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the Bonini string quartet, and after a short interval conclude with

the great Catalani. I hope you all enjoy yourselves immensely. «

A gentle ripple of applause had him bowing and resuming his

seat in the front row. The string quartet took their places on the

slightly raised dais and proceeded to tune their instruments. Jane

looked around for Blaize, but there was still no sign of him. Had

he brought her to the concert insisting it was for his own benefit

and then decided not to share it with her in any way? She gripped

her fan so hard she thought she might break the delicate ivory

sticks.

She raised her head and stared at the musicians. Damn him.

He had known she had always wanted to hear Catalani—she’d

told him years ago. She was going to listen to a world-famous

soprano sing and she was not going to let her husband ruin it for

her. She fixed a smile on her face, took a deep breath and

prepared to enjoy herself.

Minshom stood in the shadows of the refreshment room

sipping his brandy as the rest of the guests filed into their seats,

leaving him alone. Through the connecting doorway he could see

Jane looking for him, but he made no attempt to attract her

attention. Her willingness to believe that he would put himself

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out for her still startled him, her ability to smile and thank him,

even more so.

He finished his brandy as the string quartet started to play and

poured himself another. Jane had stopped looking for him now,

her attention fixed on the stage, her face in profile. He

considered her through narrowed eyes. The dress suited her,

made her skin gleam like the finest porcelain. He’d told Madame

Wallace it would.

Of course he’d known she wanted to hear Catalani sing, it was

one of the first things she had ever told him, her eyes bright, her

enthusiasm undimmed by the shadows he would stifle her with

during their marriage. Then why deny it? He shrugged, even

though no one was looking at him. Being thanked was not

something he was comfortable with, and recalling happier days

was as pleasant as roasting in hell.

The quartet finished the short Haydn piece with a rousing

chord and the audience clapped. Minshom didn’t bother to

applaud, his attention all on Jane, who seemed to have forgotten

he existed.

«Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?»

He glanced up and found Thomas Wesley at his elbow,

resplendent in full dress uniform. Minshom raised an eyebrow at

such magnificence.

«Dressed like that, shouldn’t you be at court or guarding

something?»

«I’m due to be presented to the prince in an hour or so, but I

wanted to hear Catalani sing first.» He grimaced. «I doubt I’ll get

another chance before I return to India.»

«Or ever again if you wait another ten years before you return.

She’ll probably be far past her prime.»

Thomas chuckled quietly. «Or that. Why are you standing

over here? You always loved music.»

Minshom gestured at the glass of ratafia he’d poured and left

on the sideboard. «I came to get some refreshment for my wife.»

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«Ah, and you didn’t wish to interrupt the musicians by

returning. How very thoughtful of you.»

Minshom couldn’t help but smile back at Thomas Wesley.

«Not quite. You give me too much credit. But then you always

did, didn’t you?»

«Perhaps.» Thomas shifted closer and the warm scent of spice

and sandalwood washed over Minshom. «I didn’t realize you

were married. If I had, I would never have suggested...»

Minshom held up a finger. «I thought we agreed not to speak

of that again?»

Thomas leaned forward until he captured the tip of

Minshom’s gloved finger between his teeth and drew it into his

mouth. Despite the instant pulse of interest in his cock,

Minshom kept still and made no attempt to either reciprocate or

withdraw his finger. Eventually Thomas sighed and stepped back.

«I’m sorry.»

«For what?»

«For being unable to let go of my stupid fantasy of us being

together.»

Minshom smiled slowly and forced himself to relax. This was

a game he knew well, a game he excelled at. «Surely it is good to

dream?»

«Not when it’s unlikely to come true.»

«There are hundreds of men in London who would be more

than willing to oblige you.»

Thomas met his gaze, his brown eyes far too honest, and his

smile rueful. «But they wouldn’t be you, would they?»

Minshom shrugged. «One man is much like another.»

«That isn’t true.»

«In my considerable experience it is.» He turned his head

slightly so that he could still observe Jane and make sure that she

didn’t leave in a huff.

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«But you aren’t really drawn to men, are you?» Thomas

persisted. «Using them and loving them are two very different

things.»

«My, you have been listening to gossip, haven’t you?»

Thomas frowned. «I don’t need to do that. I know why you

crave sexual power. I used to be the same.»

«And what changed you? The love of a good woman?»

Thomas’s smile was breathtaking in its sincerity. «No, a man.

He taught me that sex isn’t about pain and domination, but about

love.»

Minshom forced a laugh. «And you believe that if I let you

fuck me, I’ll feel the same? Somehow I doubt it.»

Thomas sighed. «I’m not stupid and I don’t think I can

perform miracles. You prefer women. If your father hadn’t

meddled, you wouldn’t even question that.»

Minshom frowned. Why did he feel as if all his certainties

were being destroyed? And why did everyone he was acquainted

with seem intent on undermining him? «Who gave you the right

to decide my sexuality for me?»

«I’m not. I’m just asking you...»

«To let you fuck me so that you can feel better about yourself.

I’m not interested.»

Minshom moved past Thomas to pick up the wineglass he’d

intended for Jane.

«Good evening, Major.»

«Lord Minshom.»

Minshom nodded and made his way quietly across the room

to where Jane was sitting. She didn’t acknowledge him when he

slipped into his seat, her attention all on the music. For a

moment he studied her and tried to forget the conversation with

Thomas.

Damn it, he felt uncomfortable now. It was true that he’d

never particularly enjoyed fucking men. He enjoyed the power of

it, yes—the sense that he was better than everyone—but he

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certainly wasn’t looking for tenderness or love out of a sexual

encounter.

When had love ever had anything to do with sex? He glanced

at Jane again and frowned. Love was a notion for women, a

pretty wrapped parcel to conceal the necessity to procreate the

species, body to body, mouth to mouth, sex to sex. Why make it

more complicated than that?

Eventually the string quartet stopped playing and stood up to

great applause. People began to move about again while the stage

was prepared for Madame Catalani.

«Who was that you were talking to, my lord?»

Minshom blinked at Jane as she took the glass of ratafia out of

his hand and sipped it. Despite her apparent lack of interest, she

had been keeping an eye on him after all.

«An old acquaintance of mine, Major Lord Thomas Wesley,

recently returned from India.»

Jane frowned. «Do I know him? He looked quite familiar.»

Unwillingly Minshom answered her. «There is a drawing of us

as young boys in the library at Minshom Abbey. Perhaps you

have seen it.»

Jane opened her fan and slowly plied it, her color slightly

raised. «That might be it. I often take my sewing into the

library—the light is excellent.»

«Indeed.» Minshom couldn’t resist taking a look over his

shoulder. Thomas was chatting to his host, his handsome face

relaxed, his wide mouth smiling, much as he had looked in the

pen and ink drawing Minshom’s father had made. The likeness

had been taken the summer he was twelve and Thomas was

fourteen. The summer when his father had first introduced him

into The Little Gentleman’s Club. The summer when he’d lost

his first fight to Thomas and suffered the brutal consequences.

Briefly Minshom closed his eyes as he fought the memories.

He’d liked Thomas, hero-worshipped him even, and then had his

dreams shoved down his throat in the most vicious manner

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possible. What was wrong with Thomas that he wanted to

resurrect such awfulness? He was a soldier, not a romantic fool.

He of all people should understand that all a man could do was

bury the fear as deep as possible and move forward.

«All you all right, my lord?»

Jane touched his wrist and he fought a ridiculous urge to

flinch away from her.

«I’m fine.» He nodded in the general direction of the stage. «I

believe Madame Catalani is going to sing now.»

Jane immediately looked away from him, her excitement

palpable as the diminutive soprano appeared, dressed in white,

her dark hair piled on top of her head.

Jane grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. «Oh, Blaize

He didn’t pull away, let her fingers tangle with his as Catalani

sung of places and emotions he had only dreamed of, emotions

that tore at his soul, making him aware of what he lacked and

even more aware that he had no ability to change. Encouraged by

his mother and his teachers, he’d dreamed of becoming an

accomplished musician. Unconsciously, he flexed his left hand.

His father had managed to break three of his fingers for some

imagined transgression, no doubt deliberately. And Minshom had

simply stopped playing anything.

Beside him Jane swayed to the music, her lips slightly parted,

her hazel eyes wide in the half darkness. Despite the press of her

fingers, he’d never felt more conscious of being alone.

When the concert ended, he even endured Jane’s meeting with

the great soprano, added his own compliments to Jane’s and

restrained from making a single caustic remark. The grateful look

she gave him as they entered their carriage unsettled him deeply,

made him want to shout at her, to shake her, to tell her not to

show him how vulnerable she was to his smallest kindness. With

a jolt, he realized she was speaking.

«Thank you for a wonderful evening, my lord.»

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He inclined his head. «As I said, it was for my benefit but I’m

glad you enjoyed it.»

She smiled at him and launched herself into his arms. He

caught her more by reflex than design, felt her arms close around

his neck. Her lips descended over his and she kissed him. He

opened his mouth and kissed her back, allowed her warmth to

warm him, to fill the void within him with the thrill of sexual

attraction. This he understood, this he could control. He took

command of the kiss and pulled her astride him until the wet

heat of her sex rode his satin-clad cock.

She pulled slightly away from him. «Let me touch you, let me

suck you.»

He opened his legs wide and lowered her between them,

watched her soft green skirt spread around her as she knelt at his

feet. He liked her on her knees. He opened his pantaloons and

gripped his shaft around the base, brought it forward to rub

against her soft waiting mouth.

«Suck me.»

She opened her mouth and drew him inside and down her

throat, taking him as deeply as he would’ve have wanted,

would’ve have insisted. She sucked hard, curved her hand under

his tight balls and caressed them too, as she worked his thick

shaft. Minshom refused to succumb to the desire to close his

eyes in order to appreciate the sensation more. He needed to

watch her take him, to see her expression when he came.

He couldn’t help his hips rocking into the motion, trying to

take control, trying to force the pace. But she set her teeth on

him and held him to her rhythm and he gloried in that even

more. He came faster than he had anticipated, great waves of

seed pumping into her, leaving him biting his lower lip to stop

himself from shouting out.

He realized the carriage had stopped moving and carefully

raised Jane to her feet before buttoning himself up again. She

looked flushed with desire, her heavy-lidded eyes more green

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than brown in the new gown. With a muttered oath, he

smoothed down his hair and opened the door, glared at the blank

face of his footman as if daring him to comment.

Ignoring the footman’s proffered arm, he turned to help Jane

down himself and led her into the house and up the stairs to her

bedchamber. He followed her inside and relieved her of her

cloak. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

«Shall I send for my maid?»

«No.»

He set his fingers to the task of unlacing her, enjoyed

watching the fine curve of her back emerge from the constraints