Excerpt 1:
She shut her mouth abruptly, the sparks in her eyes extinguished as she retreated once more into the mask of a composed, distant lady. He despised when this happened, as it did ever so often when he approached her. He lived for the moments he could tease her, to break her composure, to see those eyes light up, even if it was in disdain or scorn.

Wolf knew himself to be an unrepentant rake, undeserving of John’s friendship or loyalty. Despite this self-knowledge, a fierce, uncharacteristic longing arose in him at that moment: he wished for someone to argue so passionately on his behalf, to proclaim him a good man.

Remembering himself, Wolf discarded such a maudlin thought.

“I am not obligated to explain my motivations to you, Lord Wolfridge.” Her tone was meticulously polite, yet beneath the kindness, he detected a veiled reproach that ignited his blood.

“And yet…” he went on as if he had not heard her. “Your white knight is not here. Nor has he been here in a very long time.” In her eyes, a battle of pride, hurt, and anger raged, and for a moment, he nearly regretted his casual cruelty. Yet, there was a purpose behind his malice.

“You more than anyone know he is busy.” Petra spoke quietly, her words clipped. “I have long wondered why you do not share the same sense of industry as Lord John.”

Indolent. The word lurked in their conversation and Wolf again regretted pushing this issue to the surface. A lord does not dirty his hands with work. He takes what he wants and leaves the work to others.

Ignoring his father’s tedious voice, which always stirred a confusing mix of feelings, he redirected his thoughts to his best friend, John Longley. John possessed all the virtues he lacked: he was honorable, kind, and diligent. He would despise him if John weren’t like a brother to him. Why did the notion of Lady Petra marrying John trouble him so much? It was none of his concern.

Yet, he couldn’t let it go.

“Has he not communicated that to you himself, Lady P?” he asked, relishing the way his lips popped on the P. He could swear he almost saw a tick of her jaw at his use of the sobriquet bestowed upon her by the gossip rags.

“As we have established, Lord John is very busy, my lord. He does not have time for frivolous goings on of the ton,” she said more firmly this time.

“And yet, my lady, I can see the small seed of doubt this might cause you.” He watched her jaw almost tick again, and for a brief moment, savored the victory of being right. “Does his absence not pain you, Lady P?” He wasn’t entirely certain of the outcome he wanted from his teasing, but he relished the rare opportunity to be able to read her expression.

Her eyes met his, and he was struck again by the intensity of her gaze as it searched his face. He felt her assessing his intent, seeking any hint of malice or desire to hurt her. In that moment, he understood that such an aim was entirely absent from his heart. Wolf could not quite articulate the purpose of his banter, but an instinct told him Petra and John would not suit. It was patently clear that John possessed not the slightest inkling of the gravity with which Petra had regarded their supposed understanding.

John’s ignorance was not due to neglect; in fact, he was one of the few gentlemen who didn’t seem inclined to constantly leave his wife behind. Rather, he had been distracted by some persistent, unspoken melancholy, as though his mind and heart were fixated entirely on someone or something else. Wolf suspected, however, that the cause of this melancholy was not Lady Petra, given that the look of longing vanished whenever her name was mentioned.

Staring into Petra’s mahogany eyes, a plan came to him. Devious, perhaps, a bit underhanded, but one that would prove to Petra that she and John would not suit.

“Let me court you,” he blurted out.

For once, Lady Petra’s entire face showed what she was thinking as her mouth fell into an almost perfect “O.”

She really was rather adorable. Where did that thought come from? “Adorable” was not in his lexicon. As she began to regain her composure and start to form a reply, Wolf followed his initial, impulsive request before she could respond. “Not a real courtship, mind you, just something to shake Lord John into the parson’s trap. Fearing he might lose you should hasten the nuptials, yes?”

In truth, this ruse would not hasten the betrothal, but help free John, and ultimately free Petra.

Why he wished her to be free, he was not going to examine too closely.

Excerpt Two:  
“I have to kiss you, Petra. You have from ten to tell me to stop. To tell me you do not want this. Ten.”

“My lord?” A flush rose from her delectable decolletage, blooming up her neck.

“Nine. Julian, you mean. Or Jules.”

“Is this to do with our pretend courtship?”

“Eight. Hang the pretense. There will be nothing pretend in this kiss.”

If possible, Petra’s eyes grew even wider in the dim firelight as she backed up against the wall adjacent to the fireplace.

“You wish to make it real.” She said in a very controlled voice.

“Seven. I want you. That is what I wish. Six.”

“I admit I do not know what I want. But I should like to find out.” She said quietly.

“Five. Does me kissing you achieve this goal?” He had no desire to crowd her, yet it was as though his physical frame was magnetically tethered to her proximity. He braced an arm against the wainscotted wall above her, leaning toward her with slow deliberation.

“It could be particularly illuminating.” She breathed, her face assuming a distinctly dazed expression.

“Four. There is one thing.” Wolf paused his countdown as something hot and possessive shot through his blood. “If I kiss you, you will be thinking of me. John is the best of friends, but I cannot have you thinking of him with my lips upon you.”

Petra drew in a shaky breath before she responded. “You are wholly unique. I do not believe I would even consider thinking of anyone or anything else if I found myself in a carnal embrace with you, my lord. Three.”

Drawing back to search her features, Wolf scanned her face with a singular intensity. It was patently clear that her continuation of the count served as a definitive assent, a silent surrender to the mounting tension between them. The unmistakable spark of curiosity and unmasked desire dancing within those mahogany depths provided the final, exhilarating confirmation he required.

And then she kissed him.

Before his mind could catch up with the explosions reverberating through his chest, Petra broke away briefly and uttered a soft, breathless plea. “Forgive me, Jules, I was never very patient waiting for something I want.”