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Livingston far more intriguing than he cares to admit.”
    An odd emotion tugged at Cam’s gut. “Leave off,” he growled, his face burning as he stormed from the room.
    …
    The remaining days of the house party passed in a sleepy haze for Charlotte, who spent most of that time resting and occasionally dreaming of a certain amber-haired gentleman in snug breeches. Gradually, her confusion cleared and the only ringing she heard came from church bells in the nearby village.
    On the final night of the house party, the Duke and Duchess of Hartwell hosted a farewell dinner and dance for their guests. Still confined to the sickroom, Charlotte didn’t attend even though her headaches had receded and she grew more restless with each passing day. Thinking of the lively activities from which she was excluded highlighted her boredom.
    Music drifting from below stairs, she plopped down into a chair with a book, but it was hopeless because she couldn’t concentrate. Thoughts of Camryn intruded.
    Her mind kept returning to the memory of that kiss, to the potent press of his lips against hers. Even now, just replaying it in her mind sent bright sparks of pleasure raining down her spine.
    Although she’d always held herself aloof, Charlotte had felt a powerful attraction to the marquess from the moment she’d first set eyes on him months ago in town. But she hadn’t expected to take pleasure in Camryn’s company, which she had, even when they were sparring. And he’d shown such tenderness after she’d been thrown from her mount. She’d felt safe in his arms and in his fierce concern for her.
    The very idea that she could actually be drawn to the entire man, and not just to his obvious physical attributes, unnerved her. The Marquess of Camryn was a rakehell and an industrialist. He exploited people. Camryn stood for everything she disdained in a man.
    Sighing, she pushed to her feet and walked over to crack the door open. Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she listened to the strains of music and chatter emanating from the farewell dance. On the morrow, he would be gone and in all likelihood, it would be months before they crossed paths again. Which was just as well, she tried to tell herself, because Camryn clearly saw the world through different eyes.
    What was he doing at this precise moment? Perhaps he stood in the garden receiving a special farewell from Mr. Fitzharding’s lady wife. She flushed at the memory. She’d been returning from a walk with Nathan when the strange murmurs and muted groans drew her attention. The carnal nature of what she’d chanced upon still shocked her, even now. It wasn’t as if she was completely ignorant of the intimacies between a man and a woman, but seeing Mrs. Fitzharding perform such an unthinkable act on Camryn stunned her.
    It had also done strange things to her body. At first, the mechanics of it held her spellbound. The moonlight had cast a glow on the lady’s back-and-forth movements, highlighting the startlingly expert actions of her mouth and tongue, as well as the knowing, satisfied expression on her face when the marquess undulated against her.
    Then there was the kingly way Camryn had stood against the tree, the noble majesty with which he accepted the pleasure she offered, as though it was his right. He’d looked arrogant and graceful even then, his imperious hand resting atop the head of the woman who pleasured him, his green eyes reflecting the moonlight, infusing them with an otherworldly glow.
    She’d never seen a grown man’s private bits before. Camryn had been clothed but his breeches were open, allowing his prodigious male appendage to jut out from a thicket of tawny curls. Illuminated by the moonlight, it had been proud and hard, thick and long, much more substantial than she would ever have imagined could fit in a man’s snug breeches. Or in any feminine orifice.
    When Camryn had closed his eyes and shuddered, her own heart had convulsed, the heat in