*Ben* Three evenings later, after returning from a day at the mines, I am disappointed to find the door to the music room locked. I have grown accustomed to finding my wife there, to having a few minutes to observe her before someone spots me lurking in the doorway and gasps or shrieks in surprise. In spite of my assurances that no ghost is hovering about, it seems some are still expecting the sudden appearance of a wraith. I don’t much like that I anticipate seeing Skye at the end of the day, that she has so quickly become an intricate part of my life. I awake with her in my arms, and if I am fortunate enough to find the sun has yet to appear, then I begin my morning with a rousing sexual encounter. She is the most enthusiastic partner I have ever known… or perhaps it is simply that I take such satisfaction in pleasuring her. Her moans and cries inflame my desires. Even now, standing before the blasted locked door, I want her. But I won’t take her, not until we dine. I am determined t

*Skye* Keep playing? Is he mad? If not for the wicked challenge in his eyes before he disappears beneath my skirts, I may have kicked him out of the way. Instead I return my fingers to the keys while he brackets my hips and slides me to the very edge of the bench. I strike a wrong chord, cringe. I am not going to allow the kisses he is trailing along the inside of my thigh to distract me. It matters not that I can scarcely breathe or that I am suddenly so warm I can swear the room has caught fire. Then his mouth lands on the bud of my desire and I nearly come up off the bench. Instead I pound the keys as his tongue circles, as the pleasure mounts. I drop my head back, unable to concentrate on the tune, simply striking random chords. What does it matter when he is doing such wicked, wicked things, when he is distracting me, causing me to be perched on the threshold of so many incredible sensations swirling through me, urging me to cry out… “Ben, what the devil…” With a screech at th

*Ben* I pour the steaming water into the tub in the bathing room. Mrs. Downey doesn’t understand why I don’t have one of the servants prepare my bath, but the servants are Skye’s, not mine. I don’t need to take them away from whatever chores my wife has them doing. Besides, the fewer people who see me in this ragtag state, the better. After setting down the pail, I arch my back and look up at the ceiling. Christ, I am tired. But I know once I see Skye, the weariness will fade away. Her smile of greeting always seems to revitalize me. I have even begun to enjoy her evening recitals, no longer viewing them as an irritating delay to my possessing her, but rather embracing them as a slow, sensual building of awareness. She finds a bit of ecstasy in gliding her fingers over the ivory, and I become enthralled watching her. She is a siren, luring my father out of his reclusiveness. Each evening, he makes his way down to the music room. I have begun pouring a scotch and setting it on the ta

*Ben* I have never known a woman like her … ever in my life. Following along with my tale about the seams, she matches Lady Godiva for boldness, and I can well imagine her riding naked through the streets without a single blush forming anywhere on her person. And damned if I don’t want her again with a fierceness that makes me feel almost barbaric. After I kick the door to my bedchamber closed behind us, I do precisely as she suggested and rips what remains of her clothing from her body. Making sure not to hurt her in the process. There is something immensely satisfying and feral in the rasp of rending satin and silk, in the way that Skye simply stands there and lets me have my way with her, her eyes smoldering with needs that match my own. When she is completely bared, I lift her back into my arms, carry her to the foot of the bed, and toss her onto her stomach, leaving her legs to dangle over the mattress. Breathing heavily, she rises up onto her elbows and gazes back over he

*Ben* As I make my way toward the dining room, I have never been more grateful for an interruption in my life. I was on the verge of confessing that I more than like Skye; I hold genuine affection for her. Once those words are spoken there will be no going back on them. In the library, I had voiced all the things I do not want as though that would stop her from delivering them. As though it is within her nature not to care, not to give. She returned the blasted allowance, offered to reduce her staff, and was concerned with my welfare. Of course she is, I chastised myself until she provides an heir, she is in danger of losing all this. But the argument runs hollow and untrue. She had shown herself that first day. But not her complete self. She is composed of myriad facets, complex and intriguing. I can spend a lifetime striving to unravel the mysteries of Skye Archer. Damn it all to hell if I don’t want that lifetime with her. I want her in my life until my hair turns silver and my