Taking a small brass key, she unlocked the box and slowly lifted the lid. "As soon as I arrived home with the box, I dubbed it my Box of Wishes and Dreams, and in it I keep things I've collected that represent my fondest desires."

She opened the box, and he looked down. And frowned. In spite of her claim not to be enamored of jewelry, he'd expected the box to be filled with glittery gems and other expensive trinkets. He wasn't certain what all those things in the box were, but not one of them sparkled. He leaned closer and recognized the shape of an object on the top.

"A seashell?" he asked, wondering what that could possibly have to do with wishes and dreams.

She lifted the perfectly formed conch shell from the box and held it in her palm. "I found this on the beach at Brighton-a place I dearly love. The shell reminds me of the exhilaration and freedom I experience walking along the sea-washed sand, the tangy salt breezes whipping through my hair."

She set the shell on the bed then lifted what appeared to be a foot-long strip of ragged material from the box. "This is the tail of a kite I flew on that same beach. I recall laughing as it snapped in the briny wind and soared toward the clouds. And this…" she lifted out another object and handed it to him. "A gull's feather that floated through the air while the bird that had shed it had squawked without restraint then spread its gray-tipped wings and floated toward the cobalt water, skimming the white-capped surface."

Gideon brushed a fingertip over the feather and tried to make sense of the odd feeling gripping him. Before he could figure it out, she picked up several more objects. First she handed him a small pencil drawing of Princess Buttercup, asleep on her satin pillow.

"Sarah drew this. She's very talented." Next she placed a small gray rock in his hand. "I found this in Hyde Park while on a walk with Emily. And this leaf-" She placed that on top of the rock, "is from the elm outside Carolyn's town house. They're reminders of my very dear friends."

Her gaze searched his and as always, he felt himself sinking. Like a drowning man, alone in the middle of the sea. "Do you want to see more?" she asked quietly.

Every self-preservation instinct in his body demanded he say no. That he send her off to the chamber where she was to sleep. But then his gaze fell to the box. And he knew he had to see what else was inside. "Yes," he said softly. "I want to see everything."

Again she reached into the box, this time withdrawing two dried flowers. "One from Sarah's wedding bouquet and one from Carolyn's. Because I've always dreamed of a love-filled marriage such as the ones they have." Next she withdrew two pairs of baby booties, one pink, one blue. "I made these," she said, tracing her fingers over the delicately embroidered material. "For the dreams of the children I hope to someday have."

Once again she reached into the box, this time pulling out a folded piece of vellum. "I added this treasure several months ago, soon after the Ladies Literary Society was formed. During our first meeting we discussed the traits we felt constituted the Perfect Man." She raised her brows. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

"By all means."

She unfolded the vellum and recited, "'The Perfect Man is a kind, patient, generous, honest, honorable, witty, intelligent, handsome, romantic, stunningly passionate, make-your-insides-flutter, full-lipped good kisser who can dance, shop, listen, and solicit a woman's opinion, all tirelessly and without complaint." She looked up and met his gaze. "What do you think?"

Not one mention of wealth. Or a title. Or estates. He fought the overpowering need to loosen his suddenly too tight cravat. "I think that's a lot to ask for in one man."

She nodded solemnly. "Yes. But finding the perfect person for you… I believe it is possible."

Bloody hell, the way she was looking at him… as if he were that perfect person for her…made the area around his heart go hollow. With longing. And desire. God knows he was far from perfect. And the absolute opposite of perfect for her.

Needing to break the suffocating silence, he nodded toward the box. "Anything else in there?"

She picked up two slim books. Setting the first one on the bed, she said, "That is Memoirs of a Mistress, one of our previous £f oh="book club selections. The book is scandalously explicit, but I greatly admired the courage of the author. She was a fearless woman who lived as she pleased and enjoyed all of life's passions." She handed him the other book. "This is The Ghost of Devonshire Manor."

"And why was it given a place of honor in your Box of Wishes and Dreams?"

"It represents the sort of loving relationship I've always longed for, albeit with a real man rather than a specter. It was a beautiful story of profound love. Of deep passion. Of two people who, in spite of their feelings, given their circumstances, could never be together."

His heart began to pound in slow, hard beats, and his fingers tightened on the leather-bound volume. "So what did they do?"

"They took what happiness they could. Enjoyed each other for the short time it was possible to do so. Then Maxwell, the ghost, had to return to his world, while Lady Elaine remained in hers. And so they parted."

"And that was it? No happy ending?" He tried to insert a bit of levity and smile, but his face felt like stone. "I thought ladies liked stories with happy endings."

"Not all love stories have a happy ending, I'm afraid."

The air in the room seemed thick and hot. In desperation, he looked down at the book. Opened it to a random page. And scanned the lines.

She lay on the bed, naked, legs splayed to reveal glistening folds he ached to touch. Lifting one hand toward him, she whispered a single word: "Please." And Maxwell knew in that instant that nothing from her world or the after-world would stop him from making love to her. Claiming her as his own. At least for tonight, for they couldn't have forever.

He snapped the book shut and drew in a shaky breath. Bloody hell. It was definitely time to get the hell out of this room, which suddenly felt as if it were the size of a birdcage. And on fire.

"You need to…" His words trailed off, and he stared into the box. One item remained. As if in a trance, he reached in to pull out the folded white square with the dark blue G embroidered in the corner.

"This is my handkerchief."

She hesitated then nodded. And suddenly it looked as if her heart were in her eyes, and everything inside him seemed to still and race at the same time. These things, these simple things she called her most prized possessions, her treasures, held no monetary value. Yet they were rich in sentiment. Certainly not the treasures of a spoiled princess. No, they were the treasures of a sensitive, thoughtful, romantic, beautiful young woman. One who'd added his handkerchief to her Box of Wishes and Dreams.

God help him.

"You offered it to me last night," she whispered. "I hope you'll let me keep it. Someday it will be all I'll have of you."

Bloody hell. His heart felt heavy. As if each beat were a blow against his ribs. "Julianne-"

She cut off his words by placing her fingers against his lips. "I want you to know," she said, her gaze steady on his, "that since the moment I met you two months ago, you haven't been out of my thoughts. You're the first thing I think about when I awaken, the last thing I think of before I fall asleep, and you invade every thought in between. What we shared last night was… magical. Incredible. And I want more of it. More of everything. With you. Now. While I still can."

Chapter 17

Julianne saw the fire flare in Gideon's eyes, a heat so smoldering it seemed to set her skin ablaze. He'd spoken of his honor, but surely honor had naught to do with him accepting what she wanted to give him, what she desperately wanted to share with him. All of herself. What she needed to do now was set his skin ablaze. But in spite of the scandalously explicit books she'd read, she had no experience as a seductress. Having information and knowing how to apply it in a situation like this were two very different things. All she could do was let him know how much she wanted him. And pray he wanted her as well.

Her fingers still lay across his mouth, and she traced them over his full bottom lip. Then she stepped forward, until her body brushed the length of his. His nostrils flared, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Encouraged, she rose up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed herself tighter against him. Then nearly sagged in relief. Even if he'd wanted to deny it, he couldn't refute the hard evidence of his arousal.

"Kiss me, Gideon," she whispered against his rigid jaw, the highest spot she could reach without his cooperation. Heart pounding, she squirmed against him, clinging tighter. "Please. Hold me. Touch me. Kiss m-"

Her words were cut off when, with a low groan that sounded as if it were ripped from his soul, he slanted his mouth over hers in a wild, raw, fiercely hungry kiss. One strong arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her closer, banding their bodies together as if they were bound by ropes. His other hand plunged into her hair, scattering pins, holding her head immobile while his mouth ravaged hers. A dark thrill raced through her at the intensity of his kiss. He kissed her as if he wanted to devour her, clasped her to him as if he'd never let her go. His tongue invaded her mouth, a favor she returned, relishing his warm, delicious taste.

Closer. She wanted to be closer to him. To feel more of his hardness. More of his heat. Taste more. Touch more. Just… more.

It seemed as if she could feel her heartbeat everywhere. Pounding in her ears. At the base of her throat. Her temples. Fluttering in her chest and stomach. In her abdomen, pressed so tightly against him. Throbbing in the aching folds between her legs.

Her restless fingers combed through his thick hair, fisting in the silky strands to pull his mouth closer. She heard him groan, then her feet left the floor as he simply lifted her straight up. As if in a daze, she felt him backing up, stopping when he hit the wall. Without breaking their kiss, he spread his legs, curved one large hand around her buttocks, and drew her into the V of his thighs.

And suddenly it seemed as if his hands were everywhere. Skimming down her back to caress her bottom. Plunging into her hair. Dipping into her bodice. Palming her breasts. Teasing her nipples into taut, aching points.

His mouth was equally relentless, trailing hot kisses along her jaw. Licking fire down her neck, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin.

He reached between them and jerked his shirttails from his breeches, then grabbed her wrists from around his neck and slapped her hands on his chest. "Touch me," he commanded in a raw voice against her lips, his warm, rapid breaths mingling with hers. "Bloody hell, touch me."

She was only too happy to comply. She splayed her fingers then dragged her palms downward, slipping them beneath the untucked linen. The instant she touched his skin, they both groaned. His eyes slammed shut, and he dropped his head back, the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed hard.

Slowly she slid her hands upward, thrilling at how his muscles jumped beneath her touch. His skin was smooth and hot, ridged with hard muscle. Her fingers brushed over his nipples then sifted through the springy curls dusting his skin.