She ate, and he was glad. Watching her at the ball, he’d thought her mood was low, and knew it must be partly from lack of food. Not wholly, though. There was something else, something he couldn’t work out. It might be simple nervousness but he sensed more than that in her troubled demeanour. “Did you enjoy the day?” he said, looking for a way in, to begin to release the tension pulsing from her.

“Yes. It was perfect.”

She didn’t mean it. He knew by the way she avoided his eyes, and blinked quickly to get rid of what might be tears. Nick would expect this from a new bride, untried, young and virginal but he’d married a widow who must have experienced some of the joys of the marriage bed before matters went wrong between her and Harry.

Isobel finished her lemon cream and pushed the dish away with a satisfied sigh. “You’re right. I do feel better for that.”

He refilled their glasses. “I thought you would. And I thought it would give you time to—” he broke off when he saw her look at him innocently and made him laugh, “—get used to seeing me like this.”

She laughed too. “It’s not too much of a shock.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

They took some time finishing their wine, chatting about the day, until he put his glass down and stood up, holding out his hand in a gentle but definite command. “Come, wife. Let’s go to bed.”

All the fear he thought dispelled came rushing back to her face. Her eyes widened, her smile disappeared and her mouth opened slightly, before she remembered to shut it again. He saw it but she said nothing and put her hand in his. “Of course.”

He hadn’t wanted it like this; he still didn’t. Silently cursing the late Harry Thoroughgood, for what he wasn’t yet sure, he led her through to her bedroom. He closed the door and leaned against it, drawing his wife into his arms and settling her for a series of kisses he hoped would end somewhere in the vicinity of the bed.

At first, he was gentle, allowing Isobel to accustom herself to the closeness. Only a few layers of thin fabric lay between them, and he felt her soft, warm body against his, heating his desire. She returned his kisses. He feathered light caresses with his mouth along her jaw, and her forehead before he took her mouth again, deeper this time, touching her lips with his tongue, insinuating it inside her mouth.

She responded so well Nick almost lost control but he remembered in time to keep his caresses light, his hands to soothing, easy strokes. He kept his mind off the thought of touching her bare skin, kissing her body, because he needed to gentle her into this. If he frightened her, he’d find it hard to forgive himself.

She drew away a little, so she could speak. “This is nice.”

Relief surged through him, mingling with the hot desire he’d been feeling all day. “Good. Perhaps we should…?” He left the decision up to her.

She nodded, lowering her head so he couldn’t see her face, and moved away towards the bed. Nick watched, his gaze softened by desire and love for her as she loosened her bed robe, revealing a thin muslin night rail that did little to hide the curves beneath. The inevitable happened and his cock rose to meet the gorgeous sight before him. His mouth watered and he watched her, waiting for her invitation for him to join her. Giving her this space hurt him, but he couldn’t rush her.

What she did next was the stuff of nightmares.

It’s only a restorative tonic for women. So why are the bachelors of the Ton running scared?

Aphrodite’s Brew

© 2008 Delle Jacobs

The Earl of Vailmont, a confirmed bachelor who laughs at superstition, scoffs at the rumors that a love potion is behind the recent string of improbable marriages, and he vows to expose the charlatan behind the fraud. But when Val meets Sylvia, Lady Ashbroughton, her silver-green eyes set his soul spinning as if he has just encountered a witch.

Sylvia needs no handsome earls prying into her life. If Val learns of her secret trade in potions, she will be ruined and her beloved stepdaughter will be deprived of her Season. Worse, the earl could uncover Sylvia’s most shameful secret—her penchant for handsome men. To ward him off, she protects her fragile heart from unwanted new passion by wearing her family recipe in a locket.

But neither logic nor charms can combat the stubborn love that sweeps them into a whirl of unbridled passion.

And, from somewhere in the mists of time, a forgotten, nameless god is laughing.

Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex and unexpected bursts of side-splitting humor.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Aphrodite’s Brew:

“We’ll only stay long enough to dry out and warm up.” Val looked at her face, striped in colored rivulets like crinkled ribbons from the flattened papier-mache fruit on her sodden bonnet.

He repressed a smile. “You must remove your bonnet, Lady Ashbroughton. It has utterly failed you in its duty.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He gave a tug to the ribbons, grinning as he lifted the ruined bonnet from her hair and surveyed the damage more thoroughly. The stripes ran over her cheeks and down her neck, where they puddled into some indescribable color that stained the neckline of her dress. He chuckled. “I believe I should call you Lady Rainbow.”

Lady Ashbroughton ran for the looking glass and