"Please," she begged raggedly, her fingers clenching and unclenching in his thick hair. She pressed herself closer, hovering on the brink. But still he played with her, forcing her higher and higher.

Then he drew hard on the source of her pleasure, and she screamed as a hundred suns exploded behind her eyes. Fire cascaded along her veins, and every muscle in her body spasmed with blinding delight.

The blazing peak seemed to last forever. She hung suspended in the splendor only he could create in her. He made her dance among the stars. How she adored him.

When the fiery joy had subsided into rippling aftershocks, she opened her eyes to find him watching her from between her splayed legs. She lay exposed, and enough of her girlhood self remained for her to slide one hand down to fiddle her skirts into modesty. Even that simple action tested her strength. She felt as though her bones had turned into wet muslin.

"We're not finished yet," he murmured, stopping her before she could cover herself.

"I don't think I could move a muscle," she protested.

It wasn't true. Already, her interest stirred. Just because he looked at her as if she were a miracle sent down to him from heaven. Sometimes his sway over her frightened her.

"I think you could." His lips curled in a smile of promise.

He hooked his arms around her and drew her upright so she knelt facing him when he sat back on his heels. She rested one hand on his chest. Her fingers tightened in his shirt as she felt his furious heartbeat beneath the fine white lawn. Then he lifted her over him until her dark green skirts settled around them, lending a spurious decorum to their profligacy.

But beneath that concealing material, she straddled him, open and ready for his entry. His erection pressed imperiously against the damp curls at the base of her belly, making her womb clench with a pang of desire.

She wanted all that heat and power. She wanted him inside her.

She grasped his sinewy shoulders with both hands and raised herself up and forward. His hold on her back tightened convulsively and she watched his eyes go opaque as she slowly slid down upon him. Even wet as she was, there was a moment's delicious resistance before she took all of him. His breath escaped in a rasping sigh when she settled around him. She gave a mew of pleasure as she stretched to accommodate his size.

Their gazes met, meshed, held. She read in his eyes that for now, he was willing to let her set the pace. A knowledge of her own power thrilled her as she established an undulating rhythm on him, almost withdrawing, then descending to accept him fully. Every thrust probed deep.

At times like this, the bond between them seemed unbreakable, although she knew that could never be true. She loved him slowly, thoroughly, intently, giving him all of herself with each rise and fall of her body.

He dragged her up for a long, passionate kiss. He used his tongue and teeth on her mouth as he'd used his tongue and teeth on her core. She tasted her juices in his kiss.

The idea was astonishingly arousing. Her interior muscles contracted to grip him, and she moved more quickly.

Her peak was so close. So close. She clenched her hands in the front of his shirt as she hurtled toward the abyss.

He tore his mouth from hers and flung his head back as he strained into her. All vestige of control disintegrated in the frenzy. She bit and scratched at him like an animal and reveled in her wildness.

Her climax hit with blinding force just as he wrenched upward and erupted into her. Even through her crisis, she felt the scalding heat of his seed flood her. For an eon of flame, she clung to him while her world reeled around her.

When it was over, they collapsed upon the rug. Verity sprawled across Kylemore's heaving chest and listened as his heart gradually calmed. Her body ached with glorious exhaustion. She wasn't convinced she'd ever have the energy to move again.

Surely one day she would die of this pleasure. But not yet.

After a long, emotion-filled silence, he raised a shaking hand to touch her hair. She felt the tenderness in the caress right to her toes.

"Now there are no more ghosts," he said softly.

Following the destruction of his grandfather's grisly trophies, Verity thought that Kylemore had finally sloughed off the miseries of his past. As each day passed in a haze of joy, she began to nurture fragile hope that he'd vanquished his demons.

Unfortunately, her own demons clamored closer and closer.

And they wanted blood.

In this secret valley, the world didn't intrude. It hardly mattered that Kylemore was one of the kingdom's greatest noblemen or she was a harlot with a name bandied about in every tavern from John O'Groats to Land's End.

But she couldn't forget the duke had responsibilities he ignored. He must wed and beget an heir. And it was brutally apparent he couldn't marry his mistress, in spite of his insane proposal in Kensington. She guessed now that he'd intended his marriage as an attack against his family. Thank God that confused, angry man no longer existed.

Every moment with Kylemore, every time they made love so sweetly, every time they laughed or argued or spoke quietly by the fire after a long, fulfilled day, she knew that as long as she stayed, he'd never seek a wife.

He hadn't said he loved her, just as she hadn't said she loved him. But each look, each gesture, each word announced that his attachment to her was the kind that shook kingdoms.

And a fallen woman like her wasn't worthy.

Loving her would destroy him. She couldn't bear to see him debased, mocked and derided because he was brave and good enough to see past her notoriety to the real woman. She had to make him release her.

But as every new day dawned and she woke in his arms, drowsy, happy, replete, she promised herself she'd leave him tomorrow.

When the time came, it struck her with the force of a physical blow.

At this latitude, autumn set in quickly and the night air carried a chill even while the hillsides were still hazy purple with heather. Kylemore came into the parlor carrying the fresh scent of the late afternoon with him.

Verity had difficulty remembering her elegant protector. After a month in Scotland, his hair had grown and he looked tanned and relaxed. In his rough clothes, one could easily mistake him for a well-to-do farmer. Until one noted the effortless command in his stance.

"What?" he asked as he caught her watching him from where she stood at the window.

"I was just thinking what a handsome lover I've got," she said with perfect honesty.

It never failed to surprise her how patently unused he was to compliments. He gave her an embarrassed half smile.

"Och, but you're a foolish wee lassie."

She laughed at the theatrically broad brogue. "Well, if you doubt me, ask Morag and Kirsty. I swear those girls go red as rowan berries just at the sound of your voice."

It was true. The duke's improved temper had percolated through the whole household so even the maids, once utterly in awe of him, had taken to mooning after him like lost lambs.

Not that he noticed. Once she'd thought him puffed up with conceit, but personal vanity had been only another element in the complex disguise he'd cultivated in London.

"They're as foolish as you are, mo cridhe ."

Hamish had told hermo cridhe meant "my heart" andmo leannan meant "my beloved." She knew she shouldn't quiver with delight every time Kylemore used the endearments, but she couldn't help it.

He was right. She was most definitely a foolish lassie.

Kylemore crossed to take her hand and lead her toward the couch in front of the grate. A fire was a constant feature now the year drew in.

"I want to talk to you."

He didn't sound as if he had anything serious on his mind. He lounged against the cushions like a young sultan contemplating his favorite concubine.

"For the last time, I don't want to learn to ride." She sat next to him.

"No, it's something else." He raised the hand he held and placed a kiss on her palm. "I've missed you," he murmured.

She gave a husky laugh and leaned forward to press her mouth briefly to his. How she loved this physical ease. It bubbled under the surface of her new life as an ever-flowing source of joy.

"You've only been away for the afternoon."

"I know, but I still missed you." Gently, he folded her fingers closed as if to keep his kiss safe.

"Now who's foolish?" She reached up to stroke the silky dark hair back from his face. "Shall I cut your hair tonight? You're turning into a shaggy Highlander. I find myself quite terrified of you."

"My valet at Kylemore Castle sees to such tasks."

"Yes, but..." Then, as though she staggered under a punch, she understood the significance of what he'd just said. "Kylemore Castle," she repeated, although she'd heard him perfectly clearly.

"Autumn's closing in, Verity. We can't stay over winter. The place is uninhabitable and totally inaccessible. Not to mention colder than an ice cave in Hades."

He spoke as if what he said was reasonable, while in reality, it rang the death knell to all her happiness.

"I...I see," she said shakily.

And of course, she did.

Their idyll had lasted a little over three weeks. Twenty-two short days. Such a paltry reward for her lonely years of struggle.

It wasn't fair, she wanted to rage although she'd come to terms with life's essential unfairness at fifteen.

Just another week. Another day.

I'm not ready to give you up yet.

And all the while, she knew no reprieve would ever be enough unless it promised forever. And forever couldn't be.

"So can you be ready to leave tomorrow?" Still that calm voice went on as if he didn't crush her with every measured word. "Angus and Andy have left to sail the boat in from the coast. They and Hamish travel with us. The others will pack up the house and follow when the boat returns to collect them."

"So soon?" she whispered. Once she'd loathed every blade of grass in this valley. Now it broke her heart to leave.

Oh, Verity,a voice inside her whispered.It's not leaving the valley that breaks your heart and you know it.

"This far north, the weather can turn in an instant. I want to be sure I get you out safely."

"Yes," she said dully. "Of course I'll be ready."

At her side, hidden from his eyes, her free hand clenched into a fist as she battled for control.

He frowned, and she saw he finally registered her distress. He was usually so quick to pick up on her slightest reaction, but practical matters distracted him this afternoon.

"What's wrong?" He pressed another kiss to her tense fingers. "Don't worry, mo gradh . You'll like the castle. It looks out to sea and has acres of gardens for you to devastate."

She couldn't summon a smile. Not when her world crumbled around her. "Yes," she said blankly.

He paused, studying her with a puzzled expression. She couldn't doubt she had his complete attention now.

"And the castle is closer to medical attention if you need it," he said slowly.

That startled her out of her dazed misery. "I'm not sick. I'm never sick."

He smiled as if he were the happiest man in the world. "No, but you may already carry my child."

Wrenching her hand from his, she struggled to her feet. She spun around to face him with her back to the fireplace. She shivered with such cold that she hardly noticed the warmth of the flames.

"No. No, that's not possible."

His dark blue eyes remained steady. "I'd say it's more than possible."

She sucked in a deep breath to calm her agitation. "You don't understand. I'm barren."

It was foolish to be ashamed to admit something she'd accepted for so long, yet ashamed she was.

"You can't know that," he said evenly.

She curled her hands at her sides so hard that the nails bit into her palms. "Yes, I can. Even when they use preventatives, women get caught. I've slept with men since I was fifteen. I'm twenty-eight and I've never conceived." At first, her infertility had seemed a blessing, but as the years had passed, she'd come to abhor her unnatural state. "I...I still took precautions, but more from habit than necessity."

"You're guessing," he said firmly.

"It's fairly certain," she returned with equal firmness.

He rose to stand in front of her. Thank God, he didn't touch her. She couldn't bear it if he touched her now. Her determination to leave him was shaky enough as it was.

"Verity, Sir Eldreth was well past his first vigor. Mallory, from what I gather, wasn't ardent in his attentions. You and I were always careful in London. We've been both passionate and careless in this house." His eyes were alight with joy. "A happy arrival next spring is indeed likely."

Was it true? Could Kylemore's child already grow inside her?

She hadn't had her monthly flow in weeks. But then, her cycle had always been erratic.

Oh, let it be so! She'd give anything to feel his child move within her. She'd lavish on his son or daughter all the love that his own childhood had so cruelly lacked.

He went on as if he hadn't just shattered one of the certainties she'd based her life upon. "I don't want you trapped here in the middle of winter if something goes wrong."

The heart that had surged with hope sank back to misery.

If by some miracle she had his baby, she'd have to raise the infant without him, because the possibility of pregnancy did nothing to change their essential dilemma. It merely added cruel spice to her anguish.

She struggled to hide the extent of her devastation. Once she might have succeeded. Now, she doubted she'd fool him.

But she had to try. For his sake, she had to try.

She took another deep breath. "I'm not coming to Kylemore Castle."

He didn't immediately understand. Why should he?