Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order 3)

“Why would I worship a mermaid when I have a nymph of my own?” He clutched her hips, moved her back and forth over the hard length of his arousal. “Besides, the mermaid is as old as the house. Some other fellow had a love for the mythical creatures. Perhaps that’s where my grandfather got the idea for his tale. Can we make love now?”

She claimed his mouth in response—hot, urgent.

He’d be inside her in seconds.

But then she dragged her lips from his and stilled. “Might your grandfather’s last message be a clue to finding a real legacy?”

“Can we not discuss this later?”

Mr Golding had struggled to contain his relief when he flicked to the back of the notebook and read the heartfelt messages. Livingston’s words brimmed with praise for their tenacity and courage in making it this far. Money corrupted the best of men, and the exercise should have revealed the truth about whom they could trust.

Lucian Hart’s parting words were about love and friendship, about investing in relationships rather than the bank. And because Evan had married Vivienne Hart out of love, not duty, they received a final letter containing one simple message.

Look for the truth everywhere.

In the words of a morbid poet.

In the arms of a mythical mermaid.

“We found the treasure, love. We found each other.” And they were too busy expressing the depth of their love to concentrate on cryptic messages. “I believe Livingston spoke metaphorically. Meant one might find love in the last place one expects.”

“Shells are said to be a symbol of good fortune. The mermaid in the lake is holding one in her arms. There is no greater truth than what we find in the natural world. And shells connect us to the sea.”

“I thought we were making love, not delving into symbolism.”

She rolled her hips, rubbed against his erection. “Pander to my whims, and I shall pander to yours.”

Evan sighed. “Very well.” His wife was Peitho, a goddess skilled in the art of seductive persuasion. “What are your thoughts on the morbid poet?”

She reached for the book and flicked to Gray’s poem. “I recall reading about gems. Yes, he says that many gems lie in dark caves under the ocean. Like the exceptional deeds of unsung heroes, beauty is often hidden from sight.”

Evan was so busy gawping in awe at his wife, finding her logical deductions so damnably arousing, he missed her sudden command.

“Well? Will you do it?” She stood and attempted to pull him to his feet. “Will you swim to the mermaid statue and see what lies below?”

“Swim across the lake? Madam, I’m likely to catch my death.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You can swim?”

“My father insisted I learn. When a family is owed a debt from a marauding pirate, it pays to be prepared.” She glanced out at the lake. “It’s not far. The last one there must pay a forfeit.”

Before he could stop her, she was out of her pelisse, tugging off her boots. He’d been in the lake before, knew she could touch the bed in most places.

She hurried to the water’s edge in her shift. He’d known the minx hadn’t bothered with stays, had made it easier for him to fondle her breasts.

She laughed. “Just think, we’ll have to spend the rest of the day lounging before a roaring fire.”

He couldn’t love her any more than he did at that moment.

Like his manhood, his heart was ready to burst.

She excited him on every level.

Giving his weakest performance, he let her win the race. There was nothing he wouldn’t do if she asked, and the forfeit would be to his benefit.

Despite searching the lake’s murky depths, Evan did not find a treasure chest on the bed. But a quick inspection of the mermaid’s shell proved fortuitous.