...Lakeland wiped at his eyes once more, then climbed to his feet and stalked toward her. His powerfully built, six-foot-two-inch frame towered over her quivering one. As he unabashedly brought his sculpted torso ever closer for her inspection, Merci felt her knees threaten to buckle. His nipples, partially hidden by the swirling pattern of chest hair, stood erect and beckoned her tongue to sample them. And she could not ignore the bulge in Lake's tan trousers, forming at the apex of his thighs.

"But I'm more concerned about you, Merciline—about the evil wrath you'll have to suffer this evening should Father hear about your 'accident' with the Staffordshire."

He lifted a hand to caress her cheek. At his butterfly-light touch, a firestorm of desire gushed into her crotch. She gulped, but could not seem to clear her throat, could not even breathe, as his dark gaze captured her in its immoral spell.

"Fear not," whispered Lake, his deep, sonorous voice enflaming her desire. "I shall take the blame."

"I won't allow you to do such a thing," she said, although a wave of gratitude beyond measure filled her. The last thing she needed was a vile berating from Wallace, especially now that he had recently accused her of a growing interest in his sons—especially the son standing before her, the son she now wanted to strip of his trousers and feel deep inside her most private part.

"Do not argue. My father hates me as it is, so what is one more 'infraction' on my already-detestable record?" His fingers slid to her earlobe and neck, teasing her, turning her insides to mush. She also couldn't help but note, even through all of her layers of petticoats, the delectable hardness of his erection as it pressed against her belly, as if seeking a sexual refuge from a fierce storm. "Will you please allow me to do this for you?"

"But—but why, Lakeland, why?"

"Haven't you guessed by now, ma petite chérie?" His black eyes sparkled with a mesmerizing iridescent light, and his moist lips lowered to hers. "I absolutely love you…"