He struggled. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against the palm of her hand.

She touched his jaw. "My Alec," she whispered.

All the anger drained out of his face, melting like snow-flakes in a warm spring rain. He bent over and kissed her, his lips barely touching hers. He tasted her with his mouth the way one might sip fine wine. She had known this tenderness was there, underneath that icy veneer he wore like his pride. He set her gently on the mattress before the fire, and then she was in his arms again.

The duke of Belmore kissed with the same command, the same confidence and assurance that had first drawn Joy to him. She adored his flavor, the erotic feel of his tongue stroking and filling her mouth. It made her want something more, made her feel as if she needed to somehow get closer to him.

The roughness of his tongue against hers, against her lips and teeth and the roof of her mouth made her warm and tingling. Nothing in the whole wide world could have been more wonderful than being held by Alec, kissed by him, loved by him.

After little more than one passionate kiss his hands opened the buttons on her dress and stroked her back through the torn gap in her chemise the way a breeze might caress the leaves. His mouth moved to her ear, the rough stubble of his beard grazing her cheek and jaw and raising gooseflesh on her neck and arms. He raised one hand and touched the tender skin along the side of her neck. She opened her eyes and watched him.

He answered the question in her gaze quietly. "So soft. Your skin is so soft. Are you as soft and sweet inside, Scottish?"

"Alec..."

"You are my wife, my duchess, in every way but one." He licked her ear and whispered, "Now, Scottish. I want you now."

She moaned a yes, and his mouth wet a path down her neck. At the same time, he pushed her dress off her shoulders. The torn chemise went with it. The air hit her bare breasts. She sucked in a breath and tried to hide her chest against his.

"No. Let me see you." He held her fast while his mouth and tongue moved across her collarbone and down to a breast. "Let me taste you, watch you pearl for me."

His mouth closed over that taut breast, sucking, his rough tongue flicking across the tip. She groaned and held his head against her while he took more of her into his warm mouth, sucking harder and harder, and with each pull of his mouth she felt something deep inside that most private part of a woman. Such unimagined ecstasy, this thing between man and woman. She closed her eyes and let sensation overtake her.

He went on and on until there was little conscious thought left in her, yet she had never been so alive, so aware of things inside her body that she'd never experienced. She could almost feel her blood thicken and flow honeylike through her, feel the differences between them-male versus female.

His skin was rougher, but that roughness was tempered by the stroking tickle of the thick dark hair that curled on his arms. She ran her hands up them, feeling that warm soft hair. His muscles were firm and hard, his skin darker than hers. And there was some kind of exotic thrill in those differences, and an excitement that was as old as time.

His tongue stroked the crest of her breast sending chills skating over her skin. Her breath rushed out like the tide. His mouth created a mist of kisses over her ribs, the undersides of her breasts, her collarbone. Then he sank into her mouth. She didn't know what it was she wanted, but she wanted something and held him tighter, moved against him with some distant yearning.

As if he knew her need, he ran his hand down her thigh, his teasing touches like wind-kisses, then slid up and under her skirt to stroke the length of her inner thigh with his palm, each time moving closer and closer to the heart of her.

He touched her then, and heavens above, she found what she had craved. She buried her face in his neck and whimpered, half embarrassed and half relieved. He moved his fingers through her private hair, combing until he touched a small damp bud. That touch sent a jab of pleasure through her so sweetly that her eyes misted. She cried out.

"Scottish. Spread for me."

She did, and he rubbed more, making fuller circles first, then using two fingers to press against and between her nether lips, fondling her flesh so intimately that she knew he was the only one destined to do this. After an eternal stroke of time, stroke of pleasure from his knowing touch, he cupped her and kept pressure against her most sensitive point with the heel of his hand, fingering and playing with her. Never would she have believed a touch could be so intimate, but it felt so very good that she wouldn't have stopped him for all the magic in the world.

"Unbutton my shirt," he commanded in a whisper, then moved a finger deeper, massaging along and between her nether lips, flickering the point of her with each stroke.

"Alec." She pushed his shirt aside and down his arms. Her sensitive breasts touched the thick curly hair on his chest and it was his turn to groan. In reaction he pushed his finger into her inch by wet inch, pulling back, only to dip deeper the next time.

Her knees began to quiver, and her breath came in hurried pants. Instinctively she rubbed her breasts against his chest.

"God Almighty." He filled her mouth with his ravaging tongue. He used the arm that held her to pull her tight against him. His other hand, the one that was damp with her, tore at the buttons on his breeches. He fumbled with his clothes, kicking off his boots and pants and shrugging out of his shirt, the whole time he held her. He tossed the shirt behind her. "Stand up."

"I can't. My legs won't hold me."

He swore and pulled her clothes down her hips and knees until he could lift her free of them. His hands gripped her buttocks and held her against his waist. He used one hand to lift her leg around him.

"Lock your legs around me."

She did, and instantly felt herself open, felt the coolness of air against the place his touch had melted. He sat back on his heels and she felt his hardness, the full length of him. He reached between their bodies and opened her flesh more, so the hardest part of him nestled along her. Then he shifted, using his male strength, the hard length of him, to caress her as his fingers had, and to rub against that tender bud.

Her arms were linked around his neck, her mouth fused to his, his tongue filling and retreating with long, slow strokes. His hands gripped her bottom, separating and lifting her as he moved his hips, sliding up and down the length of her nether lips in the same rhythm, the same slow movements, the same thrusts as his tongue.

She dewed against him, could feel his heartbeat, and her own sounded like drums in her ears. She strained toward him even though his hands on her bottom were controlling the movements. She wanted something more.

"Please," she begged against his mouth.

He groaned a response she didn't hear. Gone were the senses of sound and sight. She could taste and she could feel, but no more. He followed her down to the mattress, his hard length still spread against her damp womanhood. He pulled back, and she cried out, but an instant later his fingers separated her and she felt the tip of him penetrate her, enter inside her, and widen her with its thickness.

She stilled. "It hurts."

"Don't move." He stopped, and his breathing increased.

Then he filled her more, and more, until something stopped him. She winced when he gently pushed against it. "No more," she said. "It doesn't fit."

He pulled back a bit. "I'm sorry, Scottish." He thrust hard.

She screamed, then bit her lip to keep from doing so again. She shoved at his heavy shoulders.

"Easy. I won't do any more until you're ready."

"There's more?" She couldn't keep the squeak of horror from her voice.

He took another deep breath and swore softly.

"It hurts."

"I know."

"If it hurts you too, why are we doing this?"

He groaned something, then shifted just enough to place his hand between their bodies. He rubbed the very point of her, but it wasn't the same. She still burned deep inside, and she ached from the fullness of him. His mouth moved to her ear where he whispered to her, calmed her with that deep voice. His finger moved in fast circles, and soon she felt a wonderful shimmer inside, building up higher, and she strained against him.

He shifted then, slowly, with purpose, and she thought he was finally going to leave her body. He didn't. He edged back into her, in eternal inches, then slowly out, his finger stroking and flicking against her the whole time. The pain subsided, and only deep pressure remained, pressure and a shimmer of something that grew and grew.

Soon, the more he thrust, the stronger the glow within her, the more it spread until it didn't matter that he no longer used his finger because each long stroke of him inside her was pushing her closer to the edge of something so wonderful she begged to touch it for even one brief instant.

Her hands grasped his shoulders. The muscles were hard and tense and moist. She wanted to see him, but her eyes wouldn't open, so she called his name over and over in tempo with his quickening thrusts.

A second later it was as if she were finally flying. Her body soared with a pulsing ecstasy that rose from deep within her. Her body clutched the hard, thick length of him over and over while pleasure flooded her soul. It seemed as if it would never stop, and she didn't want it to, was still savoring it when her body finally quieted. Her heart lay open, floating on the wealth of love within it, love for this man who, in one elated magical moment, had shown her the other side of heaven.

He kept on moving within her, faster and deeper as if driven to touch her soul. She was sure he had, just before that wonderful soaring happened again, so fast, so strong, taking her even higher than the last time. She heard her own muffled cries and couldn't stop them, didn't even know what she'd said.

With each slick thrust into her she pulsed again and each time harder than the last. She felt the tickle of something feather-soft floating onto her skin. His touch, she thought, then realized his hands still held her bottom as he continued to drive harder and deeper.

He swore, loudly, just before he pushed once more and held himself inside her, filling her with the warmth of life, pulsing and throbbing as she had.

She clung to him then, their bodies moving as one, time not moving at all. It could have been a few minutes and it could have been a lifetime; she didn't know, and at that very second, she didn't care.

Slowly but vibrantly her senses came alive again.

She smelled roses-wonderful, sweet-scented roses. The air was filled with the sweet tangy fragrance of them. She felt a featherlike touch again on her arms and her face. She opened her eyes.

Hundreds of pink rose petals floated down from nowhere.

She stared at them, stunned, but she could say nothing because her body was still humming from the pleasure of him so buried so deep within her.

She blew a few petals away from her face and listened to their bodies. Her breath came in deep pants and so did his. It sounded so loud in the silent room. His heart beat against hers in a throbbing rhythm. She watched the petals light upon their bodies, drifting down from the same magical place his body had taken her.

He lay resting, possessing the depths of her, their bellies pressed together. Her whole body felt damp and wet. The musky scent of them mixed with the tang of rose petals, the most bewitching fragrance she'd ever breathed. His head lay beside hers, his breathing finally slow and deep. She brushed some petals off his damp back and idly stroked him. She turned her face toward his and whispered, "Now I understand."

He groaned. "What?"

"Why we were doing this."

Alec felt his wife wiggle her hips beneath his."Now it fits," she said brightly.It took him a moment to find his voice. "I'm not sure that's a compliment, Scottish.""I just wanted you to know that you don't have to stop. It fits just fine now."A million comments went through his mind, most of them cynical."That was very kind of you." She patted his shoulder gently."What?""Shrinking so you wouldn't hurt me."He laughed out loud. He couldn't control that sharp foreign sound that came from his throat."You laughed. Oh, Alec, you can laugh! I'm so glad." She was quiet for a blessed minute. Then she said, "I'm not sure what you found so amusing, but that doesn't matter. You laughed." She gave him an impish

grin.He shook his head and searched for an explanation, then laughed again at the thought of how she wouldreact to the truth of how their bodies worked. She was watching him, trying to understand. He could tellfrom her silence. Then she sighed sleepily and snuggled her face into his neck.

She should be tired, he thought. She'd been talking incessantly for the last few minutes. She'd even thanked him. He remembered her yelling the word into his ear after she'd peaked the first time, then saying something about flying. After what he'd just gone through, he should have been thanking her.

He closed his eyes at the thought. The intensity of their joining made him feel like an inexperienced youth. When he looked into her face he felt things too deep to be real. Every time she smiled up at him the freedom of that smile touched a place he had thought didn't exist, and each time it was more captivating than the last. A part of him wanted to curl inside that smile of hers and stay there.

Such foolish thoughts didn't set well with him. He searched for some sense of control; he took a deep breath, and another. God... she smelled of roses, in the middle of winter. He'd noticed the scent earlier, but it seemed even stronger now. He wondered if she had some rose perfume on her skin and thought perhaps the exertion of their lovemaking had brought it forth.

He moved his lips to her neck, but it wasn't skin his lips touched.

It was the velvet feel of rose petals.

He raised his head and saw layer after soft layer of petals. He looked over his shoulder. His whole naked body was covered with pink flowers. He gazed back down at his wife, who looked up at him as if he had just given her every star in the sky.

Odd that he felt a sudden burst of pride at that look of hers. He should have been able to ignore it. He turned away for a moment and saw more petals on the mattress. "There are rose petals everywhere. Pink rose petals."

"I know. Don't they smell wonderful?"

"Why?"

"Why do they smell? I'm not sure. I think-"

"Why are they everywhere?"

She was very quiet; then her face reflected something akin to guilt. "I don't know."

"It is the middle of winter. Roses do not bloom in winter. I am not a fool. Did you think to impress me by conjuring these up?"

"But I didn't! Not on purpose, anyway. They just came out of nowhere." She turned her head aside and took a deep breath. "I cannot always control my magic. 'Tis the curse of the MacQuarries." He could hear the shame in her voice when she quietly added, "I'm sorry."

He watched her fight a silent battle with her own demon and felt something that bonded them, something other than blinding sex. Without a thought, he raised his hand to trace her hairline, something he'd never done to a woman in his life. He touched her hair, brushed the petals away, then pulled the pins from it. It was little more than a rich brown knot of tangles. Slowly he unraveled it, combing it with his fingers, watching the rose petals cling to it. It was so long that when he spread it out beside them, it spilled over the edge of the mattress.

She watched him, seemingly fascinated by what he was doing.

"It's so long, Scottish. I've never seen hair so long."

"It's tangled."

He fingered it, felt the weight of it in his hands. He looked at her then, at her odd face and those deep green eyes that saw the world so differently than he did.

She saw diamonds; he saw ice. She saw fairies; he saw death. She loved life; he despised it.

He closed his eyes and blocked out all that confusion, at least for now. He opened them again and saw that her white skin was flushed and there were pink marks from his rough beard on her chin and lips and -he looked downward-on her breasts. He ran his mouth along the marks. They were the signs of his possession. She could no longer claim that she wasn't his wife, because she was. But it wasn't the power of possession that made his blood flow now; it was pride.

And at that very moment he didn't give a bloody damn about witchcraft or anything else, because he could feel his desire again, feel the tight knot of it in his groin. He rolled over, taking her with him in a shower of petals. She gasped at the sudden motion.

Above him now, surrounded by the sweet scent of roses, she gave him a curious look of innocence, a look that belonged only to her. He kissed her, ran his hand through her petaled hair, and let it spill over them. The deeper he kissed her, the more she responded, and the tighter his desire became. He could feel her hair spill down over their hips in a silky caress of pure sensation. Then she shifted, and it fell between their legs and brushed against the sensitive flesh of his stones.

He buried his tongue in her warm mouth and tasted his wife. She moved her small plush body atop his, opening her mouth wider for him. She learned quickly. He gripped her buttocks, and his hands filled with soft warm flesh and the occasional velvet texture of roses. It was the most sensuous experience of his life.

She moved her hips over the length of him, brushing his hardness with the feminine mound of downy nether hair. He moved then, edging closer to her center.

She pulled back, her eyes wide and worried. He tried to kiss her again, but she held back. "Alec."

He stopped trying to kiss her and took in her worried face. "What's wrong?"

"Can't you shrink it a wee bit?"

He lifted his mouth to her ear to hide his smile. "Don't worry, Scottish, I'll make certain it fits." And he did.

Chapter 16.

Two blissful days passed during which Joy marveled at the way Alec could control and command his body, swelling and shrinking at will. It was the same command with which he did everything else. She had told him so, too. He had laughed again, once. Since then she had carried the memory of that raspy foreign sound cupped like precious fairy wishes deep within her heart.

They'd talked for hours, with her prodding, and he had told her what London would be like, but she couldn't believe that it was as horrid as he said-after all, this was the man who couldn't see the beauty of the snow. He had told her repeatedly what would be expected of her-which mostly boiled down to not doing anything that remotely resembled magic.

However, he did admit that he had been wrong about the contents of the trunk. He'd told her that when he was brushing her hair dry after a bath in which more water ended up on the floor than in the tub or on the two lovers within it. It seemed odd to her at the time that a duke would play lady's maid. But as he slowly drew the brush through her hair, she could see from his face he did not consider it a chore. He seemed to have some fascination with her hair, and the act soon became a prelude to being locked in deep love with her husband.

Afterward, he claimed the brush had been quite good luck, so had the man's shaving kit and an old game of draughts painted on a faded flat piece of tin. He had never played the game, but it was one of her favorites, which was why she had conjured it up along with the brush, his razor, and some other things she felt they needed. She had made a few mistakes, but he had assumed the sack of mush, the knife blade, and the incomplete deck of playing cards were more of the trunk's cast-off contents, and completely useless.

She figured what Alec didn't know wouldn't hurt him.