“For one thing, I might get with child,” Theodora retorted.

  “There are ways of preventing that. I am sure Lord Westerly knows how to be careful. He will wish to share a night of pleasure with you only.”

  Pleasure. If her nightly dreams were anything like the reality... Longing quivered down Theodora’s spine. If only...

  “If you want him, you must do something about it,” Lucille said. “It was clever of you to say you have plans of your own, but that is not enough.”

  “Even if I get up my courage,” Theodora said, “he will refuse me, because he’s a proper gentleman.”

  “A proper gentleman doesn’t swear at his female guests, however provoking they may be,” Lucille said. Mrs. Concord had made sure everyone knew about his rudeness.

  “She deserved it!” Theodora retorted. She didn’t blame him in the least; her own temper was wearing almost as thin. She’d snapped at Miss Concord, and she didn’t know how she would bear another night of dreams that made her itch to crawl all over Garrick like a shameless wanton. She had never, ever had such dreams or longings before. It was as if some bizarre erotic magic had taken hold of her.

  “I’m sure she did, but it shows that his propriety is a flimsy facade,” Lucille said. “He’s a man like any other.”

  “He won’t bed a respectable spinster. He would feel obliged to marry me.”

  “Then you must convince him that you are not in the least respectable, and that your plans do not include him at all.”

  * * *

  That evening after dinner, Garrick escaped the billiard room for a glance into the blue saloon, where Theodora sat on a sofa with Lucille. He felt compelled to check up on Theodora, and no matter how much he chided himself, the impulse couldn’t be denied.

  Plans? What plans? She’d refused to tell him when asked, but what could they be, except to return to the home of her parents, go to London for the Season, visit various relatives and so on, as always? None, but the way she’d thrown her independence in his face unnerved him.

  Theodora and Lucille spent too much time with their heads together. Garrick tried to stifle his dismay at Theodora’s friendship with such a woman. Madame Beaulieu played the part of a respectable widow reasonably well, considering the handicap—he recognized it as such—of being a succubus, but he didn’t trust her to treat Theodora with the propriety an innocent lady deserved. She might influence her in unacceptable ways.

  Later, over their brandy, Val said, “You’ve spent four whole days in Miss Southern’s company, and you haven’t even found an opportunity to kiss her? Christ, Westerly. Thirty-one years old and you’ve still got a stick up your arse.”

  “There were plenty of opportunities,” Garrick said. “I chose not to take advantage of them.”

  Val shook his head disbelievingly. “Look at it this way. Inevitably, someone will awaken Miss Southern’s sensual side. Why not you?”

  “Because she’s a respectable unmarried lady. It’s simply not done.”

  “So you’ll leave her to the wiles of...Maynard Buxton, who spends each night in a different bed? That’s bloody unchivalrous, when she’s doing her damnedest to protect you from the Concord chit.”

  “Theodora wouldn’t give Buxton the time of day,” Garrick said, revolted. That couldn’t possibly be her plan!

  “He’s not a bad-looking fellow, and he’s been dangling after her forever.” Val sighed heavily. “Maybe Lucie and I should leave. The orgylike atmosphere might die down enough to save Miss Southern from Buxton.”

  “I don’t want you to leave. You and Theodora are all that has made this party tolerable.”

  Val shook his head. “Whatever you like, but you’re taking a devil of a risk with Miss Southern’s chastity. If she gets desperate enough, she might give in to Buxton, and—”

  “No,” Garrick said. “She wouldn’t.”

  “Unless, of course, you get to her first.”

  Garrick ground his teeth. “It would be wrong of me to—”

  Val threw up his hands. “Stop thinking in terms of vice and virtue, wrong and right. She’s a woman with the usual desires, and you’re a man, ditto.”

  “It’s not that simple, Val.” One courted a woman, married her and then bedded her. It had been made entirely plain to Garrick in the past few days that he wished to wed Theodora, but she wanted to marry for love. Even if he could mend his temper, even if the nightmare went away for good, courting her would take time, and he was damned if he wanted to attempt it with all these people milling about.

  “It is exactly that simple,” Valiant said. “What’s the matter with you, Westerly? There she is, ripe for the picking. Don’t you want her? Can’t you just taste her?”

  * * *

  Theodora dreamt of Garrick again. His large, hot hands made a playground of her naked body. He spread her legs and toyed with her privates, and she thrashed and moaned. His member entered her, thick and powerful, and at last she was his. She woke abruptly on an intense crest of pleasure....

  It wasn’t just lust, but an ecstasy of love for Garrick.

  She still loved him. Oh, no! She threw the covers off and leapt out of bed. What a disaster. She didn’t want to love him; what was the use of that, since he didn’t love her?

  So much for no inconvenient emotions.

  But she couldn’t let that change her plans. She’d had enough of dreams. She wanted the reality. She deserved it. If she could have him only once, so be it.

  But it wouldn’t happen on its own. She had to do something about it. She had to be bold.

  She gave up on sleep. A cup of tea might help her think of a forceful action. She put on her wrapper and slippers and crept down the back stairs to the kitchen.

  And there, before the kettle even boiled, she found the answer in full view on the walls.

  Mistletoe.

  * * *

  Garrick went to bed in turmoil and woke abruptly, his heart hammering, from a dream where Will Cooper, still dead, told him to get out of the damned muck, sir, while Theodora hovered on the edge of the battlefield, poised to flee.

  What if Val was right, and the atmosphere of the house would drive Theodora to desperation? Garrick didn’t think she would lose her grip on common sense, but he’d witnessed the bizarre effects caused by incubi and succubi during the war. What if she was in bed with Buxton even now?

  No, it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t even likely. He should know better than to let Val influence him, and he had better warn Theodora to beware of any advice that came from Lucille Beaulieu, but... Oh, damn.

  The realization came over him, making him feel like a fool. He’d been suspicious about the presence of both an incubus and a succubus in his house, but he’d been too irritable to follow the suspicion to the obvious conclusion. Val’s mission was to awaken Theodora’s sensual side, but not by seducing her. Val was therefore trying to persuade Garrick—a decent man—to do it. He’d probably enlisted Lucille to egg Theodora on. To convince her that being a respectable spinster was a bore. They’d sent erotic dreams about to get both of their victims aroused.

  He cursed again. The more he thought about it, the more it all made sense. Much as he would like to wring Val’s neck, he had to take care of Theodora first. He was bloody well obliged to seduce her before some handsome, slippery fellow came along and ruined her or forced her into marriage for her money.

  Fuming, he donned shirt, stockings and breeches, and slipped out into the passageway.

  Uncharacteristic silence greeted him; he’d become used to random grunts and moans, and the occasional thudding against a wall. Perhaps by now they’d all worn themselves out and fallen asleep. A chill stole over him. What if he was too late?

  Christ. He’d fought in numerous battles. He’d risked his life time and again. He’d even ridden perilous missions into France, and now he was fretting like a girl. Disgusted with himself, he went straight to Theodora’s room and softly opened the door.

  The bed curtains were open. The bed was empty. Dora wasn’t there.

  * * *

  Theodora found a stepladder in the butler’s pantry and some scissors and twine in the stillroom. She set the ladder against the kitchen wall and hiked her nightdress to climb it. Carefully, she tugged down one sprig of mistletoe from amongst the other greenery.

  The servants would be up soon; she had to hurry. She crept quickly down the dark passages that led to the front of the house and soon entered Garrick’s library. Now, where to put the mistletoe? She couldn’t hang it over either her drawing board or Garrick’s desk, because the ceilings were too high and there was nothing to attach it to. The curtain rods? Also too high, even if she stood on a chair. A soft sound made her whirl.

  In the doorway, a dark figure loomed. She squeaked, her heart in her throat.

  “It’s only me.” Garrick’s eyes lit on the mistletoe. His lips twitched. “Is disobeying my orders part of your plans?”

  “Er...”

  He plucked the mistletoe from her hand. “It should be. I deserve to be disobeyed.” He brandished it over their heads, then bent and swiftly kissed her.

  A river of surprise coursed through her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything—and he kissed her again.

  “Once again, I’ve been most remiss.” He tossed the mistletoe onto the sofa and pulled her close. His lips brushed hers. “In my attempts to avoid kisses from the other women, I deprived myself of the opportunity to kiss you.” He grinned. “And you of the opportunity to kiss me.”

  She put her arms around his neck and melted into him. Oh, thank you. Oh, please. She poured all her passion for him into returning his kiss. She ran her hands up into his hair, cupping his dear head between her hands, opening to his seeking lips and the sensual thrusts of his tongue.

  She groaned and squirmed against him. He broke the kiss with a tiny laugh. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. He went for her mouth again, while his hands roamed downward to rest on her hips and squeeze gently. Tremors ran through her, darts of golden delight shooting straight to her core.

  He loosened his touch, his fingertips grazing her waist. “Do you know why this is happening?” he murmured.

  Because I’m madly in love with you? No, unfortunately that wasn’t it; he’d kissed her first. Because some ancient goddess of love has granted my prayer? “Er...”

  “It’s because of Lord Valiant and Lucille Beaulieu,” he said. “I’d better explain before you get carried away.”

  “What if I want to get carried away?” She tightened her arms around him and rested her cheek against his broad chest. She breathed in his heady male aroma, so much easier to get at when he wore only a shirt. She imagined nuzzling him naked. Hot golden thrills rippled through her.

  “Then I expect you shall, but I think you should be properly informed first. You may or may not have noticed the excessive amount of carnal activity at this party.”

  She raised her head. “How could I help but notice, what with all the vulgar sounds coming from the bedchambers. It, er...”

  “Makes you think of a Roman orgy?” he said with a grin.

  “Yes.” Heat suffused her face. “Not that I know the first thing about orgies, but...” It would never do to confess that she had imagined such events. “What does that have to do with Lord Valiant and Lucille?”

  “As spies, their expertise was in seduction.”

  “Oh.” She blinked up at him, fascinated. “Lucille was a spy?”

  “She hasn’t told you yet? You seem to be such bosom bows that I thought she must have.”

  “Perhaps she thought I would sever our friendship, but of course I shan’t. I like her very much.” She pondered a moment. Lucille had most likely spied for France, but the war was over, and she could hardly fault a Frenchwoman for defending her own people. “I would never have thought of seduction as a weapon in war. How very courageous of Lucille.”

  “How so?”

  Men seemed to lump women into two categories—the chaste and the unchaste. The chaste showed no interest in sensual matters, and the unchaste were willing to indulge in intimacy with any and every man. It was the most ridiculous notion. “For example, if I were a seductress and spy, and my mission was to seduce...oh, Maynard Buxton, I should have to drum up all my courage and determination to overcome my disgust.”

  He laughed softly. He pressed a kiss on her hair. “In any event, people like Valiant and Lucille invariably cause a certain amount of turmoil, arousing the desires of everyone around them. I suspect having the two of them in one house has intensified this effect.”

  “Hence the atmosphere,” she said gruffly.

  “Day and night,” he said. “In those who have no other way of satisfying their desires, it causes erotic dreams.”

  “Is that so?” she said in a strangled voice.

  “Indeed it is.” His smile sent chills down her spine. His lips caressed hers. He licked the corner of her mouth, making her knees go weak. “In turn, those dreams increase one’s desire to experience the reality.”

  She tightened her arms around his neck and said simply, “Yes.”

  “Which may not be a wise idea.”

  “I should have known,” she muttered, stiffening. He was about to kiss her good-night and send her back to bed. To hell with him; she would find someone else. She pushed at him.

  He didn’t let her go, and his eyes were serious. “I’m merely offering a friendly warning, Dora. You’re a respectable woman, and—”

  “And you’re an honourable man. I know, I know. I’m sick and tired of being respectable, and if you would kindly suspend your honour for a short while, I would appreciate it!”

  “You’re such a darling.” His hand cupped her cheek and stroked the length of her jaw. His lips followed it, trailing kisses from her ear to her chin, then settled once again on her mouth. Desire shimmered through her breasts and belly. The sweet spot between her legs began to throb.

  “You have no idea how much I would like to throw honour to the winds right now.” His hand brushed her breast, exactly as in her dream. His lips roamed her forehead. He kissed one eyelid and then the other. “But I fear that you don’t understand what you’re letting yourself in for.”

  Oh, she understood well enough—pleasure followed by heartbreak. “Garrick, please,” she whispered, closing her eyes the better to savour him. “I’m not a baby. I know what men and women do together.”

  “My delectable Dora.” His hot breath tickled her ear. Silver thrills shuddered down her spine. “Let’s make certain. Shall I tell you what I’ll do?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, clinging to him now, eyes closed. “Tell me.”

  He nipped her earlobe, making her squirm. “I shall undress you little by little, until you are naked and wanton and shaking for my touch.”

  I’m already shaking. She ran her lips along the stubble on his jaw.

  “I shall feast my eyes on your glorious breasts.” His eyes caressed her. “I shall suckle them one by one until they ache for more.”

  Her breasts swelled with anticipation. She pressed as close as possible, rubbing herself against his chest through the thin layers of her nightdress and his shirt, relishing their near-nakedness.

  “Your nipples are already hard, just from thinking about it.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, and his hands slid to her behind and pulled her close. His arousal pressed against her.

  “I’m hard and swollen, too,” he said. “And yes, I was dreaming on the sofa yesterday—of what I want to do to you.”

  She groaned, her knees weak, the blood heavy in her veins, the throbbing insistent in her core. He desired her. He dreamed of her.

  His lips caressed hers. “Have you dreamt of me?”

  “Yes.” Oh, yes—for years and years.

  “Our dreams will come true. I will touch and caress and lick until you writhe with pleasure. I will thrust inside you and stroke you with my cock and watch you shudder and twist and moan. I will—”

  Footsteps sounded, along with the clatter of dustpans and buckets.

  “Damn,” he said. “The servants are already up.” He let her go. “Think about it, Dora. Be sure you want to do this. I don’t want you pushed into something by circumstances—or by advice from your friend Lucille, which you may regret later.”

  “I won’t regret it,” Theodora said, head high as she made for the door. “As I said before, I have plans of my own, and they don’t include sitting about being respectable for the rest of my life.”

  She would never regret bedding him. As for the pain in her heart—she wouldn’t regret that either, although it would never, ever go away.

  * * *

  Theodora fetched her tea from the kitchen and went back to bed, but she couldn’t sleep. By giving her time to change her mind, Garrick had also given himself time to change his. She didn’t trust him not to; she had to make sure he didn’t. She spent an hour tossing, turning and thinking hard, and came to a conclusion. She rang for a maid to dress her and went down to breakfast. Now that she knew a little more of Lucille’s history, she had no compunction whatsoever in enlisting her aid.

  Lucille smiled and patted a seat next to her. Lord Valiant was slouched on her other side, sipping ale and looking as decadent as ever. The others were clustered at the far end of the table, avoiding Lord Valiant, as usual.

  Lucille leaned close and said, “They are gossiping about you again.”

  Theodora added sugar to her tea. “Have they nothing better to think about?”

  “They are convinced you have found an underhanded way to set your cap at Lord Westerly. They say no woman could possibly be interested in relics from Ancient Rome.”

  “Good,” Theodora said. “That fits in perfectly with my plan.”