Yasmin looked down at her body in shock. Her nipples were standing out against the light cotton of her bodice. Her thighs were clenched together in a useless attempt to assuage the ache between her legs.

“Darling,” Giles said, stepping close and brushing her lips with his. “Think about what you want to ask me for, the next time we see each other.”

Yasmin’s hand shot out and grabbed his coat. “Don’t go.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “I must, as must you. Your grandfather can only be expected to hold the stage for so long. We mustn’t draw attention to ourselves.”

She sagged, and then slid off Margaret’s sarcophagus, swaying before Giles caught her elbow. Hunger was an ache that seemed to have settled in her bones. But frustration flickered there too, because Giles was composed, as if nothing had happened between them. He was like a box that she wanted to pry open.

“Tonight,” she managed. “Please pay us a visit.”

He who never smiled, grinned at her and held out his arm. “I’m afraid I am unable to visit this evening. Shall we?”

“I shall get you back for this!” Yasmin promised in a low voice, on the way back up the stairs.

“I have no doubt,” Giles said, rich enjoyment in his voice. They were about to emerge into the sunlit chapel. He bent his head and nipped her earlobe, making her breath catch. “Think of what you want to ask me, Yasmin. Your wish is my command.”

She frowned. “My command is your wish?”

“Exactly.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The next evening, Yasmin dressed for a dinner party at the Addisons’ house with particular care. Lydia, Giles, and Lord Pettigrew were also invited, part of the celebrations that followed the announcement of Lydia’s betrothal.

Yasmin was determined to drive Giles wild with desire. He had been entirely in control after the church service, driving her to embarrassing emotions—on a tomb. A little growl broke from her throat at the thought.

Not acceptable.

These days, he was like a big game cat, stalking her, deciding when he would corner her for a few kisses, leaving her raging with desire while he sauntered away.

She didn’t have to accept that. She could fight back.

“The new round robe of blossom-colored crepe,” she told her maid. A half hour later, she looked at herself with satisfaction. The bodice fit like a glove, with a narrow skirt and a demi-train gathered in the back.

“The neckline is uncommonly low,” her maid observed. “Would you like to tuck a fichu into the bodice, my lady?”

“No, thank you,” Yasmin said. “Where is that crimson lip color that I purchased in Fitzroy Market?”

Giles, for his part, had impatiently thrown on evening wear and was ranging around his drawing room, nursing a glass of sherry while waiting for Lydia to descend and Pettigrew to join them.

His future brother-in-law seemed to have no idea how challenging life with his future wife might become. Thankfully, his mother took after him, never noticing Lydia rolling her eyes. Giles had brought it up over breakfast.