If his boldness alarmed her, she hid it well behind her smile. With the tips of her fingers she traced a line of fire from his brow to his chin. And then she touched his lips with hers, lightly, the teasing promise of a kiss.

“Do I shock you?” she murmured, her eyes half-lidded and heavy with a rising desire of her own. “Will you discard me as a wanton if I tell you I’ve longed to do that since the night of Venette’s party?”

Will you discard me as a wanton?

When it came to matters of the flesh, there were rules for ranked mages. Bloodlines were jealously guarded, casual couplings strictly discouraged. The power of magic extended only so far. Accidents still happened, despite all the best precautions. Some mages tempted fate, but he doubted Maris was one of them. Luzena had been as careful, even though they were handfasted. Respecting her, loving her, he’d held himself restrained and endured nightly torments, recalling her kisses and caresses that went so far… and no further. Since her death, restraint had become a habit… but now self-control chafed.

“If feeling desire is wanton, Maris, then must I stand condemned.”

With a shuddering sigh she pressed his hand to her breast. “I’ve longed for this, too, Morgan. I want to feel your skin naked against mine. When do you intend to speak with my father?”

This was his fourth day on the Garrick estate. The house party’s invitation was for five. “Tomorrow,” he said, as her heartbeat thudded through his damp palm, his hot blood.

“Not today?” She kissed him, more deeply this time. “Morgan, why not today?”

Because today I wish to savour as my last day of freedom.

He took his hand from her breast. “Now you sound wanton.” Standing, he tipped her without courtesy from his lap. “Conduct yourself with more decorum, Maris. As the future Lady Danfey it’s the least you can do.”

Her eyes furious, Maris scrambled to her feet. “Fie, sir! I’m not some unranked doxy to be tossed aside on your whim. I am a Garrick, and this is my future as well as yours. I’ve a right to know what you’ll make of it, and when.”

The only rights she had were the rights he decided to grant her. She was too sure of herself, puffed up in the conceit of her so-called superior ranking. Let her think to browbeat him with that and he would never have a moment’s peace.

“Maris, understand this about me,” he said, desire cooling. “I am—”

They both turned as the library door pushed open. “Maris? Are you in here?”

Venette. Her carefully plucked eyebrows rose, seeing them. “Maris, dear, your mother’s on the fret for you. Perhaps you ought to see what she wants.”