Duncan was having a marvelous dream.
It could have been naught else. Even in sleep, he knew ’twas improbable that Eglantine should try to seduce him, but still he was loath to awaken.
Duncan sighed with satisfaction as Eglantine leaned over him, the softness of her breast against his arm. Her breath upon his ear made him shiver, her hair trailed against his face and he reveled in its silken touch. The countess kissed his cheek gently, granting further confirmation that ’twas a dream.
For the real countess was not so timid as this. The incongruity of that caught Duncan’s attention, for ’twas unlike a dream to be less passionate than what a man might find awake.
What if he did not dream?
Duncan opened one eye warily, noted the chill in the air and the sound of rain. Then he saw that the
