We ignore him.

Olivia takes her phone out and snaps a picture of a cliff that she says looks like Patrick from SpongeBob, intending to text it to her sister. She talks or texts with Ellie and Marty every day—to check in and check up on how things are going in New York without her. Last night Ellie told Olivia their father was “doing better,” which eased some of her worries.

“Oooh, Ellie,” my brother coos, looking over Olivia’s shoulder. “Let’s call her. Find out if she’s legal yet.”

“My sister’s off-limits to you, buddy.” Olivia frowns.

He flops back onto the seat. “This is so boring.”

It’s going to be a long drive.

But when we get to Anthorp Castle, which sits on a cliff overlooking the ruckus of whitewater waves below, it’s anything but boring. Henry doesn’t want to swim, but he’s interested in cliff diving.

Thank Christ, I talk him out of it.

Olivia and I skip skinny-dipping because of security—and her bare bits are for my eyes only. But we do freeze our arses off in the water down on the beach—Olivia in a turquoise string bikini, me in swim shorts both of us splashing and swimming in the rough waves like randy dolphins.

The good part about cold water is eventually, everything just gets numb.

And the best part about old stone castles is the giant fireplace in every room. We warm up in front of the one in the great hall, on a rug made of rabbit pelts. Olivia dries her hair by the fire and I watch the flames reflect in her eyes, turning them a deep violet.

We eat delicious stew and fresh-baked bread for dinner.

And that night, in the giant antique bed, in view of the stars, Olivia straddles my hips and rides my cock with slow, deliberate strokes. I gaze up at her, like a sinner who’s found redemption. The way the moonlight streaming in from the window bathes her skin in an illustrious glow—fuck, she’s beautiful. I could almost weep with it.

But I don’t. Because there are other, better, ways to show my adoration.

I lift up, my hands skimming her spine to cradle her shoulders. I guide her back—at this angle, I’m still buried fully, fantastically, inside her, but the weight of her upper body rests in my hands. Then I bring my lips to her breast—and I make love to those soft globes with my lips and teeth and tongue. Worshipping them like the deities they are.

She whimpers as I lick her, and her pussy clenches harder around me. It’s fucking magnificent.

Things have changed between us since the day of the polo match. They’re deeper, more intense…just more everything. We both feel it, know it, though we haven’t spoken about it. Not yet.

Olivia’s hips circle and grind as my balls tighten. I lift her back up, so we’re face-to-face. With my hands on her shoulders, I rock up into her while she fucks down on me hard and perfect. And we come together—grasping at one another, moaning and cursing.

The acoustics of these walls aren’t as good as the palace…but they’re damn close.

The next day, on the drive back, we stop at a pub for an early dinner. It’s a low-key place, known for its ploughman’s sandwich and good whiskey. Since it’s an unplanned stop, security goes in before us, does a sweep, and remains nearby while we eat.

Afterward, as we stand up from the table, Henry squints at a curvy strawberry blond across the room, pressing a finger to his lips, then aiming it in her direction. “I know that girl. How do I know that girl?”

“Titebottum,” I tell him.

“Yes, she certainly has that. Though I’m surprised you’d mention it in front of Olive.”

Olivia folds her arms, looking for an explanation. And I chuckle at my brother because he’s an idiot.

“That’s her name,” I tell them both. “She’s Lady Von Titebottum’s daughter, the younger one…Penelope.”

Henry snaps his fingers. “Yes, that’s it. I met her at Baron Fossbender’s a few years back when she was still in university.”

Just then, a long-haired brunette with glasses steps up beside Penelope, and I add, “And that’s her sister…Sarah, I believe.”

As we head toward the door, Penelope spots my brother, and from the look on her face she doesn’t have any trouble recalling who he is. “Henry Pembrook! It’s been forever—how the hell are you?”

“I’m good, Penelope.”

Sarah and Penelope both curtsy, short and quick, then Penelope scowls dramatically at Henry. “Don’t tell me you were here visiting and didn’t think to look me up! I’ll never forgive you.”

Henry grins. “Drive back with us. I’ll make it up to you.”

She pouts. “I can’t. Mother hates the city—too noisy, too crowded.”

“And we have to bring home dinner. We’re picking it up now,” Sarah says in a soft, airy voice, clutching a leather-bound book to her chest.

“What are you reading?” Olivia asks.

The girl smiles. “Sense and Sensibility.”

“For the thousandth time,” Penelope grumbles. “And she won’t even read like a normal person—I got her an e-reader for her birthday but she doesn’t use it! She carries all those books around in that satchel that’s about to fall apart.”

“An e-reader’s not the same, Penny,” Sarah explains quietly.

“A book’s a book.” Henry shrugs. “It’s just…words. Isn’t it?”