LITMIR.BIZ

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gentleman, either. “May I ring for tea?”

      “I don’t want any bloody tea. Do you suppose I have any brandy left, or did Bannister drink it all?”

      Charlotte felt her cheeks grow warm. Deb really did have a lot to answer for. “I know there is sherry.” She had drunk altogether too much of it yesterday, plus the wine at dinner. No wonder she let a stranger make love to her in the middle of the night. At Sir Michael’s nod, she went to the drinks cupboard and found the bottle and two glasses.

      “You said your sister is younger. What does that make you? Thirty-five? Forty?”

      Charlotte stopped midpour. “I’ll have you know I’m only thirty!” At his triumphant smirk, she knew he had deliberately provoked her into revealing the truth. She handed him his glass, slopping a bit onto his immaculate bottle-green sleeve. Oops.

      He did not seem to notice. “I’m afraid no mistress of mine, no matter how long in the tooth, will be permitted to wear a dust rag upon her head. Kindly remove it.”

      “I will not.” Charlotte had made the cap and its lace trim, and if she did say so herself, she’d done a creditable job.

      “You will. And that dress. Fit for the dustbin along with the cap. Did Deborah leave you nothing to wear? Madame Duclos sent me an astronomical bill.” He crossed his leg and leaned back on the sofa, looking right at home. Damn the man.

      She set the sherry down with a click on the piecrust table. “I will not wear clothes that a man other than any future husband I might obtain has paid for. I have some standards, despite my sister’s reputation.”

      “Well then.” His dark brows knit, his lips pursed. “I also have standards, Miss Fallon. And I believe I have the perfect solution to our difference of opinion. You shall just have to go naked.”

      Charlotte yanked her fichu to her chin. “Never! You’ll not see or touch my body again, sir. Unless I am dead and you are assisting the undertaker.”

      “A most unpleasant task. Some men might flinch. But I have been at war, Miss Fallon. I have seen my share of dead bodies. I allow as how it would be a shame to kill you in order to look my fill at your womanly form, but I’ve killed as well.”

      Charlotte spluttered. “First you threaten me with jail, and now murder if I don’t do your bidding? You are a fiend!”

      “This from a woman who uses her teeth and hairbrush in such unseemly, some might even say violent, fashion. You are a passionate woman, in bed or out, Charlotte, despite your futile attempts to appear otherwise.”

      “I have not given you leave to use my Christian name,” Charlotte said, digging her nails into the padded arms of her chair.

      “Come. You gave me leave to use your body last night and this morning. We have been intimate. We will be intimate again. Call me Bay, and I’ll call you Charlotte. Although Charlotte is dreadfully dull.” His face lit. “Why, you are the Charlie Deb was always going on about! The little minx. She used you to make men jealous, you know. All those girlhood adventures she’d regale us poor fools with. We thought you were some friend of Harfield’s.”

      George. Viscount Harfield. Their childhood neighbor and Deb’s seducer. To be fair, Deb had probably seduced him. She had been young and naive enough to hope for marriage. George quickly came to his senses once his father promised destitution and ruin, but he had kept Deb comfortably until he married six years ago. If Deb had a heart to break, Harfield had probably broken it. Since then Deb had gone through men, each richer and more influential than the last. Charlotte had never heard of Sir Michael Xavier Bayard, but he must have something besides his handsome face to have intrigued her sister.

      “Charrrlie.” Sir Michael—well, she supposed she’d have to think of him as Bay—rolled her name around in his mouth like a fine wine. “I like it.”

      Charlotte huffed. She was getting nowhere with him, losing ground every minute he sat sprawled on the sofa grinning at her. Everything she had planned all day to say was fragmented somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Snatches of “God-fearing woman” and “reasonable man” warred with each other, neither victorious. In the end, she kept her mouth shut, and opened it only to drink her sherry, which she desperately needed.

      “Charlie, my dear, I thought we might set some ground rules for our association while we wait for your delinquent sister Deborah to return. Are you sure she made no mention of their exact destination?”

      Charlotte shook her head. Silence was not golden.

      “I am a reasonable man.” Charlotte choked on her sherry and stared at him. Was he a mind reader as well as a satyr? “I will never expect you to perform acts which you consider to be repugnant. But I do have my favorite vices and will encourage you to become accustomed to them.”

      Charlotte’s ears were turning red, she knew it. The rest of her was following suit. While Sir Michael—Bay, blast him—laid out his preferences in the bedroom, she felt like a fireball of mortification, soon to explode into thousands of crimson flames. Perhaps it was time to faint. A fake faint this time, of course, which might deter him from this litany of perversion and pestilence. Mama had always advised a swoon when one heard things one did not care to listen to. Tradesmen’s entreaties, for example. Harfield’s father, the Earl of Trent, when he discovered his son had run off with Deborah. The vicar’s sermons afterward. Swooning was a useful feminine accomplishment, effective if used sparingly. But as Bay had done nothing yesterday to help her off the floor—had instead stared with lasciviousness at her exposed parts—Charlotte ruled out another drop to the carpet.

      Bay waved his hand in the air. “Are you getting all this? You look a bit dazed. And red. I can repeat it all if you like.”

      That was it. She was done for. If she had to listen to one more word, he would be consulting with the undertaker. Best just to get on with it until she figured out a way to disappear. Mama said sometimes one simply had to close one’s eyes and do unpleasant things in life. Charlotte suspected she was talking about the marriage act, but it was not as though she was saving herself for marriage.

      “Very well. Let’s go upstairs now and do it all.”

      Bay had nearly admitted that he was playing a joke upon her, that he’d engaged the services of a private detective, that she was welcome to return to Little Glossup or wherever she lived, when she tore the ugly little cap from her head and flung it in a corner. She lifted her plump white arms and pulled out the pins, and cascades of black curls helped cover her ugly dress. That was it. He was done for. He was now tangled in the sheets, panting like a madman. Who knew such crude talk could stir this little gray governess to the heights of decadent sensuality? He’d never been able to say no to a woman, more was the pity, and he couldn’t find it in his heart to say no to Charlie Fallon. He wasn’t sure he could sustain such dirty talk, but he was willing to make the sacrifice if it brought him more afternoons and evenings like this one.

      She was exquisite. Now that he had seen her in daylight, he realized she was more rounded than her sister, her face softer. He had thought Deborah the fluffy kitten, but it was Charlie who was cushy, her alabaster flesh worthy of the Italian art he collected. He kept some minor works downstairs in this house, but the majority of his collection was in his town house a few long streets away. He was very fond of nudes, and he was very fond of Charlie Fallon. As long as she wasn’t speaking or throwing things at him.

      He had given her little to complain of. He’d even done some of the naughty things he promised to do when she had turned that alarming shade of red. She looked like a well-satisfied woman now, her upturned blue eyes glazed, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses. His hand remained on one full breast, his thumb stroking a berried nipple. If only she were wearing the ruby necklace, the picture would be perfect.

      He suckled the nipple he’d readied between his fingers until she gave another groan. “I find I’m starving, Charlie. We’ll both need some nourishment if we are to do all the things on my list. I’m going to have Mrs. Kelly prepare us a tray.”

      He

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