Milton’s laughter tumbled out, for she was stunning, this woman. She’d give theTona run for their money.
He could not wait to make her his wife.
***
She could not wait to skewer him with a poker. No, a dagger. Better yet, her heroine might kill him with a pitchfork. Three-pronged. Yes.
Elizabeth sat across from her wretched betrothed on her wretched, aching bum and wrote her story in her head, imagining all sorts of ways the brooding baron might be punished for his crimes. Of course his punishment must come at the novel’s end, for killing off the villain any sooner was never good form. She could reform him, or make the heroine—the lady still needed a name—redeem his mortal soul by turning him from his evil ways, but she’d never liked those kinds of stories. Why must the lady reform the rake? Why must womenbe forever responsible for maintaining order and keeping the peace? Elizabeth was tired enough of managing her father, of putting Papa’s moneylenders off. Milton was not the first man she’d kneed between the legs, but he was the first to make her weak-kneed with desires of her own.
Though she would, shemust, ignore that disturbing thought.
The lady thrashed beneath the baron’s weight, fearing for her innocence, if not her life. He wished to ravish her, and she, God help her, wished him to. Never before had she felt such a burning need for
No no no. That wasnotwhere this story should go!
Elizabeth shut her eyes and breathed. She ignored Milton’s fierce glare boring into her across the rocking carriage. There was a pitchfork. The villain would bleed. How to place her heroine within arm’s reach of the instrument? A hayloft. The lady would hide inside a barn and the brooding baron would find her, attempt to have his way with her and…
his hand slid up her legs, bunching her skirt so that the hay tickled her tender skin. Her thighs opened to him, yet before his hand could
The carriage lurched to a stop, nearly throwing Elizabeth into the Baron’s lap. He righted her as their eyes briefly met, flames erupting in her gut, before the driver wrenched open the door and Milton handed her down.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Jasper, do you think it wise to manhandle Miss Winthrop this soon?”
Li poured the steaming liquid in a graceful arc above Milton’s bowl. She knelt on the mat across from him, her form as lithe as a cat. “I thought you’d wait until after the wedding to reveal your proclivities.”
“It is better she learn now how I expect my wife to behave.” Milton adjusted his position to match Li’s, bowing low over his bowl before he lifted the tea to his lips with both hands.
She reflected the motion back.
“I am testing her resolve, and so far she has proven up to task, resourceful even.”
“And did we not agree you’d offer for the younger daughter instead?” Her almond eyes flicked to his. “You surprised me when you showed up with the elder.”
“I had every intention of offering for Miss Annabelle, but when I met Elizabeth?—”
“You let your prick think for you.” As usual, Li put him in his place. “It is bad enough I’ve lost Wellesley to that honey-haired duchess of his, but to lose you too…” She almost pouted.
Milton laughed, the sound ringing in the quiet of Li’s tearoom.
“Do not jest, sir.” She frowned, but her eyes returned his warmth.
“Li.” He took her hand. “You will never lose me or Wells. We are family.”
Li’s smile hid her pain. “You shall have a family of your own soon enough, Jasper—the heirs you long for—just as Wells now has his firstborn, with another on the way.”
“Another?” he asked. “Has he written to you? The damn fool can scarce pen me a note anymore now that he’s ensconced in his Cumberland castle.”
“He is currently in London, Jasper, with his wife, and staying with his mother. I saw them but two days past.”
“Bloody hell,” he swore. “And still he does not bother to write, the bastard.”
“I believeyouare the bastard.” She looked amused. “Besides, it is likely Wellesley’s duchess who would rather not see Lord Redstocking again.” She smirked.
Milton bit his tongue. He’d not be made the butt of jokes for doing Wells a favor.
“Speaking of penning missives,” Li returned to business, “are you going to invite me to your wedding? I have yet to receive a formal invitation.”
