"You have the most humorous way of assuming I can't do whatever I want."

"I mean it. You have to go. Right now."

She went over and waved to the hall, as if she could shoo him out. And she left the door ajar, which irked him. He was eager to be sequestered with her in a fashion they shouldn't be.

"You're very bossy," he said, "and I don't like it."

"I don't care."

"I like my women to be meek and polite. I like them to obey me."

"Then you must hate me."

"Sometimes I think I do, but other times I think you fascinate me."

"I fascinate you?" She snorted with amusement. "Have you been drinking?"

"Yes, but not nearly enough to keep me from coming to visit you."

He was actually beginning to feel horrid for having forced her to the decrepit spot, but he was trying not to pay attention to his guilty conscience. Mercy and compassion were never traits he exhibited, and he wasn't about to start with her. Yet he constantly found himself asking: Why make her suffer for Miles's sins? Why not bring her to the main house? What could it hurt?

"What do you want?" she inquired.

"What do I want?" he mused. It was a question that was definitely vexing him. "I have no idea."

"Why don't you return to the manor and ponder the answer. Once you figure out what it is, you can let me know."

"Close the door," he told her.

"I most certainly will not. I'm not about to permit you to stay."

He rose and walked over to her. She didn't step back, didn't flit into the hall and run off, and he liked that about her. She wasn't timid or shy.

He shut the door, but the key was missing so he couldn't lock it. She grabbed the knob and would have yanked it open again, but he slapped a palm on the wood, holding it firmly in place.

"I'd like to be alone with you for a bit."

"Well, I have no desire to be alone with you."

"Why not?"

"It's not appropriate, and I don't like you."

"Really? In my bedchamber this afternoon, you seemed to like me just fine."

He picked her up and threw her onto the bed, then he tumbled down after her. She tried to scoot off the other side, but he was too quick for her. He rolled on top of her and pinned her down.

As always transpired when they were together, sparks erupted, the atmosphere sizzling with excitement. He dipped down and kissed her. She didn't protest, but leapt into the fray as if they'd been lovers forever.

She was gradually relaxing, her ire melting, and he pulled away and flopped onto his back. He drew her over him so she was draped across his chest, her ear directly over his heart.

They lay quietly, and he was greatly relieved to be with her. He couldn't deduce how or why she affected him, and he wouldn't attempt to unravel the peculiar influence she exerted over him. When he was with her, he wasn't so angry, wasn't so unhappy. He felt contented and...free from worry.

"I used to live in this house," he said.

"I know."

"This is the first time I've been in it since I came back."

"What do you think of it?"

"It's sad that it was left to rot, but it's typical of Edward Marshall. He never appreciated what he had, and it wouldn't have occurred to him to look after it."

"I agree. The building is in dismal shape, which is very sad."

"Why wasn't it kept in better condition? Why has it been vacant?"

"Edward employed numerous estate agents over the years, but after your grandfather was terminated, none of them remained for more than a few months."

"I suppose it was worse after Miles inherited."

"Yes, especially then. Miles either fired people or they quit in exasperation."

"After Miles let you have the job, why didn't you move in and make it your home?"

She frowned as if it was the silliest notion ever. "Why would I need so much space? And a woman alone? It would have been impossible."

She was such an enigma, and he didn't understand her. She was so different from her cousins. Although she had Marshall blood in her veins, she never asked for more than she'd been given, would never have imagined the residence should be hers.

"What's it like for you to be in this house?" she inquired. "Now that you've seen it, is it distressing to you?"

"Nothing is ever distressing to me."

"Why is that?"

"I don't fret over trifles. I just pick a path and walk it. I learned long ago that there's no point in moping or bemoaning Fate."

"You never told me what happened to you after your grandfather died."

"No, I didn't."

There was a protracted pause where she waited for him to expound on his past, and when he was stoically silent, she asked, "Was it horrid?"

"It's wasn't terrific."

"Where did you live?"

"Here and there."

"How did you support yourself?"

"I worked."

"At what sorts of tasks?"

A myriad of scenes flitted through his mind: meeting Michael Scott, learning to steal and maim, fighting to survive in prison, grappling for power on the ship that carried him to Australia. There were always bullies in any group, and in the close quarters, they'd been particularly cruel.

He'd had no desire to be a leader, but he never allowed himself to be intimidated, and he'd had Kit to protect. It had only taken a few incidents to convince others to be wary, but his brawls meant he was branded a menace by the guards.

For several years, he'd been incarcerated in the boys' colony where the most incorrigible young criminals had been held. They'd toiled like slaves, had tilled the land from dawn to dusk, the Crown struggling to make farmers out of them. The general impression had been that honest labor would cure them of their felonious habits.

But from the outset, the plan had had no chance of succeeding. They'd all been arrested on the streets of London and were a gang of unruly, desperate children with no families and no hope.

How any sane adult could have thought they could be groomed for a docile, rural existence was a mystery he'd never solved. Yet he wasn't about to discuss any of it with her, for he was unusually troubled. If he opened his mouth, he couldn't predict what type of maudlin drivel might spill out.

She'd asked how he felt about being in his childhood home, and it was extremely stressful.

His life at Kirkwood had simply rolled along as any child's should, with no drama or tragedy. Yes his mother and father had died when he was a baby, but he didn't remember them, and with his grandfather stepping into the role of parent he'd never missed or mourned them.

He'd studied his lessons, played with his friends, and watched how his grandfather managed the estate. Their male ancestors had been estate agents to the Marshalls for generations, and his grandfather had believed Damian would take over the post once Walter was done with it.

How ridiculously nave they had been.

"This afternoon," he said, "why did you run out of my bedchamber?"

"You frightened me."

"You liar. I don't frighten you." He drew her up so they were nose to nose. "Why pretend to be scared of me when you're not?"

"I wasn't scared precisely."

"What was it then?"

"I can't explain it to you."

"Why not?"

"It's intimate, and I have no idea how to have that kind of conversation."

"It's just physical behavior. It's not that odd."

"For you maybe, but you're a libertine. You've likely dallied with dozens of females in illicit ways."

"You could be right."

"You wouldn't deem it odd or intimate, but for me it's all...overwhelming."

"It can be when you're new at it."

"Can I ask you a question?"

She slid away from him and onto her stomach, not able to look him in the eye. He rested a palm on the center of her back, rubbing in slow circles.

"You can ask, and I'll answer if I can."

"I was wondering about what happened to me."

"It was sexual pleasure, Georgina. It's called an orgasm."

She nodded. "Why would it have occurred though? I'm merely curious if...ah...it indicates details about my character."

"Like what?"

"Am I loose? Am I easy?"

Lord, save me from virgins! he nearly muttered, but when she glanced over at him, she appeared so woeful that he couldn't be curt with her.

"It doesn't designate any sort of attribute," he said.

"What does it signify then?"

"As I mentioned, it's just physical conduct. It's satisfying and fun. You shouldn't try to read any ulterior implications into it."

"It wouldn't be an...inherited trait?"

"Inherited? From a parent or relative? No. Any woman can do it, and any woman can enjoy it."

She blew out a heavy breath as if she'd been tremendously vexed over the issue. "My Aunt Augusta detested my mother."

"Why?"

"My father was a soldier, and he was garrisoned in the village. She and my mother were both smitten, but my mother won him."

"Augusta had to settle for Edward instead."

"Yes."

"Augusta was jealous because of it and she's taken it out on you."

"Yes, and she denigrates my mother. She claims my mother was wild and reckless and that I possess her low tendencies. She insists I fight any passionate urges or I'll end up just like her."

It was another reason to loathe Augusta Marshall, and he bristled with offense.

"You shouldn't listen to Augusta on any topic," he said.

"I can't help it. I've been trapped here with her, and when she starts spouting her opinions, it's impossible to ignore her."

"I suppose, but I hate that she's harangued at you all these years."