The Dangerous Duke

SUKEY unpacked the last of her ladyship’s—no, she corrected herself—Her Grace’s trunks and sorted the clothes into which must be washed and which aired and ironed.

“The green silk tonight, I think.” Sukey hummed to herself as she laid the gown on the counterpane. Just a light press and it would do. The duchess always looked very fine in that shade of green. And the emerald set to go with it. The duke would be proud.

A scratch at the door interrupted her. She looked up, to see one of the upstairs maids bobbing a curtsey, a sly look in her eye.

“Well? What is it, girl?” said Sukey briskly. She wasn’t one to forget her exalted position as the duchess’s personal maid, and she wouldn’t let others forget it, either.

She ought to refuse to receive notes from strange men. Sukey licked her lips. But this particular man . . .

“Ever so ’andsome, he is,” said the girl, speculation bright in her eye. As if to say, I’ll take your place if you’re having none.

Over my dead body, Sukey thought and snatched the note. “All right, don’t stand there gawking. Off you go!”

She watched until the maid left the bedchamber, then she hurried to shut the door. She thought she’d never see him again, but he’d come back to her. Couldn’t stay away.

Well! She wouldn’t be meeting him anywhere after a summons like that. No sweet words, not even a civil request!

Of course, she would need to go to the laundry at some stage today. Until she found a laundry maid she could trust, she must oversee the care of all the duchess’s intimate garments.

And if she happened to see him while she went about her business, who could cavil at that? She’d ignore him, of course. No more than he deserved for thinking he could call her like a dog to heel.

Unhurriedly, she finished sorting garments and picked up her overflowing basket to take it to the laundry.

THE day was bright and fresh, flush with birdsong and the scents of spring blossom. Kate failed to appreciate the natural beauty surrounding her as she drove out with Louisa to visit some of Lyle’s tenants. She’d rather be in bed with the blinds drawn and the covers pulled over her head.

Duty called, however, and Kate knew she’d do better to occupy herself, instead of dwelling on the disaster her marriage had turned out to be. But despite keeping busy all morning, despair over Lyle mired her thoughts and made her sluggish and irritable. Part of her wished she could simply overlook the incident and get on with her new life. But she couldn’t. She needed to know there were some lines of decency and honor Lyle would never cross. She needed to know she could trust him.

The trouble was, she didn’t know how he might go about earning her trust. If only she could set him three tasks to prove himself, like the labors of Hercules. If only she might have some guarantee. But it wasn’t that simple. Perhaps, in the end, she would need to take his good behavior on faith, but she wasn’t ready to do that just yet.

They passed through an avenue of cherry trees, laden with blossom. “Isn’t this pretty?” Louisa broke the silence that had gathered and swelled between them since leaving the stables. Her tone was overbright, as if she attempted to jolly Kate along.

She didn’t quite trust her voice to answer. It had taken all her resolution to face Louisa after Lyle told her his sister had read her diary. She still couldn’t meet Louisa’s eye.

At least she knew her sister-in-law wouldn’t be as shocked by those passionate writings as she might have been. From her reaction to that scene between Lady Fanny and Romney in the barn, it appeared Louisa had liberal views about relations between men and women.

Still, Kate’s embarrassment seemed larger than she was. It filled her and spilled over the sides, rising in her throat, choking her.

After a few minutes of attempting to instigate conversation and observing Kate’s blushes, Louisa said, “You know, don’t you?”

“I am sorry! So sorry!” Louisa burst out, distress drawing down her features. “Lyle told me the translation was necessary for his work.” She searched Kate’s face. “Was it? Necessary, I mean.”

“Oh. Oh.” Louisa hesitated. Then she laid a hand on Kate’s knee. “My dear, can you forgive me? I should have done more to protect you. I very nearly refused to give the translation to Max, but he assured me the information was vital to his government work.”

Louisa regarded her anxiously. Kate bore her scrutiny until she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Don’t look at me!” she said in a tight, hard voice. “I’m so ashamed.”

Kate dropped her hands and stared at her friend. The gig lurched forward, and she quickly tightened the reins again.

“It’s not easy for me to say this,” said Louisa, “but since you have had to bear your private thoughts read by strangers, I will tell you something. You could have been writing my life.”

Kate’s shock must have been evident. Louisa hastened to add, “Oh, I don’t mean the, er, liaison part of it. That would be ridiculous. But . . . I’ve known the pain of loneliness that you described, an ache for companionship that’s so strong, it’s almost physical. It never would have occurred to me to find solace in writing, but perhaps I will try that one day.”

Kate was so moved, she could barely speak. That someone had read her diary and understood! But the despair layered beneath Louisa’s words sobered her. “Is there no hope for you, my dear?” she asked quietly. “I assumed you loved someone unsuitable, for a lady with your gifts wouldn’t remain unwed for so long if she didn’t choose to do so. But the marquis . . .”

“There might have been hope once,” Louisa said. She managed a twisted smile. “But no longer. I will not be forgiven. And perhaps it is better that way. I—I would like to have children and my time is running out. I believe I shall settle on a nice man who will be kind to me, and put the . . . rest out of mind.”

A flurry of movement in the trees ahead made the horse shy. Kate struggled to bring him under control, so occupied with managing beast and vehicle that she didn’t see the figures in their path until Louisa’s hand clamped like a vise over her forearm.

She looked up, to see Perry standing in the middle of the road, his arm around Sukey’s waist. He held a pistol to Sukey’s head.

Horror held her motionless while Perry shoved the maid before him, as if to display her. “Duchess!” he shouted. “Your Grace! Step down from the gig, if you please. You, too, Lady Louisa.” He gloated while they obeyed. “So glad you could join us.”

MAX groaned. His head ached as if someone hacked at it with a blunt meat cleaver. He’d hit the brandy a little hard last night, after she’d left. In this state, he had about as much chance of making head or tail of the estate account books as he had of flying.

She’s leaving me. Over and over, the words beat a tattoo in his tender brain. Max shoved his hands through his hair and blinked hard as the neat figures in their narrow columns blurred before his eyes.

Though she hadn’t left physically, there’d been no trace of his Kate in the polite, coldly correct lady who’d accompanied him at breakfast that morning. The elegant automaton who had answered him readily enough when he spoke to her but cut off every attempt at deeper conversation was not the impetuous, passionate woman he’d fallen in love with.

She withheld herself so he wouldn’t hurt her again. The knowledge struck him like a physical blow. She might as well have picked up a fire iron and thrashed him with it. He’d have preferred that, in fact. At least physical hurt didn’t last very long. The pain of Kate’s withdrawal might never go away.

After that excruciating breakfast, he’d moved through the rest of the morning as if he lived in a nightmare. Every minute slowed until it seemed like a lifetime until he’d see her again. Deciphering the accounts had been a particularly foolish thing to attempt, but he needed something to occupy his mind. Usually, he’d find solace in riding or fencing or punching someone, but he didn’t have the heart for it now.

Brandy would befuddle his brain nicely, but it was too early in the day for drink. Besides, he wanted another chance to talk to Kate when she returned from her errands of mercy in the village. Drunken ramblings weren’t likely to win him her favor.

His heart lurched and set up a frantic pound in his chest. Every time he thought of what he’d done, the pain he’d caused her, he wanted to cut out his heart and throw it down for her pretty feet to stomp on. He knew he’d made a terrible mistake. Every word she’d uttered sank him further in his own estimation.

That was the devil of it. He was adept at analyzing problems, formulating plans, and acting on them with ruthless speed, but he couldn’t begin to devise a solution for the most important conundrum of his life.

Jardine took off his hat, dropped his gloves into it, and set it on the desk. “I’m here because you asked me to come, old man.”

How could he have been that stupid? “Did I?” For the life of him, he couldn’t recall why. Then he remembered. He’d wanted Jardine’s help in the arson case.

Jardine spoke before he could marshal a response. “Thought you’d rid yourself of that puling whelp.”

“Perry. Saw him skulking around in the vicinity. Thought you’d given him his marching orders.” The devilish brows descended over his bright, dark eyes. “If you haven’t, you’re a damned fool. Anyone can tell he’s infatuated with you.”

An odd choice of words. “Infatuated. Perry?” The ironic curl to Jardine’s mouth made Max uneasy. Suddenly, realization dawned. “You don’t mean—”

“My God, Your Grace, did you just come down in the last shower?” Jardine mocked. “You didn’t know?”

Impossible! Max dismissed the notion that Perry might . . . “Hero worship,” he said stubbornly. “Perry looks up to me as a mentor. A father figure.”

“Yes,” purred Jardine. “And we know what Perry’s father did to him, don’t we?” That saturnine smile chilled Max to the bone.

Blowing out a breath, Max straightened in his chair. He’d had no idea. Not the slightest clue. How blind, how stupid he’d been! But he wouldn’t allow Jardine to make sport of the lad. “I’ll speak to Perry,” he said briefly. “But that wasn’t why I asked you to come. It’s about the fire.”

He told Jardine about Tucker’s assertions that a stranger had arrived at the estate and stirred up resentment shortly before the day the blaze broke out.

“Not at all.” Jardine narrowed his eyes. “The government must be seen to be dealing with unrest. Whether that unrest is genuine or fomented by government spies is neither here nor there. All the more excuse for Sidmouth to maintain the state of emergency and increase the government’s powers to unprecedented levels. He’s not likely to discourage the practice if it yields benefit.”

“So we might be looking for one of us,” said Max. “A Home Office Johnny seeking adventure and excitement— and a substantial reward. Someone with something to prove.”

Fumbling a little, Max pulled out his file and found the sketch Tucker had drawn. He examined it closely, focusing on lineaments rather than depth of color and features that could be disguised or changed.

Lighten the hair, clothe him appropriately, and remove the beard that covered half his face and that sketch might well be Perry. The eyes should have been unmistakable, but it was a pencil sketch, not a painting, and therefore played down Perry’s most distinguishing features.

The revelation hit him like a horse kick to the gut. “Do you know what this means, Jardine?” The horror of it surpassed anything Max could have imagined. His chest squeezed painfully. “It can’t be true.”

For once, even Jardine’s eyes widened in shock. “Deranged.” He shook his head. “He killed all those people so that you could be a duke. Such is the extent of his devotion.”

It was bizarre, yet chillingly probable. There’d been two men and their sons standing before Max in line for the dukedom. All had attended the reading of the old duke’s will. All had died in the fire. Could it have been contrivance on Perry’s part? Bitter, hot bile surged to Max’s throat. He could barely comprehend such warped reasoning, but it made horrible sense.

Slowly, Jardine shook his head, and the truth broke over Max like a douse of cold water. Frustration at his powerlessness simmered inside him. “It’ll be swept under the carpet, won’t it? Faulkner can’t afford to let the public know he’s planted agents around the country to stir up trouble.”

“Oh, you’ll find our Perry is well protected,” agreed Jardine. “Even if it weren’t such a sensitive situation, he won’t see the inside of a prison cell, much less swing for it.”

“Faulkner’s—” Max broke off, feeling a fool. Why hadn’t he seen the truth? It all made perfect sense. No wonder his objections about Perry had fallen on deaf ears all this time. Faulkner wanted him close. Very close, if Jardine were correct. And Jardine usually was correct in these matters. It also explained Perry’s contempt and resentment for Faulkner. Even through his disgust and horror at the crime Perry had perpetrated, a twinge of compassion struck him.

Perry’s father had used his son vilely. It seemed Faulkner might have preyed on the vulnerable young man, too. “Unforgivable,” he said.

“Yes.” Jardine walked to the long window and stared out. “With that history, is it any wonder the lad’s half crazed?” Suddenly, he swung back to face Max, dark eyes glittering under devilish brows. “But don’t you see, Lyle? We have him now. We have Faulkner by the balls.” He made a crushing gesture with his fingers. “Right where we want him.”

Coldly, Max said, “I’ve no interest in your political scheming, Jardine. What will we do about that damned boy?”

Jardine shrugged. “Pack him off to Jamaica or Africa or some other godforsaken place. If you try to have him arrested, Faulkner will quash the charges before the committal hearing. You won’t see him hang in England.”

Despite the devastation he’d wrought, Max was no longer sure he wanted to see Perry hang. God, what a tangle!

“Letter arrived for you, Your Grace.” Max hadn’t even noticed the butler standing in the doorway. With an irrational surge of fear, he snatched up the letter and opened it.

Your Grace—
I have her. Did you think I’d let her take you away?
Come to the old theater, alone.
I want to kill her while you watch.

The letter was like a punch to the gut, sucking the air from his lungs. Winded, blinded by rage and terror for Kate, and for Louisa, too, Max simply sat there, clenching that taunting message in his fist.

Perry had Kate. The world around Max slowed. His throat tightened and a pulse thumped there. As if his heart blocked the air passage, as if he might choke to death on his fear.

Move! A voice inside him bellowed like a sergeant major over the din of his heart and the harsh drag of his breath. The silent bubble that cocooned him for those few seconds burst, and the outside world resumed its normal pace.

Years of conditioning kicked in. A mission. Another mission. A job, that was all. He needed to believe that, or he wouldn’t be able to function well enough to defeat Perry. Having just resolved to win back his humanity, he needed to shed it again to save Kate.

Max unlocked a desk drawer, took out his pistols and loaded them, cool deliberation overtaking his mind. His hands deftly manipulated gunpowder, ball, and pistol in practiced, disciplined movements. His hands didn’t even shake, though beneath the sheer layer of icy calm, agonized fear coursed like a torrent through his body. This was what he was trained for. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

Max’s voice rasped like a rusty gate. “Perry’s got Kate. My sister is with her. God knows what he’ll do.”

SO much for self-defense, thought Kate, with an anguished roll of her eyes at Louisa. Despite having three strenuously objecting women to deal with, Perry had managed remarkably well. Lyle would be proud of his protégé.

He’d bound the three of them together by their hands, so they sat like the spokes of a wheel with their backs to one another on the stage of a small, dilapidated theater in the castle grounds.

Perry sat on the edge of the stage between the foot-lights, crooning to himself as he scored his hand with the tip of his hunting knife.

As the network of red welts built on his palm, Perry set down his knife and rolled up his sleeve. He continued the crisscross pattern further up his arm until it blurred, smeared with his blood.

His face remained eerily serene all the while, not once registering pain. Kate’s stomach churned. If he could do that to himself, what horrors might he inflict on her and Louisa and Sukey?

She hadn’t imagined the hatred in his eyes when first they’d met. Perry was clearly unhinged, more dangerous than a paid assassin could ever be.

What was he waiting for? Kate wanted to ask, but drawing attention to herself while he was in the mood for cutting into human flesh didn’t seem like a good idea.

With a glance in Perry’s direction, Louisa ever so slightly shook her head. “Double-jointed,” she mouthed.

Another hand flexed, doubled and compressed, painfully, slowly wriggling free. Kate glanced at Sukey, who seemed to have slipped into a daze of terror. Goodness knew what she’d endured in the lead-up to this event. Kate prayed all three of them would live through this.

Working quickly, silently, with one eye on Perry, Louisa managed to loosen Kate’s bonds enough for her to tug her hands out of the rope.

With a jerk of the head, she indicated the unresponsive Sukey. After some difficulty, Louisa eased the rope from her hands, too. What would they do if Sukey couldn’t run?

Kate scanned the stage for possible weapons. A thick layer of dust covered everything, but she distinguished some wooden swords standing upright in a box. They’d be no defense to a bullet, but she couldn’t let herself worry about that. Perry only had one pistol, which meant one shot. Her lips twisted. Ever the optimist, Kate.

A storm of booted footsteps set Kate and Louisa into motion. They launched to their feet and ran for the stage door, dragging Sukey with them, while Perry leaped up, his knife and his bleeding arms forgotten.

Kate had hoped he’d leave them and concentrate on the footsteps coming ever nearer, but she heard him shout at her to stop and the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked.

She froze, willing the others to get away while they could. “He wants me! Damn you, Louisa. Go!” she roared.

“You can’t win on this one, you little snot rag,” came Jardine’s voice. “I have you in my sights and if you so much as sneeze in the duchess’s direction I’ll shoot your damned head off. Understand?”

Lyle walked out onto the open stage unarmed, looking relaxed, as if he were taking a stroll in the park. “The pistol, Perry. Give it to me.”

His deep voice was calm, his gaze steady. Kate marveled at his cool composure. But then, he did this sort of thing for a living. She shivered. If she got out of this alive she’d make Lyle promise never to work for the Home Office again.

“You heard Jardine, Perry,” he said in an even, soothing voice, as he eased ever closer. They were almost arm’s length apart now. Perry seemed to stare through him with those brilliant blue eyes, as if he existed in another realm, perhaps the one inside his sick, befuddled head. Blood stained Perry’s shirtsleeves. Had Kate done that?

“Jardine is here. I’m here. You can’t win,” said Max gently. “Come now, lad. Let’s not part as enemies. Give the pistol to me.” On the last word, he reached for the gun.

Perry, who’d seemed transfixed while Lyle spoke, shot to awareness at the last second. He yanked the gun out of Max’s reach and swung it in Kate’s direction. “I’ll kill her!” he screamed. “I’ll do it! I will!”

Terror lent Max lightning speed. He clamped his hand on Perry’s wrist, trying to bear his arm upwards to deflect his aim from Kate.

He didn’t know if she’d obeyed. He and Perry scuffled in a desperate clinch. Driving his elbow into Perry’s solar plexus, Max twisted one hand free to smash him in the jaw. Perry staggered, a look of shock exploding over his face. His expression switched to accusation, as if he finally realized the truth of Max’s allegiance.

With a strangled roar, Perry swiveled his hips and shoulders, wrenching free of Max’s grasp in a practiced wrestling move. Max looked around wildly for Kate, but she must have obeyed him for once and hidden behind one of the props on the stage. Louisa had also disappeared.

He switched his attention back to Perry, who had scrambled beyond Max’s reach. The boy held his pistol in a slack, dangerous grip. He was volatile. He might try to kill Max next.

Max spread his hands in a placatory gesture, still attempting to end it without bloodshed. But when Perry slowly lifted the pistol with a white, shaking hand, he didn’t aim it at Max. He pressed the pistol to his own temple.

“What do you care?” jeered Perry, his lips curling in an ugly sneer. “You wouldn’t care if I lived or died.” His eyes reddened, the pain in them raw and ugly. He began to cry, in wrenching, ragged sobs. Watching for his moment, Max saw Perry’s grip on the pistol slackening slightly, his finger lift from the trigger.

That moment of inattention was all Max needed. He launched himself at Perry and knocked his pistol hand away, fighting a grim battle for the weapon.

Perry’s manic strength seemed to have trebled, and it was no easy thing to overpower him. As they swayed, locked together in a desperate tussle, a thought flashed across Max’s mind, treacherously persuasive. He could let him. He could let Perry end it. If Perry survived this encounter, Faulkner would make sure he wasn’t tried for murder. If Perry went free, he would come after Kate again. There was no question about that. While this boy lived, Kate would never be safe. How could he let her future be consumed with fear?

A fortnight earlier, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Do it! said the hardened operative inside him. What are you waiting for?

He wasn’t an operative anymore. A man of honor wouldn’t take the simple course, because it wasn’t right. He wouldn’t let this sick, sad boy die by his own hand.

The resolution lent him a surge of strength. Max locked hands around Perry’s wrists, forcing him to point the pistol to the ground. He managed to squeeze the trigger. The gun exploded, and Max used the momentum of the recoil to twist the useless weapon out of Perry’s grip.

Jardine materialized in an instant, taking Perry into a painful, incapacitating hold. Still, the boy struggled as much as he could, screaming at Kate. “I’ll kill you! I’ll do it if it takes me the rest of my days, you bitch!”

Max stood there watching their receding backs, his chest heaving. He stared down at the pistol in his hand. If she didn’t come back to him now, he might as well shoot himself.

“Max!” Kate ran out from behind a screen, joy and relief flooding her voice. She hurtled into his arms. He closed them around her and buried his face in her hair.

“I’m so glad you came!” she babbled. “I had a plan, and it might have worked, too, if he’d missed his first shot.”

Max tightened his arms around her. “Don’t even think about it. My God, woman. You’ll be the death of me yet.”

She gazed up at him, and his heart turned over at the love that shone in her eyes. “You stopped him. You didn’t let him die.”

With that simple statement, he realized she’d sensed his struggle in those few seconds when he’d wanted to choose the easy path. Bright, intelligent, intuitive woman that she was, she knew what it had cost him to let Perry go. And despite the kidnapping and attempted murder, Kate’s generous heart was glad at Max’s choice. She prized his honor and his conscience over revenge for Perry’s misdeeds.

How could he be so lucky? After all he’d put her through, Kate loved him still. He tightened his embrace and set his lips to hers.

“Stay here.” Max dashed outside, passing Sukey, who cowered in the wings next to the stage. Of course, the women hurried after him. They all stopped short.

Max quickly gathered Kate and Louisa into his arms and turned their faces into his chest. Sukey sobbed noisily behind them.

Despite his noble intentions, the boy had died anyway. Max couldn’t help the wave of relief that flooded him, but there was an equal mixture of guilt. Should he have predicted this? He’d been too caught up in Kate to consider what Jardine meant to do with Perry.

“Louie, don’t—” Max watched Louisa run to Jardine and hit him, pummeling his chest with all her might. “How could you? How could you? You’ve killed him, you murderer!”

With an oath, Jardine gripped her by the shoulders and shook her into silence. “If I had, it would have been a mercy, like shooting a rabid dog. But I didn’t kill him, Louisa. He carried a second pistol. He shot himself.”

To Max, looking on, the statement bore the ring of truth. There was even a tinge of chagrin in Jardine’s tone, as if he were furious with himself for letting it happen. Jardine never made mistakes. But it seemed this time, he had.

Louisa had stopped hitting Jardine, but she jerked from his hold and stepped back, white-lipped and shaking. “ I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “You could have stopped him. You make me sick, do you hear me, Jardine? Sick to my stomach. I want nothing to do with you, ever again.”

Jardine’s expression was grim as he studied the gun in his hand. He looked up. “I know, Louisa. You made that quite clear when last we met. But we are destined to be together, my love.” He flashed her a bitter smile. “And nothing I do and nothing you say will ever change that.”

THE door flung open and Kate and Max fell into her bedchamber, kissing so hard and urgently, their teeth clashed together, ripping off each other’s garments as fast as they could.

Max kicked the door shut behind them and spun Kate around, cursing under his breath at the waste of time unlacing her stays.

As the corset fell to the floor, he squeezed her breasts through her chemise and bit her neck hard. She shuddered helplessly, almost climaxing there and then, but she needed to feel him, skin to skin, so she stepped out of her petticoat and ripped the chemise over her head.

Max moved away to take off his boots and shed his other clothes. She watched him, coveting every inch of skin, every hard muscle, every scar he revealed. When he was completely naked, she remembered her shoes and stockings.

She turned and set her foot on the stool of her dressing table. As she bent to undo her garter he came up behind her, smoothing his hands over her shoulders and down her back in an entirely possessive way.

“Leave them on,” he growled, hot breath in her ear. “I like the way your legs look in them.” He tweaked one of the ribbons on her garter, brushing her thigh with his fingertips. “Like a present, waiting to be unwrapped.”

She shivered, and he continued to speak explicitly about the things he’d do for her, with her, to her, until she could barely stand for excitement. He urged her to kneel on the stool and she held on to her dressing table for support in a clatter of scent bottles and cosmetics.

But his hands, those big hands, roamed her body, not gently, but hard and demanding, just as she wanted, at least this time. They’d share many quiet, gentle nights in the future. Their recent escape from death made the drive to celebrate life and their love in the most primitive way overpowering.

“Don’t be shocked.” Lyle dipped his fingers into her soft, wet folds, positioning the head of his erection between her legs from behind. “But I’m going to come inside you now.”

Kate shuddered. The idea seemed wicked, decadent, and also strangely thrilling. Intrigued, trusting him completely, she waited, tense with anticipation. His member nudged her entrance, opening her, and the slow slide of his shaft as it forged its way inside, stretching and filling her, made her gasp and grip the dressing table tightly to anchor herself. She closed her eyes, reveling in their closeness, in the sweet agony that rippled through her body as he inched forward.

When he didn’t move, when the longing became unbearable, she opened her eyes and saw his reflection in the looking glass, all broad shoulders, muscular chest, and flat, taut stomach. The sight of his big hands splayed so possessively over her hips made her tremble. Those hands . . .

How she loved him, loved the feel of him inside her. And she didn’t need to hide it any longer. Boldly, Kate met his eyes in the glass. “Please,” she whispered.

Holding her gaze in a searing connection that sizzled right to her toes, Lyle gathered himself, then surged home with one powerful thrust, ramming against her womb. She cried out at the potent, sweet mix of pleasure and pain, wanting it to go on and on.

He gripped her hips and stroked a slow, steady rhythm, rubbing an exquisitely sensitive place inside her that made her insides clench, desperate to keep him there as long as she could.

His eyes were shut now, and the expression on his face, not of strain but something close to awe, touched her heart. This was the lover she’d seen in him from the first. This was the man she’d wanted all along.

Bending over her so his body spooned hers, he growled in her ear, “And now, my dear, I’m going to ride you harder than you’ve ever been ridden before.”

Kate turned on her side, snuggling her back into the hard, muscled warmth of Lyle’s chest. He kissed her shoulder and she sighed. His palm skimmed up her torso and came to rest possessively over her breast.

He squeezed her nipple, sending a jolt of ecstasy through her. “If you like the way I . . . love you, why did you write differently in your diary? Your phantom lover was slow and gentle. Why fantasize about something you didn’t really want?”

That question had occurred to her also, and she’d realized there was no simple answer. Kate picked up a lock of her hair that lay spread across the pillow. She pulled it taut and pretended to examine it. Then she gave a small, embarrassed shrug. “I suppose the truth is I didn’t know what I wanted. My marriage with Hector was . . . uneasy. Difficult. He did not desire me at all, you see.”

A giggle caught in her throat. “No, he just couldn’t seem to, er, harden. Down there.” She blushed, refusing to meet Lyle’s eye. Despite all they’d done together, she still didn’t feel comfortable discussing such things.

Lyle grunted. “I assure you, the problem was entirely his. If he said it had anything to do with you, he was a damned liar.”

Her chest burned with the knowledge. How like Lyle to cut to the heart of her fear. “H-he said I was too eager, too bold. My wanton behavior disgusted him. He didn’t like his wife to behave like a common trollop.”

Kate nodded, sinking into him, relishing his warmth. “I believe now that he did have a problem, but at the time . . . Well, at the time, I so desperately wanted someone to love. Someone who would be kind.”

She turned in his arms to face Lyle and ran her palm over his chest. His gray eyes lit with tenderness, warming her heart. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t know what real passion was until I met you. I didn’t know what I wanted until you gave it to me.”

To her delight, a slight flush tinged Lyle’s lean cheeks. He tilted her chin and took her mouth in an aching, sweetly carnal kiss.

Lyle’s lips drifted to her ear. “To think if it weren’t for that diary of yours we could have had this so much sooner,” he breathed. Thrills skittered down her spine. He kissed his way down the tender skin of her throat.

His palm brushed over her nipple, rolling it to a hard peak, then pinching it with exquisitely judged pressure. “No, I don’t regret that. Reading your fantasies was one of the most erotic experiences I’ve ever had.”

The knowledge didn’t seem to trouble her anymore. With a secret smile, she ducked her head to kiss his chest. “Perhaps I shall begin a new diary.” She trailed the tip of her tongue along his collarbone, tasting salt and man.

“So that I can read it?” Lightning fast, Max rolled her onto her back, pinning her down with his hips, a wonderful, solid weight.

She reached up to cup his jaw with her hand, imprinting this moment in her mind. “So I can remember nights like this. Always.”