Page 71 of Lord Valentine's Rotten February

It seemed like a more likely explanation than dyspepsia.

When he spoke, his voice was none too steady. “Thank you for giving me this chance. I promise you, Rosalie, you will never have cause to regret it.”

He leaned down to kiss her, but just when things were starting to get interesting, her lips curled beneath his, forming a smile. “What is it?” he asked, lifting his head.

“You threatened to throw Great-Aunt Millicent out on her arse!” Rosalie said, looking partially outraged and partially amused.

“I did.” Lucian barked out a laugh. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep a straight face while I said it.”

Rosalie swiped at a tear, this one, he fancied, of the happy sort. “I thought you an utter villain.”

“Oh, I am.” He reached low, sliding his hand beneath her bottom and pressing her hips into the bulge that had formedbeneath the falls of his trousers. “Admit it—you enjoy my wicked side.”

Rosalie had begun to squirm beneath him. “I do, God help me.” She fixed him with a pointed look. “But there will be no more cavorting with other women.”

He stroked her cheek. “No. No, there will not. I don’t want anyone but you.”

“Good,” she said. “Good.” She was trying to act nonchalant, his tough-as-nails Rosalie.

But he did not miss the sheen in her eyes, nor the trembling of her lip.

“In fact,” he said, “as the new Lord Valentine, I feel as though I have an obligation to theton.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless.

He ran his thumb across her lower lip. “To do something very unfashionable, indeed. I’m going to demonstrate what it’s like when a man is completely, utterly, hopelessly devoted to his wife.”

Rosalie smiled and arched a brow. “Can you do it?”

“I can,” he said as his lips descended upon hers.

On this occasion, Lucian was right. He could.

And he did.