God, he looked so fierce!

She forced her trembling lips to curve into a semblance of a smile.

"I won't be so careless again." His voice was curt, strained, the set of his mouth hard, as though his disgust were so great, he could barely speak for a desire to curl his lip.

"What?" she asked.

"I spent inside you."

"Oh." She had forgotten. Now a renewed shock of anxiety shot through her. A week until her courses were due. Days of agony to come. No escape. Her belly ached a little more and she rubbed it unthinkingly.

"I will not do so again. I promise you."

The resolve in his voice was like iron.

She nodded slowly, wishing that he did not look so dismayed at the prospect of making her pregnant. But that was irrational of her. Neither of them wished to bring a bastard child into the world, right? Of course not.

Not that she could ever give him any children, legitimate or not.

Disquieted by her thoughts, she grew silent. Miles rolled by. Slumber claimed her.

"Catriona"

James' deep voice cut into her sleepy mind. With effort, she opened her eyes and tried to focus on his lean, handsome face.

Catriona.

Others rarely called her by her given name. But it sounded so different on his lips. It made her sound so grown up.

He caressed her cheek with his fingertips. "We've arrived."

"Oh." She attempted to sit and a sudden ache in her lower stomach made her catch her breath.

He frowned.

She could have cursed herself to have let the pain show. For the past few days, she'd been beset with it. Of course, he had blamed himself. But she had tried to tell him it was a normal occurrence, a female thing. She always suffered some mild pain shortly before her courses. Dr. Meeker said it was an effect caused by her "hysterical tension," he had stressed to her how new these ideas were, how many medical men did not yet accept them, and that caused needless worry in the women who suffered from these conditions brought about by resistance to proper husbandly authority.

Thus enlightened by Meeker about the root cause of her pain, perhaps she had less reason to worry. But it didn't make the discomfort any easier to take. And seven days of her courses loomed ahead of her, a vast stretch of agony. James refused to let go of the notion that he had contributed to her condition by taking her virginity.

He had caused them to travel slower, to settle down early each evening and to rest longer into the morning each day. And in all that time, he hadn't touched her intimately.

But he had sat beside her here today and let her rest against him as she slept, his clean, masculine scent and his body heat surrounding her, a buttress against the rather chilly morning. Surely that was progress of a sort?

"Have a look," he said, leaning out of the way so that she could see out the window.

The large Georgian mansion was impressive, though not quite as grand or romantic as the Blayne estate with its mullioned windows and Elizabethan architecture. Or maybe she was just being loyal?

He pointed in the distance. "There's where we are headed."

She could just make out a structure. Leaning over him, she moved closer to the window and narrowed her gaze.

"Don't squint." He caressed her hair.

"I am trying to see."

"You'll ruin your beauty."

She caught her breath, surprised at the sense of warmth that spread through her at his words, at his gentle touch. It was a taste of that intense satisfaction and joy she'd known during their lovemaking. She'd waited her whole life to experience that sort of joy.

She wanted to feel it again.

Releasing her breath slowly, carefully, she wondered what she could do to feel it again before her courses came and prevented their joining for days.

This was the first real warmth he'd shown her since the morning when she'd rode him to pleasure. And she sensed that it would take little to cause him to retreat back into that stern, stony-faced state.

She wished, desperately, that she was more experienced with men. A true courtesan. A seductress well used to getting her way. But she wasn't. All the romances she'd read had taught her nothing about how to handle a man like James.

All the men in those stories had been mad with lust.

She sighed.

He caressed her back. "Are you tired?"

His voice resonated with warmth and tenderness. It wound through her like a tea laced heavily with honey and peach brandy. Or rich licorice.

Goodness, she laughed. "I think I am hungry."

"Are you?"

"I am starving."

His hand on her back seemed to slow down, to press her more firmly. "We'll be there soon. I am sure there will be some repast for us."

She froze. "But I thought we would be alone?"

Her heart began to pound and her mouth went dry. She wasn't ready to face other people. Didn't want to face their questioning stares.

Didn't want to face the test of young, fit male servants.

"We will be alone, love." The endearment seemed to slide naturally off his tongue.

It calmed her. She took a long, deep inhalation then let it go, slowly. He continued caressing her back with a leisurely motion.

"I don't understand." She heard the languor in her voice.

"Servants will come at prearranged times to bring food and tidy for us. You will know when they are to arrive and you may stay in your chambers." He said all of this in that same warm, rich tone, as though he didn't think her needs abnormal at all.

"Oh." How kind that he had thought to take care of this detail in a way that allowed her to feel a measure of control. The heaviness around her chest suddenly lifted. She felt a sense of release of anxiety that she hadn't even realized that she'd been holding inside.

Some of it had been a growing dread that had built up inside her the past few days at his stern-faced coolness towards her.

Well, no matter, it was gone now.

She felt cared for.

Understood.

Accepted as she was.

She could see the cottage now. Only...

"That's no' a cottage!" she exclaimed, taking in the two-story domicile with its large Palladian windows, charming red brick walls and pristine white Georgian columns.

"It is the dowager house." Amusement sounded in his voice.

That he had wanted to surprise her was what most surprised her. She hadn't thought of him as having such playful notions.

Now she could see what seemed to be a large garden behind the house, as well as a maze of respectable size. In the distance, a stream wound through the property at the edge of a wood.

Cottage? She chuckled softly. It was a magnificent house!

And they would have it all to themselves for the next few weeks. All alone. She and James. Excitement swelled within her, blossoming into elation.

Chapter Nineteen.

James couldn't sleep. The footfalls in the chamber next to his seemed to echo too loudly. He inhaled deeply and rolled onto his stomach. Each footfall resounded in the pit of his belly. She was unable to sleep again.

God, he needed a drink.

But he had denied himself hard liquor. How fair would it be if he allowed himself the relief of a whisky, when she paced next door, wakeful and suffering from the slow but steady withdrawal of laudanum?

He should go to her and persuade her to play cards, or read one of her romances-anything to take her mind off of the restlessness that increasingly beset her. But he was exhausted from the past week. The feeling was not so much a physical exhaustion but an emotional one.

Damnation, he just wasn't used to the world of women and their needs.

Sexual needs, aye.

But emotional needs?

God, no. He just wasn't equal to that sort of demand.

Her footfalls came quicker, as though her disquiet was increasing. Thunder rolled in the distance, blocking the sound of her slippers on the creaky wooden floor.

Thirst drove him from the bed. He walked to the sideboard and held the bottle of whisky. The sound of thunder died away. And then there was silence.

A sense of peace settled in the center of his chest, and his shoulders eased, making him aware of how much tension he had been holding in his body. A deep tiredness followed, and he sagged against the sideboard whilst still clutching the bottle. He wasn't used to feeling another person's suffering so acutely. Or even really feeling for someone else's pain at all. In the past, the feeling of sympathy for another's pain had always been an intellectual exercise for James.

At least now she was better physically.

The past seven days had been hell. Simply hell.

She had tried to hide her misery from him, but living so closely with a woman, something he had certainly never done before, he could not overlook her slow movements and chalk-white face.

She had denied it and denied it.

That had been maddening!

Finally, under the press of his sternest voice, she had told him. He had never realized that women could suffer so direly with their monthly flux.

She had said her courses had become so severely painful only in the last three years. He had asked her what could be done. She said she normally took more laudanum. When he said that she ought to have it then, she had refused, saying she didn't want to delay her recovery.

She'd been so determined to overcome what Meeker had done to her. Fierce pride had filled James. Admiration.

He had never felt that sort of admiration for a woman.

He became aware of something. A change. He paused. Oh, yes, that was it.

Silence.

He held himself still, ears straining.

Yes, quite silent.

The relief he felt made him relax even more. His eyes became heavy. Well, if she was finally abed, perhaps sleeping, it wouldn't be disloyal to have a spot of whisky to wet his throat. He poured the drink then downed it, feeling the burn all the way down. Moonlight seeping through the clouded sky made streaks of silvery light on the floor, turning the maroon and gold carpet into muted shades of wavy purple and greenish smears. He took the few steps to the window and watched the fast-moving clouds above.

Something flashed in the corner of his eye.

He glanced down at the lawn. Lightning flashed on the horizon. A silver arc...no, a wall of silver shown against the line of trees in the distance. A heavy rain. Then all was in darkness again.

A white blur moved quickly in the darkness, flashing more brightly and then dimly with the movement of streaked clouds over the moon. Then more brightly than ever as lightning flared again.

His heart seemed to stop.

Catriona!

Had he shouted her name aloud? The sound rang in his ears.

As the lightning ceased and darkness returned, he narrowed his eyes and kept focused on the billowing cloud of purplish white moving away from him rapidly.

She hadn't even the sense to take her wrap. Was she even wearing shoes? Did it matter? Her slippers were next to useless. Scraps of silk sewn to the thinnest kid leather.