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He and Peyton swung up into their saddles, thanking the steward for his time and his conscientious adherence to every detail. They turned their horses towards home, riding in much-appreciated silence; Crispin’s head was full to bursting with all he’d learned.
Crispin was amazed Peyton had stayed quiet for as long as he did. He’d bet himself Peyton wouldn’t make it a mile before asking what he’d thought of the manor. Tessa’s influence must be powerful indeed, Crispin mused. But he could see the effort the restraint cost his brother. Peyton’s mouth was tense; on two occasions, Crispin felt Peyton was on the verge of bringing the subject up, but then thought better of it.
They reached the fork in the road, one turn leading to the Dursley Road and the other going on a short distance to the village. ‘I think I’ll stop in for a pint or two,’ Crispin said off-handedly.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Peyton offered, making a quick check of his pocket watch.
‘That’s all right. I’d prefer to do some thinking in private.’ Crispin hoped Peyton understood. He needed a kind of privacy he wouldn’t find at Dursley Park and he’d have no privacy if he turned up at the inn with the earl in tow.
‘And dinner?’ Peyton asked cautiously. ‘Shall I tell Tessa to expect you?’
Crispin nodded his head. ‘Probably not. I’m not sure how long I’ll sit and think.’
‘It’s no trouble to set an extra plate if you change your mind,’ Peyton said graciously. Crispin could see that his absence wasn’t what Peyton had hoped for, but that his brother guessed at how monumental the day had been, how many things needed thinking over.
Once inside the inn, Crispin lost himself in the crowd, taking a small table by the window. Word had not yet spread of his return and he was thankful for the anonymity. Around him, the work day was ending. Large groups of local workers filed in for a pint before heading home for the evening.
Crispin studied this crowd unobtrusively. These men worked the fields as hired labour or in various other occupations in the village. They were journeymen and artisans, a few apprentices among them. They would drink and go home to supper and wives. The rougher crowd, those without familial commitments, would come in later after the supper hour and stay until closing; drinking, wenching, perhaps brawling if it suited them.
The men here now, though, would be the men he’d fraternise with if he took the manor. They’d be the men who would work his stables. They’d be the men who he’d drink with on occasion. Their lives would be interwoven into his.
Crispin took a swallow of his ale, trying to imagine his life as a gentleman landowner. It seemed so far from the things he’d told Peyton over brandy the other night as to be laughable.
These men didn’t care about the nationalist revolutions sweeping Europe, about water-routes to faraway places they’d never visit, about fighting over lines on a map. Their lives were about wheat crops and sheep, cattle and corn. If he threw his lot in with them, his life would be too. Everything to which he’d devoted his life in the first twenty years of his adulthood would cease to matter—every nebulous peace he had brokered, every boundary dispute he had negotiated, would carry little weight in that new life. It would be tantamount to erasing who he was and remaking himself in a new image. The soldier, the warrior-diplomat, would not fit into this new world of quiet landownership.
The thought sat poorly with Crispin. He rather liked himself just as he was. Of course, there were plenty of people who didn’t. The ton didn’t know what to make of him. He was too bold, too loose with the rules of proper society for many of the matchmaking mamas to trust him with their daughters. Yet, he had a certain appeal with his brother’s connections, his brother’s wealth, and his brother’s affection behind him. Any woman who married him would be well looked after under the Dursley banner. Proxy polygamy, he called it. The only reason anyone would marry him would be because they were marrying Peyton by extension. If he stayed in England, he’d have to decide in whose world he fit.
Without appearing to eavesdrop, he listened in on snatches of nearby conversations, trying to put himself in the frame of their world. Could he come to care about the issues they cared about? Could he empathise with the problems that plagued their lives?
Snatches of one conversation rose over the rest. ‘The Calhoun woman was in today to buy some shovels. It’s not natural, a woman buying tools. There’s strange things going on out there,’ a beefy man said loudly, drawing all the room’s attention. Crispin tensed. In the silence of the inn, the man let his news fall on expectant ears. ‘I’ve found out that the girls in her stables ride in trousers and they ride astride.’
Shock and outrage exploded at the announcement; questions were shouted over the din. Crispin stifled a groan. That could hardly be what Aurora wanted. But what followed was worse. Crispin slouched anonymously in his chair and listened.
The big man, named Mackey from what Crispin could gather, hushed the upset crowd. ‘Aurora Calhoun needs to go. She’s no good for our village, teaching our womenfolk to ride astride. Who knows what kind of ideas she’ll plant in their heads next? We don’t want our women turning out like her.’ There was a loud roar of agreement. ‘One of her is enough. She’s had two years to prove she could fit in. We’ve left her alone and look how she’s repaid us! The only thing she’s proved is how out of place she is.’ There were other comments too. ‘We should have paid more attention…’ ‘Should have known it wasn’t natural from the start…’
Good lord, the man was creating a witch hunt. Crispin half-expected the men to pick up torches and march out to the stables then and there. Crispin had heard enough. He’d end up fighting with someone if he stayed. Crispin slapped a few coins on the table and made a quiet exit, opting to exercise his authority when cooler heads prevailed, including his.
Dusk was in its final throes when he swung up on Sheikh. He could still make dinner at Dursley Park, but he wasn’t ready to go home. More to the point, he wasn’t ready to go to Peyton’s home. He couldn’t expect Peyton to keep silent about the manor forever. But Crispin wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, at least not with his brother. He could only think of one place that might suit his needs. In the fading light of day, Crispin turned Sheikh towards Aurora’s stables.
The stable lanterns threw a welcoming light into the yard and the fresh smell of evening hay assailed his senses the moment Crispin led Sheikh through the stable doors. Horses neighed, acknowledging Sheikh’s presence among them as they passed stall doors. Crispin stopped outside Sheikh’s stall and removed the saddle. With one hand, he stroked Sheikh’s long neck, soothing the horse. With the other, Crispin groped for the kit holding the brushes. The kit should have been right behind him on the nail hook outside the stall where he’d left it that morning.
‘Are you looking for this?’ The voice startled him. Crispin whirled around; releasing a breath when he saw the voice belonged to Aurora.
She held the kit out to him. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a start,’ she apologised, taking one of the brushes and moving around to Sheikh’s other side. She began to curry the horse.
‘You’ve had a long day. I noticed Sheikh was gone when I came back this morning. You must have been here early and now it’s dinner time,’ Aurora commented.
‘Peyton and I rode over to see some property,’ Crispin said, surprising himself with the truth. He could have answered the question just as easily by saying he’d waited until lessons were done. Such an answer would not have given away any particular information about his whereabouts and it certainly wouldn’t have invited any further conversation. His chosen answer, on the other hand, invited all nature of possible comment, none of which Aurora opted for.
‘Your brother is eager to see you settled,’ she said, meeting his eyes for an instance over Sheikh’s back.
Of all the things she could have said, he’d not expected that. He’d expected the usual; ‘Do you mean to settle here?’ ‘Where is the property?’ ‘What do you plan to do with it?’
‘I suppose he is,’ Crispin replied, bending over and clicking to Sheikh to lift his hoof.
‘How do you feel about that?’
Crispin answered honestly. ‘The property is enticing, but I’m not the right man for that kind of life. I’ll sell the property outright and then I’ll be on my way.’ He finished picking the hoof and stood up, stretching his back. Aurora was nearly finished brushing Sheikh’s opposite flank.
‘I know what you mean,’ she said casually. ‘I’ve been here longer than I’ve been anywhere else. I’d always taught on a property owned by someone else. But Tessa talked me into leasing this one. Actually, in all truth, Tessa wanted me to buy it, but I couldn’t go that far. A lease was as permanent a commitment as I could make.’ Aurora stopped brushing and shook back her hair, which had fallen forwards over her shoulders as she worked. An awkward silence fell between them as if they both suddenly recognised they’d said too much to someone they didn’t know.
Crispin met her eyes over the back of Sheikh and nodded in the awkward quiet; a wealth of understanding passing between them in that single look. He could well imagine all the trappings of permanence to which she referred, trappings that went beyond owning the actual structure.
Buying the property would have meant applying for a loan. She wouldn’t have had any money of her own. She would have had to have relied on Peyton’s support. Support Peyton would have provided based on the comments Peyton had made at dinner, but she would have been indebted to him. She couldn’t have left until that obligation was fulfilled. Once again Crispin’s hypothesis proved true. Permanence bred obligation. It was odd to think how much this stranger’s situation paralleled his own in spite of its own unique circumstances. It begged several questions.
How had a strikingly beautiful woman come to own a riding academy in the unlikely middle of sheep country? How was it that a stranger he’d never met until yesterday could sum up in a sentence his precise feelings over the property? She could empathise with him on this issue while his brother, who knew him better than anyone, could not.
Aurora cleared her throat in the silence. ‘It’s late and I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.’
Ah, the audacious woman was dismissing him. Of course. She’d want to get to her own meal. It had been a long day for her as well. She’d been up jumping before he’d even arrived that morning. It had been a long time since a woman had dismissed him.
‘I’m sorry to keep you. I’ll just see to Sheikh and be going.’ Crispin piled the brushes into the kit, disappointment unexpectedly swamping him. He hadn’t been ready to leave the stables. Or perhaps he hadn’t been ready to leave her. They’d got off on the wrong foot yesterday. This brief exchange had been a pleasant contrast, but perhaps that was too much to hope for. Perhaps she was merely being nice.
‘No, don’t go.’ Her words rushed out. ‘I was going to suggest, before you interrupted me, that you stay for dinner.’
There was that sharp tongue he remembered. Crispin stifled a laugh on behalf of the truce they seemed to have struck. But he noticed she couldn’t help sneaking that small rebuke in—‘before you interrupted’. What might have been an invitation had now been turned into a suggestion, which everyone knew was just a step below a command. He was very familiar with ‘suggestions’. Peyton made a lot of them.
But she wasn’t Peyton and Crispin found he’d like nothing more than to have dinner with the intriguing Aurora Calhoun, who was less like his brother and perhaps more like him; a wanderer, a straddler of worlds. A kindred spirit? It was far too early in their acquaintance to draw that conclusion. There was too much unknown about her for him to make such leaps of logic. Still, it couldn’t hurt to find out and Crispin intended to explore the potential.
Chapter Four
What was she thinking to invite the earl’s brother to dinner? Because that’s what he was, when all was said and done. Men with that kind of power were dangerous to her freedom. One word from him and Dursley could shut her down with a single sentence dropped at a dinner party.
She needed Crispin Ramsden to keep his distance. But, no, she’d invited a potential danger right to her dinner table. It didn’t matter that he wore plain clothes and didn’t put on aristocratic airs. It didn’t matter that she wanted to see if he was worthy of riding Kildare. He was still brother to the earl.
In retrospect, she was amazed she hadn’t seen the resemblance instantly. He had the earl’s raven-black hair, the earl’s dark-blue eyes, but not the earl’s urbane demeanour and that made all the difference, distinguishing them from one another in spite of their inherited physical similarities.
Dursley carried his confidence like one born to it. Everything Dursley did was done with a polished veneer of sophistication. Not Crispin. He exuded a rough worldliness. She was certain his blue eyes had seen things that would render most men cynical about the world they lived in. The tanned skin of his face and hands suggested he was a man who knew how to work. The rugged planes of his face and the breadth of his shoulders affirmed this was a man used to hard living. He was no pampered prince of the ton regardless of who his brother was.
That was why she’d invited him to dinner. Like her, he knew a world outside the circles of rarefied society, he’d lived in its milieu and, like her, he’d been a participant in that world beyond the drawing rooms. When their eyes had met across the back of his stallion, she’d felt a connection; two wayward souls contemplating the merits of landowning against the odds of their natural tendencies. It would be somewhat comedic if the connection hadn’t been so strong.
Aurora laid out the dinner things, setting the earthenware plates down on the plank table with a harder thud than she’d intended. She tried to remember anything, everything, Petra or Tessa might have mentioned in passing about Crispin. There was very little she could recall. She could hear his boots coming down the short hall from the stables. In moments he’d be there in her meagre rooms, thanks to her impetuous offer, and she would have to live with it.
‘Smells good.’ Crispin ducked into the room under the low-beamed door. He was all male, all six foot two and change of him. He positively radiated potent masculinity and Aurora wondered what other impetuous decisions she might be tempted to make before the night was over.
Crispin had taken time to wash off at the pump outside in the yard. Leftover droplets of water glistened at his neck where his shirt opened in a V, offering a small glimpse of his chest. She smiled at the interesting dichotomy he posed; a man who cared enough to wash before dinner, but had no use for the finer rules of gentlemanly dining that demanded he eat with a waistcoat and jacket on. Aurora doubted one ever caught Dursley dining in his shirt sleeves.
‘Stew and fresh bread,’ Aurora announced, placing a pewter plate laden with slices of dark country bread on the table. ‘Sit down, I’ll have the stew on in a minute.’ She was suddenly conscious of his eyes on her, following her movements. She told herself it was to be expected. Her quarters were small—where else was he supposed to look? It was only natural to be interested in the one moving object in the room. That object just happened to be her.
Crispin straddled a bench on one side of the table and politely tugged off his boots to save the floor from dirt. ‘You live here instead of the house?’
Aurora put a pitcher of ale on the table. He was referring to the cottage at the end of the drive. She’d never lived there even though it was part of the lease. ‘I like being close to my horses.’
She turned to the fireplace and the hob where the stew pot hung, feeling his eyes peruse her backside. ‘The cottage is too much work for me to keep up and run the stables on my own.’ She set the stew down and began ladling it into bowls.
Crispin nodded. ‘I like these rooms. They’re cosy.’ His gaze stole past her to the small bedroom. Aurora wished she’d taken time to drop the curtain that separated the bedroom from her main room. She wished she could read his mind as well as she was following his gaze. What was he thinking about her invitation to dinner? Was he thinking it was an invitation to something more? Did he think because he was the earl’s brother and she a woman without rank that he was entitled to something more? Aurora rather hoped not, but her experience with Gregory Windham had proved that hope was often misplaced. She was now fully regretting her impromptu decision to invite Crispin Ramsden to dinner and the finer philosophies that might have motivated it. She had convinced herself last night this wasn’t the right time for a flirtation. She should have stuck with that. But those resolutions had been quickly trampled.
‘This is good,’ Crispin said between mouthfuls. ‘There’s nothing like hot stew on a cold night.’
Aurora watched him thoughtfully throughout the meal. He ate much like regular people ate, people who were conscious of the cost of food and the effort it took to prepare a meal. He used a piece of bread to sop up the remaining stew, making sure not a spoonful went to waste in his bowl. It was odd to think of him as a man who knew hunger, who knew of the simple things it took to survive the day when he could have chosen otherwise. His brother’s table was always set with plenty.
Aurora had not meant to pry, but the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. ‘What do you do, Crispin? I mean, where have you been for three years?’
Crispin set down his bread crust and fixed her with his sharp gaze, a small smile playing at his lips. ‘How badly do you want to know?’
Aurora smiled back, recognising the game afoot. ‘Ah, so it’s to be twenty-questions?’
‘Precisely. I’ll answer your questions, but you need to answer mine.’ Crispin reached for another slice of bread and buttered it.
‘I work for the British government when they have need of me. Before that, I used to be in the cavalry. I found I didn’t enjoy the life of a half-pay soldier. It was too dull for me. I saw some action in the early twenties after Napoleon’s defeat. But then my regiment came home and I spent far too much time being Dursley’s brother.’ Crispin swallowed some ale. ‘There wasn’t much to do as Dursley’s brother, as you can imagine. Peyton doesn’t need any help and, frankly, I’d rather be my own man. I didn’t relish the idea of being defined as the “spare”. I was at a loose end. So, Peyton introduced me to some friends at the Foreign Office and off I went to look after British interests abroad.’
‘Where did you go?’ Aurora asked, feeling as if she’d been told everything and yet nothing.
Crispin winked across the table. ‘Princess, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’
‘You were a spy?’ she asked evenly, deciding to push the boundaries of his disclosure.
‘More like the government’s best-kept secret,’ Crispin corrected with equal seriousness. ‘Suffice it to say that I’ve been places that don’t exist on maps. I wasn’t responsible for the kind of diplomacy that goes on in the glittering mansions of Vienna.’ He drew a deep breath and steered the conversation away from himself. ‘Now, it’s your turn. Where did you learn to ride?’
‘Ireland,’ Aurora said shortly. She’d expected a question along that vein, but, like Crispin, she wasn’t ready to divulge all the details. ‘Now, as for my next question—’ she began, leaning forwards on her elbows. But Crispin had no qualms about interrupting a lady.
‘No, Aurora, finish your answer,’ Crispin said shortly, arms crossed over his chest. ‘You have to say more than that. Where in Ireland? I saw you jumping this morning when I came to get Sheikh. No one rides the way you do without extensive training.’
He had been watching. She’d thought she’d glimpsed someone at the entrance to the arena, thought she’d felt his presence. When no one had materialised, she’d chalked it up to silliness on her part. Of course no one could really feel another person’s presence.
‘I lived near Curragh in County Kildare. My father was head groom to a wealthy family.’
‘You don’t have an accent,’ Crispin said pointedly as if judging the truth of her answer.
‘Accents can be bred out of you.’ Among other things. Once upon a time there’d been such hopes for her, thanks to the status of her mother’s family. A moment of foolishness had dashed those hopes. Aurora rose from her bench and began collecting the dishes. The conversation was heading in a direction she was distinctly uncomfortable with. There were things Crispin didn’t need to know about her. Those things could make no difference now. She’d negotiated her own peace with the past and accepted the consequences of her decisions, as lonely and as costly as they were.
She reached to take Crispin’s bowl, but his hand shot out and his fingers closed around her wrist. ‘Why did you invite me here, Aurora? You won’t tell me anything about yourself, so, clearly, getting to know each other was not the purpose.’
Aurora tried to pull away, but his grip held firm. ‘You’re hardly the epitome of a forthcoming gentleman,’ she replied tartly. ‘You can’t or won’t tell me anything about yourself either.’
‘Perhaps that gives us something in common.’ Crispin’s voice was husky. ‘Two people with mysterious lives.’ His eyes moved to her mouth and back to her eyes.
Aurora’s temper rose. ‘Did you come here to seduce me?’
Crispin laughed softly. ‘How could I do that? I had no idea I was coming to dinner until you invited me.’ Silence rose between them. Aurora was acutely aware of the crackle of the fire, of the light drum of rain on the roof, of the intimate play of firelight on her walls, the only light in the room.
Crispin released her wrist and ran the back of his knuckles gently down the side of her cheek, skimming it low where cheek met jaw line. ‘Would it be so bad if I did?’
‘Did what?’ Aurora’s concentration waned, heat surging in her belly at the stroke of his hand against her cheek. She could not delude herself now. She had not asked him here for Kildare. She’d asked him here for herself.
‘Seduced you, hmm?’ His tone was languorous. He shifted on the bench, straddling it to draw her down to him. She went willingly, cognisant of her growing need. She’d been alone too long. It had been ages since she’d taken a lover. No one had compelled her. Even the ones that had were few and their appearances in her life had been irregular at best. Men were a luxury she could not afford. They’d shown themselves to be fickle companions on the path she trod.
Why not play his game a while? It’s just one night and he’s already said he’s not planning to stay around. It won’t upset your plans, a wicked voice in her head prompted. It was the perfect night for love, or what temporarily passed for it: English rain on the roof, a fire in the fireplace, a handsome man who knew the rules of this sort of engagement, a man whose hot kisses in the road had already proven he was a master of pleasure, a man who was the master of his own destiny just as she was of hers.
Crispin’s lips replaced his hand against her cheek. He trailed a line of gentle kisses to her mouth where all gentleness ended. Intuitively, he seemed to know she would not tolerate being seduced. Seduction implied that she was somehow not an equal participant in the activity, that she needed to be led. Aurora revelled in the aggressive action of his mouth on hers.
She pulled his shirt loose from the waistband of his trousers and pushed the linen up, her hands running underneath the fabric, caressing the expanse of chest beneath the cloth. The man felt magnificent, all sculpted muscle beneath her fingertips.
He gave an appreciable shudder as her hands ran over his nipples. ‘Perhaps I should be asking you the question. Did you invite me here to seduce me?’ Crispin said.
Aurora gave a throaty laugh and repeated his earlier words. ‘Would it be so bad if I did?’
‘No,’ Crispin breathed against her neck. ‘It wouldn’t be bad at all.’
But Aurora had no illusions about being in charge of the seduction. Crispin Ramsden was very clearly a man used to being in charge. He would let her participate; in fact, he gave every indication so far of liking a partner who was actively involved, but he would call the shots. Still, Aurora thought she’d see just how far she could go before he rebelled.
She shifted back on the bench and stood up, tugging on the neck of his shirt. He had little choice but to rise and follow her. Once on his feet, Aurora tugged him closer, pressing a full-mouthed kiss on his lips. She reached a hand between them to the front of his breeches. Her own aroused state grew at the feel of him, hard and ready behind the cloth.
‘God, Aurora,’ Crispin growled at the intimate contact. He propelled her backwards until she made contact with the wall. He grabbed both her hands and raised them over her head, manacling them in position with his strong grip. His eyes were dark and wild now, his hair erotically loose about his shoulders. There was an immediacy to his actions that warned Aurora they weren’t going to make it to the bed. He was going to take her rough and fast against the wall.
A tremor of anticipation, of pleasure at the very thought of his impending actions, surged through her, firing her passion. The core of her was weeping already. She rattled her arms beneath his grip, wanting her hands free to touch him, to push his shirt off his shoulders, to drag his pants down his hips.
‘Not yet, my impatient one.’ Crispin was all seductive huskiness. His free hand deftly slipped the buttons of her shirt free. He pushed the folds of her shirt aside, only momentarily foxed by the presence of her thin chemise. He would have to let her arms go now, she thought gleefully. But Crispin surprised her. He bent his mouth to the chemise and held a bit of it between his teeth and ripped with his hand. The fabric gave easily, releasing her breasts to Crispin’s hot gaze. He cupped them, one at a time, his breath coming in gratifying rasps. His arousal was full and complete. Only then did he release her arms, letting her work the fastenings of his trousers as he worked hers.
Aurora kicked out of her breeches, feeling his naked member brush against her thigh as she did so. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, so intense was her longing. It was time. Her body knew it was time. No part of her wanted to wait a moment longer. Crispin was lifting her, his hands fitted beneath her buttocks. She wrapped her legs about his waist, gripping his shoulders for balance. Crispin took her weight easily.
‘Oh, God, you’re so ready.’ Crispin’s member teased at her entrance, testing, planning its entry. She moved slightly, forcing him inside, taking all of him without a qualm. He slid deeply. For a moment, Aurora savoured the feeling of fulfilment his presence brought. Then he began the exquisite rhythm. This time she did cry out as he pleasured and tortured by turn. The roughness she’d anticipated came and she welcomed it. His mouth seized hers in a bruising kiss even as his body claimed hers against the rough-hewn wall.
Crispin was her only source of stability. She clung to him, feeling her body’s passion crest, feeling his own need peak alongside of hers. He shuddered his release into her shoulder moments after she gave voice to her own. She was drained, so completely sated that coherent thought eluded her. The wildness of the interlude had gone, replaced by something more peaceful.
She tried to tactfully disengage her legs, sure that even Crispin’s strength must be waning beneath the extended weight of her, but Crispin murmured a soft denial in her ear. Still buried deep in her, he carried her, carried them, to the pine-framed bed just beyond the doorway. He lowered them down on the soft blanket. She could feel his member stirring inside her, could see his body towering over her, possessive and primitive in the echoes of firelight from the other room. Her breath caught; her desire rose again.
‘This time, we’ll go slowly,’ came Crispin’s whispered promise in the firelit darkness.
Slowly or roughly, on top of her or underneath her, the night could not outlast Crispin, nor the insatiable desire he raised in her and fulfilled repeatedly until dawn when at last Aurora fell asleep, deeply and wholly sated with a pleasure beyond any she had felt before. She had to admit privately as she drifted off to sleep that when Crispin Ramsden had boasted there weren’t men like him, he just might have been right.
Crispin dozed beside Aurora, more awake than asleep, savouring the languorous peace that held him in its thrall. The intense night of love-making had left him feeling unusually complete. The concerns he’d carried throughout the day were securely tucked away at the back of his mind. His thoughts were centred on the black-haired beauty breathing softly next to him.
She had been boldness personified the prior evening, matching him relentlessly in their passionate explorations. No lover he’d ever taken had been as compelling, as beguiling. Aurora moved against him in her sleep and Crispin felt himself harden yet again at the merest touch.
Perhaps what made her so appealing was that she’d established herself as his equal thus far. Last night she had taken what she needed and given him what he needed in return without him having to ask. There had been women who’d purported to be capable of such loving, but all had fallen short when put to the test.
That test wasn’t complete, Crispin reminded himself. There was still the morning to contend with. He’d bedded women too who had no expectations of further commitment in the night, but who were suddenly struck with a need to attach themselves to him come the morning.
