He turned his mount about and led him at an easy trot back along the coast until the bluffs smoothed out into a small slope that ran into the sandy beach. He followed the beach back up until the bluffs formed once again, blocking the beach from the view of anyone riding along the fields above.

He dismounted, lifted Kate down after him and gathered her into his arms.

She was still trembling.

He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth. His hands moved over her, brushing along her arms and back, her face and shoulders. He wanted to soothe and comfort. He wanted to make her stop shaking.

"It's all right, Kate. It's all right."

Kate couldn't keep still. She couldn't keep the tremors from wracking her body. She tried pressing herself closer to Hunter, burrowing her face against his chest, wrapping her arms around him, and gripping handfuls of his coat at his back. But nothing seemed to help. Nothing erased the memory of the cliff rushing up before her and being powerless to save herself.

"I couldn't stop him. He wouldn't stop."

He slipped an arm under her knees, carried her to a sheltered spot between two towering boulders, and sat in the sand, cradling her in his lap.

"It's over, sweetheart. It's done. I have you."

He did have her-wrapped warm and safe in his arms. She relaxed in his hold as his voice floated over her, pushing aside the memory of the wind whipping in her ears and the sound of hoofs pounding on the ground. She breathed in his familiar scent, letting it erase the smell of Whistler's sweat. Hunter had her now. She was safe.

His arms tightened around her. "Stop shaking, sweetheart."

She let out a shuddering sigh against his chest. "I have," she whispered. "That's you."

Hunter blinked at Kate's words.

That's you.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he was was shaking. He hadn't realized. He'd been too focused on Kate's distress to notice the tremor in his arms. Merely a reaction to extreme physical exertion, he a.s.sured himself, and patently refused to acknowledge that he'd engaged in physical acts in the past that were far and away more extreme. And not once had they ended with him shaking. shaking. He hadn't realized. He'd been too focused on Kate's distress to notice the tremor in his arms. Merely a reaction to extreme physical exertion, he a.s.sured himself, and patently refused to acknowledge that he'd engaged in physical acts in the past that were far and away more extreme. And not once had they ended with him shaking.

Kate lifted her head and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. "I'm all right."

Was she comforting him now? Was he being soothed soothed?

Did he care as long as she kept doing it? He decided he didn't, not when it involved feeling the heat of her mouth against his. Willing to be consoled, he wrapped a hand around the base of her neck, pulled her closer, and took the kiss deeper.

On a quiet sigh, she shifted in his lap and twined her arms around his neck. And then she she took the kiss deeper, tasting him with her tongue, parting her lips in an invitation for him to do the same. took the kiss deeper, tasting him with her tongue, parting her lips in an invitation for him to do the same.

He accepted what she offered, slanting his mouth over hers again and again until the remnants of the panic he refused to acknowledge were washed away by desire; until they were both trembling with need instead of fear.

He should stop, a small part of his brain admonished. He shouldn't allow the encounter to progress past a kiss. They were on a beach, for pity's sake.

A larger part of his brain reminded him that it was a beach at least a mile from the house and hidden from both field and sea by rock. He wouldn't be able to take his time, he wouldn't be able to do all the things he'd fantasized, but he could have her. He could make her his.

He'd always been a proponent of majority rule.

He let his hands slip to her shoulders, careful of her healing cut, down her torso, around and up her back to work the b.u.t.tons of her gown. Just a few, just enough to pull the bodice down over her shoulders, until there was only her thin chemise between him and the skin he craved. He didn't let himself take at first. Lowering her to the sand, he tormented them both by tracing kisses down her neck, along her collarbone, and finally across the neckline of her chemise where fabric met heated flesh. He dallied there, enjoying the sharp contrast in textures, almost as much as he enjoyed her sharp gasp of pleasure when he used his tongue to sample the skin just beneath the seam.

He could have stayed there, teasing her, listening to the sounds of her pleasure for endless minutes. He would have, if they'd been in a bed behind a locked door. And if an extended period of denied pa.s.sion hadn't been tearing at his control.

"I want you." He pulled the chemise down slowly, following the movement with his mouth, whispering words against her breast. "Want you." He brushed his hand lightly over a small pink nipple, squeezed his eyes shut on a groan when she arched toward him. "Please."

It wasn't begging. He didn't beg. It was seduction-the sweet words any man gave any woman he was trying to bed. Even as he made the excuse, a small part of Hunter knew it to be a lie. But not even the smallest part of him cared. Not now, not while Kate's soft form was arched beneath him in desire.

Whatever words he needed to speak, whatever lies he needed to hear, he'd offer them and more. Though he'd deny it later, in that moment, he'd have offered anything, everything he had, if it meant he could have her. her.

"Kate."

"Yes."

Another tremor ran through him and he wasn't certain if it was one of relief or antic.i.p.ation or even, heaven help him, nerves. She would be his now. His. His.

He ran his hands over her possessively, wishing he could strip away all the layers of clothes between them. He wanted to see her naked and spread out before him like an offering. He wanted to feel every inch of her skin pressed against every inch of his own. Next time, he a.s.sured himself. Next time, when they were married, he would undress her in slow stages and linger over every curve and plane. For now, it was enough, it was more than enough, to remove or push aside the most inhibiting articles of clothing, to feel the soft weight of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to slowly push up her skirts as he followed the long curves of her leg with his palm, to swallow her gasp when he discovered the heat at the juncture of her thighs.

He listened to her whimpers and sighs, relished the way she twisted beneath him in need as he poised himself against her entrance. Not yet, he ordered himself, not until she was moaning. Not until she moaned his name.

"Hunter."

"Andrew," he whispered. For reasons he didn't care to ponder, he needed to hear her say it.

"Andrew," she moaned against his mouth, sending a shiver racing along his skin.

He entered her slowly, giving her body a chance to grow accustomed to his, and giving himself the chance to savor every glorious moment.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders, lightly at first, then with increasing pressure as he pressed deeper. When he pushed through the barrier that marked her as an innocent, he could have sworn the nails in his shoulders drew blood.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He wrapped his arms tight around her. "I'm sorry. It will get better."

Her voice was hesitant, notably devoid of pa.s.sion, and unless he was much mistaken, just a little patronizing. "Yes...all right."

She was attempting to spare his feelings, he realized, and nearly laughed. He might have laughed, if they hadn't both been experiencing two very different, but very real varieties of discomfort in that moment.

He wanted to move. He needed needed to move. to move.

"We'll wait," he whispered, brushing his lips across hers. "As long as you like. We'll wait."

Ignoring the instinct that demanded he push inside her until he was sated, he kept his arms around her and stayed still, perfectly still, until her grip eased and he could no longer feel the hard pounding of her heart against his chest. When he was certain, absolutely certain, the worst of her pain had pa.s.sed, he loosened his hold and set himself to the task of rekindling her pa.s.sion.

He took her mouth in a long, drugging kiss and ran his hands over her again, rediscovering the places that had made her whimper and sigh before. He whispered words of encouragement, sweet endearments that made her smile and blush.

She sighed when he slid his palms down the sides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, whimpered when he brushed the sensitive skin at the back of her knee and moaned when his fingers found the spot where their bodies were joined.

He moved inside her then-slowly at first, gauging her reaction. When she moaned again and arched up to meet him, he quickened the pace. He watched her, transfixed, as she threw her head back, her eyes closed and her lips parted on a cry of pleasure.

Beautiful, he thought through a haze of desire. She was beautiful in her pa.s.sion.

And then all thought was lost to him. There was only the building need, the long, hard strain to meet it, and the breathtaking sight and feel of Kate finding her release a moment before he took his own.

It was several long minutes before Hunter had the wherewithal to roll onto his back and tuck Kate against his side.

"Did I hurt you, sweetheart?" He'd meant to have more control. He'd meant to give her his name, a bed, and then then his control, but it was a bit late to change the order of things now. his control, but it was a bit late to change the order of things now.

"No. Well, some at first," she admitted, and he could have sworn he felt the cheek on his chest warm. "But then no. It was...I don't know what to call it...Wonderful?"

He shouldn't ask. He shouldn't. He just couldn't help himself. "Did you hear music?"

"Music?" She lifted her head to peer at him, then the water, then him again. "No. I told you, the sea stops it...Why are you laughing?"

"Never mind, sweetheart," he chuckled, tucking her head back down to his chest. "I'll explain another time."

Kate considered insisting he tell her now, then decided she had neither the energy, nor the interest. Her body felt deliciously weary, as if she'd spent the whole day running about in the sun and now wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in the cool shade. Her mind, on the other hand, was a riot of thoughts and feelings. She couldn't have fallen asleep if her very life depended on it.

She'd lain with a man. She frowned a little against Hunter's chest. What a terrible misrepresentation of the facts that turn of phrase was. It rather sounded as if the two of them had taken a nap.

She'd made love with Hunter, that description was far superior. And it fit her circ.u.mstances perfectly, because she was, in fact, in love with Hunter.

She could no longer cla.s.sify what she felt for him as a strong attachment. Much to her dismay, she'd realized that as Whistler had raced toward the cliffs. Finally, she had truly fallen in love. Finally, she had found her prince. And she was going to die before she had a chance to do anything at all about it.

She had an urge to do something about it now-perhaps tell Hunter how she felt. But that sort of thing took a considerable amount of courage, and after a terrifying ride over the fields toward almost certain death, she was feeling a bit drained of courage.

Maybe it would be best if she let him speak of his feelings first. Surely he intended to at some point. She wasn't quite so nave as to believe a man would only make love to a woman he was in love with with, but when that man had also been courting that woman it seemed at least plausible plausible that he should love her. And when that man had plucked that woman from a runaway mount, it seemed...well, not inevitable, exactly, but certainly more likely than just plausible. And when that man- that he should love her. And when that man had plucked that woman from a runaway mount, it seemed...well, not inevitable, exactly, but certainly more likely than just plausible. And when that man- "I can practically hear you thinking," Hunter commented.

Oh, she sincerely hoped not. "I was...I was thinking that you caught up with me just in time." She'd thought it right after he'd pulled her from Whistler, which made it at least partially true.

His arm tightened around her shoulders. "I know. It's all right. You didn't fall."

"I didn't mean you saved me just in time, although that's true as well. I mean I saw you just in time. I thought to jump."

"Jump?" She felt him start, and lift his head to look down at her. "Off your horse?"

"It seemed a better choice than letting myself be tossed off a cliff. I wasn't sure Whistler would throw me, but it was becoming more likely with every pa.s.sing second. And I thought I'd have a better chance at surviving a fall from a horse than I would a fall from the bluffs."

He put his head back down, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Calculated risk," he murmured and ran his hand down her hair. "Smart. You're an intelligent woman, Kate. I'm sorry for giving you the impression I thought otherwise."

Kate thought throwing herself from a racing horse fell more along the lines of desperate measure, but knew it wasn't in her best interest to argue the point. "Perhaps I overreacted to our argument a little," she began before recalling his comment about blithely strolling into danger. "No, I don't think I did. But I don't wish to argue about it any longer."

Soft laughter rumbled in his chest. "Fair enough."

"I'd rather hear any theories you might have as to why Whistler bolted as he did. And what happened to the rein. It's as if the bridle simply fell apart, but why on earth-?"

"Miss Willory."

"Beg your pardon?"

He blew out a hard breath. "We need to dress. I'll explain on the way back."

"Must we go back just yet?" she asked, even as she used one hand to pull up her chemise and gown. She wasn't quite ready to abandon their romantic interlude but neither was she comfortable continuing it half naked.

"I'm afraid so." He sat them up. "Others will be out looking for you by now."

"Whatever for?"

"Because," he reached around to fasten the b.u.t.tons of her gown. "Lizzy knows Miss Willory was in the stable at the same time as you, and by now she will have told Mirabelle, Mrs. Summers, and your mother, who have no doubt sent other riders to look for you."

Kate felt her mouth fall open, but it was several seconds before she could make any sort of sound emerge. "Miss Willory had something to do with this?"

He gently shifted her off his lap so he could stand and put his own clothing to rights. "I've no doubt she sabotaged your tack-put something under the saddle, cut the rein. She's responsible for the piano bench as well, and for Mr. Potsbottom's mistaken belief that you were hoping for his attentions."

"She told Mr. Potsbottom...Good heavens," she breathed. "Has she come unhinged?"

"Not entirely, or she would have confessed to all." He tucked in his shirt and pulled on his coat. "As it stands, she'll only accept responsibility for the piano bench."

"But you're certain she-"

"Absolutely."

She shook her head in bewilderment. She could scarce believe it. Miss Willory had tried to hurt her. The woman had very nearly killed her. Which reminded her...

"Hunter?"

He finished b.u.t.toning his coat. "Hmm?"

"Do you think it's necessary we tell everyone everything everything that happened?" that happened?"

He paused in the act of tying his cravat in a loose knot. "Do I think it's necessary necessary?"

"Yes...Oh, I didn't mean...not everything, not..." Feeling terribly self-conscious, she waved her hand around to indicate the general vicinity of where they'd lain on the sand. "Not us. I meant what happened with Whistler. Must we tell my family I nearly went over a cliff? I can't see how their knowing would benefit anyone. And a longer ride would would explain our, er, longer absence. And-" explain our, er, longer absence. And-"

"And you want to avoid being fussed over," he guessed and bent down to pull her to her feet.

"Oh, I'm going to be fussed over. But the magnitude of that fussing depends on how willing you are to be circ.u.mspect in your retelling of events." She pushed a few stray pins in her hair back into place, then gave up the effort. No one was going to comment on the appearance of a woman who'd been on the back of a runaway horse.

"You want me to lie," he translated.

"Yes, please."

He smiled at her hopeful tone. "As I intend to see Miss Willory pay either way, I don't see why not." He pulled her close to place a soft kiss on her brow. "Let's get you back to the house. I'll tell you what I know of Miss Willory's treachery on the way."