even fewer reasons to behave, yet she was very committed to Ian. He was a generous, attentive lover, and he'd been kind to her when no one else had shown an ounce of concern. For his stalwart devotion, she owed him gratitude and fidelity, yet Jack had merely glanced in her direction and she'd succumbed like a harlot.
She'd betrayed Ian! Ian whom she adored! Ian whom she hoped to marry! And she'd done it with his penniless, exasperating brother! Had any woman in history ever committed a more heinous act?
As she recollected her treachery, she blushed with shame, which was saying a lot. She never regretted, never apologized or lamented. As a single female, she had to survive as best she could, and if others didn't like how she carried on, she didn't care.
She'd been wed at fourteen, at sixteen, at twenty. Her three husbands had been brutal swine, who weren't missed. The first two had left her meager inheritances that barely paid the bills. The third had been a money-grubbing miser, who'd died with plenty of cash in the bank, but she doubted she'd receive a penny of it.
She was no fool, and she understood how the world worked. She had no influential acquaintances and no power. Despite how long she bickered with her brother-in-law, he would end up with it all, so she had to marry Ian. No other man would have her, but what if he found out what she'd done? There was a limit to what he'd tolerate, and having sex with Jack crossed any acceptable line.
She couldn't justify her crazed rush to fornicate with Jack. She didn't even like Jack!
With how he'd slithered out of nowhere and ingratiated himself to Ian, she remained unconvinced that they were siblings, and she loathed that Ian was so fond of him. Her grip on Ian's affection was tenuous, so she didn't want to share him with anybody.
What had she been thinking? How could she continue visiting Ian? How could she wed him? Her conduct with Jack would forever be a wedge between them, a secret she couldn't divulge.
Desperate to be away, she pounded on the roof of the coach, signaling the driver to hurry, when Jack climbed in behind her.
He paused to peer up at the other man and said, "Mrs. Blake is going home. Take your time arriving, would you?"
He winked! The bastard! The driver would suppose that she'd deliberately planned to be sequestered with Jack, and rumors would spread.
Did Jack want stories drifting to Ian? Was he completely deranged?
"Get out of here!" she hissed, but the horses took that moment to pull, and the carriage lurched forward. Jack tumbled onto her, his weight pushing her onto the seat. In a thrice, she was flat on her back, and he was sprawled on top of her. Down below, his cock was erect and prodding her leg.
They hadn't been secluded for two seconds and he was aroused, which indicated that he desired her again, that their initial encounter hadn't been a fluke. Every feminine part of her rejoiced.
What was the matter with her? Had she no integrity? No honor? People often whispered that she possessed no conscience or morals. Were they correct?
"Ah!" she shrieked. "Are you mad? Get off me!"
He chuckled, but ignored her, so she batted at his shoulders and chest, and he seized her wrists and pinned them over her head.
The position provided even closer contact. Her entire front was stretched out and crushed to his, and her traitorous anatomy was in heaven.
She increased her struggles.
"Desist!" he ordered.
"Not till you move!"
"As if I'd move with you punching at me like a lunatic!"
"If you didn't deserve it, I wouldn't be punching you!"
He kissed her.
At the feel of his delicious mouth touching her own, she melted like butter, her limbs growing rubbery and limp. For the briefest instant, they wallowed in the sweetness. It seemed so natural and right; then he stiffened and jerked away.
He slid to the opposite seat, scowled, and insisted, "I didn't mean to do that."
She was still half-dazed and, as if waking from a dream, she blinked and
She'd betrayed Ian! Ian whom she adored! Ian whom she hoped to marry! And she'd done it with his penniless, exasperating brother! Had any woman in history ever committed a more heinous act?
As she recollected her treachery, she blushed with shame, which was saying a lot. She never regretted, never apologized or lamented. As a single female, she had to survive as best she could, and if others didn't like how she carried on, she didn't care.
She'd been wed at fourteen, at sixteen, at twenty. Her three husbands had been brutal swine, who weren't missed. The first two had left her meager inheritances that barely paid the bills. The third had been a money-grubbing miser, who'd died with plenty of cash in the bank, but she doubted she'd receive a penny of it.
She was no fool, and she understood how the world worked. She had no influential acquaintances and no power. Despite how long she bickered with her brother-in-law, he would end up with it all, so she had to marry Ian. No other man would have her, but what if he found out what she'd done? There was a limit to what he'd tolerate, and having sex with Jack crossed any acceptable line.
She couldn't justify her crazed rush to fornicate with Jack. She didn't even like Jack!
With how he'd slithered out of nowhere and ingratiated himself to Ian, she remained unconvinced that they were siblings, and she loathed that Ian was so fond of him. Her grip on Ian's affection was tenuous, so she didn't want to share him with anybody.
What had she been thinking? How could she continue visiting Ian? How could she wed him? Her conduct with Jack would forever be a wedge between them, a secret she couldn't divulge.
Desperate to be away, she pounded on the roof of the coach, signaling the driver to hurry, when Jack climbed in behind her.
He paused to peer up at the other man and said, "Mrs. Blake is going home. Take your time arriving, would you?"
He winked! The bastard! The driver would suppose that she'd deliberately planned to be sequestered with Jack, and rumors would spread.
Did Jack want stories drifting to Ian? Was he completely deranged?
"Get out of here!" she hissed, but the horses took that moment to pull, and the carriage lurched forward. Jack tumbled onto her, his weight pushing her onto the seat. In a thrice, she was flat on her back, and he was sprawled on top of her. Down below, his cock was erect and prodding her leg.
They hadn't been secluded for two seconds and he was aroused, which indicated that he desired her again, that their initial encounter hadn't been a fluke. Every feminine part of her rejoiced.
What was the matter with her? Had she no integrity? No honor? People often whispered that she possessed no conscience or morals. Were they correct?
"Ah!" she shrieked. "Are you mad? Get off me!"
He chuckled, but ignored her, so she batted at his shoulders and chest, and he seized her wrists and pinned them over her head.
The position provided even closer contact. Her entire front was stretched out and crushed to his, and her traitorous anatomy was in heaven.
She increased her struggles.
"Desist!" he ordered.
"Not till you move!"
"As if I'd move with you punching at me like a lunatic!"
"If you didn't deserve it, I wouldn't be punching you!"
He kissed her.
At the feel of his delicious mouth touching her own, she melted like butter, her limbs growing rubbery and limp. For the briefest instant, they wallowed in the sweetness. It seemed so natural and right; then he stiffened and jerked away.
He slid to the opposite seat, scowled, and insisted, "I didn't mean to do that."
She was still half-dazed and, as if waking from a dream, she blinked and
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