others were perfect gentlemen.'
'No wonder Rexford was bitter,' the earl said quietly.
'Husband,' Lucinda said, 'all of that is in the past and behind us. I was a good wife to Harrington. I will be a good wife to you as well, my lord. No one has ever had cause to question my honor.'
'Do you want to be fucked?' he asked her bluntly. One hand moved to tweak her nipple as he fondled her breast while the other pushed through her nether lips to tease at her little exciter. 'Do you want to be fucked, my beautiful, clever wife?'
'Yes, Lucian, my wonderful husband, I most certainly want to be fucked! Are you going to spend the rest of the night just talking about it?' Lucinda demanded.
With a wicked grin he pushed her back onto their bed and, falling atop her, thrust his cock deep into her hot, wet love sheath, 'No, my darling, I don't intend to spend the night talking about it,' he told her. 'I intend to spend the night doing it.'
And so he did.
Risking It All by Susan Johnson
Chapter One
Felicia Greenwood sat in the kitchen of her villa overlooking the sea, tearing the letter she had just received into shreds, casting aspersions on the writer in brisk, heated accents, then turning at last to her two servants, who watched with sympathy in their eyes. 'And that's what I think of Cousin Dickie's advice!' She spoke in French, although her thoughts were still colored with a faint Scottish brogue.
'Your auntie disliked him, too.' Her elderly housekeeper cum maid of all work offered in reassurance. 'Tell Mademoiselle Felicia what the countess called him,' she added, looking up at her husband, who served as the sole manservant in the establishment.
Daniel smiled at Felicia seated across the kitchen table. 'She called him Monsieur le Prune and never listened to anything he said. '
Felicia's mouth curved into a fleeting grin, the description apt. Her cousin's mouth was always pursed in distaste. 'Now, if only Cousin Dickie wasn't about to take Villa Paradise from me,' she said with a small sigh, 'I could ignore him as well.'
'You still have a week to find the money.'
Felicia's expression turned stricken. She had been given a year to come up with her cousin's required payment. Without success. 'If only Auntie's funds were paying better dividends.'
'He's robbing you, mademoiselle. I know he is,' Claire asserted. 'The countess always had plenty of money.'
'I know you don't trust Dickie and his lawyers, and I'm not sure I do either; but at the moment our feelings are incidental to the immediate crisis, so I've decided to sell the tiara. I thought about it all last night. Auntie would understand-I hope…' The diamond tiara had been given to the countess by an admirer in her youth, an old love she had never forgotten. Brushing aside her misgivings, Felicia lifted her chin. 'Desperate times require desperate measures.'
'It still won't be enough, my lady.' Claire knew to a sou what jewelry was worth.
Felicia knew she was risking it all, but it wouldn't do to betray her uncertainties before her servants. 'That's why I'm taking the money to the casino,' she said with what she hoped was convincing assurance. 'There, I'll be able to parlay it into a much larger sum.'
'I'll pray to Saint Devote that you win the bank,' Claire declared, the local saint her bulwark against all the pitfalls of life.
'Pardon, my lady, but you don't know how to gamble.' An archpragmatist to his wife's simple, trusting nature, Daniel questioned the feasibility of Felicia's proposal.
'I'll pray to Saint Devote
'
'And my prayers,' Claire interposed.
'It is the season for miracles,' Daniel kindly noted.
Felicia brushed her palms over her riotous red curls, a good-luck habit from childhood. 'Why not a miracle for me?'
'Why not, indeed, mademoiselle,' Claire said with a beaming smile.
Lord Grafton had noticed the flame-haired woman the moment she had walked into the casino gaming rooms, the splendor of her face and form momentarily silencing the hum of commerce in the room. But he was on a winning streak at the roulette table, and he paused only long enough to imprint her image in his memory. There would be time enough later to make her acquaintance. In his experience, females who gambled generally gambled small stakes. She wouldn't be leaving soon.
He kept note of her in his peripheral vision and of the numerous admirers clustered around her. But she seemed intent on her play, and after standing stud to all the society belles of note since his adolescence, he wasn't overly concerned with his ability to overcome competition. His luck was running hotter than hot tonight, and he concentrated on his game until he took note of the lady's sudden distress. Signaling he was out, he swiftly moved toward her table. He had seen that look a thousand times in gambling hells from one end of the earth to the other.
She was about to lose everything.
The throng of men surrounding her parted as he approached, his colorful reputation well known. Whether exploring the outlands of the world or partaking of the fashionable venues of aristocratic society, he had a tendency to take offense when thwarted.
Coming up behind Felicia, he leaned close to her ear, murmured, 'Allow me, mademoiselle,' and placed a neat stack of thousand-franc chips beside her few remaining markers.
She half turned in surprise and gazed up at him.
He smiled.
Awestruck, she forgot that a lady should take offense when a stranger offered her money and any number of other principles of protocol having to do with strange men and a lady's honor.
'Might I suggest two cards?' His voice was like velvet, his dark gaze warm, his fragrant cologne reminiscent of her beloved highland heather.
'I shouldn't.' She struggled to recall the proprieties.
He had heard that hesitant tone-the one hovering on the verge of capitulation-hundreds of times before. 'It's only cards,' he said with a faint grin. 'Let me bring you luck.'
She glanced back at her few remaining chips, at the munificent pile of donated chips beside them and, looking up for an indecisive moment, gazed into the diaphanous clouds painted on the gilded ceiling. Was this her miracle?
'Two cards for the mademoiselle.'
A deep voice of command, Felicia thought, no angelic messenger of the divine, the decision already taken from
