Shot. Pull the trigger. Just three actions to end the misery. Aiden Banks, the Duke of Lewes, shifted under the weight of Lady Russell's feminine bulk, too dejected to remove his hand from her large breast. It hadn't been his choice to fondle her. She'd taken the initiative all on her own the moment she'd invaded his study and perched her ample hide on his lap. Confounding creature. It never ceased to amaze him that she was so blind to his indifference to her reputed charms. Lady Russell fingered his cravat, a slow crafty smile curving her lips upward in evident satisfaction. “Darling, perhaps we should adjourn to a more fitting location?” Unfortunately, the deepest parts of hell were all taken. He dropped his hand so it hung down the side of the chair, so as not to touch her more than he had to. He didn't know what she could possibly want with him. He'd never encouraged her to think him open to her inducements. Powder. Shot. Pull the trigger. The refrain grew louder with each passing day.
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