He slid his hands around to grasp her soft, womanly bottom and drove his hard cock into her liquid heat. Every time, he thought distantly as he lost himself in the sweet tug of her wet body on his. Every time is like coming home.

Murmured words of love and wanting dissolved into hot gasps and yearning moans. Lysander controlled his own need, fulfilling Gemma again and again. His touch danced over her clitoris and his tongue sparred with hers in deep scorching kisses. He drank that in her sighs as she came apart for him. Her throbbing heat tightened around him until at last he could resist no more.

With a roar, he thrust deep inside her. His release was, as always, powerful and profound.

Gemma collapsed against his chest, panting and quivering. They leaned on each other until their breath slowed and their galloping hearts calmed.

When Gemma opened her eyes and gave Lysander that cat-in-the-cream smile, he thrilled once more to the knowledge that he could make Gemma happy. It was a better reward than his own orgasm, to see that smile on her soft, kiss-swollen lips.

Suddenly, her smile disappeared and her eyes widened as she looked over his shoulder. "Lysander, who is that woman?"

Lysander followed her gaze out the stillroom window to see Mr. Bing helping a hearty lady with silver hair step down from the pony cart. The woman was visibly flirting with a dismayed Mr. Bing.

He blinked. "Oh. That's Iris."

Gemma gasped. "Your mother? Your mother is here?"

With a cry of despair, Gemma slapped at his chest, driving him off her so she could slide down off the table. "I'm a mess! And this is my work gown! And I didn't do any baking because I was busy with the fever treatments! Don't just stand there, button me at once!" She grabbed a cloth from the work table to tend to herself as he did up her gown.

Lysander tried not to grin at the razor-sharp tone of command in Gemma's usually even-tempered voice. "Gemma, if there was ever a woman who wouldn't notice your hair or your gown, it's my mother. She might spout poetry to your roses, however, and she'll excuse herself to a wall if she bumps into it, but she'll absolutely adore you." He finished the buttons and fluffed her bodice, just to be extra helpful.

"But she's your mother!" Gemma wailed as she ran for the door, desperately trying to twist her tumbled hair into something sensible. For Iris, yet!

Lysander beat Gemma to the door by a long-legged margin and blocked his mother's view of her when he opened the door wide, trying to grant Gemma a few extra seconds of maddened hair rescue.