He took her hand, unfolded it, and looked at the angry red scar. He ran his tongue over it, thought of all she'd risked in order to save him. "I hate that they did this to you."

"I'm not. You might not lick my palm otherwise."

"I shall lick your palm and a good deal more again before the night is done."

"I think you talk a good deal more in bed than out."

"Not usually." He grimaced. It was bad form to refer to being with other ladies, but the truth was that tonight had been very different from any previous encounter with a lady that he'd experienced. Catherine was remarkable. He wasn't certain that he could ever have enough of her.

He cradled her breast, flicked his thumb over her nipple, took delight in watching it pearl. "It shouldn't hurt so much the next time."

"Will there be a next time-with you, I mean."

His stomach knotted with the thought of her having a next time with someone other than him, but he thought he successfully managed to keep his thoughts from showing. Instead, he grinned at her and said, "If I have my way."

"Tell me what I can do to make it better for you."

"If you make it any better for me, Catherine, I'm likely to die from the attention."

She smiled, and he saw how his words pleased her.

"But it would be a lovely way to go wouldn't it?" she asked.

"I'd rather stay around if you don't mind."

"I don't. Not at all. But I want to know that I please you."

"You do. Very much. You never struck me as a woman who needs rea.s.surances."

"Whether or not a woman needs them, she likes to have them." She skimmed her fingers over his chest. "I like touching you."

"I like you touching me."

She furrowed her brow. "I wish you hadn't had such a harsh life."

"There are those who had it much harsher. Some still do."

"That's the reason you're working toward prison reform."

He shrugged. "I will once my peers accept me, but that's not pleasant bedchamber conversation."

"Well, then, what is?"

"This." He lowered his head and kissed her, relishing the eagerness with which she returned his attentions.

She knew the very worst about him, and yet still she came to him. Knew the very worst about him, yet still she welcomed him. No hesitation, no turning him aside because she feared his world or worried that she wasn't good enough.

He didn't want anyone else in this bed with them. Catherine deserved to be the only one on his mind, the only one he thought about, the only one he wanted to please.

She was the only one he wanted to please.

At that moment, no one else mattered. Nothing else mattered. Not the possible danger that might be rushing toward them. Not the innocents who needed to be protected. Nothing mattered except Catherine, now, in his bed.

The musky scent of heated s.e.x mingled with her sweet rose fragrance. He inhaled deeply, filling his nostrils, savoring the unique perfume they created together. Kissing her deeply, he slid his hand along the concave of her stomach, tangled his fingers in the springy curls nested between her thighs. She was wet and hot, ready for what he had to offer her.

He ran his hand up to her hip, trailed his mouth along her throat.

"Oh, G.o.d, please don't stop," she gasped.

He nestled his face in the curve of her shoulder, pressed a kiss just below her ear, and rasped, "Have you fantasized about this?"

"More than you'll ever know."

"How did you know what to fantasize?"

She rolled her head from side to side as though lost in ecstasy. "Instinct I suppose. Must we talk?"

Chuckling low, he embraced her and rolled to his back, bringing her with him, listening to her tiny squeal as she landed atop him, straddling his hips, looking down on him, while her glorious, abundant hair formed a curtain around them. He threaded his fingers through the golden strands, brought her mouth down to his, and kissed her eagerly, hungrily.

He loved the way she held nothing back, didn't pretend timidity. She wasn't embarra.s.sed by her nakedness. Somehow he wasn't surprised by that. His dear, bold Catherine was in this bed with him now, just as she'd been in Dodger's back room beating him at cards, just as she'd been in that alley fighting to save him, just as she'd come to his library in the middle of the night to make him a daring proposition in order to protect a friend.

He'd never known anyone like her, never known anyone who mesmerized him as she did. Had never known anyone he wanted more.

Tearing her mouth from his, breathing heavily, she stared down at him. "Can we make it work this way?"

He grinned. "We can make it work any way we want."

She ran her hands over his chest. He cradled her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, adoring the weight of them in his palms. There was no aspect to her that he didn't adore.

Raising her hips, she wrapped her fingers around him. He groaned low in antic.i.p.ation.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"G.o.d, no."

She slid down, enveloping him in her silky wetness. He almost spilled his seed then and there. Instead he clenched his jaw, fought for control. He ran his hands up her slender back, slid them back around to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and began to knead her soft flesh.

Dropping her head back, she moaned. Then she began to ride him as though her life depended on it.

He thought he would die from holding back-but he'd not give in to his own release until he'd given her hers. But she felt so wonderfully good, her pa.s.sion igniting the blood rushing through his veins.

She rocked against him, her cries escalating. He pumped his hips as she drove herself down. Her fingers were digging into his shoulders, his fingers were holding her hips, each of them holding on for dear life. He'd never experienced anything this intense.

He had to hold back, for her, for her- But his body wouldn't be held back. He bucked beneath her, his deep feral groan nearly drowning out her cry of satisfaction, her back arched, her face carved in an expression of awe and wonder. Shudders wracked his body as the pleasure coursed through her.

She went limp, falling to his chest, spent. He wasn't sure where he found the strength to wrap his arms around her, but he wanted to hold her close too much not to find the energy. He thought he could lie there forever. If he died this moment, he'd die content.

Never in his life had he ever known such peace, such joy. He'd thought once more with her would be enough. But as he held her, and listened to her breathing, he feared he might never have enough of her.

18.

They walked from the house in the early hours of the morning, with him carrying a picnic basket, while she carted a blanket. She wore a servant's dress that he'd located for her in the servant's quarters, because she'd brought so little of her own clothing. It wasn't confining and in a way, she preferred it to her usual attire. She was surprised that she could feel so relaxed knowing what awaited them.

That morning, after another rousing session of lovemaking, Claybourne had tried to convince Catherine to go to the village and wait for him there, but she'd brought them to this moment. She wasn't about to retreat now. He thought it would be another day or so-possibly longer-before Avendale made an appearance. Catherine wasn't certain that he'd show at all.

But she was delighted with the prospect of having a picnic with Claybourne.

They walked for some time before they reached a pond. While Claybourne spread out the blanket, she asked, "Are there fish in there?"

He stilled, looked at her, looked at the water. "I think so."

"Have you never fished in it?"

He closed his eyes, shook his head. "I don't think so. No."

"Is your head bothering you?"

He opened his eyes and smiled. "Only a bit. It'll go away."

"I wonder what makes it hurt."

"People have headaches all the time. It's nothing in particular."

"I don't."

"Then you're very fortunate."

He took her hand and helped her to sit on the blanket. She glanced around. "Are you certain we shouldn't be more alert?"

"We'll become more vigilant this evening, and I have men watching the roads. For just a bit longer, let's pretend that all is right with the world."

He poured them each some wine and removed a block of cheese from the basket.

She took a sip of wine. "Do you want to hear something silly?"

Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss. "I'd never consider you silly."

"It could just be wishful thinking, but I don't think Frannie would find fault with all that's happened between us."

His jaw tightened. "I don't intend to tell her."

"No, I wasn't expecting you to. It's just something she said."

He narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"When I told her that I didn't want you to be alone, she encouraged me to come with you. She even said that I shouldn't leave you alone at night. I think she was giving me permission to be wicked." Voiced aloud, it sounded even sillier than it had bouncing around in her head. "That sounds so ludicrous, doesn't it? If you were mine, I certainly wouldn't give another woman-" She stopped, glanced around. "The hole I'm digging is getting rather large, isn't it?"

"Do you feel guilty about last night?" he asked.

"Strangely, no. Do you?"

"I know I should, but I don't. I suspect because Frannie doesn't really consider me hers, yet. I'm beginning to realize that I'm simply one of Feagan's lads, and that you had the right of it. I need to spend more time with her. Our feelings, I fear, are based on our childhood, not our adulthood."

Oh, yes, the hole she'd dug was monstrously large now, large enough to bury her. She wished she'd kept her thoughts to herself.

"If I ask about your childhood will you tell me that it isn't proper picnic conversation?"

He grinned. She did so love it when he looked as though he hadn't a care in the world. She imagined that he had so few moments like that and she relished each one he shared with her. He stretched out on his side, raised up on his elbow, and studied her for a moment, before asking, "What do you want to know?"

She was almost giddy and...Drat it! She couldn't think of a single question, or at least a single question that she didn't think would ruin his good humor. But she wanted to know so much.

"You killed Geoffrey Langdon."

He swirled the wine in the gla.s.s, took a sip, nodded.

"How?"

"I stabbed him."

"How did they know it was you?"

"There was a witness."

"Are you going to make me ask all the questions? Why can't you just tell me the story?"

He finished off his gla.s.s of wine and poured himself another one. "It's not pretty, Catherine."

Reaching out, she skimmed her finger over his scar. "There is nothing you can tell me that will make me think less of you."

"But it is not only my tale."

"Please. I know you killed him for Frannie, so I know something awful happened to her. I can imagine what it was."

"But I doubt you can imagine how brutal it was." He took another sip of the wine as though he needed it to sh.o.r.e up his courage. "Some men prefer virgins. Less chance of catching the pox that way. Young girls are usually virginal. Sometimes a young girl on the streets is taken, against her will, to a brothel, where she is tied to a bed so that it's easier to take her virginity."

Catherine was horrified. "And that's what happened to Frannie?"

He shook his head. "Geoffrey Langdon untied her because he favored girls who fought, and Frannie, bless her, fought. We knew where she was, Jack, Jim, and I, but we got there too late. She was hurt and bleeding. I carried her all the way back to Feagan's. She never wept. It always seemed to me that she should have wept. But she didn't."

She wished she hadn't asked for the details, and yet knowing them helped her to understand him so much better, and not only him but his relationship with the others. The strong bond they shared. "How did you learn who the man was?"

"When Frannie was stronger, Jack and I took her back to the brothel. We hid on the street and watched who came and went. Jack knew what I was going to do, but Frannie thought we were just going to beat him up. When she pointed him out, I did what I'd planned to do. Walked across the street and put a knife into him before he could open the door. Unfortunately, he'd knocked on it and the madam opened it. She saw me. Screamed. And as fate would have it, a d.a.m.ned bobby was right around the corner.