“You were not adequate,” he went on. “You were every wish and prayer I’ve ever articulated or dreamed made flesh. You were my most generous fantasies brought to life; you were an experience I could not have conjured from my wildest, most selfish and creative artistic imagination. I hunger for you.”

Hunger. He’d chosen the word advisedly. It was an order of magnitude more compelling even than adore.

“You can blow out the lamp,” Ellen said, dropping her gaze.

“Do you believe me?” Val scooted closer and looped his arms around her shoulders.

“I believe you.” But she kept her forehead against his shoulder.

“Let me hold you.” Val blew out the lamp and climbed under the covers. How in the blazing hell could he have been so remiss? Women needed reassurances; he knew this, and he wasn’t usually so unforthcoming. There was always something he could tell a woman—she had smooth skin even if her figure was less than average. She kissed enthusiastically if not with much skill. She was restful if not inspiring.

And he realized why he’d had no pretty words for Ellen.

She was beyond the little consolation compliments Val might have come up with for his usual fare. She was beyond flirtation and banter and superficial kindnesses.

And she was well beyond his silly duplicity regarding his station in life.

“Why the sigh?” Ellen stretched up and kissed his jaw. He’d put her on her back while he’d kept to his side. Her leg was again hiked over his hip, her cheek against his chest.

“You won’t be safe again for another week at least. That looms as an eternity.”

“It does seem like a rather long time.”

“We can settle for half measures,” Val suggested, not liking the idea they had options he would keep from her.

“Like on the blanket under the willow?”

They did not indulge in those half measures Val alluded to, but Ellen was giggling and blushing far into the night, and for Val, that was just as enjoyable, if not more. He explained to her all the taunts and insults and naughty terms she’d heard on darts night and not understood. He listed not less than a dozen terms, all referring to his member, and stopped only when Ellen was laughing so hard she cried.

Summer in London stank, literally.

Summer at Roxbury Hall stank literally and figuratively, but thank all the gods Freddy’s third-quarter allowance had arrived with the first of July and he was free to leave for Town.

Freddy took himself to the stables where his handsome bay gelding had been kept walking the better part of an hour. It was just as well, as Freddy’s mood was not suited to a fresh horse with spunk and sport on its mind. He swung up from the mounting block, thinking the ladies’ block might have been the better choice, as his blasted breeches were far tighter than the expense of having them tailored merited.

By the time he reached Great Weldon, Freddy’s breeches were fitting a little more comfortably, and his mood was improving. He needed more coin if he was to be ready for hunt season in the fall and Portugal in the winter, hence the necessity to tend his schemes and detour through the rural provinces of Oxfordshire.

He rapped on the polished bar of The Hung Sheep. “Whiskey, my good man.”

He detested the place, particularly the image of the cheerfully leering ram that swung over the main entrance. Nonetheless, a certain kind of business could be transacted here, and so here he would bide at least for a few minutes.

When his whiskey appeared, Lord Roxbury leaned across to catch the bartender’s eye. “Be a good fellow and tell Louise to attend me in the snug.”

The bartender barely nodded before disappearing into the kitchen. A young lady emerged a few minutes later sporting a smile Freddy knew was as false as her truly impressive breasts were genuine.

“Milord.” She beamed at Freddy where he sat frankly ogling her breasts. “May I fetch you another?”

Freddy wrinkled his nose. “It’s a pathetic brew, but I’ve miles to go yet, so yes.”

Her smile slipped a bit, though Freddy wasn’t about to admit the drink was both decent and inexpensive.

“So there ye be.” She set the drink down a moment later, not spilling a drop. “What else can Louise get for ye?”

“Answers.” Freddy scowled at the drink. “It’s been two weeks, my girl. What news have you for me?”

“Plenty of news.” Louise smiled broadly. “What coin have ye for me?”

Freddy’s scowl became as calculating as Louise’s smile. For God’s sake, she took his coin, and all he asked of her—almost all—was that she pass along to him a few bits of gossip and keep her younger relations’ eyes sharp in the same cause.

“I have something for you, Louise,” Freddy said, “but it will have to wait until we can be private. But then, as I recall, the stables are private enough for a woman of your refined tastes, aren’t they?” He slid his hand over her wrist and pulled her down to sit beside him. “Talk, Louise, and then you’ll walk me to my horse.”

He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed tightly. She didn’t wince—peasant stock was tough.

“From what Neal’s pa says, Mr. Windham is improving up a storm at the old Markham place. The roof is almost done, the floors and windows are all in, the plastering and painting is thundering along, and even the grounds are looking tidy and spruce.”

“How charming,” Freddy drawled. “What about the estate itself?”

“Mr. Windham met with Neal’s pa and says he’ll look after the place, now he owns it. Mort and Neal and the boys are to clean up the home farm, since Mr. Windham will be setting that to rights too. The hay barn is to get a new roof, but quick-like, as there’s already hay in it.”

“Did your cousins set up the kindling where I showed them?”

“They did.” She made another effort to withdraw her hand, which gave Freddy another opportunity to exert his superior strength.

“And the lamp oil?”

“It’s there.”

“Where can I find your cousin Dervid now?”

“He’ll be in the livery.” Something in her tone suggested the boy might be anywhere but in the livery.

“Then he might want to watch us, hmm?” He was hurting her, but for his coin, she’d endure the hurt and afford him the pleasure of her wide, clever mouth. “Come along, Louise.” Freddy rose to his feet, tossing coins on the table. “And best be loosening that bodice of yours. I wouldn’t want to rip it when you earn your coin, would I?”

He’d rip it anyway. Breasts like that begged for a man’s attention. Begged for it.

And he was nothing if not a man, after all.

Val was smiling when he walked into the Rooster, mentally challenging himself to come up with another twenty terms for the male member. Ellen had laughed so hard the sound had actually filled his ears with music. Light, scampering melodies that would require lightning quick fingers with unerring accuracy—and be great fun to play.

He paid for a pint and some purchases at the Rooster, posted his letters to family, picked up a few for himself, and stopped by the livery, letting the grooms know he’d one more errand before he’d need Ezekiel for his trip back to the estate.

He owed Ellen, and in a way that didn’t feel exactly comfortable. She worked on his sore hand diligently at least once per day, usually more. Val himself had been increasingly conservative about using his hand, not quite willing to admit he had grown more hopeful in the past week.

It was never going to be as good as it had been. Never.

But it was better when he didn’t use it, better when Ellen worked with it. Better if he was careful not to fall asleep with that hand tucked in its customary spot under his pillow. So Val took himself to the apothecary, there to attempt compliance with more of the medical wisdom David Worthington had dispensed weeks ago.