“What did you say to my father, sir?”
“That he is not fit to walk the earth for what he’s done to your sister.” Milton sat at the bed’s edge to pull off his hessians.
“And justwhat, exactly, has Papa done to Bella?”
“Traded her like chattel to the vilest man in London.” He dropped his boot. “And it is by the Grace of God, in the form of one Arty Harris, that she’s been spared that heinous fate.”
Her shock was great. So great, in fact, that she remained blessedly silent.
Milton stepped out of his breeches.
“You mean Mr. Harris deliberately compromised Bella in order to?—”
“Arty contrived tonight’s scandal to keep her from Hieronymus Finch, yes.”
He pulled his shirt over his head, till he was clad only in smalls. He hoped his fine physique might distract her from more questions.
It did not.
“And just who is this Mr. Finch, Milton?”
“Lizzie, darling,” he drawled, “I have dealt this night with the taunts of society, the simpering of your father, the profound endangerment of your sister, and the one man in London who strikes fear in my breast. I should like to go to bed.”
“But Milton, you have yet to explain who this?—”
“As I said, wife, I should like to go to bed.” He crawled in beside her. “And since you are here, you may as well ease my troubles.” He removed her spectacles from her face, snatched the book from her hands, and turned down the oil lamp.
“Milton,” her voice rose, “you cannot?—”
“Be a good wife for once, Lizzie, and let me fuck you, please.”
“Of all the?—!”
She silenced nicely, not only by his kiss but by his hand sliding the length of her night-rail to untie the silly ribbon at her neck. “Mmm, better.” He broke from her lips to nuzzle her neck, pushing the material off her shoulders to expose her breasts.
“Milton, I cannot forget my sister is in danger simply because you now choose to?—”
“Mmm, yes, wife.” His hand pushed her night-rail to her waist, tugging it off her hips. “We shall discuss everything come morning, I promise.” He peppered light kisses across her belly.
“This cannot wait until?—”
He swallowed her words once more with his lips, before he yanked the obnoxious gown free, leaving her bare atop the bedclothes.
“I’ll take care of everything tomorrow, luv. I promise to keep Annabelle safe. Now stop talking and”—his knee pushed her legs apart—“grant me this reprieve.” He entered her so swiftly all thought fled at how heavenly she felt, cocooning him in heat.
“Good girl,” he groaned into her bosom, beginning to gently rock and thrust against her womb. “You are so lovely, Lizzie, when you obey me.”
At last, all troubles eased, his head relaxed. Milton felt nothing but his wife’s sweet largesse.
Come morning, however, his oh-so-willing Baroness had become an all-too-intent bulldog who poked him beneath the covers. “Milton, I insistyou now tell me?—”
“Woman, can you not wait until after I’ve had my coffee?” He groaned into his pillow and draped his arm over his head.
“No, I cannot, because you distracted me from all discussion last night, and I must know how best to handle my sister’s situation.”
“Youare not handling anything.” He rolled over to face her. “You will stay out of matters so thatImay do my job.”
“Your job?” She appeared thoroughly put out. “Is Annabelle not my sister, sir? And should not any actions taken therefore include, nay, requiremy full participation?”
