She blinked. She couldn't have heard correctly. "Bennet Granville is . . .?"

"My brother," Harry said quietly. "My mother's son."

"But how could he do such a thing? Didn't anyone notice when he brought a baby into his house?"

Harry made a sound that was almost a laugh. "Oh, everyone knew-quite a few hereabouts probably still remember-but Granville has always been a tyrant. When he said the baby was his legitimate son, none dared disagree. Not even his lawful wife."

"And your father?"

Harry looked down at his hands, frowning. "I don't remember, I was only two or so, but I think Da must've forgiven her. And she must've promised to stay away from Granville. But she lied."

"What happened?" George asked.

"My father caught her. I don't know if Da always knew that she'd gone back to Granville and looked away or if he fooled himself that she had turned over a new leaf or . . ." He shook his head impatiently. "But it doesn't matter. When I was twelve, he found her in bed with Granville."

"And?"

Harry grimaced. "And he went for Granville's throat. Granville was a much larger man, and he beat my father off. Da was humiliated. But Granville still had him horsewhipped."

"And you? You said he horsewhipped you as well."

"I was young. When they started on Da with that big whip . . ." Harry swallowed. "I darted in. It was a stupid thing to do."

"You were trying to save your father."

"Aye, I was. And all I got for the effort was this." Harry held up his mutilated right hand.

"I don't understand."

"I tried to shield my face, and the whip caught me across this hand. See?" Harry pointed at a long scar that cut across the inside of his fingers. "The whip nearly severed them all, but the third finger was the worst. Lord Granville had one of his men cut it off. Said he was doing me a favor."

Oh, G.o.d. George felt bile rise in her throat. She covered Harry's right hand with her own. He turned it over so they were palm to palm. George carefully linked her fingers with his.

"Da was out of work and so badly crippled by the whipping that after a while we went into the poorhouse." Harry looked away from her, but he still clasped his hand with hers.

"And your mother? Did she go into the poorhouse as well?" George asked in a low voice.

Harry's hand squeezed hers almost painfully. "No. She stayed with Granville. As his wh.o.r.e. I heard many years later that she'd died of the plague. But I never spoke to her again after that day. The day Da and I were horsewhipped."

She breathed deeply. "Did you love her, Harry?"

He smiled then, crookedly. "All boys love their mothers, my lady."

George closed her eyes. What kind of woman would abandon her child to be a rich man's mistress? So many things about Harry were explained, but the knowledge was almost too painful to bear. She laid her head down in his lap and felt him stroke her hair. It was strange. She should be comforting him after his revelations. Instead, he consoled her.

He drew a breath like a sigh. "Now you understand why I must leave."

Chapter Sixteen.

"But why must you leave?" George asked.

She paced the small bedroom. She wanted to pound on the bed. Pound on the chest of drawers. Pound on Harry. It had been almost a fortnight since he'd first said it. A fortnight in which he'd regained his feet, his bruises had faded to the greenish-yellow color of recovery, and he hardly limped. But in that fortnight he'd remained adamant. He would leave her as soon as he was well.Every day she came to visit him in his tiny room, and every day they had the same argument. George couldn't stand this cramped room anymore-Lord knew what Harry thought of it-and she was about ready to scream. He was going to leave her soon, just walk out the door, and she still didn't know why.

Harry sighed now. He must be weary of her badgering him. "It's not going to work, my lady. You and me. You must know that, and you'll agree with me soon." His voice was low and calm. Reasonable.

Hers was not.

"I won't!" George cried like a small child told she must go to bed. All she lacked was the stomp of one foot.

Oh, Lord, she knew she was making herself ugly. But she couldn't stop. Couldn't help pleading and whining and pestering. The thought of never seeing Harry again brought blind panic flooding into her chest.

She took a deep breath and tried to speak more sedately. "We could get married. I love-"

"No!" He slammed his hand against the wall, the sound like a cannon shot in the room.

She stared at him. She knew d.a.m.n well Harry loved her. She knew by the way he said my lady so low it was almost a purr. The way his eyes lingered when he looked at her. The way he had made love to her so intently before he'd been injured. Why couldn't he-?

He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, my lady."

Tears started in her eyes. She rubbed them away. "You can at least do me the favor of explaining why you don't think we should marry. Because I just can't see why not."

"Why? Why?" Harry laughed sharply. "How about this reason: If I married you, my lady, the whole of England would think I did it for your money. And how exactly would we work out the money part? Eh? Would you give me a quarterly allowance?" He stood with his hands on his hips and stared at her.

"It wouldn't have to be that way."

"No? Perhaps you'd like to sign all your money over to me?"

She hesitated for a fatal second.

"No, of course not." He flung up his arms. "So I'd be your pet monkey. Your male wh.o.r.e. Do you even think any of your friends would invite me to dine with them? That your family would accept me?"

"Yes. Yes, they would." She stuck out her jaw. "And you're not-"

"Aren't I?" There was pain in his green eyes.

"No, never," she whispered. She held out her hands in supplication. "You know you're not that to me. You're much more. I love-"

"No."

But she spoke over him this time. "You. I love you, Harry. I love you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Of course it does." He closed his eyes. "It's all the more reason not to let you be pilloried by society."

"It won't be as bad as all that. And even if it was, I don't care."

"You'd care after they figured out why you married me. You'd care then." Harry was advancing on her, and George didn't like the look in his eyes.

"I don't-"

He grasped her upper arms almost too gently, as if he held himself back by an unraveling willpower. "They'd know soon enough," he said. "Why else would you marry me? A commoner with no money or power? You, the daughter of an earl?" He leaned close and whispered, "Can't you guess?" His breath on her ear sent shivers down her neck. It had been so very long since he'd last touched her.

"I don't care what they think of me," she repeated stubbornly.

"No?" The word was whispered in her hair. "But, you see, my lady, it still won't work between us. We have one remaining problem."

"What?"

"I care what they think of you." His lips came down on hers in a kiss that tasted of anger and despair.

George grabbed his head. She yanked the ribbon from his hair and ran her fingers into it. And she kissed him back, countering fury with fury. If he would just stop thinking. She nipped his bottom lip, felt the groan go through him, and opened her mouth in seductive invitation. And he took it, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and angling his face over hers. Framing her face with his hands, caressing and punishing her mouth with his. He kissed her as if it were the last embrace they would ever share.

As if he would leave her tomorrow.

George tightened her grasp in his hair at that thought. It must have hurt him, but she wasn't letting go. She pressed her body to his until she felt his arousal even through the bulk of both their clothing. She rubbed herself against him.

Harry broke their kiss and tried to pull his head up. "My lady, we can't-"

"Shhh," George murmured. She trailed kisses along his jaw. "I don't want to hear can't. I want you. I need you."

She licked the pulse at his throat, tasting salt and man. He shuddered. She bared her teeth against his neck. She released his hair with one hand and ripped at his shirt, tearing it open and off one shoulder.

"My lady, I, uhh . . ." He lapsed into a moan when she licked his exposed nipple.

From the way he took her bottom and pulled her hard into his groin, he was no longer interested in protesting. Just as well. She'd never realized a man's nipples were sensitive. Someone should make this information known to the general female population. She took the tiny nubbin between her teeth and delicately bit down. He squeezed her bottom in his big hands. She lifted her head and pulled the shirt entirely off. Definitely better. Of all the things G.o.d had made on this earth, surely a man's chest must be one of the most beautiful. Or perhaps it was just Harry's chest. George ran her hands across his shoulders, skimming gently over the scars from his beating.

She'd come so close to losing him.

Her fingers drifted down to circle his nipples, making him close his eyes, then lower, into the slim line of hair below his navel. Her fingernails must have tickled. Harry sucked in his stomach. Then she reached his breeches. She explored the flap and found the hidden b.u.t.tons. George flicked them open, conscious all the while that his p.e.n.i.s was underneath, already hard and tenting the fabric. She glanced up once to find him watching her under lowered lids. The emerald fire in his eyes made her squirm. A slow seep of wetness began at her core.

She opened the breeches and found her prize, poking up through the top of his smallclothes.

"Take them off." She forced her gaze to his face. "Please."

Harry crooked an eyebrow but obediently stripped off his breeches, smallclothes, stockings, and shoes. Then he reached for the front of her dress.

"No. Not yet." George danced out of his way. "I can't think when you touch me."

Harry stalked her. "That's the point, my lady."

Her rear b.u.mped against the bed. She held up her hands to ward him off. "Not my point."

He leaned close without actually touching her, the heat from his bare chest almost menacing. "The last time you played with me I nearly died."

"But you didn't."

He watched her, his eyes unconvinced.

"Trust me."

He sighed. "You know I can deny you nothing, my lady."

"Good. Now get on the bed."

Harry grimaced but he did as she ordered, stretching on his side. His c.o.c.k arced up, nearly touching his navel.

"Unhook me."

She presented her back and felt his fingers as he undid her gown. When he reached the end, she walked out of his reach and turned. She let the bodice fall. She wasn't wearing stays, and his eyes immediately dropped to her nipples, peaking the fabric of her shift. She placed her hands at her waist and wriggled the dress down.

He narrowed his eyes.

She sat on a chair and pulled off her garters and rolled down her stockings. Wearing only her shift, she walked to the bed. When she crawled on the bed beside him, Harry reached for her at once.

"No, this won't do." George frowned. "You can't touch me." She looked at the row of carved spindles on the bed's headboard. "Hold those."

He twisted to look and then lay down and grasped one spindle in each hand. With his arms over his head, the muscles in his upper arms and chest bunched.

George licked her bottom lip. "You can't let go until I tell you."

"As you wish," he growled, sounding not at all submissive. He should've appeared weak in such a compromising position. Instead, he reminded her of a wild leopard captured and tethered. He lay there, eyeing her speculatively, a trace of a sneer on his lips.

Best not to get too close.

She ran a fingernail down his chest. "Perhaps I ought to tie your wrists to the bed."

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"Just to be safe," she rea.s.sured him sweetly.

"My lady," he warned.

"Oh, never mind. But you must promise not to move."

"On my honor, I will not let go of the bedposts until you permit me."

"That's not what I said."

But it was close enough. She leaned over him and licked the tip of his p.e.n.i.s.

"Jesus Christ."

George lifted her head and frowned.