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He increased the pressure and pace with his thumb, losing himself in her kiss. He wanted nothing more than to roll her onto her back and slide inside her. But that would have to wait until he had her all to himself, and with the sun steadily rising, there wasn’t sufficient time for his own release. That, too, could wait.

She moaned into his kiss, hips frantically working, her cunny clenching on his pumping fingers. Her breaths started coming in shallow gasps. A few more swirls of his thumb, and she stiffened, crying out. He swallowed the sound—his name—and kept their lips sealed, kissing her as she rode out her release. Her cunny contracted in heady spasms, a rush of warm wetness trickling down his wrist.

When the last wave of bliss had rolled through her, he reluctantly withdrew and gave her one last kiss.

“Until later, love.”

They rose together, and he helped her restore her undergarments and gown, repinning her glorious hair. Another kiss at the door because he couldn’t resist, and she was gone, the portal closing behind her with a quiet snick, the only hint of her remaining the faint scent of jasmine and violets on the air.

“You want me to play host this afternoon and this evening?” Mal repeated, eyebrows arched.

Apollo ground his jaw so hard, his head ached. “As I said.”

After Phee had slipped from his bedroom at dawn, he’d fallen back into a restless sleep plagued by dreams in which she was always just out of reach. No matter how hard he’d tried to catch her, to clasp her hand in his, she was forever too far away, her fiery hair glinting in the sun as she dashed off into a field of roses. In his dream, he’d been worried about the thorns. He’d called after her, but she had just laughed and kept running. Grimly, he’d risen a second time, dressed, shaved, and hunted down his friend for a ride before they broke their fast.

It was the perfect opportunity to take the air and have a private conversation out of earshot of the rest of the guests. And the ideal moment in which to persuade his old chum to take Phee’s place so Apollo could have her all to himself.

“What has happened to our beautiful hostess?” Mal asked, his voice turning shrewd.

What had happened to Phee was Apollo, of course. But he didn’t want to admit that. Not yet.

“She is feeling unwell,” he hedged, hating the necessity of lying to his friend. “Her lady’s maid was inquiring after who among us might be clever enough to take her place, and I fear that I lack the necessary imaginative qualities. I recommended you.”

His friend’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And how did you come to speak with her lady’s maid if the lady herself is indisposed?”

He kept his expression calm with only the greatest of reluctance. He felt like an arse for deceiving his friend, but Ophelia’s wishes had to take precedence. She didn’t want anyone to have the slightest inkling of what they had been doing. Their affair had to be kept secret at all costs. And although he trusted Mal with his life, Apollo had promised Phee, and he intended to honor that promise until he breathed his last.

Apollo shrugged. “I’m afraid you’ll have to allow me my secrets.”

“I don’t like secrets,” Mal said. “They’re so tedious.”

“Please,” Apollo entreated. “It is of great import, and I have other matters suddenly requiring my attention.”

“Do these matters lie under the skirts of our hostess?” Mal asked astutely.

Apollo clenched his jaw even harder, heat crawling up his throat and over his cheeks all the way to the top of his head. It was a bloody miracle he didn’t catch flame.

“It’s one day,” he snapped, rattled by Mal’s question, which was far too uncomfortably close to the truth. “If you won’t do it, then I’ll find someone else who will.”

Because he was bloody well having his day with Ophelia in the old gamekeepers’ cottage. And that was simply that.

“I’ll leave you to your ride.” He urged his mount in a new direction, needing to leave Mal’s presence, too irritated with his friend to continue the conversation. Perhaps he truly would need to swallow his pride and find someone else as he’d just said.

“Wait.” Mal’s voice had him reining in his horse.

Apollo turned the mount back to face his friend, waiting.

“I’ll do it.”

Elation shot through Apollo, sudden and swift. “You will?”

“I will,” his friend confirmed, giving him a reluctant grin. “But I do have one stipulation.”

Blast. He ought to have known that was too bloody good to be true. “What is it?”

“That you admit you’re off on a tryst with that glorious red-haired hostess of ours.”

“No,” he denied instantly. “I’ll do nothing of the sort.”