Chapter Twenty-one

DOMINIC RACED RAI, his big dapple-gray stallion, across the rolling heath. A wind had come up, bending the damp green grasses beneath them, and flat gray clouds streaked the dark sky overhead.

He’d been riding for hours, running the big horse flat out until its coat glistened with lather and its sides heaved with the effort. When he finally brought the animal to a halt beneath a dogwood tree at the top of the hill above the stream, Rai’s nostrils flared and his ears swung forward. As tired as the animal was, it was obvious he had enjoyed the run.

Dominic wished he had. Instead, no matter how far from the house he rode, no matter how weary his bones or how hard he worked to busy his mind, his thoughts returned to Catherine.

He was beginning to think he’d go mad.

Last night had been the worst. When he had heard her cry out, something had torn loose inside him. He had raced into the barn to find she had merely tripped and fallen, yet he couldn’t stand the thought of her hurting, even from something as minor as a simple sprain.

That she had stood in the shadows listening to the sound of his laughter made an ache well up in his heart. He had never really believed she had cared for him that much. She had left him, hadn’t she?

The fact that she had given herself to him meant only that she desired him. Plenty of women had. But none had stood alone in the darkness listening to the sound of his voice.

He tried to remember when last he had heard her laugh. An occasional smile, somewhat wistful at that, was the best he could remember. Yet there were times when the sound of it rang in his mind. Times when they had laughed together in the Gypsy camp.

He thought of the way she had come to care for little Janos. Already she felt protective of him. What a wonderful mother she would make. She had a way of taking charge that never offended, yet she always seemed to get things done. In the days since her arrival, the house felt more like a home than it ever had before. Just a few simple changes here and there, heavy drab curtains removed, a window or two left open to let in fresh air.

Even the servants seemed different, as if their routine tasks mattered more because Catherine was there to appreciate whatever it was they had done.

Until Catherine had come, he had never thought of Gravenwold as his home. It was a symbol of all he had learned since he’d left the Rom, things he had accomplished, things he meant to accomplish still. Now, with Catherine’s arrival and the changes she had wrought, it tormented him with possibilities. Dreams of love and family he had never allowed himself before. Dreams he refused to allow himself now.

Dominic dismounted and walked Rai along the streambed, letting the horse blow and cool down a little. The wind ruffled his hair, and he raked it out of the way with his fingers.

He glanced down at them, thinking again of the scene last night in Catherine’s room. Even now his body burned with the memory of his hand on her flesh, her skin warm and soft beneath his. A minute or two more and he would have been lost. Only the memory of his father’s bitter laughter, the sound of his mother’s lonesome weeping, had kept him from taking her there and then.

How had he ever gotten himself into such a coil? How could he extract himself without breaking his vow of revenge? He didn’t understand why staying away from her had become so difficult. He didn’t understand the feelings she stirred—the longings—and he didn’t want to.

Leaving for London was the only means he had of keeping his sanity. He wouldn’t return until he had whored with half the wenches in the city and slaked his seemingly insatiable lust.

Married or not, he would rid himself of his hellish desire for Catherine. When he returned, he would send her back to Arondale. If anything would make her happy, that would.

Then his life could go on as he had planned. Catherine would have her independence—to a point. And he would be able to live with himself.

“None of them understand, do they, boy?” he said to Rai, gathering the stallion’s reins and swinging up into the saddle. “And there is nothing I can say that could possibly make them see.”

They in this case meant Catherine. How did a man explain to a woman reasons for his actions born over a score of years? How could he ever make her see that his Romany pledge to honor his mother by his revenge against his father could not be broken?

There was no way.

Dominic pressed his knees into the stallion’s sides and the huge horse galloped off toward the beckoning fields in the distance. Tomorrow he would leave for London. Maybe there he could find some peace.

*   *   *

Catherine paced the room, her small feet wearing a path in the carpet in front of the hearth. Everything had to be perfect—there would be no second chance. Darkness had fallen hours ago, but the moon was full and tiny white stars sparkled like jewels in the heavens. Dominic would be home soon. At least she prayed he would.

Surely he wouldn’t have changed his mind and left without saying good-bye?

Hearing a knock at the door, Catherine crossed the room and pulled it open. Gabby stood beside two servants who carried a big copper bathing tub and steaming pails of water.

“Set it in front of the fire,” Catherine told them. She had waited till the last possible moment, worried the water would cool. “Hurry, Gabby, help me get undressed.” She turned to the girl as the servants had left.

“Mon Dieu, ’Is Lordship will be mad with lust.”

“I hope so,” Catherine muttered. She still hadn’t told Gabby the truth, just that she planned an evening of seduction and she wanted it to be perfect.

“What did you say?” Gabby asked.

“I said I’m certain he’ll be wildly overcome.” She just prayed he wouldn’t be so furious he wouldn’t even come in. “You won’t forget to leave the note beside his supper tray?”

“I will not forget.” It read simply, Need to speak with you tonight. C.

Catherine glanced out the window for the dozenth time in the last ten minutes. Only this time she saw Dominic riding down the hill toward the stables. “It’s him. He’ll be here any minute.”

“I will fetch ’is supper.”

“Don’t forget—”

“I will put the note where he cannot fail to see it.”

Catherine nodded. A few minutes later, she heard Dominic enter his room. Pressing her ear against the heavy door between their bedchambers, Catherine could hear Percy’s faint conversation, then the thud of boots as they hit the floor.

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering your bath, milord,” Percy told him, and Catherine groaned. How long would that take? Her own bathing water was growing colder by the minute.

Naked beneath the flimsy emerald silk dressing gown that Gabby had fashioned just for the occasion, her hair piled loosely atop her head, Catherine began to pace the floor again. Too easily she could imagine Dominic’s powerful naked torso as he sat in the water of the bathing tub, his long muscular legs bunched beneath him. Maybe she should simply go in and start washing his back. She was his wife, wasn’t she?

Catherine shook her head. Percy might still be in there. She had better stick to her plan. She walked to the door again and pressed her ear to the heavy wood. Percy was leaving at last. She heard the thump of the door closing behind him, then Dominic’s footsteps crossing the floor. Now he would find the note.

She waited, holding her breath. He must have found it, because his light knock sounded at the door. Catherine tossed her wrapper over a chair and stepped into the water, which now felt tepid at best. At least the suds still rose in tempting white mounds to scantily cover her breasts. Ignoring a shiver, she sank down into the suds.

Dominic knocked on the door again, this time louder. “Catherine?”

When she didn’t answer, he lifted the latch as she prayed he would and strode into the room.

“Dominic!” Catherine said with feigned surprise, rising to her feet and reaching for the white linen towel on the table beside the tub. Soapsuds slid down her body and clung to the peaks of her breasts. Droplets of water cascaded down her legs to pool on the floor as she wrapped the scanty towel around her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m afraid I didn’t hear your knock.”

“No?” His dark eyes raked her. “What about the note you left me? I believe it said you needed to see me tonight.”

“Oh, yes, the note. I wrote it early in the evening. I believed quite wrongly that since you’d be leaving on the morrow you would probably be getting home before dark. Would you mind handing me my wrapper?” She indicated the emerald silk robe draped across the chair just a few feet away from him. Dominic picked it up and strode in her direction, his arm outstretched. Catherine reached for it, but when she did, her towel slipped loose and floated to the floor.

“Oh my.” Catherine clutched the lush green silk to her breasts. One tawny nipple peeked from between her fingers.

“What is it you want?” Dominic asked, his jaw taut. He was speaking to her, but eyes like glittering jet slid to the juncture of her thighs, covered only by a small swatch of fabric.

“It would probably be best if I put my robe on first. Why don’t you help me?”

Dominic’s sensuous mouth thinned. Though he wore no shirt, he had pulled on his boots and a clean pair of breeches. Now a hard masculine ridge pressed firmly against the buttons up the front.

With one deft movement, he snatched the robe from Catherine’s grasp, leaving her naked. In the light of the fire and the glow of the candles, beads of water glistened against her skin. Her heavy, upturned breasts rose and fell with each breath, and fiery red-gold hair formed a delicate triangle at the apex of her thighs.

He stared at her with a mixture of hunger and pain.

“I’m your wife, Dominic,” Catherine said. “I belong to you, just as I did at the Gypsy camp. I’m yours to do with as you wish.” She stepped forward, sliding her arms around his neck. Dark bands of muscle pressed into her paler breasts, his skin felt hot, and wavy strands of ink-black hair spun softly around her fingers.

“I want you,” Catherine whispered, and Dominic’s solid arms crushed her against his chest. His mouth came down hot and hard over hers, searing her with its demand, and the heat of his body inflamed her. His fingers slid into her hair, pulling it free of its pins, and it swirled around her shoulders. She could feel his rigid shaft, pressing against her, and wanted more than breath itself to feel it deep inside.

Dominic’s tongue plunged into her mouth and his hands cupped her buttocks, dragging her against him, molding her to his hard length and firing her blood even more. Her tongue parried his, seeking, searching, demanding he claim her.

Dominic kissed her savagely, fiercely—then he tore himself free.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” The fury in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Yes.”

“And last night—you didn’t fall.”

“No.”

“You know how I feel about this, yet you care nothing for my wishes, only your pleasure.”

“I’m your wife,” she defended.

“My wife?” he taunted, still gripping her arm. His eyes ran over her nakedness, making clear his displeasure, and for the first time she felt ashamed. “It isn’t as my wife you’ve behaved this eve—but as my whore.”

Catherine flinched at the cruelty of his words and the venom with which he spoke them. When she fought to break free, Dominic let her go and she stumbled. He tossed her the green silk robe. Catherine pulled it on with shaking fingers.

His dark eyes raked her. “You have played the wanton well, my sweet, but it’s another of your kind whose bed I’ll seek this eve.” Turning, he strode toward the door.

“Dominic!” Catherine caught up with him before he could reach it. “Please,” she whispered, “please don’t do this.”

“It would have happened sooner or later. Perhaps it is better this way.” He jerked his arm free and strode through the door, slamming it loudly behind him.

Catherine stood transfixed, staring at the place he had been. Time seemed to swell as she listened for the slamming of his door, then the echo of his footfalls as he strode down the hall.

Clutching the lovely silk wrapper around her, fighting to block out the chill she suddenly felt, Catherine moved woodenly toward the window, fixing her eyes on the road leading out of the estate. It wasn’t long before she caught sight of him atop his big gray stallion, riding like thunder toward the village not far away. She watched him till he rode out of sight, then sank down on the window seat and curled her legs up under her chin. From her place in the window, she could see well up the road, but there was nothing but a silvery path of moonlight to mark the place where he had been.

Still, she sat there staring, wondering what she had done wrong, telling herself over and over that she’d had to try, then lashing herself for acting like a harlot. Until tonight, she hadn’t realized that a man expected his wife to behave differently than his lover. Now she knew—and it was too late.

She rested her chin on her knees but kept her eyes fastened on the desolate stretch of road. The fire had begun to die down, and the room had turned cold, but Catherine didn’t care. She thanked God for the numbness, the icy chill that matched the coldness in her veins. Where was he now? she wondered, what was he doing? But there was no way to avoid the truth.

He had scorned her affections, even the use of her body. Now he gave himself to another, wrapped himself in her arms and shared with her his need. Catherine closed her eyes against a wave of pain, but she could not fall asleep. Not when the clock on the mantel struck one, not even when it struck three. She just kept staring down the empty stretch of lane Dominic had traveled to sever the last of his affections—if he had ever felt any at all.

What Catherine felt went far beyond that. She knew that now. Her uncle had been right—she loved him still. She would die for him, if it came to that, yet he felt nothing but contempt for her. How could love be so one-sided? she thought vaguely, wondering how life could be so unfair.

Catherine swallowed the bitter lump that swelled in her throat. She had never felt more like crying and yet the tears would not come. She hurt too much to cry.

Or at least so she thought until she saw Dominic riding back down the road.

That was the moment it hit her. Raw scorching pain so deep and abiding that for a moment she thought she might be sick. An image of him lying naked, so beautifully dark and male, rose up before her. But the woman he kissed was another. Some dark, sensuous, nameless woman with lush curves, full, ripe breasts, and a moist mouth bruised from his kisses.

She watched him ride through the massive front gates, his pace much slower than before. But she could barely see him. Tears welled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, blurring her vision. She had lost him—she accepted that now as she hadn’t before—and the terrible ache she felt inside finally overwhelmed her.

Resting her head on her knees, she began to cry. Not soft, gentle tears, but deep, wracking sobs that mirrored the pain she felt in her heart.

She cried for his loss, cried for the love she felt that would wither and die just as surely as it had grown. She cried for her family, for the children she would never hold. For Edmund and his betrayal, for Amelia, for little Eddie, who would now grow up without his father. Mostly she cried for Dominic. For the bitter, empty life he had chosen over the boundless love she had wanted to give him. The happiness neither of them would ever know.

She cried though she wished she could stop. She cried, and wondered if she would ever stop crying again.

*   *   *

Dominic stood at the bottom of the massive stone staircase that led to his second-floor chamber. His hand shook as he gripped the banister and forced himself to take the first step. Above him, he could hear Catherine weeping, an eerie lament that even through the thick gray walls seemed to accuse him. He had never heard her cry that way—never. He had rarely heard her cry at all.

He climbed the stairs, his feet leaden, each step harder than the one before. He had done this to her; he had brought her this terrible sadness. He might have been able to go back to his room if he hadn’t heard her. He might have been able to pretend that tonight had not happened.

Now he could not.

So instead of shutting himself inside the protective walls of his chamber, instead of pretending, denying what he felt inside, what the hours he had spent in the tavern had made so achingly clear, he crossed the dimly lit hall, went into his room, and lifted the latch on her bedchamber door.

It was dark inside, except for the single white candle that sputtered in the deepening wax, and the last orange-red embers of a dying fire. It was cold in the room, he realized, his heart clenching as he stepped in, his eyes seeking, searching, then glimpsing her shadowy figure huddled on the brocade cushion in the window. And her thin silk robe offered no protection at all.

Catherine wept even as he stood there, unseen in the darkness, and knowing that he was the cause, he could not make himself cross the floor. Instead he kept thinking of the women in the tavern, remembering how he had looked into their vulgar painted faces and red-rouged mouths and thought of a lovely gentle face filled with innocence and compassion.

He remembered how he’d meant to follow one of them up to her room, to strip her naked and plunge into her ripe, overused body. How he’d intended to take her roughly again and again, until he cleansed his mind and heart of his hellish need for Catherine.

Instead as he sat there drinking, all he could see was an image of her facing up to Vaclav. Catherine—a countess scrubbing pots without complaint beside his mother. Catherine, who worried for Medela and loved little Janos, who tried to protect a counterfeit marquess from being tossed into prison.

He saw her eyes flashing, her fiery hair tumbled loose around her shoulders as she came to his rescue with a pair of garden shears. He saw her standing there this eve, gloriously naked, soapsuds trailing wetly down her body. He thought of the courage it had taken for her to face his rejection again and again, to offer her warmth, though he didn’t want it. To offer her body, though he offered nothing in return.

He had sat in the tavern, trying to deny what he felt for her, needing her as he had never needed a woman—as he ached with need for her now.

She sensed him then more than heard him, for her head came up and she brushed at her tears with the back of a hand.

“Get out of here.” Her voice sounded strained and uneven as she sat up on the seat pulling the silk robe closer around her, her small feet sliding onto the cold wooden floor.

He deserved her scorn, and yet his heart lurched painfully at the sound of it. He watched a tiny yellow flame among the coals burnish her skin to that same golden glow and thought of what his madness had cost him.

“What do you want here?” she asked. “Go back to your w-whores.”

Her small hands trembled more fiercely than his own, and he wanted to reach out and touch her, to soothe away her tears. He wanted to beg her forgiveness and carry her away. “There were no whores,” he said softly.

Catherine came to her feet, her fiery hair swirling around her, the green silk clinging to her as Dominic wished he could, reminding him that earlier she would have let him take it from her, would have removed even that small barrier, if he had but asked. Now a world of sadness lay beween them, a mantle far heavier than her thin silk robe.

“You needn’t bother to lie,” she said on a ragged breath. “Not when you went to so much trouble to be certain I would know.”

How could he have done it? How could he have treated her worse than any whore? His stomach clenched in bitter self-disgust, and his eyes slid closed against the pain. He deserved her wrath, the terrible loss of her affections. He had taken something fragile, something beautiful, and ground it into dust beneath his heel.

When he made no move to leave, just stood watching from the shadows beside the door, Catherine picked up a silver-handled hairbrush and hurled it in his direction. It slammed against the wall above his head.

“There were no whores.” His soft words echoed in the stillness of the room. He wished there was more he could say, something he could do … but what words were left to a man who had destroyed the very thing he cared for most?

“I want you o-out of my room. I’ll be gone from here in the morning.”

Ah, God He had lost her, and yet he could not bear to leave.

Catherine took an unsteady breath, the tears on her cheeks still glistening in the glow of the candle. She hefted a heavy crystal perfume bottle and hurled it across the space between them. He saw it coming, but didn’t try to avoid it, just let it bounce off his shoulder, the jolt of pain almost welcome. The bottle shattered on the floor, scattering small crystal shards that glittered in the faint red embers of the fire. They reminded him of the fragile bond they’d once shared that he had shattered this eve.

“There were no whores,” he whispered, his voice rough and husky as he started toward her, his boots crunching harshly on the fragile broken glass. In the flickering light of the candle, Catherine’s face looked pale, her eyes desolate. She looked vulnerable and defeated as he had never seen her. He had accomplished with his harsh words and ill care what others could not accomplish with their cruel treatment or their pain.

When he reached her side, he just stood there, his chest tight, his heart aching. His gaze took in her trembling lips, the liquid pools that still welled in her eyes. He tipped her chin with shaking fingers and looked into her face.

“The woman I wanted this night was my wife,” he said softly. “I discovered no other would do.”

Catherine’s breath stilled, her green eyes watching, the hurt in them clear, the pain.

He brushed a drop of wetness from where it clung to her lashes. “You are the woman I wanted … all I’ve ever wanted.”

He thought he heard a tiny noise in her throat, some small acknowledgment of his words. Wary green eyes moved over his face, seeking the lie, but unable to find it. Silently he willed her to believe him, then held his breath and prayed that she would.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said softly. “I need you. I always have.” He knew the very moment she accepted his words as truth, the instant the hurt began to dim. He saw it in the subtle shifting of her lips, the merest blink of an eye. He saw it—and something blossomed inside his chest.

That was the moment he knew for certain, though he had long suspected the truth and it had forced itself on him full-blown this eve. Still, the feeling was too new, too raw, for him to speak the words.

“Forgive me,” he said instead, praying she would know how much her forgiveness meant to him. How much she meant to him. “I never intended to hurt you. I…” His hand came up to cup her cheek. “Nothing … no one … can make me hurt you again.”

From beneath her thick dark lashes, Catherine watched him, assessing, weighing, deciding whether or not she should trust him, aware of the risk she would be taking. Dominic closed his eyes, willing her to take the risk, praying to God that she would, yet afraid of what would happen if she did.

“I love you,” she said softly, her green eyes brimming once more with tears. “My beloved Gypsy, I have loved you for so long.”

Dominic swept her into his arms, clutching her against him, his face buried in her silky red-gold hair. The tightness in his throat made it hard for him to speak. “Catherine…,” he whispered, his chest aching, his own cheeks damp. “Say you’ll forgive me,” he begged, “say it.”

“I love you,” she said. “What has happened does not matter. I want to be your wife.”

“Ah, God.” Dominic bent his head and took her lips, feeling her soft mouth trembling beneath his, thanking God again and again that she was still his. Sliding an arm beneath her knees, he lifted her up, feeling her icy skin, her cold stiff fingers. He had done this to her. God, how could he? He kissed her again, with all the tenderness he felt for her, all the yearning.

“It’s all right, mi cajori, everything is going to be all right.” He carried her over to the bed and kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth. “You’re so cold,” he said, when he felt her shiver. He pulled the covers up to her chin, but left her only long enough to stoke up the flames in the hearth.

“Dominic?”

“Yes?” he said, returning to the place beside her.

“I’m sorry, too, for what happened. I should have known wives were supposed to behave with more—”

“Don’t,” Dominic said, cutting her off, hating himself for the way he had made her feel. “Don’t even think it. You did nothing untoward this eve. It was my fault—all of it.”

“If you wish it, I could try to be more—”

“There is nothing about you I would change. I—” Love you just as you are “Any man would count himself lucky to have a wife who desires him.”

“Any man but you,” Catherine said, echoing the thought he had firmly pushed away.

“What I want no longer matters. It is your needs that concern me now.”

When Catherine started to protest, Dominic kissed her, long and tenderly, then he drew back the covers. The green silk robe did little to disguise what lay beneath, yet that the robe was there reminded him of the barrier he had set between them. Bending down, he kissed the peak of her breast through the delicate fabric then carefully drew it open.

“You’re lovely,” he said, “so incredibly lovely.” Heavy apricot-tipped breasts swelled above a tiny waist and lushly curving hips. His shaft, already pulsing and thick with desire, rose up and hardened even more.

Dominic cupped a breast then bent over to take her nipple into his mouth.

“Dominic?”

He laved the peak with his tongue, then pulled away to look at her.

“You don’t have to do this. If you will just hold me, it will be enough.”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” He took her small hand and rested it on the bulge at the front of his breeches. “Never have I desired a woman the way I do you.”

“But—”

“Hush,” he said softly. “It’s time I made you my wife.”

Dominic covered her lips with a kiss. Catherine felt the heat of it, felt the slick warmth of his tongue, and gave herself over as she never had before. Nothing mattered but his touch, the warmth of his hand—nothing mattered but that he had come home.

“I love you,” she whispered as his mouth moved hotly along her throat and down her shoulders to once more suckle a breast. He drew it into his mouth, his tongue teasing, his strong teeth tugging, firing an ache that made her fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t repeat the words. That he was there, for now, was enough.

Dominic traced a path of fire from her breasts to her belly, his mouth and tongue burning away the last of the cold. His lips trailed wet heat across the flat spot below her navel, his tongue darting in, ringing it, his hands sliding beneath her bottom to gently lift the rounded globes.

“Open for me, cajori,” he whispered, bending over her as he coaxed her legs apart. “Let me love you.”

She couldn’t have done any less, not when his hands asked as softly as his words. Not when his fingers slipped through the thatch of golden-red hair above her womanhood, then moved with quiet determination to separate the sensitive folds below and slide inside.

“God in heaven,” Catherine whispered, feeling his heated strokes, feeling his tongue move along her thigh. There was something of penance in the way he caressed her, taking no pleasure for himself, just settling between her legs, parting them until he had the access he wanted. Then his mouth moved over her flesh to suckle the sensitive bud at her core and his tongue slid inside.

Catherine moaned, and her body went up in flames. How long she had ached for his touch, if only just the merest caress. This—this was ecstasy she couldn’t have dreamed. In minutes she was writhing beneath his mouth, calling his name over and over, consumed by the flames of her passion. She clutched the bedsheets, her hands balled into fists, and in the eye of her mind, a bright wave rose up to sweep her away. Light and touch became one, pleasure and passion and love. A tender sweetness rolled over her until she thought she would surely die of it.

He knew the right time to leave her, spiraling down, lost in a hazy cloud of pleasure that hadn’t yet faded away. Before she could miss him, he returned to her naked, covering her mouth with his, his tongue thrusting between her teeth at the exact moment his hard shaft filled her in one deep savage stroke.

Catherine clutched his neck, her fingers biting into the muscles across his shoulders, her body arching as he plunged inside her. He felt huge and heavy, and he filled her again and again, making the sensuous wave of pleasure return, different this time, but just as fierce and heady. She let the sweetness roll over her, lifting her, carrying her, and savored the warm taste of passion, of the love she felt for the man who held her captive with both his body and his heart.

She felt him trembling just as she was, felt him stiffen, and arched against him, ready to accept his seed.

Instead he pulled away, his hard body jerking, his seed spilling wetly against her belly. She knew only a moment of sadness for the child they might have conceived, then it was gone.

Fifteen years of hating was a very long time. Dominic had come to her when she needed him most. He had proved that he cared. It was all she could ask, more than she had dared to hope for.

“Are you all right?” he asked, brushing damp strands of hair from her cheeks.

Catherine nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He arched a thick black brow. “For what?”

“Coming home.”

His eyes flashed a moment of pain, then it was gone. Dominic smiled gently, lighting her world as no one else could. “I never knew how much I needed such a place until tonight.”

She brushed his mouth with a kiss. “What you said earlier…,” she ventured, though part of her warned her she shouldn’t, “it was the truth?”

Dominic cupped her cheek and turned her face with his hand. “There isn’t another woman in this world that I want.”

Catherine felt a lump rise in her throat and a lightness of heart that nearly overwhelmed her. “I’ve missed you,” she said softly.

“Not nearly as much as I’ve missed you.”

Catherine snuggled against him, feeling as if her world had finally begun to right itself. Dominic drew her into the circle of his arms, and she felt the same possessiveness he had shown toward her in the Gypsy camp. With a sense of hope she hadn’t allowed herself before, she smiled into the darkness.

In minutes the heat in the room and that in her body made her eyelids grow heavy and she drifted to sleep. But when she woke in the morning, Dominic was gone.