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Miss Hamilton as promised. And now my heart shines with the joy of a good deed.”
    “What was she like? Was she truly a proper lady?”
    “She blushed often. She wore a frightful gown and had red hair.”
    “Marcus!” She laughed. “Was she pretty?”
    “Yes. A country beauty with peaches-and-cream skin and curls the color of fine sherry bouncing around her wide hazel eyes—eyes both amber-brown and green. She has her father’s nose, unfortunately, and his sharp chin.”
    And a lush and lovely mouth. An enticing mouth. Miss Hamilton had wrapped her leg around his hips and pulled herself tight against his erection. Her kiss was eager, artless, and delightfully tentative—and the touch of her hands on him had sent shivers of pleasure down his spine and a surge of blood to his groin that had shut off his brain.
    Min’s eyes had widened at his flowery description. “And why are you so curious about a woman who draws naughty pictures?” he asked, to deflect her interest.
    “I just wondered if she was a bold woman, the sort with henna-dyed hair. I can’t imagine how a well-bred woman could do such a thing.”
    He shrugged. “Survival.” Miss Hamilton had moaned into his mouth as he kissed her. Desperate little moans. He’d never known a woman make such lusty sounds at just a kiss. And he, blackguard that he was, had grabbed her derriere. A gentleman didn’t fondle an innocent woman’s derriere. But apparently a maiden did grab a gentleman’s arse, for she had caught hold of both his cheeks and squeezed. His cock had reared against his belly. He’d been aroused, damn near out of his mind, with the enticement of introducing her to pleasure.
    He wanted to speak of it. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t admit that he might be like their father.
    Min was caught up in watching David’s eyes flicker shut. The boy would fight, the lids would open wide, then slowly sink down again. Marcus couldn’t help but smile.
    “So what do you seek in your perfect countess?” Min asked, cuddling her child against her shoulder and rocking him.
    “Beauty, brains, breeding. A fortune. A good heart and quick wit. But Min, sweetheart, I am not getting leg-shackled.”
    Min’s enormous eyes twinkled. “But I’d love to play matchmaker for you and force you look in all the places you hate to go—balls, routs, assemblies.” A naughty gleam showed in Min’s eyes. “This Season, my project is Stephen’s brother Frederick.”
    He gave Min a severe brotherly look. “You’re not to strain yourself at those events. I hope Stephen made that clear to you.”
    From his chair, Stephen laughed.
    “You cannot dictate to me through Stephen! He is too much your friend—he tolerates your interference too much.”
    “I didn’t look after you when I should have, Min,” he murmured.
    She blushed and looked down at her son, giving a loving pat. “It wasn’t your fault.”
    She was so strong it humbled him. She’d endured and found happiness and comfort in Stephen’s arms, found love in her marriage bed. The only worthwhile thing he’d done with his life was to find Stephen for Min.
    His heart soared to see her happy, but it would never be enough. It didn’t atone for the nights he buried his head into his pillow. For the years when he didn’t protect her.
    Cradling her baby with one hand, Min touched his arm. “You gave me a great gift. You forced me to see my future was to be a wife and a mother.” She looked over to their mother, rigid and emotionless in her chair by the fireplace. “I would like Mama to hold him.”
    He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.”
    Their mother stared blankly toward the flames, as though unaware of her children, her first grandchild. As though she could not even hear the laughter. He never knew how to handle the countess. No matter what tactic he tried—to soothe, to coerce, or to inflict his will, his mother fought him. Punishment, he figured, for what he’d done.
    “Please, Marcus,” Min