“What’s that?”

“Talking. Getting her to open up to you. You’re moving into the next phase of our plan.”

Mack laughed. “Aw, yeah. This is where it gets good.”

“Oh, Christ.” Gavin scrubbed a hand down his face. “What?”

“Son,” Malcolm asked, as if he weren’t only a year older than Gavin, “what do you know about the G-spot?”

Gavin sputtered and coughed.

“Listen,” Malcolm said. “Your wife doesn’t want you to say I love you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t express it.”

Yan nodded. “You just can’t use those exact words. They’re not part of her language anymore. Hell, maybe they never were.”

“You have to tell her you love her in a way she wants,” Del said. “A way that makes her feel good and safe. A way that will break through her walls and her fears.”

“Wh-what does this have to do with the G-spot?”

Malcolm smiled broadly. “You’re going to find and stroke her emotional one.”

“Every woman has one,” Del said. “A place somewhere deep inside her that only the right man can reach.”

Del’s voice trembled. He paused to press his hand to his mouth. Mack patted him on the shoulder. “It’s cool, man. Let it out.”

“We all have a void,” Del said a moment later. “Something that’s missing in us. Something we need but don’t want to admit or don’t even know we’re missing until we find it in that other person. If you want to fix this thing with Thea, figure out what she’s missing inside. Stroke that broken part of her until it doesn’t hurt anymore. That’s how to say I love you to Thea.”

“That’s really all it is, Gavin,” Malcolm said. “Your wife has a void. A hole. Find it and fill it.”

Malcolm’s words were greeted with an uncomfortable silence, like the kind when a middle school teacher accidentally says the word erect in front of twenty twelve-year-old boys. Everyone wants to laugh, but no one is brave enough to do it first.

Mack finally came through. “Gavin hasn’t filled Thea’s hole in a while.”

“Someday I’m going to hurt you when no one is looking.”

Del grunted in frustration. “Look, it’s great that she agreed to a date. That’s progress. But don’t go into it thinking it’s going to be easy. She’s going to be skittish. She might even try to pick a fight with you tomorrow night.”

Yan nodded. “Don’t forget that she’s in full resistance mode. You just have to keep calm, keep cool, and be patient.”

Calm. Cool. Patient. He could do that.

Mack shoved the phone in his pocket. “And I swear, you’ll never notice me tomorrow night.”

“Now,” Del said. “Let’s talk about the book. How far are you?”

“About halfway.”

“Perfect,” Malcolm said.

“Why is that perfect?”

“Because,” Mack said, “shit’s about to get real.”

Courting the Countess

The one redeemable quality to the entire farcical evening, if there could be one at all, was that Irena would finally get to look upon her husband’s face and utter the words every woman longed to say to a man who had for too long been convinced by society, his family, and the church itself that he was always right.

Folding her hands primly in her lap, she stared at Benedict on the seat opposite her in their carriage and tried her best not to smile. “I told you so.”

Benedict managed to look chagrined as he tugged at his cravat. But he suddenly pounded a fist against his thigh. “The audacity of that woman.”

“To which woman do you refer? There were so many.”

“The duchess.”

“Ah. Of course.” The Duchess of Marbury had been succinctly malicious in her rejection of Irena at the ball. Whereas other, less powerful women in the room had taken to loud gossip and serene looks of disdain from across the room, the duchess had mastered the most effective insult of all. She simply refused to speak or look at Irena upon their introduction.

“I don’t care what title the woman possesses. No one gives my wife the cut direct. No one.”

“Don’t think too harshly of her, my lord. We women must steal our power where we can, and in the world of the ton, that power is sadly limited to the reduction of other women.”

“If she were a man, I would call her out.”

A bubble of laughter burst forth from her chest, as uplifting as it was unexpected. Benedict met her eyes with a surprised gaze. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m sorry,” Irena said, holding her fingers to her lips. “I just . . . that is an image I will never forget.”

“Be careful, my dear. Your laughter is such a welcome sound, I may be driven to homicide yet.”

“How very romantic.”

“I did say I would do anything to prove my love.”

“Perhaps it’s a good thing, then, that you will be gone the next few days,” she mused. Benedict had to travel to his estate to deal with some matters there. Irena would never admit it to him, but she was not looking forward to his leaving tomorrow.

The carriage bumped uncomfortably across a rut in the muddy road. Irena winced as the bones of her stays dug into her rib cage.

“Are you unwell?” Benedict asked.

“I will be fine as soon as I can remove this bloody monstrosity of a gown.”

He cocked a half smile. “I don’t suppose now would be an appropriate time to tell you that I find it exceedingly arousing when you speak like that.”

“No, it would not.”

“Still, if you should find yourself in need of assistance in removing said gown, I am at your service.”

Heat stole across her skin, pooling in places that cared little that her dignity demanded self-righteous indignation. Her dignity, however, had fallen under his spell as much as every other part of her body. Especially when they’d danced tonight. He’d held her unfashionably close, even for a husband and wife in a waltz. His hand upon her back had burned straight through the silk of her gown and left an imprint upon her skin. The spinning sensation had continued long after the music had ended.

“I’m sorry this evening didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped,” Irena said, irrationally nervous all of a sudden.

“I got to hold you in my arms. It turned out exactly as I’d hoped.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine and raised goose bumps along her arms. It was a miracle she could hear anything over the thud of her own heart. She was a fool for letting him get this close again, but she was also a fool for thinking she could continue holding him at bay. Not when her body demanded the same thing his did, and not when her heart seemed determined to follow.

The carriage slowed in front of their home. A footman opened the carriage door, and Benedict alighted himself to the cobblestone street. Turning, he extended his hand to help her down, and when he tucked her hand in his arm, the warmth of his body once again set hers ablaze. If things progressed as they had the previous two times they went out together, he would escort her to her room and bid her good night with a chaste kiss on her hand. And then, an hour later, he would join her in the library to read by the fire.

Something told her he would want more tonight.

Or maybe that was just her own desire talking.

He escorted her into the house and directly to the stairs. Neither spoke until they stood outside the closed door of her room.

“Thank you for seeing me to my room,” she said.

This should have been the point when he would raise her hand to his lips. Instead, he stepped closer. “Irena,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Yes?” she breathed.

Benedict dipped his mouth close to her ear. “May I kiss you good night?” he murmured.

No. Her mind demanded she say the word. But when he nuzzled the tip of his nose against her jaw, her body acted on its own, turning her face to meet his.

The first brush of his lips was so feather-light, a mere mingling of breath, that she wondered if she’d imagined it. But then the pressure intensified as he molded his lips to hers, as his fingers wove into her hair, and as the fingers of his other hand laced with hers and curled it close to their hearts. And suddenly everything she’d been fighting—memories and longing and desire—waved the white flag of surrender. She surrendered.

Benedict leaned into her until her back pressed against the door of her bedroom. His mouth explored hers with a passion and tenderness that set her heart soaring to dangerous heights.

His brow came to rest on hers. “And now the evening is perfect.” He stepped back with a wink. “Meet you in our secret place?”

It was a silly routine for a married couple. But their secret rendezvous had quickly become her favorite part of the day. She nodded. “I will be there.”

By the time she walked into the library an hour later, he was already there. He had tossed several pillows from the couches onto the floor and spread a large blanket before the fireplace. Irena set her candle onto a nearby table and let him hold her hand as she lowered herself to the blanket. Then she watched as he crouched before the hearth and struck up a fire. An orange glow chased away the darkness.

Benedict sat down behind her and settled onto his back. With one arm propped behind his head, he displayed the sort of easy maleness that the other wallflowers giggled about at balls. He looked up at her and stretched his other arm across the blanket until his fingers brushed the fabric of her dressing gown. “I missed you,” he said quietly.

“It has been an hour.”

“That’s a long time.”

“What are we reading tonight?”

Benedict handed her a book she had never seen before. Her fingers traced the embossed title as a lump filled her throat. “How did you know?” she whispered.

“You mentioned once that you and Sophia used to dream of visiting America to see the wild horses. I ordered this book immediately. It only arrived today.”