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“You don’t have to say it. It was written all over your face then, and it still is now. That’s why you’re interested in our past. You want to know just how destitute we really were and are. You want to know how much of your father’s money my mother wants.”

“Alexandra—”

“Ally, damn it! I detest Alexandra.” She was named for her father. So was Sophie. Angus Alexander Sophocles MacIntyre. Her

dreaded name and her sister’s would always remind her of him. They’d both paid the price for not being boys.

Evan swallowed and let out a breath. “Alexandra, I don’t think your mother is after my father’s money. It’s clear how much she loves him, and he her.”

Ally sighed. The truth was her mother had no interest in the earl’s money, though surely it was a wonderful fringe benefit. Her mother was in love, and had been for twenty years. She was now married to the love of her life. No, Iris hadn’t married for money, either time. She was forced into marriage with the girls’ father when she was twenty-five years old, and she married David because she loved him.

It was Ally who was marrying for money. Perhaps this conversation was hitting a bit too close to home. She bit back her words. No need to be so defensive.

“You don’t have to worry,” she said. “Your father has assured us that there is plenty to go around and that neither your future nor your siblings’ will be affected by this marriage.”

“Yes, I’ve come to realize that.”

“You’re not entitled to anything anyway, as a second son.”

Evan pursed his full lips.

Oh, no. She’d hit a nerve.

“By law, that is correct.”

“What will you do, then, when your father passes on and your brother inherits the earldom?”

“For God’s sake, I’m an able-bodied man, not a nitwit. I’ll be fine. That I promise you.” He stood. “I’m bone tired. The sun has set. I’m going to lie down.”

As soon as Evan said the words, fatigue hit Ally like a freight train and she let out a yawn. “Yes, I am also exhausted.”

“You take the bed. I’ll spread some linens on the floor.”

A gentleman to a fault. But the bed was large enough for both of them, and no reason existed for him to be uncomfortable. They were both bruised and battered and deserved a good night’s rest, even if it was to be on an old lumpy mattress.

“There is no need for that. We can both lie on the bed.”

“It would not be proper.”

“Under these circumstances, it is certainly proper. You’re tired and hurt. The hard floor will not be good for your injuries.”

Ally strode to the bed and lay down, moving to the far side to make room for Evan. She turned to face the wall and closed her eyes.

After a few moments, the bed shifted with Evan’s weight.

Now, how would she sleep a wink with a handsome man next to her?

* * *

Sleeping turned out not to be an issue after all. Ally woke to a cold drop of water on her forehead. “Oh!” She sat up and looked toward the ceiling. A leak! And right over the bed, no less.

She looked down and gasped. Her breasts were exposed! The toga had loosened off her shoulder during the night. She turned. Evan was gone. She hastily reattached her toga and stretched, moving away from the leak in the roof. She’d have to move the bed forward a bit to escape the leak. But could she do it herself?

She braced herself to push the bed slightly when Evan entered, a mass of unruly wetness in his riding outfit.

Ally’s cheeks warmed. Surely he must have seen her breasts when he got up this morning. The thought intrigued her, and her nipples tightened against the linen.

Well, nothing to be done now.


Tags: Helen Hardt Sex and the Season Erotic