When he said nothing, she frowned. “I take it you agree?”

No! He scowled. “We can’t talk here.” Catching her hand, he changed his hold on her horse’s bridle. “Come to the boathouse.”

She tried to hang back. “Why can’t we talk here? There’s no one about and we can see for miles.”

“And someone miles away can see us.” Thank Heaven. He tugged until she stepped forward, then towed her along.

With an irritated humph, Madeline acquiesced. Reluctantly. She’d imagined having this discussion in the castle library; after all that had transpired in the boathouse yesterday, it was the very last place she would have chosen in which to bring their liaison to an end. But…he’d thrown her off-balance. After yesterday, she’d thought he’d be crowing, at least obviously smug. Instead…he looked grim, unhappy, dissatisfied. Why?

This was not a good time for her curiosity to raise its head. It should have had enough to keep it occupied after the events-and the consequent revelations-of yesterday. But no. So she allowed him to lead her to the boathouse, tie Artur up next to his big gray, then usher her inside.

He shut the door. She turned and faced him. “Now-”

“Not here.” He gestured to the stairs. “Upstairs.”

But at that even her curiosity balked. She frowned. “There’s no reason we can’t talk here.”

“Don’t be daft. I can barely make out your face.”

She couldn’t see his clearly either, but…she lifted her chin. “This won’t take long.”

Through the dimness, he met her gaze. A moment ticked by during which he plainly weighed his response; unbidden, an image of him tossing her over his shoulder and carting her upstairs popped into her mind. She blinked, instinctively tensed.

He growled and swung away. “I won’t discuss anything while I can’t see your face.” He made for the stairs and went up them two at a time.

Slack-jawed, she stared after him. Then she set her lips. “Damn it!” Going to the stairs, she climbed them-gracefully. It would be childish to stamp.

But she was determined not to go beyond the post at the stairhead. Luckily he’d stopped just along from the newel post, leaning back against the railings above the stairs. His arms were crossed, as were his ankles; he regarded her through narrowed eyes as she halted beside him.

“Let me see if I have this right.” He pinned her with a cuttingly sharp gaze. “After yesterday, your first foray into lovemaking, you’ve decided you’ve had enough and don’t need to learn anything more-is that correct?”

She steeled herself to utter the necessary lie. “Precisely.”

His gaze grew even sharper. “Didn’t you like it? What we did on the daybed?”

Eyes narrowing, she studied him; his face gave little away, but his eyes seemed unusually stormy. She remembered he’d been strangely bothered by the, as he’d labeled it, “fast and furious” tenor of their joining. Surely he couldn’t be worried over his performance, couldn’t be feeling guilty? She might have snorted, but she knew boys-men-well. “If I said I hadn’t enjoyed it, I’d be lying-as you’re perfectly well aware. However”-looking down, she tucked her gloves into the waistband of her riding skirt-“whether I enjoyed the interlude or not has nothing to do with my decision.”

Not a complete lie; it wasn’t her enjoyment per se but what she’d finally realized that enjoyment and the quality of it meant. Falling in love with Gervase Tregarth when she knew perfectly well he wasn’t in love with her was the very definition of unwise.

“I wanted to tell you-and have you agree”-she glanced at him but he was looking down, gaze fixed on a point in front of his boots; his jaw was set; he looked decidedly mulish-“that yesterday would be a solitary incident, never to be repeated. We-I-cannot afford to undermine my position in the district, not while I remain Harry’s surrogate.”

“No.” He lowered his arms, lifted his head.

She stared into hard hazel eyes. “What do you mean, no?”

Gervase drew in a breath, and recklessly embarked on the biggest gamble of his life. “I mean: No-that’s not why you’re running away.”

Her lips set; her eyes narrowed to slits. “I am not running away.”

“Yes, you are. You found yesterday exciting, fascinating, enthralling-and you’re frightened.”

“Frightened?” Eyes widening, she spread her hands. “Of what?”

“Of yourself. Of your own passionate nature. Of your own desires.” He held her gaze relentlessly and spoke clearly, dispassionately-with just a lick of contempt. And watched her spine stiffen, watched her temper spark.

With total deliberation, he uncrossed his legs, straightened away from the railing to face her-and poured oil on her fire. “You’re afraid of what you might learn if you continue to meet with me. You’re afraid of the woman you become in my arms, a woman whole, complete-all she could be.”

Her face blanked; she seemed shocked by the words that spilled from his lips, essentially without thought. Naturally. Although he was attributing the panic and fear to her, it was his own fears he was describing.

“You’re afraid of learning more, of what you might feel once you learn it all-experience it all. All that might be between us.”

With one hand he brushed back the hair haloing her face. She tensed, but allowed him to move nearer. Surprise and incipient anger warred in her eyes; had he been in control, his usual persuasive self, he would have capitalized on her temper, prodding it until she did as he wished, but having given voice to what was swirling inside him, having drawn this close to her, the focus of his roused and abraded emotions, he was no longer thinking clearly. Could only respond to the wariness in her eyes. “Don’t be afraid.” He leaned closer, brushed his lips to her temple. “There are times in life when one has to take a chance-make a leap of faith. When we simply have to…”

When he eased back, searching, she offered, “Step off the edge of a cliff?”

His lips twisted. “Nothing quite so fatal. More like setting sail and letting the winds take us where they will.”

In convincing her, he was convincing himself.

Her eyes remained on his, searching them, searching his face. He’d drawn close enough to trap her if he wished, but with an effort he kept his arms relaxed; she had to come to him willingly for him to win her.

Again her eyes narrowed. “You’re very good with words.”

He let his lips curve. “I’m even better with actions.” He held her gaze from a distance of mere inches. “Trust me.”

Moving slowly, he fastened his hands about her waist, let his gaze lower to her lips. “Just try it and see. There’s so much more you’ve yet to learn, yet to experience-and why not with me?”

A heartbeat passed, then two. He held his breath, not daring to look into her eyes in case she saw how important her answer was to him. How much she already meant to him.

Unexpectedly she sighed, long and resigned, then moved into his arms. “All right.” She tilted her face, lifted her lips. “But this is very definitely not wise.”

He accepted her offering with alacrity, covered her lips with his; the wave of relief that flooded him nearly brought him to his knees.

She was right; this wasn’t wise. It wasn’t even merely dangerous. It was unmitigated madness, on his part certainly-possibly on hers, too; Heaven knew he would never be an easy husband, but he couldn’t draw back, couldn’t deny this madness its due.

No more than he could deny the heat that rose between them, that welled and grew and flared into flame once she was in his arms. Once she was pressed against him, her lips beneath his, her mouth surrendered, his to plunder at will, once her body, sleek and supple, was locked against his, all he could think of was appeasing that heat, feeding the madness.

Letting it take him, rule him, drive him, conquer him.

Their clothes fell like autumn leaves, a scattered trail in their wake as inch by inch they made their way to the daybed.

Then they were there, naked on the thick cushions, the summer air whispering over heated skin as they touched, caressed, sighed.

Caught their breaths. Gasped. The evocative sound of her strangled moan shook him to the core.

This time, thank Heaven, it was slower, even if the heat was not one whit decreased, the intensity of each long-drawn moment only brighter, sharper. Regardless, he felt, if not in control then at least more aware-of her, of how she responded to each touch, of himself, and how she made him feel.

Time stretched as his hands and fingers played over the smooth curves and hollows, then his lips followed the same path, delighting, setting small fires to burn in their wake.

Madeline embraced every last sensation.

Closing her eyes, she opened her senses, with reckless abandon gave herself up to the moment-to him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, could barely see-her world had shrunk to him and her, and the pleasure he evoked, and lavished on her.

A generous lover. The phrase swam through her head, then out.

A devilish lover; his lips trailed a path over her stomach, over the curls below, then he spread her thighs and kissed her there and she screamed. Breathlessly, helplessly, clung.

As he pleasured her to oblivion and beyond.

The afternoon spun about them as she fought against the drugging tide, pressed him back on the cushions and explored. He’d been right; she had so much to learn, and these moments with him, limited as they were certain to be, might be her only chance to satisfy the cravings of the woman he called forth, the sensual being she became in his arms.

But he seemed to have his limits, too, his own defined needs. Bare moments after she closed her hand about his turgid length, he muttered something, caught her wrist and removed her hand, flipped her onto her back and followed, spreading her thighs wide, his hips between, then joining them in one smooth motion.

She could only gasp and cling, hold tight as he drove them into a wall of flames. Straight through and on, into a landscape of scalding heat and demanding desire, of passion so hot it seared.

He bent his head and their lips met; together they rode on. Up.

Straight off the edge of the world into that void where nothing existed beyond the timeless moment, beyond searing sensation. He groaned, battled to hold them there for one last instant, then the power fractured, fell away, and they plummeted into earthly bliss.


She woke to find herself sprawled on her back on the daybed, with him sprawled, boneless and heavy, apparently non compos mentis, over her. Her lips curved spontaneously; she suppressed a silly, pointless giggle, trying not to shake and wake him.

In truth, there was nothing humorous about the situation; she made a valiant effort to sober, and failed. She couldn’t understand why her heart insisted on singing…then she remembered, in the same instant scornfully told herself it simply couldn’t be. Not yet. Fate, having sent him to her expressly with seduction in mind, would surely give her a little time to enjoy him before tampering with her heart.

No. She wasn’t the sort to fall in love in a day, not even two. She wasn’t a soft-hearted person; she wasn’t all that trusting. She wasn’t especially gullible, either; as long as she kept it firmly in mind that this-their liaison-was an exercise embarked upon solely to educate her, to extend her horizons beyond the boundaries that would otherwise have been, as long as she viewed this engagement of theirs with the cool detachment of a business arrangement, her heart would remain safely hers.

Unbidden, her hand drifted to his hair, to play in the soft curls. She thought again of his argument-that she was afraid of what might come. He’d been right about the fear, but not about what she feared. If he knew that she feared falling in love with him, he might well, out of honor, step back. But while that remained her secret she had nothing to fear, from him or from prolonging their liaison, as long as she kept her heart locked away.

She hadn’t intended to court any risk at all-had seen no reason to, not last night-but now he’d demonstrated that there indeed was more to learn, then her reckless, curious Gascoigne self wouldn’t rest, not until she’d learned it all. At least glimpsed it all.

He stirred, sighed; with a muffled grunt he lifted from her and slumped on his side beside her. Curled his arm around her, held her to him and nuzzled her ear. “You don’t have to go anywhere, do you?”

Spreading her hand over his chest, she looked down the long muscled body displayed for her delectation. Hers to explore. “No. Not yet.”


Gervase remained slumped on the daybed after Madeline had risen, dressed and gone. She’d insisted they shouldn’t risk being seen leaving together; he’d acquiesced, not least because he needed time to digest all that had happened, and all that that meant.