Just like she had done as an eighteen-year-old chit at Landbrae.

Devil take him before he'd give her the satisfaction. Not again.

Never again.

Blood pounded in his ears, making them feel as though they would burst into flames at any moment.

Several choice words rushed to mind, phrases that would cut into her. Hurt her as he had once hurt- God save him.

He took several measured breaths, attempting desperately to clear his head. He had rarely experienced this kind of anger, the hot kind that drove every bit of his reason from his mind.

He took several more deep breaths, until he felt some of his control return. But with the lessening of his anger came the first bitter pangs of hurt. Not major. But he'd known rejection from her before. He knew how insidiously the pain would start and how exponentially it would grow. It had damned near destroyed him in his youth. No other woman could do this to him.

But that was true only if he allowed it to happen.

He hardened his expression. He'd rather die on the spot than show her his emotional weakness. "You feel no desire for me now?"

He'd spoken carefully, calmly even, though it took every scrap of self-control he possessed.

She bowed her head, but he could still see the smile twitching on her nervous lips. "I would no' say it like that."

The heated rush inside him ebbed at the sight of that tremulous smile. Damnation. She could play on his emotions with no more thought than she might play a piano. Devil take her! He did not want to feel his anger easing up within him. He wanted to stay angry with her. To remain strong against her appeal. That unfair appeal she possessed to make him behave like a complete jackanapes.

"How would you say it?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice impassive.

He saw her chest rise and fall slowly with her deep inhalation.

So, she was uncomfortable? Or was she just a very good actress? Perhaps he ought to have been more skeptical all along.

"I suppose-" she flashed a look at him. "-I could do with some wooing."

He couldn't help but stare at her, flabbergasted. By damned! Hadn't he been wooing her, all the past three weeks? Now it was his turn to sigh, but inwardly.

"I just need a little time, James." She looked up and held his gaze, her eyes luminous. "The time must be right. Or we shall lose much. Surely, you sense it too?"

The time felt perfectly fine to him. In fact, it seemed quite overdue. But her eyes continued to hold his, pleading with him.

No. He wouldn't soften to her. He should go and run himself in on his sword before he softened to her.

His stomach seemed to be turning. At first he thought something had been spoiled in their luncheon but then he recognized it for what it was. Disappointment.

Profound, shameful disappointment.

"I wanted our time to be here," he said, the words slipping out from his heart before his mind could stop them.

An intolerable loss of dignity.

He waited to see the triumph glow in her eyes.

Her gaze remained open, warm. She reached out and touched his hand.

He resisted the urge to flinch. With any other woman, he would have pressed the issue and vanquished her hesitance with seduction. Dominance. But this particular woman was different. She was dangerous to him in a way nothing else in his life had been. He didn't fear her as much as he feared that part of himself that was vulnerable to her.

And he deeply resented her for that fear, even as he despised himself for feeling that way towards her.

How had he put himself in this position? It had been just a little lust. A desire to protect her whilst indulging a lingering youthful desire to have her. Have her again and again until he was sated and she became just another woman.

And if that wasn't all it had been, it was all it should have been.

How had it all gone so wrong?

She gave him another of those slow, trembling smiles.

His chest tightened. He hardened his expression.

"Our time can still be here, can't it?" she said, running a flirting caress along the top of his hand.

Something flared inside him. A need to stop that casual little flirting gesture. She would trifle with him? By damned, he wouldn't be trifled with!

He wanted to grasp her by the shoulders and press her down on the grass and soft earth. To hold her down and- Take control over yourself. He clenched his jaw and forced all the anger, indignation, disappointment and lust down with ruthless force. He forced his expression to be cold. "I need to return to London, soon."

"Oh." Her eyes shone a degree less brilliantly, he caught that in a flash just before her shoulders lowered and she let her head droop. "Yes, of course you must."

Her voice was soft, so soft.

Sad.

That sorrow resonated into the tightness in his chest.

He knew himself to be in danger of softening.

He would not. God help him, he would not.

"We're done here today, are we not?" he said in a clipped tone.

She jerked her head up and looked at him with eyes wide, shocked. Her face was paler than it had been a moment ago.

"Well, go on then, pack up." He gestured at the plaid blanket spread with the remains of their luncheon.

She flinched.

He had spoken coldly. Harshly.

She sniffed loudly and gave him a quick nod, then turned away from him. Her movements were slow and stiff as she gathered the dishes and cups back into the picnic basket.

He'd successfully hidden his feelings. He'd been cold and hard with her. A perfect bastard.

She was placing the folded plaid over the top of the basket.

A Blayne plaid.

The sight brought back a memory of Aunt Frances folding one just the same, the day she had packed his things for Eton.

It made him remember who he was. Baron Blayne, soon to be the Earl of Greythorn. He recalled his initial pledge to protect Catriona. No matter what he felt for her inside, he owed her that.

"I want you to go to London with me," he said.

She looked up from the basket, her mouth open. She had turned at least three shades whiter. "I don't know, James, if I am ready for London. No' just yet."

"But I insist."

"Please don't make me."

Her soft voice tore at his heart. He hardened his expression. "You must come. You will not have to socialize if you don't want to, but I want you to see a doctor I know there."

"A doctor?"

"Your flux. It cannot be normal." It was hard to keep his voice cold and stern. Concern for her threatened to bleed through.

She shook her head. "Do not fash yourself over that."

"I am responsible for you." He frowned. "How can I not feel a need, an urgency to see what could be done about the matter?"

"Aunt Frances did what she could. She consulted the best doctors, years ago when I was first wed to Freddy. They had no answers. But finally, Dr. Meeker solved the puzzle." Abject sadness muted her eyes. "It's no good."

He stood and walked the short distance to where she sat on the ground. "What the devil does that mean?"

"It is an effect of the hysteria."

How calmly she said that. How resigned her expression. Rage boiled within him and broke through to the surface.

"Meeker was the one who told you this nonsense?" His jaw had gone so tight, it was hard to get the words out.

She shook her head. "No, he merely confirmed it. Another doctor told me, an expert with ladies' matters that Dr. Meeker had called in to examine me. A Frenchman."

Ah, yes, a Frenchman. Meeker had wanted to take Catriona to France, hadn't he? All these mad doctors were each eager to have Catriona under their control. For what purpose? To enact their experiments on her? Perhaps. But most importantly, to have access to the Blayne fortune to pay for her care.

Catriona sighed softly. "He says it is unlikely I shall be able to conceive a child until the hysteria is cured."

"You're not suffering from hysteria."

"Have you forgotten the other night?"

"You were experiencing the effects of the withdrawal of laudanum and also perhaps a bit too foxed."

"I begin to think I shall never be fixed, never be whole. I could never give myself to a husband as I am now, not knowing if I can trust myself not to shame him with other men. Not knowing if I can give him children."

How sad she sounded!

She really believed what she said.

But he distrusted anything that mad doctor had told her.

"If Meeker-"

She put her hand to his arm, her gaze boring into him. "James, I have accepted it."

He gaped at her, stunned. Heaviness entered his chest. Crushing weight that spread up into his throat. Burning sadness.

"I have accepted it," she repeated, softly, her hand still laying lightly on his arm.

All this time he had known he would eventually lose her to a husband. A man who could give her legitimate children. Now he knew that would never happen. Catriona would be too honest to ever let a man marry her under false impressions. She would confess her weakness. Or what she believed to be her weakness.

How she must have despaired, imagining the emptiness of a life without children of her own? How would a warm, loving woman like Catriona cope with that?

And now she tried so hard to face with fortitude the stretch of the lonely years ahead of her.

If he had faced something similar, perhaps if he'd been maimed in battle before he'd reached a captain's rank, would he have been able to face that future with such bravery and composure?

He wasn't entirely sure.

For the second time, he felt true admiration for a woman, for this woman.

He caressed her cheek, feeling as though his chest would collapse upon itself with the aching for her pain. Her incredible losses in life.

He had allowed the past to intrude between them today. He had allowed his petty pride to poison his mind to her.

He'd been bitterly disappointed.

But God, just look at the loss and disappointments she'd had to accept in her life.

She wanted time.

He wanted her. Yes, heaven help him, he still wanted her. Madly. Women had their flighty notions, their changeability, and every man had to accept that and learn to cope with it. It was at times part of women's charm. Perhaps not so much in this case, but through his sympathy for her losses, he was willing to humor her odd notions.

However, if he further delayed returning to London, he'd lose important time, giving up any edge he might have gained in getting to town early, mixing in Society and winning the favor of important allies during the little season.

They couldn't be together this way in London. They simply couldn't indulge in that sort of risk. What happened between them must happen here. Yes, she was to be his mistress. But part of protecting her would be to preserve her reputation as much as he possibly could. Their sexual liaison must be kept in the shadows. Stolen times like this, here in the country, were to be all they could have together.

He cupped her face.

She was correct, but she hadn't phrased it exactly right. If they didn't pick the right moment, they would not only lose something vital between them. They would likely never regain the moment.

He wanted so badly to experience the sweetness of that moment. He would pay any price to have it. To be able to give it to her. If that price were that he must delay returning to London and risk losing valuable ground in Society, well, damn it all, so be it. He couldn't disappoint her.

And yes, it must be admitted, he could not deny himself either.

That was the worst kind of weakness. The worst failure at maintaining self-discipline.