She turned and studied him through the darkness. She didn't move any closer, devil take her. "They'll miss me if I'm away much longer."

What? He felt disoriented. He wanted more than one tumble, breathtaking as it had been.

He straightened and grabbed her hand. "We haven't finished."

"Yes, we have," she said with an implacability he couldn't mistake. She jerked her hand free and slipped along the bench away from him.

He'd been so sure she'd want to explore the glittering universe of desire. Again his arrogance led to assumptions. He should know by now any assumptions about Antonia were likely wrong. He never pleaded with a woman. He found himself pleading now. "There's no danger of discovery. Stay."

The low-voiced request hovered in the air for a fraught second. It was as though he asked more than the next hour. As though he asked for forever.

Damn it. He never asked for forever.

This was the first time he'd regretted that grim reality.

Hell, fucking her was supposed to simplify everything, scratch his itch, send him off with a few fine memories and a sigh of relief that the madness ended.

Instead the sex left him floundering like a drowning man. The joy he'd discovered only promised more and greater joy. His mind was roiling confusion. All he knew was he didn't want Antonia to leave.

Passion clouded his thoughts. Away from her, he'd be free. The hell of it was he didn't want to be away from her.

"Nicholas . "

She paused, giving him time to savor how readily she used his Christian name. He wanted her crying out his name when he drove into her. He wanted to obliterate all memory of previous lovers. She'd think only of him.

He was a selfish bastard, he knew. She could leave now and remain relatively unscathed. But he loathed the idea of her treating him as a fleeting fancy.

"Stay," he repeated softly. Into that one low word, he injected all the persuasion he'd learned through years of debauchery.

All his persuasion did him no good. "I can't."

Hell, surely he could change her mind. The impulse surged to grab her but he wanted her consent first.

"I treated you roughly." Hoarse sincerity edged his voice. Just because he set out to subvert her will didn't mean everything he said was a lie. "My behavior was inexcusable. My only explanation is you've driven me insane. I'll be kinder next time."

He'd thought pleading was difficult. Any moment now he'd be apologizing. He never apologized.

Her short laugh contained no amusement. "Don't be a fool, Nicholas. You didn't do anything I didn't want you to."

Shaming relief flooded his veins. Usually he was too sure of himself to require reassurance. Nothing with Antonia Smith was usual.

She paused and her voice frayed with bitterness. "What happened at least had the virtue of honesty. Tenderness would be a falsehood."

He bit back the lunatic urge to disagree. Beneath tumultuous desire lurked respect and liking and, yes, tenderness. Those moments afterward when she'd touched his hair with a softness that scored his obsidian heart? Those moments were tender. When he'd taken her, passion was paramount. It didn't mean passion was all they had.

"Don't rush away. It's still early." He reached across the distance between them and cupped her jaw in his hand.

She trembled, not nearly so controlled as she wanted to appear. He continued in that coaxing tone. "Let me show you I'm more than a rapacious beast."

"I rather like the rapacious beast," she admitted on a sigh that almost, but not quite, sounded like capitulation. "You're usually so controlled."

He smiled, partly because she made no move to escape. Under his hand, her cheek was smooth and soft, like warm satin. Almost unconsciously, he stroked it. "Not when you're around."

"That's what I like," she whispered.

"Good." He leaned toward her. "Because you're going to see a lot more of it."

"Nicholas . "

"Hush, Antonia."

He knew she intended to say something sensible, something about retreating to the house and her duties. Perhaps, heaven forbid, something about never seeing him again.

He didn't want to argue. He wanted to kiss her. Then he wanted to see her naked. Then he wanted to revisit the hot depths of her glorious body.

He was a man who invariably got what he wanted.

He'd start with the kiss.

The problem was kissing her drove him out of his mind. So hard to calculate seduction when he was afire for her. Did she know what she did to him, the unprecedented effect she created with her mere existence?

So far she hadn't set out to seduce him. God help him if she did. The greatest rake in the kingdom would be helpless against her.

He pressed his lips to hers in a sweet kiss reminiscent of the kiss that had so overset him by the stream. Unfamiliar emotion shivered its way into his heart. He fought the urge to be rough, commanding. Vulnerability never ambushed him when he overwhelmed her with passion.

He'd used her so carelessly tonight. He'd loved it. She claimed it was what she'd wanted. But something in him ached to cherish her. Last time was like diving headfirst into a blazing building. Now he wanted to take his time.

Her lips trembled, then opened like a flower blooming to the sun. He swept his tongue along her lower lip, then dipped inside to taste the interior. She sighed so softly, he wouldn't have heard if he hadn't been this close.

Her mouth opened wider and her tongue brushed his with shy invitation. How incongruous her hesitancy when she'd just flung him up to heaven.

Ardor rose with adamant insistence. He struggled against the need to ravish her, push her against the wall, shove her legs apart.

Reluctantly he retreated. He panted with arousal. So did she. Her hand rested upon his shoulder.

"I'm trying to be gentle," he said gruffly.

He caught the glimmer of her smile. This night seduction was beguiling, but next time, he wanted to see her. "I know."

Then astonishingly she kissed him. The chaste, undemanding kiss blasted him with shock. She rarely touched him without his incitement.

"I have to go, Nicholas."

He was so astounded by her kiss that it took a moment to understand. He snatched after her hand but she'd risen and moved to the center of the room.

"Antonia . "

"Please don't make it more difficult."

He caught something in her voice that sounded like tears. That twinge in his chest stabbed once more.

"Meet me tomorrow," he said urgently, standing but not approaching. He realized his breeches flapped open. Fumbling he fastened them. Something in her vibrating tension told him the instant when she might have surrendered had passed. "I'll be here."

His fists closed at his sides as he struggled against compelling her to stay. He wanted more than she'd given, but the promise of tomorrow would tide him over.

Ranelaw, you are in a bad, bad way.

It was another sign of his bad, bad way that he didn't experience his usual yen to flee difficulties or complications. Even though Antonia Smith with her thorny, barricaded soul was the personification of difficulty and complication.

"I can't." Already she backed away. He had a horrible, eerie feeling that if he let her go, he wouldn't find her again. "Don't ask me."

"I have to." He swallowed and told himself he couldn't steal her like so much contraband and rush off somewhere they'd never be disturbed. Such places only existed in fairy tales. "I'll wait for you."

She shook her head. "Don't. Please don't." Her voice cracked. He wasn't mistaken about the tears.

"We have so much more to discover."

Was this really he? Notorious, heartless Ranelaw? He didn't deserve either description right now. He felt miserable and starved for some sign that Antonia wasn't leaving him forever.

Even worse for his amour propre, he starved for some sign that what had happened meant something to her. She was upset, but he needed to know she felt more than regret.

"Good night, Nicholas," she whispered, and turned in a swirl of pale skirts.

He could chase her. If he caught her, she wouldn't fight.

Nonetheless he let her go. As he listened to the rapid patter of her feet along the path, he slumped onto the bench that had witnessed such incomparable passion.

Chapter Thirteen.

Antonia managed to slip unnoticed into her darkened room.

Trembling she sagged against the closed door. She was a mass of bruises. Physical satisfaction throbbed hot and slow in her blood. Ranelaw's musky scent was all over her. Between her legs, she ached. Every movement was an uncomfortable reminder that tonight she'd done something she hadn't done in a long time.

What on earth had she been thinking?

The problem was she hadn't thought. Pure instinct had overwhelmed her. Her body still hummed from the astonishing climax. Her skin yearned for Ranelaw's caresses. Low in her belly gaped an emptiness that only he could fill as he'd filled her tonight. In those burning, blinding moments, she'd become a different woman.

Yes, a sour voice remarked, she'd become like every other woman Ranelaw had seduced.

A poisonous mixture of confusion, desire, and self-castigation threatened to choke her. She bit her lip and told herself she wouldn't cry. Crying hadn't helped last time she was ruined. It wouldn't help now.

One searing tear squeezed its way beneath her eyelid and trickled down her cheek. A cheek that still tingled from Ranelaw's tender touch.

Ranelaw's lying, tender touch.

He was a large man, much larger than Johnny. She'd always remember how she'd stretched to accommodate him. He'd seated himself deep, then paused as if staking possession. For one quaking, brilliant instant, he forged a connection stronger than steel. She'd believed nothing would sunder them.

That odd conviction of union had persisted, enriching every detail of their lovemaking. And after.

Tonight he'd sounded sincere, almost yearning. It was a trick. She was just another body sacrificed at the altar of his appetites. Yet when he joined his body with hers, he'd felt like her other half, the man she'd sought all her life.

Stupid, stupid, stupid sentimental rot.

Dangerous sentimental rot.

At the height of his passion, she'd braced for him to pour his seed into her. In that incendiary moment, she'd wanted him to claim her as his.

But he'd kept her safe.

Hardly the act of a selfish beast.

Nor had he forced her to stay, although she knew he was primed to take her again. On a preternatural level, she'd always been aware of his reactions. After tonight, that awareness approached the uncanny.

With a muttered curse, she straightened and took a few halting steps. As she moved, she ripped the gown from her body. Later she'd carry the ruined, stained dress downstairs and burn it.

Finally she stood naked and panting by the nightstand. With unsteady hands, she lit a candle, then poured water into a bowl. She trembled so hard, water splashed the bare floorboards. She was desperate to wash Ranelaw off her skin.

Nothing would wash the blemish from her soul.

Ranelaw was adamant that he wouldn't loiter after Antonia like a lovesick sapskull. But following a night troubled by frustrated desire-good God, wanting her was worse now he'd had her-he headed for the summerhouse.

In the bright morning light, the place was no longer a mysterious temple of sensual delight. Instead it held an abandoned air that darkness had concealed. He climbed the steps and walked inside, recalling how he'd carried Antonia. His pulses raced with anticipation, no matter that it was too early to expect her.

He couldn't escape her phantom presence. The breeze lifted his hair, reminding him of Antonia's touch. Did he imagine a trace of her scent? Footprints showed on the dusty marble floor. Absently he scuffed one boot across the marks.

Lighting a cheroot, he wandered to the bench. A small stain discolored the seat. The heat between them should have left a few scorch marks, at the very least. But as he drew on his cheroot and glanced around, nothing here indicated the world had changed.

No, the changes were inside him, blast Antonia Smith to Hades.

With a weary sigh, he slumped down, stretching his legs across the floor and tipping his head back against the window frame. It was another sunny day, warm for May. Perhaps later he could coax Antonia to swim in the lake.

His blood eddied with desire as he imagined her magnificent body gleaming with water. He still hadn't seen that magnificent body unclothed. Last night he'd been in too much of a rush, God forgive him.

Something in Antonia melted his cold, hard core, ate into his proud self-sufficiency. He knew he invited trouble. The pleasure had been so extraordinary, right now he couldn't bring himself to mind too much.

He finished his cheroot. Smoked another. The sun filled him with languor, quieted the clamor of need to a gentle hum instead of a screaming demand. He closed his eyes, promising himself a nap. After all, he'd hardly slept last night and his exertions beforehand had been noteworthy.

When he opened his eyes, shadow bathed him. He glanced out, astonished to see the morning had become late afternoon. His belly grumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since a snatched breakfast. He'd been too eager to see Antonia to linger over the meal.

Antonia, who was still absent. Even asleep, he'd know the moment she turned up. His senses were so attuned to her, he felt her breathing when she was near.

Clearly she hadn't been able to postpone her duties.