George knew of that reception; everyone knew of it. Hundreds would attend it, he guessed, as Stapleton was being honored for his bravery in the war. “I hope you’ve not come here to ask me to engage in parlor games with Miss Hargrove at that reception.”

“To what?” She looked surprised, as if the thought had not crossed her mind. “Of course not!” she said, recovering and giving him a withering look. “I told you, I hope you never speak to her again.” She sighed, put her hands to her waist. “It was foolish. And in trying to...to dislodge her, I’ve only made the situation worse for myself.”

He didn’t like the look in her eye. “What has happened? I can see that something has.”

Honor shook her head. “Oh, George,” she said, sounding almost defeated. “I’ve nowhere else to turn—”

A knock at the door startled them both; Honor turned away and walked to the window, pretending to peer out.

Finnegan entered with a tea service, moving with swift efficiency across the carpet and depositing the heavy silver tray onto a small table. He smiled; his attention was on Honor, and George could see the look of appreciation he gave her figure. “Shall I serve?”

“No, thank you, I will,” George said, glaring at him.

Finnegan looked at Honor again, and George was reminded that one day, he would indeed put his fist in his valet’s face or dismiss him. But for the moment, he shoved Finnegan toward the door. “That will be all, thank you, Finnegan.”

Finnegan grinned and started for the door.

“We won’t need you again,” George hastily added, lest Finnegan devise some reason to return for another look.

When Finnegan went out, George locked the door for good measure. He turned back to the room and gestured to the tea. “Shall I pour?”

“I don’t care for tea, thank you,” Honor said distractedly.

“All right. Then will you tell me what has happened?”

“What has happened is that a new vicar has come to Longmeadow, and he is quite unmarried.”

A lump of resentment instantly formed in George’s chest.

“Augustine has told me, with uncharacteristic determination, that if I cannot produce an offer for my hand, then I must allow the vicar to court me properly, and then...then I must marry him.”

That news left George speechless. He couldn’t imagine Sommerfield insisting on anything, much less that. That he had filled George with a sudden and uncontrollable rage.

“In fact, I am to be home by five o’clock,” she said, glancing at the mantel clock, “as Mr. Cleburne has invited me and my sisters to attend a church service with him.”

George pushed a hand through his hair as a wave of bitter disappointment roiled through him. This was just what he’d expected. So why, then, was it so gut-wrenching to hear? He supposed he’d hoped that nothing like this would happen until after he’d managed to remove himself from the circle of Honor’s life. “And if you don’t do as he asks?”

She shrugged. “I suppose he’ll find another way to remove us from Beckington House. Some way that is far less convenient than marriage, I’d wager.”

“I see,” he said tightly.

“No,” Honor said. “No, George, I don’t think you do. You may choose who you will marry. Or who you will not marry. But that’s not a choice I have. I’ve managed to delay it a year or two, but I suppose I’ve always known that, eventually, I would be forced to marry.”

George couldn’t find the words to express his bitter disappointment, even to himself. He was a jumbled mess of raw, unfamiliar feelings, and for a man who had steadfastly avoided feeling, he felt decidedly unsteady.

He glanced uncertainly at the tea service, then abruptly turned away, stalked to the sideboard and poured two whiskies. He crossed the room and handed one to Honor, who took it hesitantly, staring down into the amber liquid.

“He seems kind,” George grudgingly offered. “You might come to esteem him.”

Honor sipped from the glass. She winced, pressed her hand to her chest then sipped again.

An alarming swell of fondness for her bloomed in him, and he felt entirely lost, adrift on a sea of feelings he had struggled to avoid all his life. He suddenly despised Monica Hargrove. It was an irrational surge of anger—this wasn’t her fault—but he could see her hands all over this forced engagement. All in retaliation for what he’d done.

He put aside his whiskey glass. “I can fix things, Honor. I can undo this.”

“You can’t,” she said wearily. “No one can. It was bound to happen, and I’ve no one to blame but me.”

“But it doesn’t need to happen now. Not like this,” George said angrily. “I should have heeded your advice, but I merely toyed with her. Now she will feel the full force of my ardor—”

“George!” Honor said, alarmed. “You mustn’t do anything! We’ve tried and failed, as you yourself warned me we would—”

“I intend to kiss her,” he said. How could he even contemplate kissing Monica Hargrove? The thought made him shudder. The only one he could think of kissing was Honor. “I will seduce her.”

“No!” Honor cried. “No, you mustn’t!” She suddenly took his face between her hands. “You can’t kiss her,” she implored him. “You can’t kiss her, because I will perish with jealousy.”

George lifted his arms, his palms out and away from Honor, fearful of what he would do if he touched her again. “Then tell me, Honor, instruct me. Tell me what to do to help you.”

“I’ve missed you,” she said softly, knocking him off center once more.

“Pardon? We were speaking of Miss Hargrove—”

She shook her head. “Why did you tell me not to speak?”

He blinked; it took him a moment to recall what he’d said. She was watching him closely, and he could see the doubt in her eyes. “Honor, darling...I told you not to speak because I couldn’t bear to hear it.”

Her eyes suddenly began to water, and she dropped her hands. “Because you cannot return my affection,” she said.

He didn’t mean to chuckle, but he couldn’t help it. Honor blinked; she began to turn away, but he caught her hand. “Because I can only return it tenfold,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to hear it because I can’t have you.”

Her eyelids fluttered; she eyed him warily, as if she expected him to declare he was jesting after all. When he did not, she turned to him and said, “Do you want to know how you can help me? You can show me your deepest affection before I am forced to marry the vicar. Before the ache of missing you turns my heart to dust.”

Those words were a salve to old, ancient wounds, and he scarcely knew what to do with them, which way to turn. “I can’t do that, Honor. You know as well as I that it’s impossible for us.”

“Impossible?” She laughed. “I don’t know which way is up or down anymore. I only know what I feel in this moment, Easton, and I have missed you.”

“Honor, please,” he said, begging her now. “I cannot resist you.”

She curled her fingers around his, squeezing them tightly. “Then don’t.”

He reached for her at the same moment she reached for him, slipping into his arms as if she belonged there, had been there all his life. George’s heart began to reel. Her lips felt like silk beneath his, tantalizing the beast in him. He crushed her to him, felt her breasts against his chest, the heat of her body mingling with his, flaring in his groin.

He lifted his head, gazing down on the woman who had the power to do this to him. She opened her eyes and smiled so seductively that it was a wonder George didn’t fall to his knees. He was on fire, fully engulfed by a woman whose smile could reduce him to ashes. She touched her finger to his lip and whispered, “Did you miss me?”

“More than the air I breathe,” he growled, and lust for her flooded into every part of him, hardening his cock to the point of aching. Her hands moved over his body; he grabbed her bottom, kneading it, pushing it against his erection, showing her just how badly he wanted her. She began to move against him, pressing into him, nipping at his lips, sliding her tongue into his mouth. She was a hellion, so brazen in her desire that he was melting with it.

He put her on the settee and moved over her, trapping her beneath his body. Hungry for the taste of her skin, he moved his mouth to her throat, down to her breast, nipping at the hardened nipple through the fabric of her gown. Honor whimpered softly, shoved her fingers into his hair as she instinctually lifted her breast to his mouth. He pulled at her gown, freeing both breasts, uncaring that he was devouring her, uncaring of anything but the dangerously desperate need to touch her, to be in her once more.

He suddenly sat up, clawing at his clothes, his gaze locked on Honor. When he had thrown off the coat and waistcoat, had removed his neckcloth and shirt, he slipped his hand under her back, lifting her up, kissing her deeply with all the emotion that was surging through him, and lowering her down once more as he found the hem of her gown. The need to feel her body surround his was overpowering; when she kissed his nipple, he caught her hands again, pinned them above her head. “Be still.”

Honor laughed breathlessly. “Why?”

“Because you drive me to madness.”

Her eyes were glittering up at him, her lips, wet and lush, curved enticingly. “Touch me, George,” she whispered. “Touch me.”

George unbuttoned his trousers and freed himself, then lowered her hands to his member. She wrapped her fingers around him, squeezing lightly, feeling him as he slipped his hands between her legs, into her wet depths. The lids of her eyes grew heavy as she lost herself in the sensation. She bit her lower lip as he stroked her—she was so alluring, so seductive. George moved down her body, leaving a trail of kisses over her gown, finding the bare flesh of her thigh and licking his way up, pushing her thighs apart and dipping his tongue into her sex. She bucked at the sensation of his mouth and tongue in her, which in turn sent blood pounding through George, engorging his heart and his cock. Had she been anyone else, he would have hurried his pleasure along. But with Honor, he desired her pleasure almost more than his own. He held on to her, holding her firmly as he carefully explored her every crevice, flicking airily across the core of her desire, then deep into the recesses of her body.

Honor gasped for air as she moved against him, thrilling him, inciting him with small whimpers of pleasure as she neared her release. George stroked her and nibbled as if she were a delicacy, bringing her to the brink of fulfillment, then backing away, finding another way to tantalize her. But Honor couldn’t bear it. She grabbed his head between her hands, pulled him up and kissed him wildly before she sought his cock with one hand and pushed against his trousers with the other.

He helped her, pushing his trousers down. Honor drew a shallow breath as she cupped him in one hand, stroking him with the other. Her fire was consuming him, burning him up. George moved between her legs, pushing them apart and pressing the head of his cock against her slick sex. Honor came up on her elbows, her gaze locked on his as he began to slide into her. He held her gaze as he slowly worked his way inside her tight, wet sheath. He felt her body open to him, wrapping firmly around him, claiming him.

God, he was mad for her, utterly mad for her. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he said roughly.

Honor smiled as if that pleased her. She closed her eyes, and let her head drop back as he began to move inside her. And then she began to move with him, meeting his thrusts, learning the rhythm of lovemaking. He felt himself filling up with heat, and he moved faster, harder in her, circling his hips, stroking her differently. He was panting, he realized, trying desperately to hold on to the massive climax that was brewing in him. He felt her body coil around him and draw him in, felt her tightening. When he thought he could not endure another moment of it, her body contracted tightly around him, and she shuddered violently as she cried out with an explosive release that convulsed around his body.

It pushed George over the edge. He spilled into her in quick, explosive bursts at the end of almost savage thrusts until he was completely numb. He slowly lowered himself to her, pressed his racing heart against her breast.

He had never in his life been so completely and wholly satisfied.

He had never loved a woman so.

She reached for his hand, clung to it tightly as she tried to regain her breath. And when she had caught it enough to talk, she opened her eyes, smiled up at him and said, “You did miss me.”