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him, to the very edge of the bed. She felt his entrance into her as a completion, a satisfaction that made her perfect pleasure possible.
    His thrusts started gentle and long, each time withdrawing the entire length of his cock and then slowly and deliberately pressing back into her. She felt the bulge of its tip against her clitoris each time he brought it out or put it in, and her body responded with a rhythm of its own.
    She knew his urgency was heightening as his strokes grew shorter and more insistent. She wrapped her legs around him to keep him tight to her, and his thrusting became a rocking of his hips that ground against her.
    Until that point, they had been almost silent—the possibility of discovery had been at the back of both their minds. But now the silence was broken by his long, low moan and her answering gasp. The orgasm she felt was acute, intense, almost sharp. It wasn’t just a fulfillment; it was a release of desires that had been pent up for far too long. For several seconds she was aware of nothing but her body, consumed completely by her pleasure.
    When she came back to the present and opened her eyes, she saw Gerry, eyes still closed, in the last throes of his own climax. When his eyes opened, they met hers and the two smiled at each other. She unhooked her legs and released him, and he withdrew and began reassembling his clothing.
    She did the same, and they faced each other a trifle awkwardly.
    “It’s been a surprising evening, Rose,” he said.
    “That it has, that it has.”
    They walked toward the door, and Gerry picked up the bowl of strawberries and ate one of the last two remaining. The last he fed to Rose.
    “I’d say they didn’t go to waste,” he said as she ate it.
    “I’ll thank Miss Mumford in the morning,” Rose said with a half smile.

FIVE

    T he next morning held the promise of a fine, fair day, at least as far as Georgiana could tell from looking out the window of her room. She had lingered long in bed and asked Hortense to bring breakfast to her there; she wanted to avoid the appearance of interest in Barnes’s promised tour of the grounds for Miss Niven.
    When she finally came downstairs it was nearing noon, and the very first person she saw was Barnes, coming in the main door as she was going out of it.
    “Good morning, Lady Georgiana,” he said. “It’s a fine day for a walk.”
    “It certainly seems to be,” she said with some hauteur. “I see you’ve already been out.”
    “I have,” the man said with something like amusement. “I had promised Miss Niven a tour, and I was as good as my word.”
    “And was she quite in raptures over your work?” asked Georgiana archly.
    “Perhaps not raptures, but she certainly was admiring.” After a beat, he added, “Of course, I didn’t take her to the peacock pavilion.”
    “Why ever not?”
    “We took the long way ’round, and she seemed a little piqued. I told her the pavilion was a bit far, and perhaps she should go in for a cup of tea.”
    “I see,” said Georgiana.
    “Do you?” Barnes leaned almost imperceptibly closer. “Do you really?”
    Georgiana looked at him. She couldn’t quite make this man out. Whenever she saw him, she felt the certainty of the connection between them. But there was something about his manner, and the way he behaved with Miss Niven, that warned her to keep her distance.
    “I’m off for my walk.” She turned away from him. “Good day to you, Mr. Barnes,” she called over her shoulder.
    “Lady Georgiana,” he said in a voice low enough to make her turn around. “What time is your tennis match?”
    She scowled. “Three o’clock.” And off she went.
    As she walked down the front steps to the drive, a carriage pulled up. The driver climbed down from the box to open the door, but his passenger beat him to the punch. The door opened from the inside, and a rangy young man with a floppy blond forelock and a wide grin stepped out. Georgiana was the only person there to