His hand delved between her thighs.

Pleasure. Ecstasy. His touch was perfect. She threw her head back and moaned. “Oh, Duncan.” Her body was tightening, coiling, burning with pleasure. It had never felt like this with her own hand, never—ever—

Pleasure seized her, cascading upon a series of choking moans. He turned her onto her back deep in the cushions, spread her knees, and put his hard, hot cockhead at her entrance. Then he took her virginity.

He was gentle at first, and then not so gentle because she wanted it. He was everything she had fantasized. He gave and gave, and when a droplet of sweat trickled down his chest she reached between them and gave back to him.

He groaned and thrust harder. Then harder yet. He used her deeply, completely and she clutched the cushions and convulsed again with astonished whimpers. His release was sudden and fierce.

She twined her arms around his shoulders. Still inside her, he kissed her with great tenderness, his hand stealing over her waist and stroking the swell of her hip.

Finally he rolled onto his back.

With a great sigh of satisfaction, she threw out her arms to either side.

“That was very . . . nice.”

He chuckled. “Nice, hm?”

She grinned like a cat at the cream pot—a sleepy cat lying in the sun after lapping up the entire contents of the cream pot. Her eyelids drooped.

When she awoke it was dusk and Duncan was not in the bedchamber. She had not expected him to be.

She dressed, arranged her hair, and went home.

10

At ten o’clock the following morning she was at the writing desk in Diantha’s parlor, putting the final touches on her latest story, when Una and Tobias entered. They wasted no time in telling her their news. But she knew it before they spoke; their faces showed their joy.

“I am beside myself with happiness.” She embraced Una. “It has been my dearest wish for weeks, though I didn’t know if you had the courage to admit it, brother.”

“Courage wasn’t so much the problem.”

“He thought that because he didna have a title, I was too far above him.”

Una’s eyes crinkled. “But I set him straight.”

“After your brother did.” He took her hand.

“When did you ask for his approval, Toby?” Teresa tried to sound casual, as though she hadn’t been wondering every second what Duncan had been doing since the moment he left her napping in his harem room.

“An hour ago,” Tobias said. “He’d given it to me days ago, though. Seems he knew.”

He knew. As he undoubtedly knew she loved him.

When they departed she went to her room, instructed Annie to pack her luggage, and asked the footman to inquire at the nearest posting house as to the next mail coach leaving for Manchester. She changed into her second prettiest gown—second to the gown the Earl of Eads had removed from her the day before—and walked to the hotel.

Duncan stood in the foyer with a dark, dashingly handsome man with brilliant blue eyes and an air of purpose about him.

Forcing confidence in her step, she went toward them. “My lord, I should like to speak with you.”

“First allou me to make ye acquainted wi’ Mr. Derek Knightly, editor o’ The London Weekly. Knightly, this is Miss Finch-Freeworth.”

“The London Weekly? That wonderful paper with all the splendid stories?”

“The very one,” Mr. Knightly said with a quick grin. He bowed. “It’s a pleasure to finally make the acquaintance of the author of quite a few splendid stories herself.”

She frowned. “Me?”

“If the pages Lord Eads gave me to read are by your hand,” he said with a questioning glance at the earl.

“Aye, they are.” His attention was steady upon her.

“You took my stories and gave them to a newspaper editor? Without my permission?”

“I’m glad he did,” Knightly said. “Your prose is genius, Miss Finch-

Freeworth. Innocent panache crossed with worldly wisdom. I think the readers o f The Weekly will love it. So I’d like to give you a regular column called

‘Harpers Crest Cove Days.’ How do you like it?”

“A column in TheLondon Weekly?” she uttered dumbly.

“For payment, of course. As I understand you don’t live in London, I’ll be glad to receive your pieces via the post.”

Here was her future—not what she had dreaded, nor what she had dreamed, but a fine future indeed.

“I accept, Mr. Knightly.”

He smiled. “Excellent. If you’ll visit me at the office tomorrow we can discuss details, including your compensation, and then I’ll have my man of business see to the details.”

She nodded.

“Thank you, Eads,” Mr. Knightly said. They shook hands. “Until tomorrow, then, Miss Finch-Freeworth.” He bowed and strode out.

She met the earl’s regard. “Thank you, my lord. I should be ringing a peal over your head for taking this liberty.” Her cheeks warmed. The day before he had taken much greater liberties with her after all. “But I am grateful.”

“Guid.”

“Now I should like to speak with you in private.” She went into the empty parlor, drew in a deep breath, and turned to face him. “Though four days remain on our wager, I am hereby canceling it.”

His brows bent. She wanted to surround his gorgeously square jaw with her hands, go onto her tiptoes, and kiss him until she couldn’t breathe.

“Are ye?”

“I am.”

Sorcha had always been honest with him, and Teresa now saw the value in telling the truth. If she’d been honest with herself she would have known that forcing a man to wed her without having his love would not give her what she wanted. She wanted love. She wanted to be swept off her feet, not to do the sweeping. She wanted a friend and lover and she thought he could be that, but not if he could not give her his heart.

Still, he didn’t really need to know all of that. “I don’t wish to marry you any longer. You’ve made me work far too hard and you are far too much trouble and I deserve better than that. But even if that weren’t the case, I haven’t fulfilled my part of the wager. Your sisters would have found their beaux even if I had not intervened. Except of course for Mr. Waldon. And my brother, who is infinitely happy now, so at least some good has come out of my meddling.”

Sharp misery was growing in her chest. She continued before he could respond.

“Thank you for what you did for me with the newspaper.” She screwed up every mote of the courage he said he admired. “And thank you for yesterday. I had a wonderful time and I hope you did too.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Aye, I did.”

She didn’t know where to set her gaze. Looking into his eyes was too painful. She went to the door. “Would you tell your sisters that I dropped by?”

She would miss them dreadfully. But she would see Una now and then, and that would be a consolation.

“Teresa—”

“I have made my decision.” She paused in the doorframe, her head down.

“Goodbye, my lord.”

He did not come after her. Nor did he call on her that evening. All along he’d wanted her to go away and she’d finally given him his wish.

The next day after Teresa visited Mr. Knightly at The London Weekly’s office, Diantha insisted she take their traveling carriage home to Brennon Manor. Teresa accepted. It was more comfortable to be in the company of only one’s maid when tears occasionally escaped one’s eyes.

Annie launched into a tale of her latest conquest: the strapping stable hand at the hotel. Teresa gave her only half an ear. Her tastes in stories, she supposed, had changed.

Duncan felt like he’d been run over by a carriage and six. Two days had passed, yet he was still as bemused as the moment she’d broken the heart he’d vowed he would never again lose. He tried to meditate and saw only her troubled eyes before him. He took a hard ride and saw only her sparkling smile. One moment he turned his horse to the north, vowing to have her even if she refused him, and the next he reined in and cursed himself for a fool.

He’d thought she wanted him. She’d given him her body. He never would have taken it if he hadn’t intended to marry her. He’d been walking out the door to go tell her that when Finch-Freeworth arrived, then Knightly on his heels.

But she was a lusty female. She wanted pleasure and she’d gotten it from him. That he’d thought she wanted more only made him a common daftie.

When he’d lost Miranda, then Marie and the babe, he’d thought he could never again feel that pain. Apparently he could, all from losing a soft, strong, sweet, lush-lipped, vibrant, caring, meddlesome Englishwoman who after seven long, dark years had made him feel again.

Sorcha found him packing his traveling case. She set her fists on her hips.

“What’re ye doing?”

“Taking ye home where yer needed. Can ye be ready to leave come morn?”

Her eyes widened. “Did Teresa convince ye, then?”

“Convince me?”

“That ye mustn’t force me to marry, o’ course.”

He turned fully to her, his heartbeats suddenly hard. “Sorcha, did ye understand the terms o’ the wager?”

“Aye. But Duncan, I didna see hou ye could deceive her so. Ye’ve said for years ye’ll niver marry again.”

“Did ye tell her that?”

“Aye.” Her forthright gaze bored into him. “It was high time somebody did.”

Harrows Court Crossing was the same as Teresa had left it. Mrs. Biddycock’s parlor boasted the same company—except Mr. Waldon, who was still in town —and conversation was the same old gossip.

It required less than half an hour for her to realize that the upright Reverend Elijah Waldon had lied. Mrs. Biddycock’s cousin had not written from London about her. He had apparently traveled there expressly out of impatience to return her to their cozy fold. Nobody knew of her concourse with the Eads clan or anything about what she had been doing in town.

So she told them. If honesty were to be her new policy she must begin immediately.

No one believed her.

“Six matches for six Scottish ladies in three short weeks!” Mrs. Biddycock clapped her hands in delight. “I’ve never heard the like! Oh, Miss Finch-

Freeworth, how we’ve missed your tales.”

“My favorite part is your proposal of marriage to the penniless earl,” one of the other ladies chortled. “Do tell us that part again, dear, but this time make him a duke. I simply adore dukes.” She laughed merrily. Others joined in.

“But he was an earl. Is an earl,” Teresa insisted. “And I did make a wager with him. I am telling you the truth.”

“Miss Finch-Freeworth, you are priceless,” another lady giggled.

Teresa left. In a muddle she walked down the high street and almost passed the big roan stallion tied before the blacksmith’s shop without noticing it.

She halted, her heart careening, and stared at the horse.

The door of the blacksmith’s opened and the Earl of Eads walked out. He came directly to her. She hadn’t time even to untie her tongue before he went to his knee in the dusty street and placed his palm across the drape of plaid over his heart.

“Miss Teresa Finch-Freeworth o’ Brennon Manor.” His voice was deep and musical. “Would ye do me the honor o’ marrying me?”

She blinked. “Has Sorcha gotten betrothed?”

The neat whisker shadow around his mouth creased into a smile and he shook his head. “Teresa, luve, say ye’ll marry me.”

“I told you, I—”

“I luve ye, woman. Nou promise me yer hand an make an honest man o’ me.” His blue eyes pleaded. “I beg o’ ye.”

She stepped forward, he came to his feet, and she placed her hand on his chest.

“You are real,” she said stupidly. “You are not an invention of my overly active imagination. And you’ve just asked me to marry you. I did not fantasize it.” The butterflies were doing cartwheels in her stomach, accompanied now by waltzing sparrows around the region of her heart. She shook her head.

“Sorcha said you would never marry again.”

“Sorcha didna have the whole story.” With a smile he enclosed her hand in both of his and drew it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, then her wrist. “I need ye, Teresa. Ye make me laugh when I’ve no laughed in years. Ye march to the beat o’ yer own drum an I canna get enough o’ ye. I want ye wi’ me day an nicht. I’m determined to have ye.”