Chapter 11

11

Millie hurried out to the greenhouse and took a moment to marvel at the structure. Made from wood and glass, its domed roof was magnificent and shone like a jewel in the wintry gardens. Opening the door, she immediately discarded her coat in the warmer, humid air. Wandering down the gravelled path, she found Philippa standing next to a tri-coloured rose bush. The blooms had petals beginning with sunny yellow at the heart of the rose, then shifting to pink, and finally red. Striking and fragrant. She could understand why Philippa would want the same roses in her garden.

‘I wondered if you got lost.’ Philippa didn’t look up at Millie as she stroked a petal. ‘This greenhouse is a marvel. I will speak with the major general about who designed this so I can erect one at Belgrave Square. Until then, perhaps his groundskeeper will give me a cutting of this in the spring. Divine, aren’t they?’

Millie slowed her pace as she approached Philippa. Before she could reply, Philippa spun, a dagger in her hand. She threw it at Millie, who turned sideways and smacked the weapon out of the air. Deftly releasing the blade on her wrist, she noted how the heft weighed pleasantly in her palm. One flick and it would hurtle through the air, aimed for Philippa’s heart.

Philippa’s perfectly arched brows rose. ‘Well done. Just because we can’t train as we normally would is no excuse to let your skills slip. We must stay alert, Millicent.’

Millie tried to calm her heart from the surprise attack. ‘A warning would have been nice.’

‘You won’t get a warning from Franklin St George. Though I am glad your wounds aren’t hindering you.’

‘I told you, it helped to have the pain. Allowed me to sharpen my focus.’

‘And how are you progressing with Major General Drake? Have you spoken with him about the parameters of your marriage?’

Millie hesitated. ‘I’m not sure exactly. I mean, I’m wondering if… would it be so terrible if he knew about us? Mayhap he would approve, and I could train with you while still living with Beau.’

Philippa snorted, her blue eyes flashing. ‘I’d never guess you for a fool, Millicent. No man would allow his wife to engage in the kind of dangerous activities we must perform for the Queen. Especially not a man like Beau .’ Her lips pressed together as if his name tasted sour on her tongue.

Millie shook her head. It was a crazy idea. She was being foolish, allowing her attraction for Drake to sweep her away. Stupid to think about a close marriage when he was sure to forbid her behaviour if he knew. ‘You’re right. Of course you are. We are going to speak tonight. I will impress upon him my desire for distance. I’m sure he wants the same.’ But she couldn’t forget the possession in his gaze when Franklin St George pressed a kiss against her gloved hand. Or the ache he inspired between her thighs every time his hand touched the small of her back. But it didn’t matter. Desire must be sacrificed for freedom.

‘We cannot afford to lose focus, Millicent. We are dealing with dangerous men who won’t hesitate to remove any impediment to their plans. Do not let your concentration be broken by something as ridiculous as a well-made man.’

Sage advice. ‘Of course. Yes. I am completely focused on this mission. I swear it.’

Philippa nodded, her hand stilling. ‘I mentioned your progress to the Queen. She is impressed with your natural skills, as am I. This is a wonderful opportunity for you, Millicent. Don’t waste it.’

Millie nodded. ‘Of course.’ But her heart beat in rebellion. She had never been good at following orders. Even those delivered by someone who had her best interests at heart.

‘Watch St George. Get close. See if he reveals any secrets. But remember, if we must engage the enemy, I will take care of him.’ Philippa’s jaw hardened, and her eyes flashed like steel in the sunlight. For a moment, Millie almost felt sorry for St George. Almost.

‘I won’t let you down, Philippa.’

‘I know. You are fearless. You remind me of someone I once knew.’ Turning back to the rose, Philippa leaned down and inhaled deeply. ‘Roses were her favourite, you know.’

Millie quirked a brow. Philippa never spoke about her personal life. ‘Whose favourite?’

‘Someone very dear to me from long ago.’

Desperate for Philippa to share more, Millie chose her words carefully. ‘Where is she now?’

Philippa was silent for several breaths. She turned her head, so the petals brushed against her cheek. ‘Gone. Forever.’ Her low voice broke, the only indication of her emotions, but enough to make Millie’s heart ache for her mentor.

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘As am I.’ Philippa straightened, clearing any emotion from her face. ‘We should return to the group. The investigation is afoot, Millicent. Stay alert. Keep those knives on you. Don’t die. Understand?’

It was hardly a declaration of affection, but Millie felt the warmth of Philippa’s friendship all the same. ‘I will. I will. And I won’t.’

‘Good. Now, let’s see if we can use Franklin St George’s false sense of security against him. One thing is certain. He’ll never suspect you. That is a powerful advantage. One Major General Drake cannot attain.’ Philippa winked at Millie, then lifted her skirts, leading the way back down the path to exit the greenhouse.

Just thinking about engaging Franklin St George in anything outside of a bout of fisticuffs left Millie cold as she redonned her coat. But this was why Philippa needed her. Millie’s history with St George – and his belief she was a trifle he could seduce or ignore at will – did give her a certain advantage.

Exhaling a long breath, she squared her shoulders and renewed her determination to use her past with St George to aid their mission as they made their way through the frozen gardens to the house.

Philippa was prepared to cause him bodily harm. Surely, Millie could endure a few hours of false pleasantries while engaging the horrid man in conversation and hoping he let something slip. Something more helpful than his blatantly wandering gaze as it roved over her breasts when she re-entered the drawing room.

Her stomach rolled like a ship at sea, threatening to heave up her late breakfast. She put her hand to her mouth and realised she still wore her gloves.

‘Drat! I need to return these to my room. I shan’t be long.’ Millie left Philippa at the foot of the stairs and ran up to her room to deposit her gloves and coat, promising to re-join the party in a trice.

‘Stiff upper lip, Millicent. Think of the Queen. It’s only a few hours, after all,’ she whispered to herself as she climbed the stairs. But when she pushed open the door to her bedroom, something felt wrong. Someone had been there. She had left a brush on her vanity that was now under the chair. The covers of her bed were rumpled, and one of the nightstand drawers was left ajar.

Millie’s skin pricked with alarm. She looked around her room, terrified the intruder might still be hiding somewhere. After checking under the bed, behind the drapes, in her dressing room and study, the mysterious snooper was either gone or able to contort himself into the smallest of hiding places.

‘What in the Devil?’ She opened her drawers, but nothing seemed amiss, though it was clear her writing pen had been moved, her papers were shuffled, and one of her favourite books had a small tear on the cover.

Millie shook her head, walked out of her room, and firmly shut the door. ‘Strange,’ she muttered to herself before descending to the main floor. She was still puzzling about her room when she crashed into Franklin St George. He caught her, but as she stepped back, Franklin refused to loosen his grip around her waist.

‘I’m so sorry, Franklin. I didn’t see you there. I must have been wool-gathering.’ She tried to step away again, but instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer. She could smell his aftershave, a pungent blend of patchouli and pine. Crinkling her nose, she tried to breathe through her mouth. ‘What are you?—’

Franklin swooped in and pressed his wet lips against hers before Millie could squirm away. The shock gave her a kick of adrenaline, and she shoved against his chest, twisting her head to break their kiss.

‘What the blazes?’ she hissed, wiping her mouth with her hand.

‘Don’t try to deny it, Millicent.’ Franklin’s eyes were crazed, his colour high. ‘I knew from the moment I arrived.’

Millie’s brow drew down. ‘Knew what?’

‘You still want me.’ Franklin smiled triumphantly. His chin almost completely dissolved into his neck as he nodded at her. ‘Who would blame you when facing a lifetime looking at Drake’s hideous face? I can see how your body reacts to my presence. Stop resisting. Even married women can have dalliances if they remain discreet.’ He tilted his chin and looked down his nose at her. ‘You’re wild for me.’

Millie would have laughed if not for the horror of the situation. ‘The only wild thing here is your imagination.’ She wished she could reach for her blades. But then he was leaning closer, his wet lips pursed.

Enough of this!

Franklin’s hand was wrapped around Millie’s waist. She grasped his thumb and twisted hard. His mouth – only moments ago intent on crashing into hers – twisted painfully and a high-pitched cry emitted from his lips.

Millie increased the pressure on his thumb, forcing him to release his grip on her. Letting go of his hand, she shoved hard against his chest, and he stumbled back a step, his eyes wide with shock.

‘Let me be very clear with you, Franklin. I am not interested in any dalliances. I would rather kiss one of the slugs in the garden than ever subject myself to your affections.’

Franklin recovered faster than she would have thought. A sick excitement flashed in his grey eyes. ‘You’ve got more fight in you than last time. I like that, Millie.’

‘It’s Millicent,’ she bit out between clenched teeth. ‘And I don’t think you’ll like my brand of fight, Franklin. I’m not the young, na?ve girl you once knew.’ Millie ruthlessly shoved down her fear and focused on the rage. She hated that he had used her pet name as if he had a right.

‘You don’t need to pretend, Millie .’ The bastard put undue emphasis on her name. ‘Not around me. Some things never change. Your obsession with me from childhood was always flattering. I know I hurt you when I rejected your wanton advances, but I find myself drawn to you now.’

Millie did laugh, then. ‘My obsession with you died rather quickly when you took my virtue and abandoned me like a whore. Trust me, Franklin, Major General Drake may have scars, but I find him to be the most desirable man I’ve ever seen. He surpasses you in all ways. Touch me again, and you will regret your decision.’

Hmm. Maybe pretending a friendship with Franklin wasn’t going to work. She was a terrible liar, after all.

Franklin took a step forward.

Millie lifted her hand and slapped him hard, his head whipping to the side.

Franklin lifted a shaking hand to his cheek. His gaze narrowed. ‘Filthy little bitch.’

It was the second time she’d been called a bitch in one day. She didn’t love it. But she did enjoy seeing Franklin’s eyes fill with fear. He was a bully at the heart of things. And bullies didn’t want a fair fight.

‘I won’t speak of this to Major General Drake. But if it happens again, he will be notified. How are your skills at duelling, Franklin? As I recall, you were always a terrible shot and even more dismal with swords. Beaufort is a skilled marksman, and his sword work is masterful. Trust me.’

Fear transitioned to anger, his mouth pressing tightly together. ‘This conversation isn’t over, Millicent. I had you once. I mean to have you again.’

Millie swallowed the bile rising in her throat. ‘You never had me, Franklin. I chose you. Unwisely, as it were. And I will never choose you again.’ She turned and quickly walked into the drawing room, her neck prickling. She was sure his gaze burned into her as she walked away.

Wonderful! Franklin will certainly trust me with his secrets now.

Millie sought out Drake. His gaze fell upon her, then looked behind her to see Franklin entering the room. Two parentheses formed on either side of his mouth. She couldn’t read his mind, but it didn’t take all her sleuthing skills to determine he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Men. Are. The. Worst. Even decent ones.

Millie took a deep breath and prepared herself for what was sure to be a dismal afternoon.

Drake paced in his room. It had been a dismal afternoon. His dinner jacket was stiff at the elbows, his white cravat tied too damned tight. The evening promised to be even worse than his day thus far. There was still an hour before dinner, but already he was dreading the meal with so much unwanted company. His limp was worse than usual. He’d not taken time to massage his leg with the linseed oil prescribed by his doctor. It eased some of the tension and helped to keep the scars from seizing, but he had no patience for it tonight.

Patricia had been so thrilled to welcome Godric and Nora into Drake’s goddamned house. And when Franklin St George peeled himself away from staring at Millicent, he had spent the remainder of the afternoon at Patricia’s side like a little lapdog. The stupid woman had practically purred with satisfaction. She had used the guest list to ensure Drake and Millicent would both be miserable. And she had succeeded. He was livid.

But his anger had only increased as he watched Millicent avoiding Franklin. Something had occurred between them. Something ugly, knowing Franklin. Every time the bastard’s eyes had wandered below Millicent’s chin, Drake’s hands clenched into fists, and a haze of red descended. Being tortured at the hands of hardened soldiers in the suffocating heat of Afghanistan had been a lark compared to an afternoon watching Franklin looking at Drake’s woman as though she were a treat he’d like to consume.

But she isn’t my woman.

Millicent yearned for independence. Freedom. She didn’t want a husband, even if her physical desire for him was obvious. Even if she didn’t want such liberation, he was determined to have a distant marriage where his control wouldn’t be sabotaged by his lust.

Millicent would never truly belong to him. The only reason she’d trapped Drake into this wedding fiasco was because she thought he’d beg off.

But I can’t. One taste of her on that damned veranda made me an addict.

And now, after suffering through the longest afternoon in his memory, he could hear her in her bedroom, only one sodding door away, moving about. Every sinew in his body tightened at the thought. He wanted her. More fiercely than he’d wanted anything. It was madness. This need hovering between pleasure and pain. How was a man supposed to think logically when all Drake imagined was the taste of her skin against his mouth?

The bloody fucking flutter in his chest was back.

Two incredibly unpleasant thoughts had taken root in Drake’s mind over the course of the afternoon, choking out everything else like ivy. First, Drake’s earlier suspicion about Franklin divesting Millicent of her virtue was gaining traction in his mind, which brought on the second and far more troubling question. What if she still wanted St George? It defied logic, but if Franklin had been Millicent’s first love, her feelings about him would be powerful and difficult to dismiss. A tryst would explain why the two of them came into the room together and were acting so awkward.

But Millicent wants me as much as I want her.

At least physically. He knew by the way her eyes warmed when he approached. How she teased him when everyone else ran and hid from his nasty temper. How her body melted against him when he held her. How she moaned when he nuzzled her delicate throat.

And she loathed Franklin St George. She’d not said as much, but she didn’t have to use words to convey her feelings. She had stiffened her spine when his coach approached Alder House. Throughout the afternoon, any time St George came close to Millicent, her whole body leaned away from him. Though Drake well knew, sometimes a person avoided what they wanted most. It begged the question, what exactly had transpired between them before they re-joined the group that afternoon?

Patricia had warned Drake that Millicent would cuckold him before the week was out, but nothing that vile woman said rang true. So, what was his devious wife-to-be playing at? And was it a coincidence she was speaking privately with the very man Drake had been tasked to investigate?

There was only one way to find out. With a determined growl, he marched to the door and flung it open.

‘Bloody hell! Drake! You scared me half to death.’ Millicent had been sitting on a padded stool in front of her vanity, but at his abrupt entrance, she jumped up, her hands disappearing into her emerald skirts. She looked magnificent in a scoop-necked dress. Drake wanted to lock the door and devour her. Instead, he focused on his suspicions.

‘What occurred between you and Franklin St George this afternoon?’ Not exactly subtle, but Drake wasn’t some sonnet-spouting idiot. His gentleness from the night before was an anomaly. Best she get used to his rough ways.

Millicent raised her brows, her full lips parting in a prolonged breath. ‘I ran into him after returning to my room to deposit my gloves and coat.’

‘That doesn’t exactly answer my question, does it? It’s the second question I’ve asked today that you’ve evaded.’ Drake slowly walked closer, stalking her like some limping beast. He knew his behaviour was unforgivable, but he didn’t care.

Millicent’s luscious mouth curved in a smile as she looked away. ‘You’re right. A novel experience, I’d wager.’

He wouldn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he prowled closer.

She huffed out a breath. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.’

Drake’s cock hardened, and his heart thrashed in his chest. ‘I notice everything when it comes to you, Millicent. Even when I wish I didn’t.’

Millicent’s skin darkened into a shade of red he was beginning to crave. ‘As my future husband, you deserve to know some things about my past. Franklin is the man who…’ She fumbled.

‘He was your lover?’ Drake spat the accusation at her like a poisoned dart. ‘Hardly a mere “family acquaintance”, darling.’ Perverse pleasure in using her own words against her twisted his lips into a painful smile. He hated the anger boiling in his blood, burning away his control. What did he care who she’d been with in her past? Or who she would be with in her future? That is what a distant marriage entailed. Both partners were free to take discreet lovers, and yet the very idea filled him with fury.

Millicent paused, a soft, husky laugh escaping. ‘Neither of our descriptions are true. He was not just a family acquaintance, yet calling him my lover implies there was some level of love involved, and there wasn’t. Certainly not for Franklin. But, yes. He was the man who took my virtue. Though in fairness to him, I offered it up freely. And while I fancied myself in love, it was really only girlish infatuation.’

‘Yet, despite this lack of love, he wishes to renew a physical relationship with you?’ Drake was going to kill Franklin St George. He cared not if the man was guilty of any crime other than propositioning Drake’s almost wife.

Millicent’s beautiful eyes widened and her blush spread, painting across her ample breasts. Breasts Drake dearly wanted to bury his head in, forgetting everything except her scent and softness. ‘How did you know?’

The harsh sound he emitted couldn’t be called a laugh. ‘He’s a man. And you are far more desirable than you think.’

Millicent bit her bottom lip. Drake suppressed a groan as her white teeth buried themselves into plump, red skin.

‘I don’t think I’m… That’s really not the point.’

‘What did you say to his proposition?’ Drake held his breath and pretended her answer didn’t have the power to shatter him. He shouldn’t have allowed his useless heart to defy him.

She took a halting step closer. ‘I told him if he ever dared approach me again about the subject, he would be duelling with you at dawn.’

Drake’s relieved exhale left no doubt as to his fears.

‘Did you think I might accept his offer?’

He couldn’t answer. Instead, he stood silent, blinking hard and wishing the earth would open up and swallow him whole. Of course he thought she would choose her unbroken first love over the stern, angry, scarred man Drake had become. To expose such vulnerability in front of her was excruciating.

‘Well, that doesn’t say much for your opinion of me, does it?’ Millicent huffed out an exasperated breath. The woman could speak volumes with no words at all. ‘Neither of us have much trust, it would seem.’

He was close enough to smell citrus and cotton. One more step, and she would be within arm’s length. ‘No. We don’t. Explain something to me, Millicent. What exactly is your connection with the Duchess of Dorsett?’

Her gaze flitted away from him.

Ah. So. She isn’t going to be honest.

‘What does she have to do with Franklin St George?’

‘Exactly.’ Drake watched her closely, but she kept her face carefully blank. ‘What does she have to do with Franklin St George? And is she asking you to help her?’

He closed the distance between them. Lifting his hand, he brushed the tips of his fingers down her cheek. She was so goddamn soft. Like warm silk. He watched in fascination as her pupils dilated, leaving only a ring of chocolate around the edges. ‘You’re keeping secrets from me, Millicent.’

‘And what about you? Are you being honest with me?’

Drake clenched his jaw.

‘Precisely. As I said, neither of us have much trust.’

Before she could say more, he stopped her mouth with his own. This was easy. This was honest. This connection between them, pulsing with tension and need was so much simpler than conversation. So much better than ugly questions and even uglier answers.

Plunging his tongue into her depths, he caught her around the waist, pressing her lush curves against the hardened planes of his body. When she melted, he wanted to roar in triumph.

I am not giving her anything but physical pleasure. I’m still in control of what matters. My heart. My loyalty. Myself.

So, how was he any better than St George? Only offering physical pleasure. No more. He pushed the question aside, unwilling to destroy this moment with useless introspection.

He tangled his tongue with hers. His bold temptress scraped her teeth over his bottom lip and bit hard enough to make him growl.

His hands wandered down her back, cupping her generous arse and squeezing hard. She was firm and fit where most women were soft and delicate. Just what made her so athletic was a question for later. Now, he gave in to his wild need. Pulling away from their kiss, he nibbled along her jaw, down her throat, until he buried his nose in the fragrant patch of skin between her clavicles.

‘Did you ever feel desire like this for him?’ It was a cruel question, but Drake wasn’t feeling kind. He was nothing like St George and he wanted Millicent to admit it. What they shared together, what she felt for Drake was more. He was better than that snivelling, vile excuse for a man.

‘No. Never.’ Millicent’s harsh whisper only heightened his need.

‘You won’t feel this for anyone else. I promise you. We may not have much trust, but I’m asking you to pledge to me your faithfulness. I will not share you, Millicent. Not with anyone.’ Distant marriage be damned. At least in this. At least for now. He spoke around heated kisses as his fingers traced along the neckline of her gown.

Millicent scraped her nails against his scalp, scratching hard enough to spike his lust a notch higher. She pulled him away from her with a strength that shouldn’t surprise him. ‘And what about you, my lord? I am not a woman who tolerates inequity. My fidelity is only yours if you promise me the same. I don’t like to share either, Drake.’

God, she was magnificent. Strands of her hair had come loose from his fingers tunnelling into the silky depths. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes heavy-lidded. How could he possibly want another woman when he could have her?

‘You have my promise, Millicent. However long this lasts between us, my body is yours completely. Will you give me the same promise?’ This wasn’t how their conversation was meant to progress. Drake had planned on questioning her, determining what her game was with Franklin St George, then outlining exactly how their marriage would proceed. But she had derailed him. Something she did with alarming regularity. And now, instead of demanding her faithfulness, he was asking for it. Like a love-sick swain.

But this isn’t love. It’s lust. Only desire. And I can control that.

‘I swear it, Beau. My body is yours alone for as long as this lasts.’

I want more.

What more could he possibly want? He pushed the question aside and leaned down to press kisses against the swell of her generous breasts. Reaching into her neckline, he scooped a delicious globe out, her strawberry nipple puckering for his mouth.

He fell upon her like a starving man upon a feast. Biting, nipping, sucking. So much better than his dream. He freed her other breast, her dress pushing them up and out like some pagan offering.

‘Beau!’ Her strangled cry unravelled him.

Lavishing her right breast with his mouth, his fingers mirrored his efforts with the left.

‘Are you wet for me, sweetheart?’ Soft words so unfamiliar to Drake, but they poured out of him whenever she was near.

‘I don’t… This never happened before.’ Millicent’s nails were like crescent indentations of fire on his neck as she held him closer.

Pulling free of her, he tugged her over to a chaise, laying her out like some decadent feast. Her breasts – gloriously free from their constraints – were blatantly naked while the rest of her remained clothed. It was erotic and so fucking sensual. His cock jerked. He could rub himself to completion just looking at her. But she had given him a better idea.

‘Lift your skirts for me, Millicent.’

Millicent’s eyes flew wide, brave even in this. Her hands reached for the emerald silk. She pulled up her skirts, uncovering delicate ankles and shapely calves covered in sheer stockings and held in place with garters. But Millicent revealed even more than her seductive body. A blade was tied to her left ankle. Another to her right thigh. A third to her right ankle.

Drake fingered the leather strap around her thigh. ‘My, my.’

Millicent froze, her beautiful eyes filled with alarm. She tried to pull her skirt down as she realised too late her mistake. Drake was quicker, encircling her wrist with his much stronger hand, halting her progress.

‘It’s just for protection. A young lady can’t be too careful.’ The words rushed out as Millicent looked over his left shoulder.

A courageous woman might carry a small muff pistol for protection, but throwing blades like the ones strapped to Millicent’s delicious body required a level of skill no young miss of the beau monde would ever master without significant training. She was lying. But Drake didn’t give a good goddamn in that moment. There were more important things to focus on just now.

Drake had never been aroused by weapons before. But seeing the pewter glint of steel against Millicent’s pale, gorgeous leg sent a new rush of blood to his already straining cock. Too lost to his desires to ask her questions, he determined there would be time for interrogations later. Much later.

‘Spread your legs for me, Millicent.’

She must have been so relieved he wasn’t questioning her, she didn’t hesitate to follow his command. She thrust her chin into the air and boldly spread her legs.

Dear God. I know what heaven looks like.

Her pale thighs widened to expose copper curls and pink lips dripping with need.

Drake sank to his knees.

‘What are you doing?’ Millicent’s courage seemed to have failed her. She closed her thighs tightly, her eyes widening in alarm.

It would seem Franklin St George never shared this pleasure with Millicent.

Idiot!

Oh, the things Drake would show her. Putting a large, calloused palm on either knee, Drake slowly pushed her legs apart again. He kept his gaze on Millicent’s face, watching the war of desire and fear play out in devastating detail. ‘I know we share little faith between us. But trust me in this. Please.’ He wouldn’t force her. But he hoped with every fibre of his being she agreed.

Blinking, Millicent swallowed hard and then nodded. It was all the assent he needed.

Drake pressed a kiss against her right knee, then her left. Her skin smelled of lemons. He trailed more kisses up her thighs, switching from one side to the other. He nipped and licked a pathway to heaven, carefully avoiding the wicked blades. Slowly, her legs eased further apart, making room for his wide shoulders. He settled himself at her apex, lifting one leg over his shoulder, then the other.

‘Beau, what are you doing? This can’t be right.’

‘Let me show you how right it can be.’ He caught her gaze in his own. ‘Yield to me, Millicent. Just in this. Just for now.’

She bit her lip and his cock wanted to explode. He groaned, willing his body to behave.

‘Okay.’

Thank the Devil!

‘And, if you’d like to call me Millie, er, that is what my friends call me. Given our current situation…’ Her voice trailed off as she swallowed loudly.

Inexplicably, the flutter in his heart was back as something warm and liquid filled his chest. ‘Relax, Millie. I have you.’

Leaning closer, he didn’t break eye contact. He pressed his nose into the crinkling curls hiding her secrets from him and inhaled. Her earthy scent almost drove him over the edge.

‘Beau!’ She tightened her thighs around his head, but he wasn’t stopping now.

‘Touch your breasts, Millie. Pretend your hand is mine.’

He licked her slit, revelling in the salty tang of Millie, glancing up to see her strong fingers pinch, caress, and stroke her beautiful nipples. It was the most gorgeous sight he’d ever seen.

She cried out in shock, so he delved deeper, finding the cluster of nerves that held her pleasure captive. He sucked and nuzzled, kissed, and nibbled, scraped gently with his teeth before slipping a finger into her tight channel.

Millie writhed, her cries creating a map to her climax. He followed her dips and hollows, his finger creating a rhythm that opened her further. He pushed a second finger into her depths, marvelling at how tight she felt against him as she flexed her thighs on either side of his head. He crooked his finger, finding a special, secret place that caused Millie’s body to seize. Her cries stopped, and she held her breath. He knew she was close. So close.

Licking in rhythm to his fingers, he drove her higher, harder, faster. When he sucked her nub between his lips and crooked his finger in tandem, she screamed out his name as her body clamped around him, her legs gripping tight, her entire being vibrating like a cello string.

It was glorious.

Until the door burst open, and a very angry scream had him scrambling from beneath Millie’s skirts.

A pale, thin woman in a gown the colour of storm clouds rushed into the room.

‘Unhand my friend, you bastard!’ The delicate woman looked around and grabbed a hairbrush left on the side table near the door. She brandished the thing like a battle axe. ‘Step away from Millie or I shall pummel you, sir!’ The woman strode forward like an avenging angel.

Drake pulled Millie’s skirts down as she frantically attempted to shove her breasts back into her bodice.

‘Ivy!’ Millie’s husky voice was equal parts surprised, joyful, and chagrined. ‘One moment.’ She continued to right herself as Drake stood. ‘Oh, my Lord, I’ve missed you.’ Millie pushed up from the chaise, then nearly collapsed again. Drake steadied her, hoping to God Ivy didn’t notice his granite cock pressing against the cotton of his pants, straining for release.

Millie ran to her friend, wrapped her arms around the thin woman, and hugged her so tight, Drake worried his betrothed might break her friend in half.

Ivy kept her gaze focused on Drake even as she hugged Millie back.

Ivy Cavendale. Best friend to Millie. Daughter of Lord Cavendale. Sister of Alfred Cavendale. Unfortunately for Ivy, both men tried to kill Drake’s closest – some might say only – friend, Lieutenant General Robert Killian.

The house party Drake and Killian had attended at Lord Bradford’s country estate several months prior ended in three deaths. Alfred Cavendale died at the hands of his father. Lord Cavendale died at the hands of Hannah Simmons. And Killian’s state as a confirmed bachelor also died at the hands of Hannah Simmons. At the time, Drake thought his best friend was a complete idiot. Only moronic imbeciles were stupid enough to fall in love.

He shifted in his jacket as the cursed flutter worked double-time in his chest while his cock reluctantly receded.

Please! Lust and love are not the same. I survived the nightmare of love once. I won’t risk that hellfire again.

His heart pounded painfully against his ribs, flagrantly disregarding his thoughts, but he ignored the stupid organ.

‘Miss Cavendale. What a pleasure to see you again so unexpectedly.’ He let sarcasm coat every syllable as he raised his eyebrow at her, straightening to his full six foot four inches. Hopefully, his tone would quell her lethal intent. But the delicate woman didn’t even flinch.

What is wrong with these ladies?

First Hannah Simmons, then Millie. Now, this slip of a woman who looked like a strong breeze could blow her away. Yet here she stood, facing off against him with murder in her eyes and only a damned hairbrush as a weapon. Didn’t they know he was an intimidating, powerful, dangerous man? Someone with whom you did not trifle?

Ivy stepped out of Millie’s embrace, strode up to Drake, put both hands on his chest, and shoved him. Hard.

No. She doesn’t know. She’s trifling. Drake heaved out a sigh.

‘You stay away from my friend, you blackguard! How dare you take advantage of her in the safety of her own rooms?’ The woman was furious. Ivory skin blotched with crimson shades of rage. Her blue eyes, almost as pale as his, flashed with fury.

Millie came up behind her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her around. ‘Ivy, I’m fine. He wasn’t taking advantage. That is to say, er… I was quite enjoying the ravagement, though I don’t think that’s a word.’

Ivy froze, her eyes going wide. He watched the rage drain out of her like a hot air balloon deflating. ‘Oh. I see. Well. How… unfortunate. For me, I mean.’ She flapped her hand between Millie and Drake. ‘I’m sure it was quite fortunate for the two of you. I fear I’ve overstepped.’ For some bewildering reason, his rogue heart squeezed painfully at her obvious embarrassment. It wasn’t enough that Millie crawled into the cracks and crevices of his heart; now some woman he neither knew well nor cared about was making him feel things. Bad things. She was Millie’s closest friend, but why on earth would it matter to him if she was upset?

Because it matters to Millie.

First fluttering, then pounding, now this. Angina. That’s what this is. Angina pectoris.

‘Of course not!’ Millie rubbed her hand down Ivy’s arm in a reassuring gesture.

‘You were trying to protect your friend. Quite bravely, Miss Ivy. I don’t know many men with enough courage to challenge me with a hairbrush.’ Drake clamped his jaw shut. What was he doing now? Reassuring a woman who interrupted him just as he was about to let his poor cock have a desperately needed moment of release? He’d taken leave of his senses. It was the only logical answer.

Ivy’s face crumpled. As the first tear emerged, Drake began to panic. He never panicked. He faced hordes of marauders, torture, starvation, freezing cold, and sweltering heat. Not once did he panic. But one tear and he was ready to beat a hasty retreat.

‘Perhaps you should return to your room, Drake. Ivy’s had a long journey and we haven’t seen each other in weeks.’ Millie wrapped her arm around Ivy’s shoulder, shielding her friend with her body.

‘Yes. That is good. I shall just…’ Drake backed away, feeling equal parts shame and relief for wanting to escape. ‘I will see you downstairs. Later.’ He turned and made haste for their connecting door.

Dear God. Women are far more terrifying than any Afghan warriors.

It wasn’t until he reached the safety of his room, he realised he’d completely forgotten to question Millie about the blades. Or Philippa. Or St George.

‘Fucking hell.’