Gwendolyn finally made her nightly departure, leaving Caroline alone at her dressing table, her body clothed in only a purple silk wrap as she brushed her hair in contemplation.

The evening had been the strangest, most awkward she’d ever experienced. She’d never realized just how unhappy her sisters Jane and Charlotte appeared to be with their husbands, how condescending the men they’d married were, how they humiliated the women even in small ways. As gently bred men of polite society, however, they probably didn’t know how to behave any differently.

But it was her father’s quiet acceptance of her handling the finances at Miramont that had surprised her the most. He hadn’t seemed startled by the revelation, hadn’t lectured, hadn’t even really spoken, and keeping opinions to himself was completely against his nature.

During the last several hours, she’d gained a clear understanding of just how fortunate she was to have a man who defended her, who treated her as if she had a mind, who understood her as an individual, who made her shiver with desire from a look, a simple touch.

Placing her hairbrush on the dressing table, Caroline slowly stood and moved to the bed, where her nightgown and robe lay waiting. Reaching down to loosen the sash at her waist, she heard him open the door. No knock, just an entrance, as if she’d been expecting him.

She opened her mouth to tease him, but something in his eyes unnerved her.

“What a fool I’ve been, Caroline,” he said quietly, leaning back against their adjoining door, now closed behind him.

He’d removed his waistcoat, unbuttoned his shirt just enough to expose the top of his chest, and rolled up his cuffs. She stared at him, unsure and growing more nervous with each breath.

“What is it?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”

He just watched her for a moment, then the corner of his mouth curved up in a cynical smile, his eyes narrowing as he slowly began to move toward her.

“I just came from a nice talk with Charlotte.”

That stunned her. “The two of you spoke?”

He remained silent until he stood directly in front of her, and were it not for the fact that his statement had surprised her so, she surely would have taken a step back from his formidable stance.

He shook his head disdainfully. “The conversation was unwanted but truly enlightening, sweetheart.”

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into eyes now cold, daring, and utterly spilling over with rage.

He dropped his tone to a whisper. “She insulted both of us by asking me exactly where you go each morning, and to my complete, husbandly ignorance, I couldn’t respond because I didn’t know.”

“Brent—”

“But she didn’t have to splash water in my face with the answer, Caroline. Obviously since you don’t want to have sex with the man you married, you need to get it elsewhere.”

The expression of astonishment that graced her features evidently forced him to falter; she could see it on his face. Then he dropped his hand abruptly.

With a very deep breath, he closed his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “Who is your lover?”

She gaped at him, the shock of his words finally giving way to indignation as she fairly shouted, “I don’t have a lover!”

“Don’t lie to me, Caroline. I know you’ve had them before, you’ve made that clear, so your virginity is not the issue. I couldn’t care less who took it from you.” He raised his lids to gaze at her sardonically. “According to Charlotte, everyone knows you leave the house for hours each day, and now, since your absences have come to my attention, I demand to know if you’re spreading your legs for someone I know, someone you’ve met at Miramont, or are you doing it for someone you’ve been sleeping with for years?”

She simply stood there, looking at him, cheeks burning, heart pounding, wanting to slap him but unable to do so because her mind was working fiercely to determine where and why he would suddenly acquire such wild, fatuous notions. But she was also relieved that his anger brewed simply and only because Charlotte had seen her leave for the greenhouse and had inadvertently mentioned it to him. It pulled at her inside, too, for if she told him about it now, he could very well take away the only part of her dream she’d managed to preserve. She needed to confess, but she would also need to be careful in defending herself.

Relaxing, she gave him a pleasant, reassuring smile. “It’s true, I leave, but you don’t understand—”

He chuckled softly to cut her off, shaking his head in disgust. “I understand, Caroline, because I’ve seen it before. Women are coy, deceitful, self-absorbed, and cruel. I’ve never known a faithful woman in my life, and you certainly fit the image of the perfect woman since you have the ability to kiss me as if you actually desire me, rub yourself against my body with the expertise of a paid tramp, then turn to another man for release.” He clenched his jaw. “I only wish I hadn’t been so ignorant of why you avoided me for so long. How ironic that it took another woman to point out what has been staring me in the face for months.”

Her anger grew with each word from his lips, building to an intense boil as the insufferable man in front of her spoke to her so heartlessly, wronging her terribly, without allowing her to explain what was obviously a misunderstanding.

Eyes shining defiantly, her voice filled with a rage now equal to his, she retorted, “I absolutely refuse to discuss anything while you’re standing here shouting instead of listening to what I have to say. You are being illogical and ridiculous, and I want you to leave.”

With that she turned away, excusing him rudely, but he grabbed her instead, jerking her around to face him once more. She opened her mouth to call him the name he deserved, but sudden apprehension compelled her to hold her words in check. His features had hardened to granite, and his eyes had darkened and thinned as he stared at her, tightly clasping her arm with his hand.

“Yes, I suppose I’ve been illogical and ridiculous for believing in us, Caroline. I believed we could have something between us because you were different and smart and fit me like a glove in so many ways. I even thought you were beginning to like me, to enjoy my company, to want me as a man.”

He dropped his hand, and she took a step away, amazed at such a disclosure from someone who kept his personal thoughts so tightly locked within.

He looked her straight in the eye, his voice harsh, strengthening with each word as rage emanated from his entire body.

“I wanted you, Caroline. I’ve wanted you since the day we married. I’m a human being just like you, with wants and needs, with emotions that can be bruised, with hopes and dreams that can be crushed. I have feelings deep inside of me that I’ve learned to protect because they’re the only part of me remaining that hasn’t been picked apart and destroyed by someone else. And I’ll bet you’ve never once thought about that, have you? You’ve never thought about what I want, or about my feelings, my desires.”

She couldn’t bring herself to respond, or even breathe for that matter, stunned as she was. Whether it was from her continued silence or the look on her face, his dark, dangerous hazel eyes suddenly came alive with fire as he pointed to his chest and began shouting in pure, uninhibited fury.

“Well, this is what I want, Caroline! I want to make love to you! I want to touch you and make you feel passion you’ve never felt with anyone else! I want to hold you and go to sleep with you in my arms every night! I want to open up and let you know what I feel deep inside, the part of me nobody has ever known! I want you to need me as much as I need you! And suddenly, slapping me in the face tonight, I realize that in the four months we’ve been married, you’ve never considered my desires, my needs, because the greatest talent you possess, Caroline, is thinking only of yourself!”

She stared at him, speechless, mouth dry, pulse racing. After a moment of watching him battle the conflicts within himself, now unmasked and visible to her eyes, he slowly stood back, wiped a shaking palm over his face, and turned to the door.

Pausing in front of it, he looked back at her, his expression pained, his voice filled with deep sorrow.

“I lived with a woman for twenty-five years who berated me, despised me, who left me thankful for the times when she only ignored me. But never, until now, have I felt useless and unwanted. Thank you for giving me something new to experience, Caroline.” Dropping his gaze, he added, “Go to your lover. I’m tired of trying.”

He walked through the door and slammed it in her face.

Caroline stood where she was, unmoving for minutes, until finally she started shaking uncontrollably. Slowly, her palm covering her mouth to keep from crying out, she moved her leaden legs to sit on the bed.

She’d never meant to hurt him, and now it was clear that since the moment they’d met, that was all she’d done. Yes, she’d helped his daughter communicate, had listened with profound understanding as he spoke of the war, even felt that with her help, he and his sister would put their troubles behind them. But through it all, on a deeply personal level, she’d done nothing but hurt him, and realizing that for the first time made her eyes fill with water.

He was right. She’d been selfish and unfair from the beginning, marrying him for an annulment she knew, even on their wedding day, he would never give her, ignoring him as if he didn’t exist, speaking to him arrogantly, even rudely. He deserved so much better, but he’d married only her.

Staring at the floor, Caroline dropped her hand as it slowly dawned on her that this was the moment for which she’d been waiting, hoping, since arriving at Miramont. She had two choices tearing at her heart, but right now, as things stood with Brent, an annulment was feasible, the worry of approaching him suddenly gone. Since he believed she had a lover, and because their marriage had not been consummated, he had grounds for letting her go. The path before her was illuminated, leading the way toward her lifelong dream. This was the time to tell him she was leaving. Botany was and always had been the truest part of her, and she would honor it.

Standing, knowing what she had to do and forcefully telling herself that her life, her destiny, was in another world entirely, she moved quietly to the adjoining door, put her hand on the cold, hard knob, and walked into his room.

She melted when she saw him. He sat on the settee, exactly as he’d looked the night of her birthday, staring into a blazing fire, a brandy snifter half full in his hands. And although he had to have heard her enter, he didn’t move his gaze or utter a word.

She stood there for a long, quiet moment, watching the glow of firelight dance across smooth, bronze skin, catching each soft, shiny curve of his hair with every flicker. She felt his anger, his grief, his loneliness, and finally something new—a blooming comprehension of what had been staring her in the face for months, what she’d been blindly refusing to recognize. All she’d ever wanted from the time she could remember was the beauty of her flowers, her garden, and instead, as a gift from God, she’d been graced with a man more intricately designed, more brilliantly woven, more intensely beautiful than any flower or any one thing she could ever imagine. At last, after months of uncertainty and conflicting desires, it all became perfectly clear. This was where she belonged. He was her destiny.

“I go to the green house.”

The words came out raspy and low, just a whisper above the sound of the crackling fire. For a second, as she watched him slowly grasp the meaning of the confession, his breathing seemed to stop, his body stilled, and she knew then that that statement was the most honest she’d ever made in her life.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid you would take it from me,” she admitted in a gentle, unsure voice, “and until just now, I thought it was the one thing in my life that made me complete.”

Slowly she began to move toward him.

“But I was wrong because I realize now I could never be complete without the one man who has become my champion, who respects me as none have before, who is braver and smarter and more compassionate than any I’ve ever known. I should have trusted you,” she whispered with aching sweetness as she finally stood beside him. “I’m sorry.”

After a moment of silence, he drew an unsteady breath and looked down to the snifter in his hands. “I cannot be anything more than I am, Caroline,” he said hoarsely. “I just don’t know what you want from me.”

She swallowed, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, and in a soft, passion-choked voice, she replied, “I want you to make me your wife.”

For seconds or minutes or even hours, she couldn’t be certain, time seemed to stop. Then he raised his head, his eyes piercing hers, sparkling in the firelight like dark emeralds.

“You deserve a husband who wants you, Caroline, just as you are, and you know I do. But as much as I need you, I don’t want you if you’re here right now from a feeling of guilt, or pity, or some odd sense of self-righteousness or duty.” He abruptly glanced down once again to his brandy. “Because I also believe, even with my numerous faults, that I deserve a wife who wants me in return, just as I am. Anything less isn’t worth the pain.”

She blinked hard for strength, to clear the blur in her vision as she grasped the meaning behind his words. Then ever so slowly, with a braveness she didn’t really feel, she reached out, gently pulled the brandy snifter from his hold, took one full swallow for confidence, and placed it on the side table.

She looked at his face, his beautiful, masculine face, as she stretched her hand out to softly glide her fingertips along each firm point, each fine etch of perfection, vitality, and uncommon grace. Then, resolute in her decision, breathing deeply, she took his hand in hers, rubbed her thumb against his palm, and opened her silk wrap just wide enough to place it directly on her breast.

He sucked in a clear, rapid breath the instant his skin came into contact with hers, lifting his eyes again in surprise or confusion, she wasn’t sure which, but he didn’t move or speak, just watched her.

Boldly she held his gaze in a timeless grasp until finally she whispered in a deep, husky, impassioned voice, “You were wrong about one thing, Brent. Your feelings mean everything to me, and I promise never to hurt you again.”

With gentle acceptance in her heart, and knowing with peace and finality that the time had come for them, she slowly closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and pulled at the sash around her waist until it opened for him, exposing to all of him—his eyes, his touch, his soul—the only remaining part of herself he had yet to know.

Brent could not recall a time from his past when he had felt such a surge of raw, tumultuous emotions consuming him from the inside and making him weak. Never in his life had he laid eyes on anything as beautiful as the vision in front of him.

She stood no more than a foot away, her left side to the fire, her lovely face innocent and soft, hair falling to her waist in luminescent waves. As the deep-purple silk fell away from her, the flickering glow from the hearth played delicately on the pearlescent sheen of her skin, the crested nipple exposed not to his palm but to his eyes, and on the few dark, shiny curls escaping the shadows between her legs to reflect the firelight.

Slowly he began to trace her nipple with the tips of his fingers, moving from her breast down the length of her body, skimming her waist, her stomach, moving gradually to her hip and down the outside of her thigh. He felt her shiver, felt gooseflesh rise to his fingertips, and with that he softly moved in until his knuckles grazed the inside of her leg.

“Caroline…”

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

That admission made his heart swell with tenderness. Dropping his hand, he slowly stood to face her. She still hadn’t opened her eyes, hadn’t moved, but he felt her trembling. He cupped her face with his palms and leaned in to brush his lips against hers.

“Trust me now,” he pleaded quietly.

She nodded imperceptibly and whispered, “I do.”

In that instant, he knew he belonged to her as he had never belonged to another. He ran his thumb along her jaw, placed his hand behind her neck, and covered her mouth with his.

The initial contact was both shocking and sweet, familiar and awkward. They had certainly kissed before, but not with the mutual understanding of what was about to happen between them. He toyed with her lips almost timidly at first, giving her time to adjust, then increased the pressure, running his tongue back and forth until she opened for him.

Slowly she relaxed, kissing him back with growing need, raising her hands to run her fingers through his hair. She tasted of brandy, smelled of violets, and felt as delicate and smooth as a rose petal.

He ran his hands down her neck to grasp her shoulders just inside her silk wrap. He moved his mouth, his tongue, in gentle rhythm against hers, and she followed his lead, allowing the magic to consume her. He caressed her skin with his fingertips, then carefully, gradually, lowered her dressing gown over her upper arms and pulled his lips from hers.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, uncertain. “I…I’m not sure what to do.”

That melted his heart. With a comforting smile he raised one hand and placed it on her cheek, the other he rested on her chest, his fingers stroking her collarbone in tiny, wispy movements.

“Tonight I’ll do everything,” he reassured in a husky timbre. Then before she realized what was happening, he pulled at the purple silk until it slid from her body and onto the cold floor.

He felt a shiver escape her, and she instantly dropped her lashes. With that he grasped her chin and raised her head, forcing her to look at him.

“Don’t be ashamed,” he beseeched, his gaze piercing hers. “I’m the only one who matters now and I think you’re beautiful.”

Caroline knew, when the shock of those words seeped in, the tears would begin to flow, and that was the last thing she wanted to happen on what she now considered to be her wedding night.

“You’re the first man ever to call me beautiful,” she disclosed in a thick, choked voice.

He grinned. “I knew I’d be the first for something.”

She smiled in return and cautiously reached for the buttons on his shirt.

Immediately he covered her hand. “I’ll do it.”

She dropped her arm and stood before him unmoving, watching until he’d removed his shirt and tossed it on the settee.

They stood only a foot apart, he undressed to his waist, she completely naked and feeling more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her life.

Gently he reached out and lightly stroked the tops of her breasts with the fingers of both hands, inciting a gasp from her lips and a sudden weakening of her legs. His eyes melded with hers in silent communication as his face became serious once more, intense. He stroked her, then cupped her fully, his palms rotating to make her nipples tingle and stand out against his hands. Within seconds she was breathless, shivering from new sensations beginning to burn inside of her, and flushing not from the warmth of the fire, but from a rising inner heat now slowly starting to replace the apprehension.

Instinctively she reached for him, and understanding her growing desire and need to feel, he released her, moving his hands to take off his boots. Those discarded, he unbuttoned his trousers and removed the remainder of his clothing to stand before her as naked as she.

She closed her eyes, partly because she couldn’t bring herself to look down and partly because she suddenly felt so nervous she wanted to bolt from his bedchamber.

He must have felt her uncertainty, for within seconds he wrapped one palm around her neck, grasped her around the waist with the other, pulled her toward him, and lowered his mouth.

The kissing began slowly, allowing the passion to increase at its own pace. He caressed her back and neck, ran his fingers through her hair, all the while keeping a distance between them, for they still hadn’t fully embraced. He teased her lips apart, forcing her to open for him. Then he invaded her warmth, searching, and when he found it, grasped her tongue and began sucking it as he’d done so perfectly the day in the garden.

As with that day, a sudden bolt of lightning passed through her body, causing fire to erupt between her legs. Anticipating her response, he pulled her tightly against him, holding her firmly so she couldn’t help but feel every muscle, every cord of strength, every point of hardness he possessed.

She whimpered softly and wrapped her arms around his neck, relishing in his size, his body, so firm and warm against her. The curls on his chest teased her nipples. His erection, hard and hot, caressed her belly as if begging for attention.

She held his head with her hands and kissed him back fervently, possessively. He groaned deeply when he felt her response to his touch, her eagerness, and finally he reluctantly released her mouth and looked into her eyes.

She stood against him, panting, flushed. His lids had narrowed, his breathing was labored, and after what seemed like an eternity to her, he reached down, grasped her around the knees, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to his bed.

She nestled her face in his neck, clinging to him, filling her mind with his feel, his scent, until he gently laid her on the sheet. She stretched out willingly, expecting him to lie beside her, but instead, he stood back to view her body unclothed.

“Brent—”

“Shh…” His gaze traveled down the length of her. “I’ve wanted this for months, Caroline. Let me look at you.”

Boldly she allowed herself to look at him as well, to see a man completely for the first time, and the man before her looked like a god, exactly as he’d felt beneath her hands and fingers—hard, firm, beautiful of face and form. And as she placed her gaze on the part of him she’d never seen, she wasn’t overcome with bland curiosity or repulsion, but instead felt a surge of desperation to know the unknown, to touch him as she’d never done before, to stroke him, to feel him enter her. Suddenly passion filled her senses, and she was no longer afraid.

For Brent, to see her body bathed in firelight, nipples exposed and aroused to hard peaks, her slim, tapered waist leading to softly curved hips and smooth, silky legs, was not so much a viewing as it was an unveiling for his eyes of what his mind had been trying to imagine for weeks. She was perfect, voluptuous yet slender, enticing and seductive, and more than he’d ever thought she could be.

He lowered himself onto the bed beside her, leaning against her as he crossed one leg over hers. He placed his left palm on her head, his thumb stroking her brow, and with the right he began to caress her stomach lightly in small, slow circles.

“Do you know what I think, Caroline?” he asked thickly, almost thoughtfully.

She bit her lip nervously and tried to smile. “That you wish you’d married someone with longer legs?”

He chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “No, that isn’t it,” he murmured, moving his lips to the crook of her neck. “I think dreams, for most people, are perfection.” He ran his tongue along her jaw, feeling her respond to the touch. Then slowly he raised his eyes to hers once more, dropping his voice to a husky whisper. “But my dreams of you, Caroline, were nothing compared to the real thing. You are lovelier than anything I’ve ever dreamed before.”

She stared at him for several seconds, then her eyes filled with tears, and that was his undoing. He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth, kissing her not sweetly or softly, but fully, hungrily, passionately, wiping away her teardrops with his thumbs.

She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him close, and finally, as if waiting any longer would be simply unbearable, he moved his hand to cup her breast, kneading the fullness, gently squeezing her nipple, rolling it with his forefinger and thumb until she moaned.

He released her mouth and began a trail of kisses down her jaw, neck, and chest. She breathed rapidly, hands on his shoulders, eyes closed, and when at last he covered her free nipple with his mouth, she jumped and clutched at him, pulling him closer.

And closer he moved, sucking, tasting, caressing as he’d wanted to do for so long, increasing the pace, groaning with the touch, feeling the blood rush through his veins as his heart pounded in his chest. She responded in kind by coming alive beneath him, allowing the passion to engulf her. He ran his hand from her breast slowly down her waist to caress her hip, desperately wanting to touch her intimately, to stroke her between her legs, to feel just how ready she was for him.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice strained with desire. “I’ve wanted so long to touch you.”

Caroline had never felt more out of control and so filled with cravings and desperate needs she didn’t understand. He was so gentle with her, so giving, and she wanted him now more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

That thought in mind, she took his hand in hers, raised it to her lips, kissed his palm just once, and lightly placed it between her legs.

She shivered from the intimacy. He groaned as if he hadn’t touched anything so delicate or precious in his life. Then he was kissing her again, covering her mouth with his in a sudden fever of need. He wrapped his free arm around her neck to hold her close as he began to move his hand, his fingers, slowly at first, then more and more intimately with each stroke until she instinctively raised her hips for more.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as her mind emptied of all but thoughts of him and the magic he created with his hands and mouth. She whimpered softly as his tongue clasped hers once again in a now familiar embrace. Her heart thundered in her breast, and her body ached with need for something else, something moving closer. She ran her fingers through the curls on his chest, lightly rubbing the pads of her thumbs across his nipples.

He drew a sharp breath at that and slowly released her mouth, lifting his head to look at her. His face was hard, strained, his eyes narrowed and glazed, his breathing raspy and short. He watched her, focusing intently on her face, and then she realized why as he gently pushed his finger inside of her.

She gasped and arched her back slightly, closing her eyes to the exquisite sensations, and after several marvelous seconds of savoring the feel of that one small part of him invading her warmth, he started moving his finger in and out while he returned to stroking his thumb up and down along her cleft, slower now but with the same intensity.

“You’re so wet,” he said in a rough, shaky voice. “You were made for lovemaking, Caroline.”

Her heart filled with emotion as she returned in a whisper, “I was made for loving you.”

He stilled completely, his hand, his body, his breathing, and for a second or two she was afraid she might have said something wrong. She opened her eyes to his once more, nearly certain she’d quelled the passion by disclosing such an intimate part of herself, but with one look, she knew she’d only poured oil on the blaze. Her words had touched him deeply; she could see it in his expression as firelight danced upon his face. Then, as if reading her thoughts, he pulled his hand from her, shifted his body, and moved to cover her completely.

Leaning over and adjusting his weight above her, he kissed her breasts almost in reverence, delicately, lightly running the tip of his tongue across each nipple, then slowly moving upward to place little kisses on her neck, her cheek, her lips and lashes.

She relished in the feel of a man, her husband, on top of her and ready to make her his wife. Instinctively she spread her legs even wider to allow him better access, intertwined her fingers through his thick, silky hair, and began to kiss him back just as tenderly as he was kissing her.

He lifted just enough to place his hand between them once more, finding her, stroking her, making her moan from excitement, anticipation, and pleasure. Then, when she was as ready as he, he took her mouth with his, steadied his body, and began to push himself inside of her.

Immediately she tensed from the pressure, and he stopped the movement. His free hand cupped her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple, and after a moment he tried again, only to find the same resistance.

Brushing his lips against hers, he pulled back a little, fighting the strain, one hand on her forehead, the other gently kneading her, holding her.

Caroline remained oblivious to everything but the desire to feel him. She rotated her hips to better touch him, aching for completion, moving her legs up and back so the inside of her thighs rubbed against the outside of his. That drove him wild, for he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, breathing heavily and hard as he willed himself to stay in control.

She placed her palm on his chest, feeling the strong, quick pounding of his heart. He waited a second longer, then adjusted his hips and tried once more to enter her, a third time, forcing himself slightly deeper, and finally it hurt too much.

“Brent—”

She cringed as her body automatically became rigid, and with that, something seemed to happen to him. Slowly he raised himself to look down at her face. His eyes hid in shadows, but his features had softened, and after several seconds of unsureness, she almost feared he’d changed his mind about taking her because she was such a tight fit.

“Please don’t stop,” she begged in a whisper. “I don’t care if it hurts a little.”

Deathly silence filled the air, until full comprehension pervaded his mind.

“Oh, Caroline…” he whispered through a sigh both staggered and pained with softness. “You’ve never done this, have you?”

She couldn’t believe he’d ask her something like that as they lay in bed together, nearly joined, that he wouldn’t know from her obvious inexperience and apprehension, and her stunned expression must have told him so.

“Oh, Jesus,” he mumbled, his voice and face conveying a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

She gazed at the confusion on his brow, watched his face as he struggled inside from the revelation. She put her fingers to his mouth, tracing his lips with the tips, and he started kissing them, slowly at first, then earnestly, taking one into his mouth to gently suck, causing her to cry out from sharp plea sure.

His hand began caressing her breast again as well, and within seconds desire returned in full force. He kissed her palm, then lowered his head to kiss her forehead and lashes, her cheeks and neck.

Something had changed in him, she could sense it, but a short moment later she was beyond caring. He moved his hand between her legs once more, stroking her gently until she could feel nothing else, until her hips arched, her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing became erratic. Then he raised himself once again, placed his free hand on her cheek, and rested his forehead against hers.

“Hold me,” he urged softly, his hard form towering over her, his shaft poised once again at the entrance between her legs.

She nodded and grasped his shoulders. Then as quickly as he fully covered her mouth with his, he tensed his body and drove himself inside of her, filling her deeply, completely.

Her nails dug into his skin, her back arched, and she gasped sharply against his lips. Her eyes filled with tears, trickling down the side of her face, and he kissed her tenderly, sweetly, running his thumb along her cheek to wipe them away.

He kept himself quite still, except for the gentle prodding of his kiss, and after only seconds the pain inside and between her legs began to dissipate. She inhaled as deeply as she could to relax, and as he felt the anxiety drain from her, he moved his hand to her breast, lightly stroking the tip with his thumb, squeezing her nipple, running the back of his hand underneath her fullness, kneading softly, cupping her and caressing her with his palm. She squirmed a little, almost restlessly as the pleasure began to build, wondering what she was supposed to do, and that’s when she felt him start to move inside of her.

He deepened his kiss, flicking his tongue across her lips, then plunging it fully into her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and with an inherent drive as old as time, she began to move her hips in rhythm with his.

He groaned, his breathing shallow once more as he quickened the pace. She followed, allowing herself to be led by the unknown, the magic, whimpering in response to his touch, keeping her eyes tightly shut to his kiss, to the marvelous and new sensations in the center of her being as they began to expand and grow toward the light like rose petals in morning sunshine.

Suddenly he broke his lips from hers and lowered his mouth to her nipple, sucking, licking, kissing, teasing, then moving to the other for more of the same. She leaned into the pillow, wrapping her legs around his thighs to hold him closer, weaving her fingers through his hair.

He began circling his hips, changing the rhythm, and slowly she felt him lift his head, his body, to hold himself directly over her.

She licked her lips, feeling drugged by desire and more sensual than she’d ever felt in her life. With extreme difficulty, her lids sluggish and heavy, she opened her eyes to find him studying her intently, his expression serious, focused. He supported himself with one hand, and with the other he caressed her chest, her neck, and then her cheek in soft, sensuous strokes.

She pushed up against him instinctively, harder, faster, forcefully, meeting each thrust with her own, aching for a release to the torment, moaning softly, holding his head with her fingers in his hair, biting her lip, staring into his grave, dark eyes, wanting desperately to unlock the secret of what he was giving her. Then in the furthest recesses of her mind, she heard his voice.

“Let it happen, my sweet wife…”

Suddenly she discovered the treasure. In all its splendor and beauty, the pleasure enveloped her from the inside and shattered outward in a rush of brilliance, forcing her to cry out, to clutch him, to squeeze her eyes shut to the ecstasy that filled every nerve and cascaded over every pinpoint of her body.

“You belong to me,” he said softly, watching her face as he traced his thumb along her lips. Then he leaned over her, kissed her cheek, and once more whispered into her ear, “You belong to me.”

With that, she cradled her head in his neck, allowing her breathing to slow as she floated back to reality, feeling the bliss subside to peacefulness, and knowing she might break down from the sweetness of his words, the tenderness in his voice.

Slowly he leaned up once more to look at her, supporting himself with one hand on the bed while he caressed her neck and breasts with the other. He reached down, straightened her hips under his, and began the rocking motion again, gradually building the heat to a fever once more.

It was his turn, she knew, and within seconds he was on fire; she could see the strain on his face, the tautness in his muscled chest. He closed his eyes tightly to relish in the feel, kneading her breast, slowing gliding in and out of her, moving faster and deeper with each penetration.

Caroline watched him, mesmerized, absorbing the warmth of his hard, masculine form, knowing he was seconds away from realizing the same wonderful gift he’d just given her. More than anything, she wanted to be part of it.

Reaching for his hand, she pulled it from her breast, kissed his palm, and held it against her cheek. With the other she touched his face.

“You’re so beautiful…” she sensually whispered.

At the sound of her voice, he slowed his actions, prolonging the fulfillment, pulling back gently so the tip of him rested just inside of her. He held himself still for several long seconds, straining, breathing heavily, teeth clenched, grasping for control, then he opened his eyes.

The look on her face shattered him.

“Oh, God…” he murmured tenderly, brokenly, his expression slowly becoming one of enlightenment and awe. “Caroline—”

She placed her fingertips on his lips to silence him, her throat tightening with emotion as she held his fervent gaze, a witness to the feelings that matched her own.

She took his hand from her cheek and tightly intertwined their fingers. “I know. It’s wonderful.”

He drew a shaky breath, then once again entered her, gently, watching her face closely, fully embedding himself inside her and holding completely still.

She looked deeply into his eyes for what seemed an eternity; then she wrapped her legs even tighter around his and started moving her hips beneath him, slowly and deliberately.

“Caroline…”

“Give yourself to me,” she whispered urgently, passionately, quickening her movements. “Give yourself to me.”

Suddenly his expression changed, and his eyes widened. “Oh, God, oh God—”

And then he was there, plunging into her forcefully, over and over, his eyes squeezing shut, head falling back, hand clinging to hers as if it were a lifeline. She met every thrust with her hips, clutching his thighs with her own, unsure but wanting desperately to prolong the ecstasy he was finding with her, because of her, inside of her.

His breathing remained hard and shallow as he dropped his head, collapsing on top of her, then wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close. Never in her life had she expected such contentment, such incomparable warmth from the intimacy of a marital union, and she cherished it with more reverence than she did even her fine lavender roses. Her husband meant more to her now than all of that.

Snuggling into him, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You belong to me, too,” she whispered into his ear.

He kissed her cheek and jaw, ran his fingers through her long hair flowing over the pillows.

For a long time they did nothing but listen to the crackle of the dying fire, caressing each other. Finally he moved, sliding out of her carefully. But instead of adjusting himself to hold her as she expected him to do, he turned to the edge of the bed and sat up.

“Why are you leaving?” she timidly asked.

He looked back to her, surprised, then smiled in understanding. “I’m not leaving you, Caroline. I’m going to stoke the fire, light some candles so I can have a decent look at my new wife lying naked in my bed, and then I’m going to wash you where I hurt you.”

That satisfied her until the meaning of his words seeped in. “I can wash myself, I’m sure,” she countered softly, starting to rise.

He leaned back and grabbed her ankle. “You’re not going anywhere, and you cannot continue to be embarrassed or afraid for me to see or touch you.” He released her and stood. “I’ll be doing both for years to come.”

She forced herself to relax, watching her husband move about the room, adding logs to the fire and lighting candles by the bedside. Then he poured water from a pitcher into a bowl, placed a face cloth inside and walked back to her.

She stared at his naked form, marveling at his physique.

“What are you thinking?” he quietly asked, pulling the quilt from her body and sitting beside her.

She shivered from the sudden chill, but sat up a little and leaned back on a pillow, supporting herself against the large mahogany headboard, never taking her eyes from his face. “I was wondering why God gave you to me.”

That startled him for the smallest second, then he smiled, placed the bowl on the table next to the bed, and wrung out the cloth. “To satisfy you perhaps?”

She giggled adorably, face flushing as she boldly disclosed, “And what a marvelous job you did of that.”

She could positively see the prideful grin of male arrogance on his face as he leaned over to touch her, carefully spreading her thighs with his hand.

Reluctantly she widened her legs and glanced down. “You made me bleed.”

He held the cloth in his hand for a moment to warm it, then began cleaning her gently. “Most virgins do, Caroline. I only wish you’d told me first.”

“I shouldn’t have had to,” she quickly retorted.

His eyes shot up to lock with hers. “I would have never considered otherwise, little wife, but you purposely led me to believe—”

“As you did about having a child,” she interjected smoothly. “We’re even.”

He evidently had nothing to say to that, and after a minute of staring at her speculatively, he returned to washing her.

“Why didn’t you want to become my wife?”

That caught her off guard, stinging her deeply. She’d hurt him already with her secrets, but revealing this truth would be devastating. So instead, with a suddenly dry mouth, she acknowledged the obvious. “I did, but I was scared. And even as attractive as you are, you’re hardly the type to romantically seduce a terrified virgin.”

He raised his eyes to her face once more, cautiously, considering her words. “If there is a God, Caroline, I’m certain he gave you to me to fill my life with aggravation.” In a rich, teasing voice, he added, “And tremendous physical discomfort from waiting to make you mine.”

She huffed and leaned toward him. “I hope the wait was worth the pain.”

He dropped his head and kissed her thigh. Once. Then several times, up and down, until he came so close to the part he was cleaning that she lightly tapped his head. “I’m sure you shouldn’t be kissing me there.”

Slowly he looked up and grinned lasciviously. “You won’t say that after the first time I do, Caroline. You’ll beg me for it so often my mouth and tongue will constantly ache from exhaustion.”

She gaped at him, blushing furiously, and that made him smile broadly, almost pompously as he returned to cleaning her gently.

“Now I know,” she said blandly.

“Know what?”

“God gave you to me by mistake.”

He chuckled at that, then after a moment raised a brow and looked at her quizzically. “You believe in God, Caroline?”

Who didn’t believe in God? “Of course I do.” She hesitated. “Don’t you?”

His features went slack as he placed the cloth once again in the bowl and leaned casually back on the bed at her feet to regard her. Sighing softly, he replied, “If God exists, I’ve never seen him.”

Her forehead crinkled into tiny lines of confusion. “How could you not see God? He saved your life in the war, he gave you Rosalyn—”

“I saved my life,” he cut in, “and Rosalyn sprang from my loins. The world would be a simpler, happier place if each individual took actions for himself rather than blaming them on an unseen God who heaves his wrath upon the people of the earth.”

She stared at him in contemplation. Then, lowering her voice and peering into his eyes, she said huskily, passionately, “I know there is a God because I see his beauty every day, in a rainbow, in Rosalyn, and even in you, you idiot man. But regardless of that, I could never doubt God’s existence because I know that nothing but God could create something as beautiful as a peach-colored rose.”

He inhaled deeply, watching her closely, lying on his side across the foot of the bed.

“You are so unique,” he said at last, lifting her foot to massage her toes. “A perfect picture of unmatched intelligence, sensual beauty, and keen philosophic thought.”

That made her pulse race. With the back of her hand, she wiped stray hair from her forehead. “Have you always talked so romantically to your ladies, Brent?”

He frowned. “Romantic to my ladies?”

She snickered and wiggled her toes in his fingers. “All the ladies you’ve bedded before me.”

He stared at her blankly, then shook his head incredulously. “Only you would mention such a thing at a time like this.”

Extreme curiosity overcame her. “Well?”

“Well what?”

She could see he was amused, and with frustration filling her in a rush, she knew he planned to tease her, avoiding the issue, until she embarrassed herself by begging for details.

She exhaled loudly, deciding to play his ridiculous game by refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Did you speak to them in French?”

“No.”

She blinked. “No?”

“No.”

“Not even the Frenchwoman who gave you a child?”

He watched her for a moment, then leaned over to kiss the bottom of her foot.

“That tickles,” she said through a giggle.

He raised his head and said richly, “You like this, don’t you?”

She pulled her foot from his grasp. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question was that?”

She rolled her eyes and slammed the backs of her hands on the bed. “I’m sure you know what I’m asking, Brent.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why?’” she fairly blurted.

“Why do you want to know?” His gaze became intense. “Do you care that much about me and my past?”

“Of course I care,” she admitted quietly, timidly, crossing her arms over her chest. He grinned in satisfaction, and she dropped her gaze. After a moment of silence, and without glancing up, she softly asked, “You’d never consider letting me leave, would you?”

“Leave to where?”

She shrugged. “Anywhere.”

He took her other foot and began the same circular motions with the pad of his thumb. “If you left me for more than a week, Caroline, I think I’d be crushed.”

“Crushed?” That answer pleased her enormously.

“Are you planning a holiday away from me already?”

She smiled coyly. “No.” Then she looked from his fervent stare down to her nails with apparent newfound interest. “But I’ll take a holiday from your bed if you continue to avoid my questions.”

Suddenly he grabbed her leg and pulled her down to his level, beside him, grasping her around the waist and practically flinging her up to lie on top of him.

With playful exaggeration, she pushed her hair from her face to better view his brilliant, greenish-brown eyes, now crinkled once more in mild humor.

“I adore the way you feel on top of me, Caroline,” he whispered through a groan. “You’re warm and soft and fit me perfectly, making me hard and desperate to be inside of you again.”

Her breath quickened from the comment, stirring sensations of recklessness and sensuality she’d never felt before. “Goodness, my lord, hard and desperate? That’s not very romantic.”

He gave her a rakish grin, then holding her against him, rolled them both over on the bed so she lay beneath him. “Unromantic, maybe, but directly to the point, my sweet wife.”

She laughed quietly and said, “I’m sure ‘hard and desperate’ sounds romantic in French.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Speak to me in French,” she quietly demanded after a moment of silence.

He shook his head.

“Yes.”

“No.”

She scrutinized every inch of his face as she ran her fingers through his hair. “You can’t remember any romantic words?”

“I can remember plenty,” he boasted.

She giggled and squirmed beneath him, and with that he nuzzled her neck. “Please, Brent?”

He brushed kisses along her neck and jaw as he pulled his head up slightly, moving to his side just enough to take his weight from her.

“English is my mother tongue, Caroline. French was my job.”

“But—”

He touched her mouth, his expression becoming contemplative. “The words are the same—they only sound prettier because they’re different and you don’t understand what they mean. It’s the meaning that matters.” He traced a pattern along her lips with his fingertips, then moved his hand to stroke her cheek.

Bravely she prodded for what she truly wanted to hear. “So you never spoke French to the other ladies you bedded?”

He looked down at her strangely, then slowly shook his head in disbelief. “For as long as I live, I’m sure I’ll never understand females.” She did nothing but stare innocently into his eyes, and after a moment of apparent indecision, he murmured, “You really care to know?”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him from escape if he chose to attempt one.

He sighed and kissed the tip of her nose. “I spoke French to Rosalyn’s mother because it’s the only language she knows. I did not, however, speak to her while we had sex because we had nothing much to say before, during, or after.” He cupped her cheek with his palm. “I don’t think I ever spent more than fifteen minutes with her in bed each time, and since you’re so unbelievably curious, my darling Caroline, let me inform you that all the other ladies I’ve bedded have added up to only two.”

She looked at him stupidly. “Only two what?”

He grinned sheepishly and lowered his voice. “Only two other ladies.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “But you’re a man.”

That made him laugh. “What does that have to do with it?”

She closed her arms even tighter around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. “Nothing, I suppose, except men seem to find bedding women over and over so relevant to their masculinity. After tonight I suppose I understand the pleasure, which leads me to wonder how a man your age, unmarried, could keep himself from a lady’s bed.”

He lifted his leg over hers, holding her down with his thigh. “My education and work were very important to me, demanding most of my attention for several years, Caroline. Sometimes I felt lonely, even undesirable, but I had other things to do to occupy my time, and truthfully, women didn’t hold that much significance in my life. Then in France I met Rosalyn’s mother, and she satisfied my physical needs when I needed her to do so.”

“That sounds so positively arrogant,” she said with a smile, brushing a stray lock of hair from his cheek. “What about the other two ladies?”

He grinned. “What about them?”

She looked into his eyes. “Who were they?”

He reached down to cup her breast, causing a sudden flutter in her stomach. She, however, would not be undone.

“Who were they?” she asked again slowly, more firmly.

He gently flicked his thumb over her nipple, watching her succumb to his touch, as he softly replied, “The first was the daughter of one of my mother’s chambermaids.”

She gaped at him, and that made him grin again.

“She was nineteen, I was seventeen, and before I really knew what was happening, she seduced me in the stables one rainy afternoon. The whole affair was quite awkward, but she knew what she was doing. We managed it eight times in two days without getting caught, then she left the estate to pursue…other gallant men, I suppose. I haven’t seen her since.”

Loudly, incredulously, she said, “Eight times? You did it eight times in two days?”

“I was seventeen years old, Caroline,” he explained in defense, as if that explained everything.

Her eyes remained wide with keen interest. “Could you do it that many times now?”

Slowly he started running his toes up and down her leg. “I doubt it but I’d be happy to try, little one.”

Her mind suddenly turned to something more pertinent to their lives at the moment. “And what if you got her pregnant?”

“I didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

He gently squeezed her nipple. “Because if I had, her mother would have demanded compensation from my family, and I would have had to leave the country to escape my mother’s wrath.”

That statement saddened her tremendously, and she leaned up to kiss him fully. He responded in kind by wrapping his arms completely around her and holding her tightly until she released him.

“Who was the third?” she whispered against his mouth.

Without hesitation, he murmured, “The third was you.”

Caroline grinned, satiated, cupping his face. “So you really never bedded the beautiful Pauline Sinclair?”

Quickly and unexpectedly, he climbed completely on top of her, twisting her hair around his fingers to firmly brace her head in his palms.

“Who told you she was beautiful?” he demanded, grinning pompously.

Since she could think of nothing to say except the truth, she finally mumbled, “Nedda…mentioned it.”

He laughed softly, amazed. “You asked my housekeeper about the women in my past?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Of course not.” Then, as he didn’t look the least bit convinced, she confessed what he already knew. “I just wondered why you didn’t marry her since, according to Nedda, she was the epitome of social grace and loveliness.”

His features softened. “I didn’t want to after I found her having sex in her stables with another man.” He laughed again mildly. “Besides the bedroom, that seems to be the place for first couplings.”

She stared at him, shocked. “You found her like that?”

“With her legs spread wide and her skirt above her waist.”

Caroline felt a flood of sympathy wash over her, trying to imagine how he must have felt to see the woman he intended to marry engaged so indecently with another.

“Nedda told me she didn’t want to marry you because of Rosalyn,” she quietly confessed.

He lightly caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “I let others believe she didn’t want me because that was the honorable thing to do. It wasn’t my place to spread the news to society and ruin her life. She was managing to do it nicely all by herself.”

Caroline cupped his cheeks with her hands, holding him firmly in front of her face. “I’ve never known a person I’ve admired more than you, Brent,” she whispered with absolute adoration and wonder. “I’m so proud to be your wife.”

The honesty she conveyed in her tone and expression seemed to daze him for a moment as she watched confusion, then gentleness cross his brow. Then he lowered his mouth and kissed her deeply, fully, wrapping his arms around her as if they were one.

“I want to make love to you again, Caroline,” he urged softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“I want you to,” she whispered in complete surrender, clinging to him tightly, moving her hand to glide her fingertips along his spine, kissing his face and jaw in smooth, gentle touches. After hearing him groan and feeling his growing need rubbing against her hips, she quietly amended, “But I do have one condition in allowing you the generous use of my body.”

He slowly raised his head to look at her smugly. “I’m truly frightened to ask what that might be.”

Her face broke out into a smile again. “How did you acquire a green house?”

He relaxed, his eyes flashing with knowing sensitivity. “It was my mother’s.”

“Your mother was a botanist?” she asked, surprised.

“She tried to be.” He covered her breast with his palm. “She never had your talent or commitment, though.”

Her gaze dropped to his chest, her heart swelling with plea sure from that statement.

“Can I keep it?” she fairly begged, knowing she sounded timid and unsure, and even in her boldness unable to look him in the eye with the question.

Suddenly, as if in answer, he moved down and covered her nipple with his mouth, rotating his tongue with expertise, sucking and kissing and making her weak. She spread her legs for his probing hand and succumbed to the need.

Words were no longer necessary.

 

He woke with a start, sitting abruptly, heart pounding, body bathed in sweat. His eyes tried to adjust to the darkness surrounding him as his mind worked to lift the cloud of confusion, to calm the rush of fear that enveloped him.

It was night, the dead of night since no fire burned, and as he wiped a shaking hand over his head, the disorientation slowly gave way to remembrance.

To his side lay his wife, sleeping peacefully. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the room lighted only from soft moonglow, he turned to her, watching her, his body calming, his tense muscles relaxing as he breathed deeply and purposefully.

Her beautiful hair flowed in waves across the pillow, eyes shut firmly in deep slumber as she faced him. One bare breast peeked out from the sheet, nipple hardened from the chill in the room, and without thought he reached down and covered her gently with the blankets, which in turn caused her to stir and swiftly turn onto her stomach, her arms pushed up under her pillow.

His chest tightened as he thought about her, about the night before, her loving him with such passion and beauty, giving not only her body but her soul to him as well. And because of their growing closeness, the dream filled him with disparity and urgency. With Caroline in his life, becoming everything to him, his greatest fears were ahead, disguised in the unknown.

Philip knew he was alive somewhere. That was the dream, so vivid and terrifying.

Philip was coming—he could feel it in the air, in the darkness—and his sweet, beautiful wife would be the killer’s target. Rosalyn was Christine’s child, and that alone would keep her safe. He knew of her already and had so for years. But Caroline was English. She belonged to him. And that knowledge, if he knew of it, would eat at the Frenchman. Until he saw Philip dead with his eyes, he could never be sure, and the nightmares would never end.

He looked back to her, moonlight filtering through the window to strike the softness of her back, and suddenly he felt the incredible urge to hold her. He lowered his body onto the bed again, covered both of them with the quilt, and snuggled against her warmth. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him, holding her tightly as he grazed his palm along her arm.

In all of his life, through the loneliness, the devastation of war, the trench of death, he’d never felt so frightened of the unknown, of what was to come. Philip was probably already in England, and Caroline’s very existence was now in his hands.

“I will keep you safe, my love,” he whispered into the cold, quiet night, burying his face in her hair. “I will keep you safe.”