He started kissing her again, gradually rolling them so he was stretched out on top of her. He seemed driven to prove a point or maybe to lead her to places they hadn't been before. His tongue was in her mouth, his hands roaming over her torso, caressing her breasts and thighs, her shoulders and back.

"I want you," he murmured.

"I can't guess what that means."

"I'll show you."

"I can't oblige you. Not when I'm clueless as to what you're requesting."

"It will be wonderful. I swear it."

"What will be wonderful? That's how oblivious I am."

"I have to make you mine, Georgina. We can't avoid it any longer."

"Are you suggesting I...I..."

She didn't have the vocabulary for carnal discussion and couldn't complete her sentence.

"Yes," he said, "that's precisely what I'm suggesting."

"Tell me what you plan. Explain it to me."

"I can't explain it."

"Why not?"

"You'd never believe me, and I'm in such a desperate hurry. I can't bear to talk about it now."

She was on the horns of the worst dilemma. Obviously she'd pushed him to the exact spot Miles and Augusta had been urging her to attain, but she wouldn't ruin herself simply to get a few more months of residence at Kirkwood.

No, if she proceeded it would be for another reason entirely. She didn't want a temporary relationship, didn't want to consort on a lumpy mattress and act as if it was satisfying to her. He'd come to her for companionship and comfort. How could she convince him that he needed more than that from her, and he hadn't recognized it?

"I might be willing to do what you ask," she tentatively said, "but you'd have to do something for me too."

"What is it?"

"I'm not a doxy."

"I realize you're not."

"You can't use me as you would a woman of low character. I'm a respectable female from a good family."

"If you consider the Marshalls a good family, I'd have to agree."

"I can't engage in a fling as if there are no rules governing civilized society."

"Oh. You expect me to promise myself."

"Would you?"

"Why would you want me for a husband?"

"You're lonely."

"I'm not."

"I'm lonely too," she declared as if he hadn't just insisted he wasn't.

"If it's loneliness you're hoping to cure, we don't have to bind ourselves in order to chase it away. We can simply spend passionate time together, and you'll be perfectly content when we're through."

"No, I wouldn't be. I need more than you're offering. I need the parts of you you've never given to anyone before."

He peered down at her with what she assumed was significant fondness, but ultimately he said, "I would never promise myself. I don't keep my promises, Georgina. I've never been able to."

"Wouldn't it be grand to belong to me? You seem so isolated and solitary. Wouldn't it be marvelous to have one person in the world who is completely yours?"

He sighed. "I've never wanted that so with me apprising you that I can't bestow what you desire, how shall we resolve this?"

"I don't know."

"Shall I go? Before you answer, I should probably inform you that I really don't think I can." He paused, then added, "Don't make me."

"No, I won't make you. Stay right here. Stay as long as you like."

Damian stared down at her, wishing he'd lit a candle so he could see her eyes. When he was with her, he always felt better. At the moment, with the terrible day finally over, there was no place he'd rather be than in her arms.

He'd told her he couldn't leave, and he was serious. He was too beaten down by events. It was bad enough to be back at Kirkwood, but his fight with Kit had exacerbated his anguish.

His friend's departure had rattled loose many old memories, had scratched the scab off many old wounds. He'd tried to ignore his beleaguered condition, and when he couldn't, he'd come to Georgina. It was the only solution.

He was stunned to find himself riveted by her request for a continuing connection. What would it be like to wed her? He suspected it would be splendid-for a bit of time-but he couldn't envision sitting around the home fires and having a wife fuss over him. He was a man of action, and he lived life on the edge. He had all he needed, and it didn't include a bride.

Well, except perhaps Portia Smithwaite. In the end, he might marry her. He'd actually proposed but wasn't certain he'd proceed. It was more likely that he'd jilt her at the last second.

What he would never, ever do was shackle himself to Georgina Fogarty. She was loyal, decent, and kind-hearted. If he consented to matrimony, she'd presume it was for love and esteem. She'd shower Damian with devotion and affection, but he could never return those sentiments.

But...

She was such a deliciously sensual creature, and she could benefit from a dalliance. She should have been bedded years earlier, and he was eager to be the one who relieved her of her virginity. He had no doubt he could. Then he'd convince her to remain by his side for a while. He would spoil her, would lavish her with gifts she'd never received as the Marshalls' poor cousin.

He'd take her away from Kirkwood to a locale that was beautiful and exotic. He'd set her up in a fine house with an allowance and servants so she could carry on in a manner suited to how extraordinary he deemed her to be.

She wouldn't get a ring on her finger, wouldn't have the husband she'd hoped to have, but she'd have something better, something most women would kill to have. She'd have an independent existence, without a shrew like Augusta Marshall criticizing her every move.

"Tell me about Botany Bay," she suddenly said.

"Why would you ask such a question?"

"I'd like to know more about you. What was your crime?"

He never talked about that era so he was astonished to hear himself say, "It was pick pocketing."

"You were transported for pick pocketing?" She sounded outraged on his behalf, which made him smile.

"Yes, and I had a few other charges added on while I was there."

"Why?"

"I don't follow orders very well. Let's just leave it at that."

She snuggled closer and touched the scars where he'd been flogged so often.

He'd been stubborn and recalcitrant and had refused to obey the commands of idiots. He'd stood up for weaker boys too, boys like Kit who couldn't protect themselves. He'd frequently taken their punishment for them.

His beatings had been so numerous and so intense that he'd nearly perished on several occasions. It was how he'd met Anne Blair. After a particularly brutal episode, she'd kept him alive. She'd saved him, despite the fact that he'd had no interest in being saved.

"You were whipped repeatedly," Georgina said.

He had to swallow twice before he could reply. "It was a hard world."

"How long was your sentence?"

"Seven years."

"You were a child!"

"Yes."

"When was it finished?"

"The original portion ended when I was eighteen, but because of the other charges-for fighting and such-it wasn't completed until I was twenty-two."

Then he'd vanished into the wilderness and had begun robbing the gold caravans bringing gold out to the coast. It had been a fitting way to even the score with numerous pricks who'd constantly tormented him. Over the decades, they'd gone from being guards, to model citizens, to landowners who'd glommed on to all the wealth in the region.

He'd reveled in every single ounce of gold he'd stolen from them. He was still reveling.

"You didn't sneak away from your incarceration?" she asked.

"It wouldn't have been possible. I served every dreary minute that was required."

"How did you get home?"

"I bought a ticket and sailed back. How would you suppose?"

"How did you pay for it?"

"I was a gold miner."

"A gold miner!"

It was a huge lie. He hadn't been a gold miner, but he'd definitely been a gold robber. "Yes, and I was lucky. I struck it rich."

"Will you tell me about all of it someday?"

"I might," he responded, even though he never would.

He liked to imagine he would eventually trust her enough to confide in her, but he was a private man for a very good reason.

Some stories were too horrid to share, and they would profoundly wound her. She had a soft heart and wouldn't be able to bear the truth. She'd always pity him when he couldn't abide being pitied.

He'd gotten even with those who'd harmed him, Miles Marshall simply being the last on a lengthy list of enemies. She didn't need to discover the length of that list.

"Could we stop talking about Botany Bay?" he said.

"What should we talk about instead?"

"How about how beautiful you are?"

"You're not a romantic fellow, Damian, so I'd assume you were fibbing."

"If I gave you candy and flowers, would you figure I didn't really want you to have them?"

"Yes."

She rubbed a hand in gentle circles over his scars. "I'm sorry they hurt you."

"It was a long time ago."

"Yes, but you still have the marks, and it makes me so angry."

He chuckled. "My little champion. How fortunate I am that I met you."

"You are fortunate, and I am fortunate too for having met you."

"Don't leave tomorrow," he abruptly, vehemently said. "I can't let you."

"I can't remain though, and it's all your fault. You've put me in a terrible bind."

"You're in no bind because of me. You wish to be a martyr and tag after Augusta, which is totally your own decision."

"I can't abandon her."

"She'd abandon you quickly enough."

"I'm sure you're correct, but I'm not like her. I'm better than her."

"Yes, you are."