On the fourth day, Sasha was certain that Gabrielle was no longer in Humbrick. She had not seen the woman, nor had Ruby and Jade.

Sasha constantly found herself staring blankly at nowhere, deep in her thoughts.

Why did Gabrielle follow her here?

And why did she disappear almost the same day as Willoghby?

It could merely be a coincidence, but Sasha did not know what to think anymore.

Gabrielle said she was sent here for Sasha. Well, Sasha was still here, and the woman was not.

The boredom she felt as the days went by was of no help as well. The events that Lady Renee arranged for the guests over the week seemed to become more of a task. It was tedious enough to frequently change and dress in the right set of clothing for certain activities, much more so see the actual activities through.

The only thing that kept her from leaving was her mission—which was West. But he, too, was making things a little challenging. Yes, they may have kissed—and enjoyed it—but it did not mean that he was always around her. Since their trip to the island, he had not approached her.

Sasha chanced upon him in one of the breakfast rooms that morning, but he was surrounded by men within his station as he constantly was.

Ruby and Jade pointed out that West was not being the typical flower, but Aaron and Trent reasoned that the duke simply needed more time to adjust.

That afternoon, Sasha and her friends joined a game of Bowls.

Sasha was standing under a tree, taking refuge from the heat of the sun, when she felt his presence behind her. Even before she heard his voice, she knew it was him. "Your team seems to be losing," he whispered in her ear.

She inclined her head to the left, her cheek brushing against his stubbled chin. "I agree."

"You must realize then that you are no use to your team anymore," he nonchalantly murmured, stepping beside her, back straight, eyes on Aaron who was cursing the 'jack', their target white ball, quietly in wait yards away. "That is probably the fifth time Emsworth missed."

"Sixth."

His forefinger furtively hooked around her little finger, tugging her hand in the folds of her dress, before the rest of his hand closed around hers.

Their head held straight ahead, West took a step back. Sasha followed, hands clasped together, hidden in her skirts.

"Where are we going?"

He took another step back, nearly stepping on a woman's foot. "Pardon," he murmured before taking a turn, pulling Sasha further away from the game.

Sasha could feel the rush. The beating inside her chest was now a familiar episode, a sign that she was about to be ravished by a duke.

A part of her was telling her she should not be doing this, but her mission was a lingering presence at the back of her mind, a constant reminder of why she was here. The man who sent her the invitation to Humbrick was expecting this very result. The people in Belcourt were waiting for what she might uncover. Gabrielle made certain she was at Humbrick before disappearing. She was supposed to be here—be with him.

And Sasha felt she was seeing progress. She had finally managed to peel one layer of the man who, from the start, seemed to be too formidable, too tough.

Yet why did she feel like she was not walking briskly back into the manor to do a task? Why was her heart racing? Why was she anticipating the moment?

It ought to be a task, but it was not, because, at that moment, her only mission was to be alone with this man. Not to search his secrets, but to discover the pleasure he could offer.

Good Lord, she was turning into a whore. Or perhaps she already was.

As West guided her down a narrow corridor at the back of the manor, Sasha swallowed. She stared at the back of his head, reminding herself that this man could be dangerous. He could be using her as much as she was using him.

And he could also be innocent.

And if that were so, Sasha feared the possibility of dealing with the fact. Because in this big game she was playing in right now, she was bound to betray someone.

And it would be him.

Some days she wished he was not innocent, but in moments like this, when he was acting not as a duke; when he was showing her a part of him that desired her for the woman that she was, she prayed that he was and that everyone else was wrong.

She willingly followed him inside an empty bright parlor and immediately found herself crushed into his arms, his mouth diving straight unto hers, claiming her with such raw hunger.

Her hands over his chest, following a trail up his shoulders and neck, pulling him down toward her, answering his kiss.

Their thick, heavy breathing was broken by the sounds of their feet stumbling toward the nearest settee where they both tumbled. "Oof!" Sasha shrieked when she felt herself falling backward, but West quickly caught her, guiding her back toward him, twisting unto the seat and pushing her back along the length of the settee.

He loomed over her for a moment, a handsome mess of ruffled light brown hair. His hands gathered her skirts, bunching them as he pushed them higher up her legs, giving him enough space to settle between them and join her, bending down to tease her jaw and neck with tiny kisses.

Sasha squirmed, a shaking breath escaping her lips while his hands slithered underneath, touching bare skin, wandering higher.

She knew they could not go far, but she wanted to. She did not know where it would lead, but she wanted to get there. Wherever it was, she wanted it.

In his languid, darkened, blue depths, Sasha read the same.

But they both took what they could at that moment.

She would not convince him to break his own rules, but she could try to entice him to do so.

Reaching up, she cupped his face in both hands. His fingers slipped through her drawers. Heat flushed her cheeks. Her teeth bit down the whimper that escaped her throat.

With a guttural groan, West dipped his head down, one hand resting beside her head to support his weight. His mouth coaxed her mouth open and when they did, his tongue dove inside, and she welcomed it with fervor, writhing beneath his hand, sinking deep into the settee.

"Port wine," Sasha murmured against his lips.

His hot breath brushed over her lips before he claimed her mouth again.

"Lemon," she murmured again.

Biting her lower lip, he rasped, "What the bloody hell are you talking about, Sasha?"

Grasping the back of his neck, she tilted her head to the side and kissed him, this time taking the courage to wander into his mouth, seeking, tasting.

"Nutmeg," she finished, smiling against his lips.

"What?"

She met his gaze. "You had Negus."

With a growl of frustration, West crushed his mouth against her. And as if she had committed a crime, punished her by taking his hand off her, eliciting a whimper of protest.

He settled between her legs, pressing just enough to let her know the state of his groin. His jaw was tight, the muscles of his shoulders bunched. He ground against her heat, a raw, guttural sound escaping his throat. He seemed to be in pain but relieved at the same time. He swallowed and opened his eyes to look into her eyes.

"You figured that all from a kiss?" he asked. "I am impressed."

Sasha's hips buckled as he ground his hips. There was too much friction, too much heat. Yet it was not enough. She could not feel enough. It was his trousers. It was her gown. Too many layers to peel, too many rules stopping them from doing so.

"No, I simply know how to make a Negus," she managed to reply. "I know Aaron had one before the game."

For the first time, Sasha heard him laugh.

Her eyes nearly filled with tears hearing it.

Was it another layer she managed to peel from this man?

As the shaking of shoulders began to subside, so did their senses begin to heighten. Suddenly she was even more aware of him between her legs, a presence that demanded attention.

The laughter in his eyes died, replaced by the same familiar fire just moments ago. His hand traced her chin, her jaw, traveling down her neck, her collar, leaving a trace of anticipation and stopping right at the edge of her neckline. As his fingers started to tug the material lower, Sasha tried to hide the apprehension by saying, "But should I say that it is not a very nice Negus?"

His shoulders began to shake with laughter until his forehead fell on her shoulder, burying his face there. "Stop with the Negus, Sasha."

"And why on earth would Lady Renee serve you, fine lords, a drink that tastes as though it was concocted for children? I barely tasted the wine."

His laughter intensified, his hand now cupping her breast.

"I did not know Humbrick is a bloody children's party."

His laughter was an incantation to her ears, willing her to want to say something wittier. Something that would make it last longer.

The sound of a clearing of a throat caused them both to stiffen. West was fast to jump push away from Sasha, twisting his body around to look at the direction of the door.

"Well, you should have locked the bloody door," an amused voice said.

"Bloody hell, Tanner," West cursed, turning away to face Sasha. In a swift motion, he managed to pull her skirts down while she righted her neckline with shaking hands. "Would you?" West demanded at the man standing in the doorway.

"Of course," the voice replied, and Sasha heard the door shut close.

His laughter long gone, West came to his feet and helped her from the settee.

"Who was that?"

"Tanner."

"A friend, I assume."

"A child," he growled under his breath. He reached out to smoothen her hair. "He would still be outside waiting."

"He did not see me, did he?"

"No, I don't believe he did."

"Then I'll stay here. You may go and join him."

*****

West watched Sasha as she sat right back in the settee, her back straight and her hands folded on her lap.

He shook his head and reached for her hand. "I have to return you to the game."

She tugged her hand back. "But your friend—"

"He knows about you," he cut in, pulling her to her feet.

Her hesitant steps followed close behind him as he guided her to the door. And just as expected, Tanner was already outside, and he was not alone.

Rider was leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor, hands deep in his pockets. "It was his bloody idea," his friend was fast to say, motioning his head at Tanner.

West hid Sasha behind him, more to prevent her from seeing the stinging look he threw his friends.

Tanner shamelessly craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Sasha, a wicked smile on his lips. "Well? West?" his friend asked.

West pressed his lips together and glared at his friend.

Rider was of no help. He was not getting involved. And he was obviously enjoying West's predicament, his own way of saying he got himself into this trouble.

With a gentle tug, West pulled Sasha to stand beside him.

"Sasha, may I introduce you to my... friends," he said, biting down at the last word, "Tanner Macmier, Marquess of Leighton and Rider Fairborne, Earl of Keene." And giving his friends a darting look, he finished, "My lords, I present to you Lady Sasha."

"Sasha of Belcourt," Sasha said beside him, giving the men a curtsy. "It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen, but I fear I should leave. I have a game to lose," she added with a smile.

With her chin set high, she walked past Rider and Tanner and disappeared at the end of the corridor.

"Well, one hurdle done and over, right, Rider?" Tanner asked. "It was not that difficult, was it, West?"

"You are such a child, Tanner," West said, walking away.

"Were you laughing earlier, West? I believe I heard you laughing. Did you hear what I heard earlier, Rider?"

Rider pushed Tanner away. "Stop it."

"Now that I have seen her up close," Tanner said, catching up with West and falling into strides beside him, "She is quite a beauty, is she not? Her eyes are a wonder, I must say."

"You stay away from her, Tanner."

"I would hate to have your fist against my face, West. I have had a taste of that quite too often in the past." His friend allowed a few seconds before he said, "But if you can help me with the red-haired chit, the one from the gaming room, I promise never to pay your Belle any more attention again and—" Tanner stopped when West stopped walking to turn to him with a stern look in his eyes.

"Stop it, gentlemen," Rider dryly said, walking past between them. "We have matters to discuss. I received another letter from London."

West suddenly became alert. "When? Why have you not told me—"

"We went looking for you, did we not?" Tanner asked, following them down the corridor. "And we found you, did we not?"

"Shut up for one moment, Tanner!" West and Rider chorused.

The three of them searched the manor for an empty room and locked themselves inside to read the letter from London.