Page 338 of From Rakes to Riches

Because she cared. She’d admitted it with those lustrous blue eyes gone dark with anger tempered only by desire. Anger precipitated by the pain of his loss.

Other than his brother, he couldn’t think of another person alive that would mourn him.

Until Mercy.

She was the one to pull away and detach, bringing him plummeting back to reality with a jarring crash.

She rolled to her back and he turned away, righting himself as he allowed her the privacy to do the same.

“Well, I hope that settles things,” she said after a moment of rustling fabric, her crisp tone rasping over the afterglow of satisfied lust.

He wished he felt the same.

Thingswere more unsettled than ever.

And his need for her would never be satisfied. Not if he lived another hundred years.

Gathering his fortitude, he turned back to her in time to see that she’d tidied herself with her ruined undergarments and stood, balling them up in her grasp.

“These are for the rubbish.” She set about looking for a bin. Finding one, she dropped them inside before catching her reflection in the mirror and smoothing her hair back into place.

Was there ever a woman more precious? This force of nature in a petite, golden package. His fierce vixen. Not merely gorgeous but adventurous. Stimulating. Magnificent.

He was used to making a stir wherever he went, but if she were ever to throw off the mantle of civility thrust upon her by her family, by society, her rank...

She’d eclipse him with a brilliance to shame the sun.

He’d never wanted anything more than to witness such a thing.

Sweet Christ, they’d never even taken off their masks.

And now she’d be moving around the earth with those flimsy garters holding up her sheer stockings and no drawers.

The very idea was enough to make him ready to have her again.

Mayhem erupted beneath them. Cries and whistles screeched over the sounds of doors splintering open and the clatter of wagons thundering up the drive.

“What the bloody devil?” He raced to the door and opened it, glancing down the hall to see if the ruckus had reached their deserted corner of the manse.

A few footsteps thundered down the narrow stairs, but only the skirts of frightened maids appeared before they dashed by.

“Oh, dear.”

Closing the door, he turned to the woman who’d uttered the words, with slow, deliberate movements.

She offered him a smile of chagrin. “That...sounds like Morley and his men.”

Raphael hurled a few choice French curses into the night, and she held her hands up as if to block them from landing on her.

“Before you get angry with me, I wasn’t the one who summoned the police. That was Felicity. She did it without my consent and, believe you me, no one was more cross about that than I. But in the end, it’s a good thing because?—”

“Felicity?” He advanced toward her, his heart thundering in his ears. “Tell me she’s not downstairs inthat.”

Mercy shook her head. “As soon as we realized what you were about—and how many dangerous men were here—I sent her to meet Morley. He’d surely have made certain she was safe.”

“Good.” He seized her, planted a quick, hard kiss to her bruised lips. “I’ll clear you a path to him, but you must stay here.”

“Andyoumust be joking.” She wrenched away from him and strode toward the door. “I’m not hiding up here when the Duchesse is caught up in the bedlam.”

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