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He said the last words on a breath, giving her full warning he was going to kiss her again. Yet she seemed incapable of doing anything but waiting for his lips to touch hers.

  And when they did, a shudder broke over her, the shudder of a person finally given exactly what she wants. Her eyes slid closed as she parted her lips and let him drink of her mouth in a slow, sensuous kiss that stole her breath . . . her strength . . . her will.

  It was probably only seconds before he drew back, but it felt like an eternity. When it was over, she felt confused. How could her body betray her by accepting the kiss of a man who’d sought to have her arrested?

  He must have wondered the same thing, for he pressed his forehead to hers and murmured in an incredulous voice, “You truly don’t hate me.”

  She had no earthly idea what to say.

  “I know I had no right to that kiss,” he whispered, “but I’ve spent three sleepless nights remembering that time in your kitchen and wanting you. I couldn’t help myself.”

  And wanting you. The words echoed through a heart already torn by all he’d said to her.

  “Catrin?” he murmured, his mouth so very close to hers. “Can you ever forgive me for lying to you?”

  With a groan, she left his embrace to go stand by the window. No matter how much her mind told her he’d behaved in an ungentlemanly manner, her heart urged her to consider what she would have done in his place. If Bos had been murdered, she’d have told any number of lies to search out his killer. And she’d only known Bos two years, whereas Lord Mansfield had been Evan’s friend much longer.

  “Catrin?” Evan hadn’t moved from his stance by the fire. “Can you forgive me?”

  She knew what her answer must be. “I suppose I can.”

  He let out a breath. “Thank you.”

  Then she felt him move to stand behind her, but she didn’t realize how close until he stroked her hair, which had tumbled down when she’d removed her cloak. He swept the mass aside, then planted a kiss on her bare shoulder.

  Desire slammed into her, panicking her. It was one thing to forgive him, but quite another to let him stay here to kiss and caress . . . and do things that might lead to other things.

  “Now that you have my forgiveness,” she choked out, “you . . . you can leave here with a clear conscience.”

  He nuzzled her hair. “I don’t want to leave. And you don’t want me to, either.”

  Her traitorous body trembled. “That doesn’t signify.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  He turned her to face him, and they stared at each other in silence. His hands rested on her waist, but he made no attempt to do more. Still, the light in his eyes promised so much, reminding her that he’d been the only man to capture her desires, to transform her into a wild woman with one long kiss.

  A knock at the door made them both jump. Evan dropped his hands, though he kept his gaze locked on her.

  “Madam?” called Bos through the door. “It has been more than five minutes. Shall I come back in?”

  Catrin froze, unable to tear her gaze from Evan. He made no sound, yet fear that she might send him away flickered in his eyes.

  “Madam?” Bos’s voice now held a note of urgency.

  “I hear you.” Oh, what to do? She didn’t want to end this moment with Evan. And if she said, “Yes, Bos, we’re finished here,” it would be over.

  “I’ll make this easy for you,” Evan said in a low voice. “If you call your watchdog back in, I’ll leave and never disturb you again.” His eyes burned into hers. “But if you send him away, I will make love to you. I’ll lay you down on that bed there and show you all the desire that’s built in me from the day I saw you emerge from the lake.”

  The clear promise in his words, in his eyes, roused her like nothing ever had.

  “Those are your only two choices,” he went on. “I can’t continue in this in-between state, spending every night wanting you. If I cannot have you, then I must leave. It’s up to you.”

  She sucked in an aching breath. He asked so much . . . too much . . . offering only the pleasures of a moment. After it was over, she’d be spoiled for any other man. She might even find herself with child.

  So she should chide him for his arrogance and send him away. She should flee as fast as her legs would carry her. And yet . . .

  Night after lonely night stretched ahead of her. What good was it to be able to marry when no other man affected her as Evan did? What did it matter if he spoiled her for another, when she didn’t want another?

  She called out, “Bos? Come in, please.”

  Pain slashed over Evan’s face. Then Bos entered and Catrin said, “I no longer require your services this evening. You are dismissed.”

  Evan stared at her disbelievingly as Bos sputtered, “But madam, do you mean you wish me to leave you alone with this—”

  “You are dismissed,” Catrin said more firmly, unable to tear her gaze from Evan. Please, Bos, for once behave as my servant and not my guardian.

  A long silence ensued. She thought she could hear every drop of wax hitting the sconces.

  Then Bos sighed. “As you wish, madam.” And he left, closing the door behind him.

  12

  Evan could hardly believe it. They were alone. Despite his lies, she’d chosen him.

  “Good God, Catrin.” He stroked her face. “I thought when you called Bos in—”

  “If I hadn’t let him see I was unharmed, he wouldn’t have left.”

  “I’m glad you sent him away.” He trailed his fingers over her blushing cheek. She was his now, his by her own choice. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d sent me away instead.”

  “I should have. I shouldn’t have even agreed to see—”

  He kissed her, muffling any further protests. He wouldn’t let her have regrets, not tonight. Drawing her close, he plundered her mouth, relieved that though her mind still vacillated, her body knew exactly what it wanted. She looped her arms about his neck and pressed against him with the guilelessness of a woman who had no idea how much she was about to relinquish.

  Her innocence. And though she believed she couldn’t ever marry and thus would never need it, he felt a stab of guilt at what he was going to take from her.

  That didn’t last long once his body responded to her nearness, her sweetness, her untutored enjoyment. Never had he held a woman whose passion mirrored his, who made him feel driven and hot and eager to do anything to experience her pleasures.

  With Catrin, desire was a golden promise of fulfillment. She was so entirely his. When he smoothed one hand over the lovely curve of her hip, then up her waist to cover her rounded breast, she groaned and arched into his hand like a seagull lifting its body into the wind.

  It fired his memory of how she’d looked emerging from the lake, her rosy nipples showing through her shift. He wanted to see her like that again. Or better yet, bared entirely, so he could stroke her thighs and the lush cleft between them.

  Instead, he contented himself with exploring every secret of her warm, wet mouth as he kneaded her breast through her clothes. Only when he had her trembling did he move his lips down to her collarbone, planting openmouthed kisses everywhere. Pushing down the neck of her bodice, stays, and shift, he found her breast with his mouth and drew hard on the pebbled nipple.

  She dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Oh, Evan . . .”

  The eager whisper drove him on until he had her breasts bared and was lavishing attention on one delicious crest, then the other, reveling in how she twisted her body blindly against him in the urgency of her need.

  His need was just as urgent. He wanted to bury himself deep, to feel her legs clamp about him. Oh, the wicked things he wanted to do with her . . . taste her everywhere . . . have her taste him . . .

  And he’d do them all eventually, but he must be careful with his darling. She wasn’t used to passion. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her off.

  He drew his hand from her. Her closed eye
s and parted lips inflamed him. “I want to see you naked. Will you let me?”

  Her eyes flew open. “I . . . I don’t know. I have no idea what I should do.”

  With a low chuckle, he turned her around to undo the buttons and ties that held her gown closed. “Don’t worry. I know exactly what you should do.”

  She went still as he pushed her gown off her shoulders. “I know you do. You’ve probably done this with countless women.”

  “Not countless.” He dispensed with her stays, leaving her wearing only her shift. Seeing her like that made him grow unbearably hard. “And no one I’ve ever wanted as much as you.”

  He turned her to face him and cupped her cheek, feeling the heat of her blush against his palm. “Would it help if I let you take my clothes off, too?”

  Her eyes went wide. “That would make it worse! Oh, Evan, I shouldn’t do this! It’s wrong!”

  “Does it feel wrong?” He tugged loose the ties of her shift, then dragged the muslin slowly off her shoulders until she stood there naked.

  “Yes . . . no . . .” She trailed off as he raked his gaze down her body . . . to the pert breasts . . . the trim waist . . . the slender hips.

  Her blush spread over her when his gaze reached her triangle of silky hair. She tried to cover herself with her hands, but he caught them, murmuring, “Please, let me see all of you. I’ve dreamed of it in the night, my darling.”

  The endearment seemed to affect her, for although she ducked her head, she let him hold her hands aside and made no move to stop him as his gaze drifted down over her long legs, with their well-turned calves encased in stockings.

  A faint hint of lilacs lingered, reminding him that she was of a higher class . . . one that bathed daily in lilac-scented water and wore clothes of finest muslin.

  As a boy, he’d watched her kind come and go from Llynwydd. He’d marveled at their beautiful garb and clean scent, for on the farm, he’d worn only rough wool and homespun and had been lucky to bathe once a week.

  Now, of course, he could have baths whenever he wanted and dress in fine clothes and mingle with the beautiful people he’d admired from afar. But a voice inside always whispered that he was naught but a farmer’s son pretending to be something better.

  That voice clamored at him now, telling him he had no right to this exquisite woman with her blushes and innocence . . . no right to take a knight’s daughter to bed.

  Firmly, he squelched the voice. Catrin didn’t care about his rank. And she wanted him. That was all that mattered.

  He bent on one knee to untie her garters, then removed both her stockings and her dainty shoes. He stroked up the inside of her thigh, feeling her quiver. “Does it feel wrong to have me touch you like this?” His throat felt raw with his need. “Because it feels right to me. I’ve lain awake every night since we met, wondering if your skin could be as soft as it looked, or your legs so lovely.”

  He rose but kept his hand on her thigh, moving it higher until he was stroking the skin so close to her thatch of curls that they brushed his hand.

  When he covered the hair with his palm, she gasped, but he gave her no time to protest. He took her mouth again, this time more roughly and thoroughly to distract her as he ran his finger along the silken folds.

  She was so damp and warm that he moaned in sheer pleasure. She might be nervous, but she wanted him, thank God.

  When he began to tease and rub her, he thought she’d jump out of his arms, but as he caressed her more boldly, she groaned and pushed against him.

  “It feels right, doesn’t it, darling,” he murmured against her lips.

  Catrin scarcely knew what to answer as he moved his hungry mouth to her breast, sucking at it with delicious fervor. It did feel right . . . and wonderful and thrilling. His mouth roused aches she’d never felt, even in her lonely bed.

  Such magical fingers, too! When one delved inside her, she shuddered at the outrageous intimacy. But as he continued to fondle her, smoothing her fluid warmth over her skin until she tingled all over down there, her shock turned to an absolute pleasure so stunning, she thought she’d die.

  No one had told her it would be like this. On the night before Catrin’s wedding, Grandmother had termed lovemaking a “sometimes pleasant duty,” but had warned there’d be pain the first time. Catrin could easily see how, for she couldn’t imagine anyone planting something inside her the way her grandmother had described.

  But there was no pain yet, just a consuming need that made her fist her hands in his shirt, then flex her fingers against his linen-draped muscles.

  She wanted to touch those muscles more fully, to stroke his bare chest. Feeling a bit foolish, she pulled loose the ties of his shirt. She’d never undressed a man before and wasn’t sure how, but the moment he felt her hands, he helped her, drawing back only long enough to tug his shirt over his head. Then he jerked his breeches, drawers, and hose off. And he was naked, too.

  Holy God in heaven. His was not the body of a scholar, though she’d guessed as much from the fine figure he’d always cut in his swallow-tailed coat and snug breeches. But how had he gained such muscular shoulders and arms? Or the broad chest with its trickle of hair passing down between more of those well-defined muscles to a lean waist and then down to . . .

  She yanked her gaze back to his face, blood flooding her cheeks.

  “Am I the first man you’ve seen naked?” he rasped.

  She bobbed her head.

  “Then perhaps you should do more than look.” With a dark smile, he took her hand and placed it on his chest.

  The thought of touching him shot a thrill through her. She ran her fingers down the sculpted flesh and the ridges of his stomach, marveling at how firm he was. When she moved her hand over his belly with its shadowed navel, his muscles bunched and tightened, and he shuddered.

  She stopped, but he groaned and moved her hand lower until it actually rested on his jutting member. Somehow, his hand over hers, pressing her against him, freed her to explore him with all the curiosity she’d been embarrassed to admit. As she stroked the silky skin and ran her finger over the rounded tip, he uttered a ragged sigh.

  Then she made the mistake of looking, and she froze, her hand still on him. So this hard shaft was to go inside her? But how? It was too big. It would surely cleave her in two!

  In a panic, she jerked her hand from him, but he caught her fingers, lifting them to his lips and kissing them one by one. “Has anyone told you what lovemaking is about, what a man does to a woman in bed?”

  Unable to look at him, she nodded.

  “Then you probably know that it hurts the first time.”

  She nodded again, more insistently.

  He rubbed her hand against his cheek. “I assure you the pain is fleeting.”

  Shaking her head in disbelief, she tried to back away, but he caught her head in his hands, forcing her to stare into his fathomless eyes.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, not even to gain my own pleasure. It will hurt at first, but you must believe me when I say the pain fades quickly. And after that, you’ll enjoy it. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure that you do.”

  As she stared at him uncertainly, he brushed kisses on her cheeks, her nose, her brow. “Everything I can, I swear,” he added in a husky voice. Then, before she could say another word, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  She kept her eyes fixed on him as he laid her down. She didn’t know how to contain her fear, and she wanted to protest that she hadn’t really meant him to do this at all. But she couldn’t. Besides, if she said no, he would leave, and she didn’t want that, either.

  He seemed to recognize her fears, for he lay down beside her and began to caress her body with soothing strokes. “You must tell me what feels good and what doesn’t. You must help me find your pleasure places.”

  She turned her face away, feeling exposed and embarrassed, but he covered her breast with his hand. “This is no time for shyness, darling. Outside o
f the bedroom you may be reticent, but here, with me, you must be bold. How else will I know how to please you?”

  He thumbed her nipple in teasing circles, his voice dropping to a sensuous murmur. “Does this please you?”

  When she remained silent, he started to pull his hand away, but she covered it and pressed it to her breast with a mute look of entreaty.

  He resumed his caresses. “Yes, you needn’t use words. Let your body speak for you.”

  What he said unleashed her reluctance. There was something less shameful about speaking to him in touches, drawing his hands to all the places of her body that had burned for him in the middle of the night.

  And he obliged her every wish. When she pulled his head down, he took her mouth again, with tender delicacy at first and then with more ardor, plunging his tongue inside to mate with hers. When she timidly pushed his hand below her waist, he needed no more provocation to run his hands over her belly, but he soon found places to caress that she’d never dreamed were so sensitive . . . her navel . . . behind her knees . . . inside her thighs to coax her legs apart so he could settle his hard body in the juncture.

  That in itself gave her an unexpected pleasure only enhanced when he settled his hand there, rubbing between her legs until she thrust her hips boldly against those maddening fingers in an urgent need for more.

  She could tell he wanted more, too, for his hand shook as he caressed her, and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. But he was patient and slow, only slipping his finger inside her when she prompted it by widening her legs.

  “That’s it, darling,” he murmured against her lips. “Open yourself for me. Let me in.”

  She clutched his shoulders, moaning her delight as his fingers drove inside the tight passage, deeper and more intimately until suddenly, he lifted his body slightly off hers. Then it was no longer his fingers there but something harder, bigger, inching up insistently inside her.

  Her haze of pleasure shattered. Panicking, she bucked against him as if to throw him off, but that only succeeded in driving him farther inside her. Then he came up against something and paused.