Chapter 9

9

Millie was falling. And whenever one fell, one crashed and usually broke. Of that, she was certain.

To be seen with such clarity was a terrifying thing. Especially when it was so important she remain cloaked in shadows. But Major General Beaufort Drake, hater of women, killer of tyrants, courageous warrior for the prime minister, thought she was brave.

Oh my.

And everything he’d shared about his past with the despicable Nora only made him more desirable. Millie loved a challenge. Finding a soft place in Drake’s broken heart would be quite the feat. But was that a space she wanted to inhabit? As Drake carefully applied the balm to her cuts, her heart bled far more intensely than her wounds. How was she supposed to resist the hard, angry, beautiful, broken, scarred, brilliant man?

Because trusting him would give him access to my heart, and he would crush it. Must learn from past mistakes, Millie!

When he placed the washcloth on her back, Millie almost cried out, but she clenched her teeth instead. The lye burned into her wounds as tears stung her eyes.

‘Golly, that smarts!’ she hissed.

Drake’s dark chuckle distracted her from the pain. ‘So polite. I’ve heard far worse from your lips, Millicent. Coarse language doesn’t bother me, and I’ve found it helps in moments like this, oddly enough.’

‘Truly?’ Millie was willing to try anything to lessen the pain.

‘Let her rip, my dear.’

‘Well, in that case, bloody fucking hell! That hurts.’

His chuckle turned into a belly laugh that almost had her swooning. She wished she wasn’t facing the fire. She wanted to see Drake lost to mirth. It was almost worth the pain. How many people had seen the serious, dour, surly Earl of Tetly actually laugh? Not many, she’d wager.

‘Well done. Did it help?’

Actually, it had a bit. ‘It didn’t make things worse, that’s for certain,’ Millie admitted.

‘Keep going, sweetheart. This next part is going to be rough.’

So, she did, letting loose every foul word she knew and some she invented in the moment, as he used firm strokes to wash her back. He spent considerable time with a few of the cuts, sparing her no mercy as he meticulously scrubbed them out. It took several trips to the basin to rinse out the blood and soap, and Millie was nearly incoherent when he was done.

‘I think it might be best for you to lie down before I apply the balm, Millicent. You are shaking. I don’t want you to fall if you faint.’

Millie straightened her shoulders, the pull of her skin against the gashes causing her vision to blur. ‘Perhaps you are right, Beau. I’ll just…’ She took a step but stumbled, losing her grip on the dress still clasped to her chest.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, carefully avoiding the worst of her injuries as he held her tight to his side. She completely lost hold of her dress. It sagged around her waist. Her breasts jostled lewdly as they moved, but Millie no longer cared. She just wanted to lie down and slip into the sweet darkness of sleep.

He helped her to the bed, then uttered a curse. ‘I hope you have other dresses as well. I liked this one immensely, but…’ A ripping sound alerted her to the fact her betrothed had just cut away the bodice of her dress. After a few tugs, she lay face down on her bed in a half-ruined chemise and nothing else. Patricia would be outraged. The thought of her stepmother sputtering in horror was enough to make her giggle under normal circumstances, but now it came out as a pained gasp.

‘I should have called for a doctor. You need morphine. Laudanum. Something for the pain.’

‘No. I’m well. I just need you to finish, and then I’ll sleep. I’ll be much better in the morning. I promise,’ she mumbled into the pillow. Already, the blackness beckoned. The only thing tethering her to consciousness was Drake’s rough voice and his warm, strong hands.

‘Lie still, my love. I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

His fingers were steady and sure as they wiped cool balm into her cuts. It hurt. Like the dickens, but not nearly as bad as the soap.

It may have been minutes or hours, but eventually, his hands left her back.

‘I’m done. Sleep now. I’ll send Penny in the morning to apply more balm and fresh bandages. You’ll have a tray for breakfast and can come down later when you’re ready.’

Millie wasn’t sure, but she felt the barest brush of soft lips against her shoulder before the door opened and then shut again.

If she wasn’t so exhausted, she would have wondered at his words. My love. Probably just a meaningless term of endearment. It likely meant nothing. But her lips curled into a smile as she slipped into the embrace of sleep.

He should never have followed his stupid instincts. Maintaining control of his raging desire was almost impossible when faced with a courageous, vulnerable woman like Millicent. But he wasn’t so much a beast he would compromise an injured woman.

Thank God. I maintained control. Like a bloody hero.

Hardly.

He pushed through the door of their connecting room with the memory of Millicent’s silky skin beneath his lips fraying every nerve ending in his body.

Stripping bare, Drake poured cold water into the basin on his counter. Sluicing the frigid water over his heated body did nothing to cool his all-consuming arousal. His cock was so hard, a slight breeze would send him over the edge.

He stumbled to the bed like a drunkard, only it was lust, not whiskey flaring through his blood and causing his shaking hands and fumbling coordination.

The cool sheets felt heavenly against his skin, and he flopped on his back, his hand slipping down.

There were no rules against fucking Millicent in his mind. If he couldn’t have her body, at least he could imagine all that soft, tantalising flesh pressed against him. And after his sneak peek, he had all the inspiration he needed.

Closing his eyes, he thought of her full breasts, strawberry nipples puckered and aching for his touch. He would press open-mouthed kisses against her skin, circling ever closer to the sensitive buds, then finally, when Millicent was crazed with need, when her husky voice demanded satisfaction, he would cover one nipple with his hot mouth and taste her sweetness. His fingers would pinch and squeeze the other nub as he devoured her. Light licks, hard sucks, bites that blended pleasure and pain. She would scream his name as he plundered.

His hand fisted his cock in hard strokes. Digging his heels into the mattress, Drake savoured the sizzle of desire pulsing at the base of his spine.

He thought of her mouth at dinner, her tongue licking the spoon. It was so easy to imagine her glorious mass of flaming hair falling through his fingers as he guided her head down his body. She would take his pulsing cock in her mouth, her plump lips tightening around him in glorious, wet heat. His hand became her lips as he imagined her pink tongue swirling around his head, licking the sensitive slit where seed spilled from him in arcing jets.

He cried out, lost to his fantasy, as his body reached the precipice and flew higher.

For a blissful moment, he hovered in the ether. Neither man nor spirit. Just sensation. But inevitably, the glory dissipated, and he returned to himself.

The fantasy wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. But as Drake rose to clean himself, he sent a fleeting prayer to a God he no longer believed in that it would grant him control of his unrelenting hunger. For now. That it would allow him to keep the distance he so desperately needed.

Then he remembered the words he’d murmured.

Lie still, my love.

His mind recoiled. Surely not. Lust was bad enough. Love was impossible. Just the thought chased away any lingering need and replaced it with cold determination.

Millicent Whittenburg was many things, but she would not become his destruction. He would fight her with every weapon in his arsenal if he must.

‘She is just a means to allow me greater freedom in my investigations. One more mission assigned by the prime minister. I will not fail him. And I will not break my promise.’

Sharing his past with Millicent reminded him of how devastating a woman could be. Love would not lay Drake bare again. Some wounds never healed.

Light filtered through the drapes, and the scent of toast and tea tickled Millie’s nose. She was face down on the bed and started to roll over when streaks of fire lashed her back. Her wounds were not yet healed, but the salve was helping.

‘Don’t move, miss. Not yet. Let me reapply the balm and wrap your back. Then you can have some nice, coddled eggs, toast, tea, and lemon-currant scones. One of Cook’s best recipes.’ Penny bustled over from her washbasin with a tray carrying white bandages and the pot of medicine.

Millie lifted her head from the pillow, then let it fall back down, content to let Penny fuss over her for a few more minutes before she needed to put her shields back on, go downstairs, and face her stepmother. Not to mention the hordes of guests arriving today for her wedding.

Penny finished bandaging Millie’s back and brought the tray of delicious breakfast treats over to set on her lap.

Four days left. She would be marrying Beau in just four more sunrises. It was impossible not to remember his kind, gentle care last night. But she couldn’t let her heart melt as it so desperately wanted to do. Her mission for the Queen must take precedence.

And to accomplish her task, she would need to speak with Franklin St George.

‘Ugh,’ she muttered, crunching on a slice of toast with butter and preserves.

‘Is something not to your liking, miss?’ Penny watched her with a sharp gaze.

Millie forced a smile. ‘No, it’s lovely.’

She refused to think of Franklin St George just yet. Or the daunting task of getting him to divulge his secrets to her while trying to maintain the image of a devoted wife-to-be. Though after last night, that didn’t seem quite so difficult to pretend.

Am I pretending?

Her memories of the past evening invaded her mind once more. She couldn’t forget the feather-soft kiss Drake pressed to her shoulder before leaving. Or when he called her ‘my love’.

Sweet saints and sinners. The man is impossible. To resist.

But resist him she must. What good would come of being devoted to her husband? A man who would certainly forbid her activities with Lady Philippa if he were ever to guess. A man who was used to issuing commands and watching others scramble to follow them. If she let her affections for him grow, her freedom would decrease in equal measure. Devotion was just another term for beholden, and she would not give up her freedom. Not for a man and his fickle fancies.

She had been devoted to two men in her past. Her father and Franklin St George. Both men had proven the folly of trusting her heart to anyone but herself.

Millie once thought her father’s love was forever. He told her when she was just a girl, he would never force her to leave their family home. She could stay with him as a spinster for as long as she wished in a house full of books and cats and vases of freshly cut hyacinths sweetening the air. They would chase butterflies in the flower garden, lie out on the grass making magical kingdoms out of the clouds, and stay up well past her bedtime to watch the stars twinkle into wakefulness in a black, velvet sky. She was his sweet pea, and he was her pea-brained papa… two peas in a pod. Until she dallied with St George. Not long after, he met Patricia. Those two events changed everything.

Her loving father became distracted, distant, and disapproving of the child he once deferred to in all things. It broke her heart. Shattered her soul. Poisoned her faith in constancy.

Franklin St George had been equally fickle. He came to her like a prince in some children’s tale. If his chin was a little weaker than Sir Galahad, or his shoulders were padded instead of carved from granite, who was she to criticise? She was tall and plump and stronger than Franklin, even as a child. Clearly, she had her own flaws, but Franklin never pointed them out to her. Or at least, not often and always with the aim to correct her behaviour. Love painted over his imperfections like snow covered the fields and turned everything into a sparkling fairyland.

The fateful afternoon when Franklin St George asked her to join him in a picnic at the ancient folly between their two estates, Millie was thrilled. He didn’t have to coerce her to lift her skirts. She wanted Franklin to be the one who took her virtue. After all, he already had her heart. And he promised her forever. Whispered it frantically in her ear as he thrust once, twice, a third time before shuddering and letting his weight fall upon her. The pain was a small price to pay for her lover’s unending devotion.

The next day, Franklin St George arrived at her estate. Not to take her on another outing as her silly heart wished, but instead to confront her father about her actions. Forever must mean something very different to men. Millie stupidly thought it meant always.

If her father’s love was so easily lost, and Franklin’s was just a lie, how could a man like Major General Drake ever hope to convince her of faithfulness?

No. It was far better she stay the course. She wasn’t going to convince Drake to break the engagement, but at least she could keep her heart safe and secure in the depths of her chest. Where it belonged. Where it couldn’t be shattered like crystal glass or a girl’s hopes or dreams of castles in the sky.

Creatures can’t survive without a heart, so I won’t be giving mine away. Never again.

Penny helped Millie don a sprigged muslin day dress with tiny, green leaves embroidered into the skirts. It was a simple pattern, but the cut set off her figure, and the neckline was just low enough to let the girls peek out while still remaining modest. Drake seemed rather impressed with her breasts. Well, let him look his fill. He’d certainly seen far more than that the previous night.

Just thinking about his hands on her bare back was enough to make her shiver. She ruthlessly shut down that avenue of thought while Penny piled her red curls high on her head in an artfully messy bun. Spirals spilled down her neck, tickling her skin.

She pinched her cheeks a few times, bit her lips, then rubbed beeswax on her eyelids and mouth, popping her lips together once more for good luck.

‘Right, well. This is as good as it gets, Penny. Thank you. You’ve done a marvellous job of my hair.’

Penny’s cheeks grew pink as she ducked her head. ‘It’s no bother, miss. You have such beautiful hair. I can’t imagine it ever looking bad.’

Millie laughed. ‘Well, lucky you didn’t know me as a girl. It was a frizzy, tangled mess back then. Thank goodness Cocoa Glycerine keeps it contained. Right. I believe I’m ready to face the fray.’ Smiling at Penny, she rose and swept past the maid to her door.

Millie carefully descended the curved staircase leading from the family wing to the Alder House’s entrance. Beeswax, roses, and lemons scented the air.

Just as she was about to seek out a maid to discover where Major General Drake and the other guests were, the young lad she had met when she arrived came skidding into the entryway.

‘Oh. Hullo. I didn’t fink any toffs were ’round. The major general says everyone was getting a tour of the grounds.’ He stuck something into his pocket and gave her a charming smile despite the smudge of dirt on his cheek.

‘Master Bright, am I right?’

‘’Oos askin’?’

Millie hid her smile. ‘I am. I’m soon to be the mistress of this house, young man. It’s important I know who I can trust with important tasks.’

‘Cor blimey, miss. If you’re lookin’ for a bloke whose can get things, deliver things, or keep things under me cap’ – he doffed an imaginary cap and gave her a jaunty wink – ‘then I’m yer man. Even the major general trusts me, and he don’t trust no one.’

‘Doesn’t trust anyone,’ Millie corrected gently.

‘That’s wot I said, innit? Don’t tell me you’re one of them barmy toffs ’oos always going on about the proper ways to say things. I says things ’ow I sees them and that’s good ’nuff for me.’

‘A wise mantra to live by, Master Bright.’

‘I don’t know nuffink ’bout no man trays, nor no mont rahs neither, but I knows quick feet’ll get you out of trouble, and a quick tongue can get you into it. That’s what me mum says, and she’s never wrong.’

‘She sounds very wise.’

Master Bright blinked his large eyes, tilting his chin up as if to take her measure. ‘Too right, she is.’

Clipped steps echoed down the hall. Before Master Bright could make a quick exit, Patricia swept into the entryway. She wore a pink, frilled monstrosity. Her corset was laced so tightly, she could barely take a full breath without her breasts spilling out.

‘You!’ she screeched at the boy.

Instinctively, Millie stepped in front of him, blocking him from Patricia’s view. Master Bright clung to Millie’s skirts, his little hands shaking. She didn’t need to glance down to know her dress now carried twin handprints from Master Bright. Well, she was bound to stain the thing herself before the end of the day. The dangers of wearing white could not be overstated.

‘What on earth are you yelling about?’ Millie put her hand behind her and grasped the lad’s shoulder, squeezing softly to reassure him.

‘What am I yelling about? That little thief stole my necklace. The emerald one your father gave me for my birthday. Step aside, Millicent. I will have my necklace back and demand Major General Drake whip this boy for his crimes before dismissing him immediately. The little guttersnipe can’t even speak without betraying his low birth. It’s a wonder he isn’t covered in vermin.’

‘Oi! I take my baths every month.’ Master Bright poked his head out from the side of Millie’s skirts before quickly ducking back into his hiding spot of sprigged muslin.

Millie scrunched her nose for a moment. Yes, her dress would most definitely need to be laundered. Patricia’s high-pitched scream forced her to refocus. ‘Why on earth do you think he stole your emerald necklace, Patricia? Surely, he wasn’t in your rooms.’

‘How dare you question me?’ Patricia walked to Millie and raised her right hand to strike. As it flew through the air, Millie pushed Master Bright back and leaned out of Patricia’s range. With her left hand, she caught Patricia’s wrist. Following her stepmother’s momentum, she wrenched Patricia’s wrist across her body, pulling her stepmother off balance. Letting go, Patricia stumbled, landing in a tangled heap on the floor.

Philippa had taught Millie this move, though she could have altered it to keep control of Patricia’s arm. With the woman’s wrist captured and enough pressure put on her elbow, she could easily break Patricia’s arm if she wanted. Instead, she opted to push her away. The stupid woman would never know how lucky she was to be released.

Millie could feel the wounds in her back stretch painfully as wetness seeped through the bandages. She refused to show any weakness to Patricia. No longer did she live under this vile woman’s roof.

‘Cor blimey, miss. You’re a right corker, you are!’ Master Bright had stepped away from her in the scuffle and watched them from a safe distance.

‘You little bitch!’ Patricia hissed as her dress ballooned around her like a lily pad of silks with her the toad at its centre. ‘Dare you forget how tenuous your future is, Millicent? With a simple note to the right people, I could destroy you and your precious friend.’ Her green eyes blazed with an unholy fire even as tears filled them from the embarrassment of her fall.

Millie knew backing down would only give her stepmother more power, but the idea of Lady Philippa’s name being maligned so cruelly, her safety brought into question, was unimaginable. Better for Patricia to think she’d won this little skirmish than to fan the flame of her ire.

‘I must have slipped. Terribly sorry, Patricia. Let me help you.’ She reached to grasp Patricia’s arm, but the woman slapped her hands away. She struggled to stand on her own, transitioning from croaking toad to flapping chicken. No doubt her cinched corset didn’t make the job easier.

‘Lying little whore,’ Patricia hissed at Millie once she’d regained her feet.

Millie forced her hands to remain loose when she could so easily imagine the satisfaction of thrusting the heel of her palm into Patricia’s nose, breaking the pointy little beak. ‘Insult me if you must, but I would remember, this isn’t your house. These aren’t your servants, nor will the earl take kindly to you accusing his people of thievery. I’d search your rooms more carefully before risking offence to our host.’ She was careful to keep her body between Patricia and the young lad. Patricia might not care about dragging her stepdaughter’s reputation through the mud, but neither would she appreciate being thrown out of Drake’s home in front of all the wedding guests. And Millie was sure Drake wouldn’t hesitate to do just that with the smallest provocation. Appealing to the woman’s vanity was the best way to control her.

Patricia’s hand caught on a tear in her skirts. She stifled a frustrated scream. Angry tears ran down her face, creating red, splotchy streaks in the rice powder she used to keep her complexion pale and smooth. ‘Look what you’ve done! You’ve ruined my dress, you ungrateful, insufferable, fat trollop! You’ll pay for this, you stupid, ugly?—’

The deep sound of a throat being cleared effectively silenced Patricia. Her red-rimmed eyes widened as she looked behind Millie.

Drat.

Millie didn’t need any guesses to know who stood behind her. She could feel his heat as the scent of cloves and leather surrounded her. Hopefully, he hadn’t seen her attack on Patricia. He was the last person who needed to discern her fighting skills.

Philippa will kill me if she finds out.

Millie turned around to see Drake looking fit and fine in a dark-charcoal jacket, grey waistcoat, and black breeches. His hessian boots gleamed in the cold sun streaming through the window.

Oh my.

‘Have a care when you speak of my betrothed, Lady Whittenburg. It looks as though you might want to return to your rooms and do something about…’ Drake waved his hand around his face. ‘All that. Your face seems to be melting. And your skirt…’ He let his voice fade.

Patricia pressed her lips together, her body vibrating with fury. ‘You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t cuckold you before the end of the week.’

‘Enough, madame!’ Drake roared loud enough to make Millie’s bones quake and Patricia squeak like a frightened mouse. ‘Leave us,’ Drake thundered.

Patricia pulled back her thin shoulders. Gathering her ruined skirts, she gave Millie a hateful glare before turning to walk up the staircase, turning left toward the guest wing.

‘You picked yourself a right grand lady, guvnor.’ Master Bright walked over to Drake and nodded sagely. He turned to Millie. ‘If you ever need anyfink, you come find me. I’m your man, miss.’

‘You can call me Millie.’ She smiled at the boy though her heart was beating triple-time after the confrontation with Patricia and Drake’s furious response.

‘Right you are, Miss Millie. And you can call me Billy. Caw, do you ’ear that? Millie and Billy. Like a right fairy rhyme. We’re friends now, Millie. An’ I protect me friends.’

‘So do I, Billy. By the by, if you did happen to find an emerald necklace lying about, you could certainly give it to Penny. I’m sure she’d return it to its rightful place.’

Billy’s lopsided grin revealed a gap in his two front teeth. ‘That’s some good advice, Miss Millie. If I ’appens to find any missing necklaces, I’ll make sure to do just that.’ He winked at her before turning to push open the front door, whistling a bawdy tune as he strutted on his merry way.

‘My goodness. What an interesting young man.’ Millie’s gaze flicked to Drake and she tried for an innocent smile.

Drake raised his broken eyebrow in an expression she was coming to recognise. ‘That is one way to describe him.’

‘I wonder exactly where you found him. I only mean, he doesn’t seem to be your average country lad.’ Perhaps she could divert his attention away from her interaction with Patricia by focusing on his unique choice in servants.

‘Nothing about Billy is average.’ Drake tugged at his cravat – an oddly endearing gesture reminiscent of Master Bright himself. ‘Billy may be young, but he’s experienced far more tragedy in his life than most people. When I met him, he’d just lost his sister.’

Millie raised her brow and forced her tongue to stay still despite the questions bursting forth. Exactly what circumstances had led to his sister’s death? And was Drake involved in investigating them? Buttons to sweet buns said Philippa would know about it. Millie would make sure to quiz her mentor at the earliest opportunity.

‘That’s terrible.’

‘Yes. It was. And instead of letting such unfair cruelty twist him, Billy was determined to find justice for his sister. He showed more virtue in adversity than most of the blue-blooded buffoons in the entire beau monde.’

Millie’s heart stretched painfully imagining what kind of trouble Billy had experienced. ‘I’m glad you took him in, then.’

Drake shrugged. ‘It was hardly an act of charity. I expect Billy to earn his keep.’ He clenched his jaw, and for a moment, Millie thought the conversation was over. Instead, his icy gaze fell upon her, holding her in his thrall. ‘That isn’t the truth of it, though. Billy deserved a better chance than what life gave him, and by no effort of my own, I was in a position to help.’

‘So, you offered him a post in your house? Just like that?’ Hardly in character for a man of Drake’s cold reputation.

In lieu of an answer, he shrugged, his gaze astutely avoiding hers.

Millie was certain few people had the courage or opportunity to tease the oh-so-serious Earl of Tetly. She was determined to take full advantage of this serendipitous moment. ‘Who would have guessed Major General Drake was prone to such flights of fancy? Can you imagine if the beau monde caught wind? Your reputation would be in tatters. The earl with a heart of gold. Ah, but fear not, my lord. Your secret is safe with me.’

Drake’s gaze swept back to her. His eyes narrowed. ‘Are secrets something you often keep, Millicent?’

Damnable man!

Millie had stepped right into that. ‘Only for such a sensitive soul as yourself, my lord.’

‘I think you are imagining things. First a heart, now a soul? You don’t know me at all.’ Drake leaned closer, and Millie prepared herself for his next volley of questions. But instead of pressing his advantage, he did something completely unexpected. His eyes softened and his mouth quirked into a self-deprecating hint of a smile. ‘Sometimes, an impulsive decision made on instinct alone has the power to irrevocably alter one’s course. Not just mine, or Billy’s, or yours, but everyone’s. Like a ripple in a lake.’

Oh my.

The angry dragon was hiding a soft underbelly full of both heart and soul despite his protestations. How interesting. And inconvenient, as Millie found herself desperately wishing to capture both. And what on earth would she do with Drake’s heart, let alone his soul?

Don’t be a silly ninny! You don’t want any part of him.

Except his rough hands, his warm lips, his hard thighs.

Botheration!

Millie forced her thoughts back to the boy and ignored the sudden ache between her own thighs. ‘Well, no matter the reason for your choice, he certainly holds you in high regard.’ Millie wished her voice wasn’t quite so breathless.

‘I never said the lad was bright.’

Millie couldn’t stop the chuckle. ‘I’d wager he’s far cleverer than most of the pompous stuffed shirts in the House of Lords. And he trusts you.’

Drake snorted. ‘He trusts a full belly and a warm bed. And you aren’t distracting me with this discussion, no matter how hard you try. Exactly where did you learn that move you performed on your stepmother just now?’ His gravelled voice created a buzz in her belly as blood rushed through her veins like warm honey.

Damnation!

So, her efforts to divert him had failed. Fine. She would feign ignorance. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

‘Really?’ He took a step closer. ‘You are a terrible liar, Millicent.’

Millie’s wide smile dimmed. ‘I know. It’s always been a problem.’ She glanced out the window, desperate for another topic of conversation.

Before Drake could undoubtedly revisit his question, the sound of carriage wheels on the drive signalled a new arrival.

Thank God! Saved by wedding guests.

‘Oh, look! More guests. Shall we go out and greet them?’ Millie had never been happier to play hostess.

Drake’s gaze could have cut her dress to ribbons. ‘Fate would seem to have granted you a reprieve.’ He held out his arm. ‘But this conversation isn’t over, Millicent.’

A shiver of dread – or was that desire? – swept through her.

‘Shall we?’ Drake tipped his stupidly attractive head in her direction, a parody of the perfect gentleman.