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She twitched free and darted sideways out of his reach. “You work it out for yourself, sir.”

He sprang forward, and in the same moment Tamsyn grabbed the water jug off the washstand. Her eyes were living coals.

“Oh, no,” he said softly. “Don't you dare.”

“I dare,” she said, and hurled the contents at him.

In the room across the hall, Lucy shot up in bed at the roaring bellow of an outraged bull. “Whatever's going on?”

“God knows.” Gareth pulled himself up sleepily.

He'd been about to sink into the blissful world of alcoholic slumber and now sat blinking in the dark, trying to decipher the thumps and bangs. “Sounds like a fight of some kind.”

“A fight?” Lucy pushed aside the bedclothes. “Who could be fighting in the house at this hour… at any hour?”

Gareth listened, his head to one side. There was another shivering crash, a bellow that definitely came from his brother-in-law, followed by a squeal of rage in a much higher range.

“Good God,” he said again. “It's coming from your brother's room.” He swung out of bed, shoving aside the curtains. “It couldn't be an intruder, surely.”

He'd reached the door, Lucy on his heels, when the sound of St. Simon's door opening and then violently slamming made them both jump. The door opened again immediately on the slam.

A finger to his lips, Gareth gently eased their door ajar, and they peered into the dimly lit corridor, eyes stretched at the extraordinary sight before them.

Julian, wearing only his britches, water dripping from his hair, leaped after the slight figure of Tamsyn, clad only in his discarded shirt.

“Come back here!” Julian's fierce whisper echoed in the deserted corridor.

“Go to hell!” Tamsyn hissed over her shoulder, losing speed for a fatal instant as she did so.

Julian grabbed the collar of his shirt. “You're not getting away with it, mi muchacha!”

With a deft wriggle Tamsyn shrugged out of the shirt and raced on, leaving him holding the empty garment.

Fiera!” Julian's voice was still a whisper, but now the stunned audience, cowering in the shadows, heard both laughter and powerful determination.

He sprang forward and tackled Tamsyn, diving for her waist, sweeping her off her feet. For a moment her body arced through the air, then she came to rest across his shoulder with a low wail of indignation.

“Espadachin! Miserable cur!” She reared up against his shoulder, pummelling with her fists, forgetting the need for quiet in her outrage.

“I should settle down, buttercup,” Julian said, his voice soft, his tone affable, as he turned back to his room. “You're presenting rather a tempting target at the moment.”

“Oh, I'll kill you,” Tamsyn declared, dropping forward again. “Gabriel will cut out your black, hypocritical heart and I'll catch your blood in my hat.”

Julian's low laugh lingered in the corridor as he went back into his room with his burden, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Well, I'll be damned!” Gareth murmured, looking down at Lucy. “I'll be damned!” He became aware of his own powerful arousal and the swift surge of blood in his loins. The sight of Tamsyn's naked body curved over Julian's shoulder, glowing under the candlelight, had excited him almost beyond bearing.

“So that's what she meant,” Lucy whispered, gazing up at her husband. “She said she knew things…”

Her voice faded as she saw Gareth's expression. She was aware of a strange tingling sensation in her body, little prickles of excitement in her belly, and she wondered what it could be.

“Lucy,” Gareth said huskily. His palm cupped her cheek as he read the almost bewildered thrill in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks. Could she also be affected by that scene? She didn't move away from him, and he lifted her against him, feeling her skin soft and warm, the rich curve of her bottom beneath her nightgown. Her nightcap fell off as she moved her head against his shoulder. He bent and laid her gently on the bed.

For the first time she allowed him to remove her nightgown, and when he touched her, she was moist and open, although her limbs became abruptly rigid, her expression taut with apprehension.

“It'll be all right,” he said softly, hardly able to contain himself, but somehow managing to control the vigorous surge of his entry so that she didn't tighten against him as she had always done in the past. It was over very quickly, but when he rolled away from her, he knew that for once he hadn't hurt her, and his own explosion of pleasure had seared him to his toes.

Lucy lay thoughtfully in the darkness, listening to Gareth's gradually deepening snores. She felt most peculiar, but also quite pleasantly relaxed. But she had the unshakable conviction that what she had just experienced was as nothing to what Tamsyn was experiencing in Julian's bed.

She was Julian’s mistress. How exotic, and how shocking. No wonder she seemed so different, and no wonder she'd offered her opinion so freely. Well, in the morning Lucy would seek more of those opinions. She certainly had a new perspective on her strait-laced brother, though. An involuntary giggle escaped her, and she turned her-face into her pillow. She'd take his strictures a little less to heart in future.

Gareth wasn't sure how to greet his brother-in-law the following morning, but Julian's “Good morning” over the breakfast, table was accompanied by an imperturbable smile and the civil invitation to look over his stud and take any horse that met his fancy, with the exception of Soult.

“I rode Soult from Badajos to Lisbon,” Julian explained. “But the rest of my campaigning string is in the charge of my groom in Spain.”

“When do you expect to return?” Gareth piled kedgeree onto his plate and sat down, filling his tankard from the jug of ale.

“By October at the latest. I have to be in London again next month.” He wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin to the table. “Well, if you'll excuse me, Gareth, I've work to do.”

He strode to the door just as it opened to admit Tamsyn, in a high-necked, long-sleeved dress of sprigged muslin. “Good morning, milord colonel.”

“Good morning, Tamsyn.” His voice was cool, his eye amused, as he noticed that she had chosen a costume that covered every inch of her skin. They'd both acquired a few bruises in the night's rough-and-tumble.

“Don't let me keep you, sir.”

“I won't. Termagant!” he added in a soft whisper. He flicked her cheek carelessly; the residue of passion still lurked in his eyes… that and laughter. He'd woken up laughing, convinced he'd been laughing in his sleep.

“Bully'“ she mouthed, her own gaze sparkling.

“Virago!” He left on the whisper, and Tamsyn turned her attention to Gareth, who tried to pretend he hadn't been straining his ears to catch the whispered colloquy.

“Good morning, Gareth. Is Lucy still abed?” She sat down and took a piece of toast from the rack. “Could you pass the coffee, please?”

Gareth obliged. “Lucy usually takes her breakfast above stairs.” He found himself examining her covertly, his memory alive with the image of her body beneath her clothes. He wondered if she'd be open to a proposition from himself. He ought to be able to match whatever Julian was offering her. Unfortunately, he didn't see how he could make such a proposal while they were both under St. Simon's roof. A man didn't poach on another man's territory while he was enjoying his hospitality. But maybe while Julian was in London, he might sound her out.

The prospect brought a smile to his lips, and unconsciously he touched his mustache, smoothing it with a fingertip.

Tamsyn buttered her toast, wondering what could have brought that irritating smirk to his face. She fervently hoped it was nothing to do with her. Could he have heard anything last night? No, their voices in the corridor hadn't risen above a whisper, and everyone had been asleep.