'd berate himself for his susceptibility.


Out of courtesy, he went himself to fetch Isabella's belongings. "We shouldn't be in Richmond long," he explained to Molly. "But at the moment, I find myself unwilling to relinquish her. So if you'd see that some of Isabella's things are packed…" He shrugged. "Not much, I wouldn't think."

He went on to deliver Isabella's message and an edited account of their activities as Molly began assembling a number of gowns and other necessities, his conversation desultory, fractured, the focus of his thoughts obviously elsewhere as he paced the room.

Once the two valises were ready, Molly snapped the latches shut and faced Dermott from across the bed Isabella had used. "You should bring her back instead. Clearly, you're unsettled about this, wondering, I surmise, why the customary boredom hasn't set in."

Dermott came to a standstill and offered her a tight smile. "You know me too well."

"I know what most men of your class want. Pleasure without attachment. But you shouldn't lead her on. She's going to be hurt when you decide you've had your fill."

"If I could let her go, I would." He shifted uncomfortably. "But right now that's not possible. I felt I should at least give you notice before I take her away."

Molly looked at him with displeasure. "You're being utterly selfish, of course. She already adores you, doesn't she?"

He moved back a step, as though avoiding the significance of her words.

"And the longer you keep her, the more attached she'll become." Her gaze took on a critical assessment. "What if Isabella were to become pregnant? I don't suppose you care to consider that either?"

"Lord, Molly, give me some credit. I wouldn't do that to her."

"At least you haven't lost all reason."

"Not quite." He raked his hand through his dark hair. "She's not at all what I expected."

"You saw her here. You knew she was innocent."

"You're wrong. That she's not."

"And your lust has found a kindred spirit?" She spoke with a nice degree of cynicism.

He gently shook his head. "If it were only that simple. Lust I understand. It's sustained me for the last few years. But she's more than carnal sport. She talks of business like a merchant banker, and her knowledge of maps-" He smiled. "We've been working on my additions to the maps of northern India. She has a sure hand and an artist's eye. And she likes many of the books I do. And of course-"

"She makes love exactly to your liking," Molly astutely affirmed. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you're falling in love. And I mention the word with the greatest reservation, knowing you as well as I do."

"It's not love." His voice was crisp.

"But you can't let her go."

"I don't wish to yet."

"Look, Dermott, I just don't want you to leave her heartbroken. She doesn't have your experience or toughness." Her gaze was direct. "It's not an even contest."

"It's not a contest. She's enjoying herself." His mouth twitched into a faint smile. "Really."

"Ultimately, she'll lose you. And she has no one in the world to turn to, to care for her. I would if I could, but my situation would be an embarrassment to her. I can't openly offer her aid. Which means you're not allowed to deal with her in a cavalier way. I don't mean that as a warning." Her mouth set into a firm line. "Actually, I do."

"When it's over, I promise she'll be fine."

"She doesn't need your money. You're not going to be able to buy her off like all the others with an expensive piece of jewelry or a small house in Chelsea. You've thought of that, I presume."

"Of course. I've thought about every conceivable thing, dammit. Do you think I want to feel this way? I know what I'm doing isn't right, but you know," he harshly said, "she doesn't care either."

"So she says. You could do the honorable thing and marry her."

"Out of the question."

"She needs protection from her relatives."

"That I can do."

Molly glared at him. "I'm angry and I don't want to be angry with you."

"Let me make amends," he offered. "I'll see that her relatives are restrained."

"Permanently."

"Yes, of course."

Molly allowed him the smallest smile. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry, Molly, truly I am. I can't marry her. But I will at least see that she can return to her home when she wishes and live her life unmolested." He quickly glanced at the clock on Molly's desk. "I'll talk to Mathison before I leave for Richmond and have him look into these Leslies. And once I'm back in town, I'll go to see them myself and make them fully aware of the consequences should they coerce or frighten Isabella."

"They have to be warned off before she returns to town."

"I understand. You have my word. I won't allow them to touch her."

She didn't immediately reply, vexed and saddened by the harsh realities.

"She reminds you in some ways of yourself, doesn't she?"

"Of my ill-starred past." Molly grimaced. "I suppose I can't blame you for that." She sighed. "Take care of her and give me warning when you're returning. I want to be there for her if I can."

"I'll send you notice."

"She brings you joy, doesn't she?" Molly's gaze was piercing.

"Every minute." Moving to the bed, he picked up the valises. "It might be a fortnight or so, in case you don't hear from me. Don't take alarm."

"I'll trust you to act the gentleman. You're one of the few around."

"I'll take care of her. I promise."

When the door closed on him, Molly allowed her tears to flow. She hadn't cried in years, and she wondered for a moment if she was becoming dotty. Sniffling, she moved toward her desk, intent on doing something to help Isabella herself. Long ago, she'd learned that action forestalled her moments of self-pity. Picking up her pen, she sat down to write a note to her lawyer. She would see that the Leslies were investigated by her own team of attorneys. She had plenty of money and a considerable amount of influence as well. Albeit covert. At least she'd be prepared once Isabella returned to London. Having the upper hand had always been her favorite means of doing business.


Isabella waited for Dermott in his suite of rooms, pacing at times, trying to read, unable to sit for more than a few minutes at a time. Dressed in one of his robes, she wandered the large rooms, examining the portraits and landscapes on the walls, trying to place the ancestors chronologically by dress, wondering which of them had purchased the landscapes from the past century. A traveling Ramsey, no doubt, the majority of the works depicting continental locales. In her perambulations, she was reminded of the great difference in their stations in life-regardless her mother had been a viscountess in her own right. But the Leslies were not of the first water, nor had she any contact with her mother's relatives. Although, she thought with a small smile, heiresses at least were looked upon with a degree of approval. Now, if only Dermott were a poor earl, she whimsically noted, perhaps she could contemplate something more than a brief liaison.