felt tailored just for him. He’d helped Lucinda into her nightrail and wrapper after their lovemaking, and walked her back to her bedchamber. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but he’d resisted the temptation to linger in the interest of duty. He’d made his way through the darkened house and across the grounds to the barn. He’d not been the first to arrive at the prearranged meeting, but he’d not been the last, either—a testament to his superior strength if ever there was one. A young barn cat wound around Will’s legs, purring loudly. He bent to pick it up and sat down on an upturned bucket, tucking the warm fuzzy calico on his lap. Superior strength, my arse, he thought. He should not, under any circumstances, have allowed himself to make love to Lucinda. Never, in all of his time spent with the Corinthians, had he made such a fatal mistake. He knew damn well that the sight of her alone in the library, wearing little more than a few scraps of fabric, had tested his will beyond measure.
