With a laughing oath, Valentine scooped her up into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder, filling his palm with a handful of skirts, petticoats, and feminine charms. God, he was strong. “Put me down this instant, you overbearing ogre!”

He was already up the staircase and onto the landing by the time he replied. “Ogre? Ouch! That deserves retaliation.” Her sinful tormentor yanked up her skirts, baring her silk-covered posterior, turned her body slightly and took a bite.

“You brute!” she nearly screeched.

He smacked his lips. “Tastes like apples.”

“It’s my soap as you very well know,” she muttered inanely, her buttock on fire where he’d put his mouth and the rest of her aching to be licked, sucked, and bitten. Her sex was practically throbbing against his shoulder, until he kicked open a door to a very large bedchamber and deposited her next to an enormous bed. A fire danced in the grate, illuminating him in shades of flickering golden light.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. It was odd since they had coupled twice before, but this felt monumental. This felt more intimate than either of the other two incidents. Toeing off her slippers, Bronwyn spread her hand over the dark silk of the counterpane. The bed was massive, to accommodate his large frame, but the rest of the room was sparsely decorated. A mantel on one end and an armoire on the other, a pair of stuffed armchairs near the fireplace, and a potted plant. How many women did he bring back here? She forced that thought away. None of them were here now. She was. “I like your bed.”

“Bronwyn,” he began, and she held up a finger.

“I don’t want to talk, Valentine,” she whispered. “It ruins everything with us. We both know what we’re doing here and the consequences of our decisions. If you are in agreement, then let us pretend whatever we need to for the sake of it. I don’t wish to argue or defend my choices because I’m a lady and you’re a lord, and neither of us is married.”

He cleared his throat. “I was going to ask if you wanted a drink.”

“Oh,” she said, and then frowned when he ducked his head to hide a guilty smile and moved toward one of the armchairs to remove his boots and shuck off his coat. She studied him as he silently rolled each of his cuffs, and burst into laughter. “You cheeky liar. You were going to ply me with all the reasons this is wrong and we shouldn’t be doing this, weren’t you?”

A now barefooted duke stood to his full height and prowled toward the bed. She took a step back and bumped up against the mattress. “Am I so transparent when it comes to you?”