“Do you truly intend to steal your best friend’s mistress?”

Gerard Faulkner, the sixth Marquess of Grayson, kept his eyes on the woman in question, and smiled. Those who knew him well also knew that look, and its wicked portent. “I certainly do.”

“Dastardly,” Bartley muttered. “Too low even for you, Gray. Is it not sufficient to cuckold Sinclair? You know how Markham feels about Pel. He’s lost his head over her.”

Gray studied Lady Pelham with a connoisseur’s eye. There was no incertitude about her suitability for his needs. Beautiful and scandalous, he could not have designed a wife more suited to irritating his mother if he’d tried. Pel, as she was affectionately referred to, was of medium height, but stunningly curved, and built for a man’s pleasure. The auburn haired widow of the late Earl of Pelham had a brazen sultriness that was addicting, or so rumor said. Her last lover, Lord Pearson, had gone into a long decline after she ended their affair.

Gerard had no difficulty seeing how a man could mourn the loss of her attentions. Under the blazing lights of the massive chandeliers, Isabel Pelham glittered like a precious jewel, expensive and worth every schilling.

He watched as she smiled up at Markham with a wide curving of her lips, lips which were considered too full for conventional beauty, but just the right plumpness to rim a man’s cock. All around the room, covetous male eyes watched her, hoping for the day when she’d turn those sherry-colored eyes upon them, and perhaps select them as her next lover. To Gerard, their longing was pitiable. The woman was extremely selective, and retained her lovers for years. She’d had Markham on a leash for nearly two now, and showed no signs of losing interest.

But that interest did not extend to matrimony.

On the few occasions when the Viscount had begged for her hand, she’d refused him, declaring she had no interest in marrying a second time. Gray, on the other hand, had no doubts whatsoever that he could change her mind about that.

“Calm yourself, Bartley,” he murmured. “Things will work out. Trust me.”

“No one can trust you.”

“You can trust me to give you five hundred pounds if you drag Markham away from Pel and into the card room.”

“Well, then.” Bartley straightened his spine and his waistcoat, neither action capable of hiding his widening middle. “I am at your service.”

Grinning, Gerard bowed slightly to his greedy acquaintance who took off to the right, while he made his way to left. He strolled without haste around the fringes of the ballroom making his way toward the pivotal object of his plan. The journey was slow going, his way blocked by one mother and debutante pairing after another. Most bachelor peers similarly hounded would grimace with annoyance, but Gerard was known as much for his overabundance of charm, as he was for his penchant for mischief. So he flirted outrageously, kissed hands freely, and left every female in his wake certain he would be calling on them with a formal offer of marriage.

Casting the occasional glance toward Markham, he noted the exact moment Bartley lured him away, and then crossed the distance with purposeful strides, taking Pel’s gloved hand to his lips before the usual throng of avid admirers could encircle her.

As he lifted his head, he caught her eyes laughing at him. “Why, Lord Grayson. A woman cannot help but be flattered by such a single-minded approach.”

“Lovely Isabel, your beauty drew me like a moth to a flame.” He tucked her hand around his forearm, and led her away for a walk around the dance floor.

“Needed a respite from the ambitious mothers, I assume?” she asked in her throaty voice. “I’m afraid even my association won’t be enough to make you less appealing. You are simply too delicious for words. You shall be the death of one of these poor girls.”

Gerard breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction, an action which inundated his senses with her lush scent of some exotic flower. They would get along famously, he knew. He had come to know her well in the years she’d been with Markham, and he’d always liked her immensely. “I agree. None of these women will do.”

Pel gave a delicate shrug of her bare shoulders, her pale skin set off beautifully by her dark blue gown and sapphire necklace. “You are young yet, Grayson. Once you are my age, perhaps you will have settled down enough to not completely torment your bride with your appetites.”

“Or I can marry a mature woman, and save myself the effort of altering my habits.”

Arching a perfectly shaped brow, she said, “This conversation is leading somewhere, is it not, my lord?”

“I want you, Pel,” he said softly. “Desperately. Only an affair won’t quite do the job. Marriage, however, will take care of it nicely.”

Soft, husky laughter drifted in the air between them. “Oh, Gray. I do adore your humor, you know. It is hard to find men so deliciously unabashed in their wickedness.”

“And it is lamentably hard to find a creature as blatantly sexual as you, my dear Isabel. I’m afraid you are quite unique, and therefore irreplaceable for my needs.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “I was under the impression you were keeping that actress, the pretty one who can’t remember her lines.”

Gerard smiled. “Yes, that’s true. All of it.” Anne couldn’t act to save her life. Her talents lay in other, more carnal activities.

“And honestly, Gray. You are too young for me. I am six and twenty, you know. And you are…” She raked him with a narrowed glance. “Well, you are delectable, but—”

“I am two and twenty, and could ride you well, Pel, never doubt it. However, you misunderstand. I have a mistress. Two, in fact, and you have Markham—”

“Yes, and I am not quite done with him.”

“Keep him, I have no objections.”

“I’m relieved to have your approval,” she said dryly, and then she laughed again, a sound Gray had always enjoyed. “You are quite mad.”

“Over you, Pel, definitely. Have been from the first.”

“But you’ve no wish to bed me.”

He looked at her with pure male appreciation, taking in the ripe swell of her breasts above the low bodice. “Now, I didn’t say that. You are a beautiful woman, and I am an amorous man. However, since we’ll be bound together, when we decide to fall into bed with one another, isn’t really an issue, is it? We shall have a lifetime to make that leap, if we decide it would be mutually enjoyable.”

“Are you in your cups?” she asked, frowning.

“No, Isabel.”

Pel stopped, forcing him to stop with her. She stared up at him, and then shook her head. “If you are serious—”

“There you are!” called a voice behind them.

Gerard bit back a curse at the sound of Markham’s voice, but he faced his friend with a careless smile. Isabel’s countenance was equally innocent. She truly was flawless.

“I must thank you for keeping the vultures at a distance, Gray,” Markham said jovially, his handsome face lit with pleasure at the sight of his paramour. “I was momentarily distracted by something that proved not to be worth my time.”

Relinquishing Pel’s hand with a flourish, Gerard said, “What are friends for?”

Stonehenge.

As memories flooded Aidan’s mind, his fingertips drifted over the recently deciphered text in the jeweled book. He had been to Stonehenge once. A Dreamer had a fantasy there—passionate sex under the stars in the center of the stones. The formation had been whole then, complete, not decimated by time as he now knew it to be.

That woman and the acts he’d committed with her were so distant and foggy as to be rendered meaningless. From the moment he first slid inside Lyssa’s mind, every woman in his past had faded to insignificance. He hadn’t thought such a loss of memory was possible, had even considered the possibility that the journey from the Twilight had altered his brain in some way. But he remembered every other thing in his immortal life. It was only when it came to his sexual past that things got fuzzy. Only Lyssa shone with golden vibrancy in his thoughts, warming his blood, making his heart beat faster.

Lyssa.

His hand closed into a fist and a growl rumbled up from deep in his chest. He was in bad shape. She had been gone nearly two hours now, and he was slowly going insane. Concentrating on the ancient text helped a tiny bit, but not a whole hell of a lot. Even when he managed to decipher a section, it didn’t lead to comprehension. Stonehenge, petroglyphs, and astronomy would be fascinating if Lyssa were beside him, believing in him. Safe. But that wasn’t the case. He feared he was losing her. He, a man who had never feared anything.

He forced his thoughts back to the book. He needed more information. Since a trip to England would leave Lyssa vulnerable, it was immediately ruled out. Somehow he needed to learn what was necessary from thousands of miles away.

The unmistakable sound of the heavy rear door opening brought his head up. He stood, his mouth dry, and waited for her to appear. When she did, he held the edge of the desk with damp palms and searched her features for some hint of her thoughts.

“Hi,” she said wearily.

He came around the desk, but didn’t go to her, afraid that if he kept pushing, he would push her completely away. “Hi.”

“Everything go okay while I was gone?”

“I missed you.” The understatement of his entire life. She made him feel alive, her proximity bringing a tangible wave of awareness across the space that separated them. How different this was, their physical bodies existing and touching on the same plane. Sex with her had been amazing in the Twilight. In real time it was phenomenal. Altering.

She heaved out her breath, dropped her purse to the floor, and walked into his embrace. His arms went around her; his eyes squeezed shut against the painful ache in his chest. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in. Her hands stroked up and down his back, soothing him, once again offering him the comfort he hadn’t known he needed until he met her.

“I missed you, too.” She rubbed her face into his new white cotton t-shirt and clung to him. “You look great in jeans.”

Recognizing an olive branch when it was presented to him, he managed a smile and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Stacey wasn’t too hard on you, was she?”

“Nah, she’s all right. It’s you I’m worried about. How are you holding up?” There was such sadness in her eyes, and she carried herself as if burdened by a great weight. The distance between them was painful, crushing.

Lyssa tilted her head back and stared up at him. “I’m okay. I’m glad there are only a few more hours left before we can leave.”

“Me, too. Anything I can do to help speed things along?”

She gave a wry laugh. “Keep my office door closed. Every time I walk by and see you, I get flustered. Slows me down.”

As warmth suffused his blood, Aidan’s mouth curved. He half sat on the edge of the desk and pulled her between his legs. “Flustered? Or hot and horny?”

“All of the above.” Her hands stroked across the soft cotton that covered his chest, then she caught the chain that peeped out above his neckline and pulled it into view. “What kind of stone is this?”

It looked like an opal but appeared to glow from inside. She turned it over, but found that the mounting was solid silver in the back, leaving no place for light to pass through.

“I have no idea. It was a gift.”

“From a woman?”

He took the space of one breath to relish the jealousy evident in her tone, then shook his head. “No. A favorite teacher.”

“Good.” Lyssa dropped it back beneath his shirt and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed her lips to his, making him groan.

“Back to work I go. Stay out of trouble.”

His hands cupped her ass and held her to him when she tried to step back. “Not so fast.”

Lyssa arched a brow at him.

“Did you eat?” When she wrinkled her nose, he had his answer.

“You didn’t have breakfast, either. You need to take better care of yourself.”

Twisting at the waist, he caught up the bag that rested on the corner of the desk. He tucked his ankles behind her calves to keep her close, and reached inside for the Styrofoam container and spoon. He caught the handle of the plastic utensil between his teeth and used both hands to pry the lid open. Instantly the delicious scent of potato-cheese soup filled the air between them. He retrieved the spoon and grinned when her tummy growled in response to the mouth watering smell. “That’s my favorite soup,” she murmured, licking her lips in a way that goaded him to mimic her, his tongue following the lush lower curve of her mouth.

“I know.” He scooped up a spoonful. “Open wide.”

He alternated between feeding her and kissing her. It was as intimate as sex and just as moving. She laughed, her dark eyes bright with pleasure, and he wanted her. Wanted her this way, open and warm. He couldn’t wait to go home with her, to take her again. And again. And again. Indulging his every desire, every sexual whim, listening to the little whimpers she made when she was desperate for orgasm, wallowing in the lust that grew from the inside and worked its way out, not the other way around. Not for physical release, but for physical closeness, a connection as real as the one he felt inside him.

Then, when she was exhausted, her mind plunging straight through the Twilight into deep unconsciousness, he would be able to study the Stonehenge clue without distractions.

“No more,” she protested, when the contents were two-thirds gone. “I’m going to burst.”

“Just a little more,” he coaxed, encouraged by the healthy pink flush that had replaced her previous paleness. He winked. “You’ll need your strength later.”

She shivered in that delightful way that made his cock twitch, then opened her mouth, finishing every drop.

As Wulf walked the length of corridor that framed the center courtyard, hot air coursed over his sweat-dampened skin. He relished the heat, accustomed to it from long months spent in the desert protecting and strengthening the borders of D’Ashier. Attired in a mästare’s uniform, he was clad only in a loose pair of linen drawstring pants that hung low on his hips. His chest and feet were bare. He moved toward Sapphire’s office with his customary bold gait, a stride that proclaimed without a word that he controlled all things around him.

The cool tiles felt wonderful against the soles of his feet. Apparently Sapphire shunned technology whenever she could comfortably do so. He liked that about her. He’d had his share of pampered, indolent women. The thought of an earthy lover made his pulse race.

And now, finally, he was moments away from seeing her again, face to face. Wulf’s palms itched at the thought.

The first time he’d seen her, he had been rousing from near death. In the days since, he’d almost managed to convince himself that she couldn’t be as breathtaking as he remembered. He was hopeful those first moments of renewed life and consciousness in the healing chamber had simply caused a temporary susceptibility. Perhaps any woman would have been especially appealing.

His mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile. Obviously he hadn’t convinced himself of the ordinariness of her charms, because he could have escaped at any time, yet here he was. The efforts Sapphire had taken to detain him were impressive and intriguing, displaying a knowledge of imprisonment he would have thought beyond a concubine’s sphere of study. Still, he was confident he could slip away with a little effort… if he weren’t trapped here as surely as if he were chained. No matter how vital it was that he return to D’Ashier, he couldn’t leave without knowing what the consequences would be for her.

And if she wanted him as much now as she had before, he intended to celebrate his rebirth in her bed.

Wulf paused on the threshold of her open-walled office. As he caught sight of her, his body hardened with need. He hadn’t been mistaken or delusional. Sapphire was stunning. Small-boned and petite, she stood on a short step reaching for a book. When she turned to face him, her smile tightened his chest.

“How are you feeling?” she queried in a raspy voice.

Dressed in an almost transparent shift, she robbed him of speech. The sight of her lush curves sent heat flaring across his skin.

Full, firm breasts swayed unfettered over rounded hips, and jeweled rings sparkled from luxuriously long nipples. Her waist was not small—in fact, she had a slight womanly roundness to her belly—but it looked tiny in relation to the voluptuousness of her figure.

Her hair was waist-length and a lovely shiny brown color like the pelt of a hosen fox. Her face, while not classically beautiful, was arresting with intelligent brown eyes, full lips, and a determined jaw. Beneath the shimmering sheer fabric of her gown, her skin was creamy and completely hairless—the hair most likely lasered off permanently.

Wulf’s mouth was as dry as the desert outside. Sapphire possessed something much more attractive than physical beauty—she radiated confidence. She aroused because it was clear she hungered for the pleasures of life and she was determined to pursue those pleasures. He sensed she was a kindred spirit, a primitive creature like himself in a world that had long ago evolved and been tamed.

As she stepped down to sit at her desk, her smile widened, and a sudden realization burned through Wulf’s mind. When he was in her presence, his focus narrowed until he was aware only of her. When she’d stood in front of the healing chamber, he had ceased to feel the excruciating pain of his wounds or his profound exhaustion. He could only watch her, ache for her as she rubbed herself against the glass and stared at him with open admiration and desire. The way she’d looked at him had made him feel powerful and virile at a time when he was helpless and disgusted by his own weakness.

He wanted her. She made him feel both carnal and possessive. His body craved hers on some base level. He wondered if his recent ordeal had changed him in some way, made him vulnerable, as he hadn’t been previously.

“Well, Prince Wulfric? How are you?”

A ripple of pleasure coursed through him at the sound of her throaty voice. “Mistress,” he answered, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that said he was in her service only because he chose to be, and not because she forced him. “I’m feeling much improved.”

Her dark eyes sparkled. “I’m happy to hear that. The Guardian says you asked for permission to speak with me. You have it. Speak.”

He started in surprise at her tone, but didn’t show it. Authority had slipped over her like a monarch’s robes. Wulf noted her self-possession and her ease in command. There was more to this concubine than met the eye. He was determined to discover as much as he could about her before he left.

“I’m curious as to the state of my present circumstances.” He kept his face impassive, not wanting to betray his confidence that he could leave her at will. It was obvious Sapphire had nothing to do with his capture. The mästares told him of her surprise at discovering him in her home and she made no effort to question him or torment him as would someone who had a malicious intent. That left many questions unanswered. “Am I to be ransomed?”

“You didn’t have to see me to ask that question. Guardian, will you answer?”

“There is no ransom, Prince Wulfric. Your countrymen believe you to be dead.”

Wulf didn’t even blink. After his failure to check in, search parties would have discovered the remains of his patrol. Despite that evidence, the palace would know he was alive. Deep inside the flesh of his right buttock was a nanotach—a chip powered by his cellular energy that conveyed his location.

To avoid war, his father would allow him a reasonable amount of time to escape. After that, fighting would begin. D’Ashier needed him. He had work to do. The assault against his patrol had succeeded owing to careful planning. No one would dedicate that amount of effort for mere sport. What had been the original intent of the ambush? Ransom? Information? And how did the plans change so greatly that he was now in the care of the king’s favorite concubine?

The Guardian misunderstood his silence.

“Be forewarned if you think to end the Mistress’s life for your freedom. With her training, you may find an unexpected result.”

Sapphire studied him with a penetrating gaze, as if she hoped to see his intentions from the outside.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he assured her softly. “If I did, I would have done so by now.”

Wulf tensed a moment too late. What occurred next transpired so quickly he couldn’t be certain later what happened. He remembered only that she sprang from her chair and flew across the desk in one fluid movement. Her smaller body hit his with enough force to knock him to the floor. The teasing prick of pain at his neck warned him that she held a blade in her hand. With a flick of her wrist, he would bleed to death.

For a moment, horrifying memories of his ambush made his heart race desperately. His chest lifted and fell in near panicked rhythm. He could smell the cave and taste his own blood. He inhaled sharply—

—and the scent of Draxian lilies permeated his senses.

Her scent.

The warmth and softness of her body was a salve. He was soothed, just from the feel of her, his fear and confusion gone as quickly as they’d come. Still he was shocked, staring up at her with wide eyes. It took years of training for a woman of her slight build to better a man of his size. Sapphire wouldn’t have managed it without the element of surprise. But that was not the point. The point was she had bettered him. She was no easy target and she wanted him to know that. He was impressed.

Then his admiration flared into something hotter as the press of her curves onto his body burned into his consciousness. Suddenly, he was more than impressed, he was aroused.

Her breasts, so full and soft, were against his chest with only her transparent shift between them. Her legs, lithe and obviously powerful, were tangled with his. Gripping her waist with one hand, he watched her lips part and her pupils dilate. His cock swelled against her thigh. Her hair surrounded them in fragrant silk and he wrapped his fist into it, pulling her closer. Moistening his lips, Wulf longed for her to kiss him, his gaze riveted to her lush mouth.

Every nerve ending in his body was alert, every muscle tense. Every breath pushed his chest into those beautiful tits.

“Kiss me,” he ordered.

The knife at his neck wavered. “I won’t.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” she whispered.

“I know I almost died a few days ago and woke instead to the sight of you.” Wulfric lifted his head and nuzzled his nose against hers. “Kindness, a gentle soul—none of that would have revived me the way your desire did. You’ve no notion of what I owe you for that.”

Sapphire sighed, her free hand brushing briefly across his cheek. “Then don’t ask this of me.”

It was the regret in her tone and that fleeting caress that moved him. He didn’t have time to woo her properly, but he knew when it was wiser to retreat than press a shaky advantage. It took tremendous willpower to release her, but Wulf managed it.

When Sapphire slid off him and returned to her seat behind the desk, his disappointment was acute. He sprang from the floor and landed on the pads of his feet with the grace of a cat.

His stay with the lovely Sapphire was limited by necessity. Fortunately, the desire he felt was mutual. With that on his side, his rushed seduction just might succeed.