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spend his nights with Vincent than alone on the floor.
    Especially tonight.
    “ I’ll warm you plenty …” Vincent’s voice sounded in his head. The low, intimate rumble pushed Oliver into action.
    Another glance about the room. Best to start where he stood. Turning, he moved the book on the wingback chair to the end table and set his leather bag on the cushion. He pulled a pencil and a ledger from the bag and flipped to a blank page. Then he set to work going through the stack of books on the end table.
    * * *
    Oliver looked out the carriage window. The sun must have just dipped out of sight, for a last lingering wash of deep honey gold light warmed the edge of the horizon. Plenty of time remained for him to make it back to Vincent’s. No worries the man would be left to his own company for supper. Still, Oliver’s foot tapped against the floorboards in rhythm to the team of four’s brisk trot. It was all he could do not to push the driver for more speed. A handy gallop would cover the distance in no time, but since the team was not his own, he left the pace to the driver.
    In any case, a few hours stretched ahead of him before he would have Vincent all to himself.
    He curled his gloved hand into a fist at his side, his body fairly vibrating with eagerness, effectively keeping the chill in the air from seeping into his bones. He knew he should not allow himself to get overexcited. Not yet. He needed to judge Vincent’s mood first. Gauge his frame of mind. But if his lover did not appear as if he would shove aside the possibility…
    A jolt of heady anticipation shot through him. His cock twitched, bumping against the placket of his trousers. The brief, wicked flare of desire in Vincent’s blue eyes had spoken loud and clear the man had his own plans for the evening ahead. Plans that would leave Oliver panting for breath and begging for more. Plans he certainly would thoroughly enjoy and wholeheartedly approve…on any other night. But at some point during the past few hours, as he cataloged selected titles into his ledger, a different idea for their evening seized hold.
    Not that he had been perusing books of an erotic nature. Mr. Middleton’s library focused on philosophy, poetry, history, and animal husbandry. Perhaps he could lay the blame on the books piled on the floor. Every time he stooped to grab one had made him acutely aware of the faint lingering ache in his arse…and how he got that pleasurable ache.
    Nor could he identify the moment when the image from that morning of Vincent looming above him had changed. The moment when he no longer looked up at Vincent but down into his face, absolute bliss pulling his rugged features, the gasping pleas tumbling from Vincent’s lips and not his own.
    That image had stayed with him all afternoon. Hell, it had grabbed hold and refused to be pushed aside. And for the first time, he wanted it. Absolutely and completely, with every fiber of his being.
    Briefly closing his eyes, he took a moment to savor that image. Of Vincent laid out on the bed and desperate with need for him . A grunt issued from his throat. Shifting on the bench, he reached down, moved aside the length of his greatcoat, and adjusted his hard cock, trying to find what room could be had in the confines of his trousers.
    It wasn’t as if he had never entertained the notion. But it had been a fleeting thought. Erotic and wickedly tempting, but a fleeting one nonetheless. Yet now…
    All the worries had gone and with them that last bit of restraint. Of course, Grafton had yet to produce the required spare to go with the heir. But the probability that the chore of producing the next Marquis of Saye and Sele would fall onto Vincent’s broad shoulders had diminished to almost nothingness. So insignificant Oliver would not even bother to worry about it.
    He understood now why he had never attempted to tug the reins of control from Vincent. At first he had told himself Vincent was not ready. Regardless of