Biting back a smile, Lillian narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be saucy, or I won’t tell you the lurid details later.” “I don’t need to hear them from you,” Daisy said airily. “I’ve been reading the novels that Lady Olivia recommended . . . and now I daresay I know more than you and Annabelle put together.”

He could no longer deny that for the rest of his life, he would measure every other woman against her, and find them all lacking.

Marcus shook his head helplessly. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, even as he knew what he was about to do. “My God. Sorry—” His mouth clamped over hers, and he began to kiss her as if his life depended on it.

“You demanded that I make love to you, and ripped three buttons off my waistcoat.”

“Lillian—hold still, damn it—Lillian, look at me!” Westcliff waited until she had stilled beneath him. “I don’t want to see you hurt.” “Has it ever occurred to you, you arrogant idiot, that the person most likely to hurt me might be you?”

“You’re a tyrant.” “I know. Drink some water.”

“I’ll send her to her eternal fucking rest,” Marcus roared, “if this door isn’t opened now.”

The good news is that your husband seems to be on the way.” “If so, the bastard is late,” Lillian retorted, causing Daisy and Evie to laugh.

“Where did you come from?” “Were my mother alive, you could ask her,” he replied pleasantly. “But I doubt she knew.”