She moved her head and then she was looking up at him. Fluttering her lashes, with a hint of her dimple denting her cheek.

Her cheeks were ashen, her lips dried and pale. Her eyes shadowed with purple. And yet, he saw the old Sunny reflected her in eyes. Saw that former sparkle. Her former spirit.

She also smelled appallingly of sweat and sickness. He could sense her current exhaustion in the way she leaned against him, her body limp.

He remembered bathing her the other night.

Remembered it with a pleasure that was not sexual or even purely sensual. It had been a type of closeness he'd never felt with anyone. A closeness he'd never expected to feel, nor knew he'd even wanted to feel.

He wanted to be close to her like that again.

He caressed her hair, then bent over her and put his lips to her cheek. "Catriona..." he said against her ear and heard his impassioned tone. He did not even wince. "Catriona, let me care for you." He kissed the hollow beneath her ear, pressing his lips to feel her pulse better. "Let me care for you."

Her body seemed to relax even more. She sighed.

Tension released in his own body. Sudden joy filled him.

Unable to keep from smiling, he stood then bent and lifted her. Carried her to the bed. He brought wine, cheese, bread and a pear tart that the servants had apparently left that morning. They ate the meal in Catriona's bed and her with not a stitch on her gorgeous body. And she was wholly natural about it. Wholly unselfconscious.

His erection pressed insistently against his trousers. But he ignored it and went about heating water and filling a large, wooden tub in the kitchen.

Shortly, she appeared, wearing her rich green velvet wrapper. She hugged herself and exaggerated a shiver.

"Och, but 'tis cold in here! My scones willna ever rise in this dreary weather! Close the door, lad, close the door!" She aped a heavy brogue, her tone and expression and the way she stood with her hands on her hips just so putting him immediately in mind of Mrs. Mac Kinney, the cook at Landbrae. The soundness of her imitation told of just how much time she had spent in the cheery kitchens with the large stone hearth blazing, keeping company with the servants.

Which told him that perhaps she had been just as lonely at Landbrae as he had been as child.

He'd forgotten how adept Sunny was at mimicking others, always doing it in such a way that it was a fond tribute and not mockery.

Suddenly, he remembered the servant with fondness himself. "I could do with one of her pear tarts now," he said, not realizing at first that he'd spoken aloud or that he hadn't indicated who he meant.

It didn't matter. Catriona nodded.

"No one can cook like she does," he said.

"Aye, they put too much nutmeg in that tart today." Catriona feigned a small pout. "And no currants."

She grinned, her dimples flashing in her cheeks as she began to dance the steps of a solo minuet about the spacious kitchen. Soon the lyrics to "Fine Knacks for Ladies" sounded in her soft, soprano voice. As she turned in the dance, she grinned in that teasing way which said she knew perfectly well she was being silly. And playfully invited one to join in.

The rare glimpse of the carefree, cheerful girl he had once known held him spellbound. Her playfulness energized him. He couldn't help smiling.

She could turn the most mundane moments into ones of shimmering joy. Just to be near her, to feel her inner joy come bubbling up like this.

This was why he had loved her.

The thought stunned him.

But no, he had also loved her for her ladylike demeanor. For her purity. Her kindness.

Yet, the feelings surged forward, clear and vital, as though he were back in one of those precious moments of the past, feeling his love for young Sunny. He clearly remembered now as it truly had been.

Not as he would have it be now.

What did that mean?

He had loved her merely because she was a winsome, entertaining little chit? His heart began to thump.

No, no! I truly loved her. I grieved for her too much not to have truly loved her.

Surely, he had truly loved her?

Or had he been in love with the way she made him feel, carefree and joyful, as he did in this moment?

He must think on this later. he could never think clearly in her presence. She brought out the most irrational, emotional sides of him.

He held out his hand. "Come, my lady, your bath."

She turned her back then glanced over her shoulder at him. Her glance singed him. Sent a tingle of lust down his spine and into his loins. Then she laughed, softly, but with an undernote of a woman's carnal wickedness. And the look she gave him then...

Christ.

His cock reared to life.

Yes, reared to life. He'd seen that line in one of those naughty books she'd wheedled him into purchasing, when he had read to her to ease her mind. He'd thought it rather a foolish phrase then.

But now, nothing else could better describe the sensation of blood rushing into his erection.

She slid the robe down one shoulder, moving slowly. Painfully slow.

He'd been impatient with her before, not in the mood to be teased. But now he felt joyful. Indulgent.

Content to let her tease.

Enjoying her teasing as she dragged the moments out.

God, she was gorgeous. From her shining golden-brown tresses to her broad, round arse. Her long, shapely legs.

She turned to him with her eyes cast down.

God- "Into the tub," he said, more curtly than he'd intended.

She complied quickly, keeping her head bent.

He approached the tub, then picked up the soap and cloth.

She had her head bent forward, her hair a thick, curling veil. He swept the mass aside.

She glanced up, her eyes sparkling, biting her lip, appearing as though she were trying not to laugh.

"What?" he asked.

"Your face."

"My face?" he repeated, somewhat dumbly.

"When I turned, your face-you looked like someone had just..." She chuckled, a hoarse, wicked sound.

"Looked like?" he asked, grinning now himself.

"It was quite a look."

"It was quite a view," he said.

She glanced down and went quiet. "You wouldn't feign something like that just to be kind, would you?"

"No."

"Do you truly like my body?"

He let the soap and cloth drop and then he reached into the water and pulled out her hand. She didn't resist as he drew it to his fall. He pressed her hand and felt her fingers attempt to curl about his rod through the confines of the wool. He throbbed for her. "What do you think of that?"

"It is rather fierce."

"Fierce?" He chuckled.

"Aye, fierce. Mighty."

"You think I can feign that? The way a woman can feign her pleasure?"

She gave a little shrug.

He could tell from her expression, from the taut, expectant way she held herself, that she wasn't teasing. "I cannot feign that, Catriona."

"I knew...I mean I wasn't sure..." A slight flush colored her cheeks. "I don't mean to be so frightfully ignorant."

"It is nothing to be ashamed of. Young ladies have no one to talk to them frankly about sex." He had to control the increased sense of joy that flooded him. Whatever else Silas Chapman had been to her, he hadn't been as close to her emotionally as James was becoming. She had not felt comfortable enough with the footman to ask him her questions. And with a great deal of truth, he added, "You are relatively still inexperienced."

"Compared to you?"

"Yes. Compared to me." A surge of urgency pulsed through his cock. He pressed her hand more firmly, tensing his jaw at the surge of pained pleasure.

She frowned. "Freddy...he didn't. I mean he couldn't..."

"Become hard for you?"

She bit her lip and nodded.

He knew, somehow, that she had hesitated to say the words to describe an erection not out of any false modesty, but because the subject was painful to her.

And he knew she still needed to talk about it. He considered his response carefully, trying to say the exact thing that would tell her he was open to her, that he understood, but not so much that he would pressure her. Let her speak on her own terms.

"Freddy was sick," he said.

"I don't think he liked my body."

"Then he was a fool."

She offered him a somewhat sheepish smile. "Freddy ended up with decidedly more of me than he wed. I don't think he approved."

Suddenly, James lost all tolerance for hearing his cousin's name. "Does it really matter what he approved of or not? He's gone, Catriona. He has no say over you or what you do." He touched her cheek. "You promised yourself to me. You promised to look only to my approval of you and your actions, did you not?"

She nodded.

"I'll hear you speak the affirmation."

"Yes..." Her voice sounded a bit breathless. "Yes, I did."

"Then forget Freddy and his disapproval."

James pulled the footstool to beside the tub and sat on it. Then he took the cloth and wet it and then soaped it. He placed it on her shoulder.

Her eyes widened. "You intend to wash me?"

She grinned, wide, all white teeth and lush red lips. But he heard her sudden nervousness.

He experienced the same nervousness, in the tightening of his stomach. The feeling of being somehow lost, all out to sea.

What did he know of being a tender lover?

Yet, he wanted to show her how he cherished her.

He wanted to earn her continued trust.

He needed to be closer to her.

Ignoring his rising sense of discomfort, he held her gaze. "Let me care for you."

Her smile trembled and a slight flush colored her cheeks. "You want to wash me?"

"I want to care for you."

She lowered her eyes. But she didn't resist as he began to apply the cloth to her shoulders, her arms, placing a layer of lather on her smooth skin. He worked slowly, soaping every inch of her that he could reach above the water, the whole time aware of the intimacy of the act. An intimacy that was so intense, an intimacy they were both so awkward with, it was almost painful.

Awkward, painful, yes, but it was the only thing that would satisfy his need to become closer to her. To claim her in a way that was not just carnal. He wanted to claim her emotionally.

After her hair was washed and wrapped in a towel, he had her stand so that he could access her entire body. Then, once she was rinsed and clean all over, he put his lips to her stomach.

In flash, in his mind, he imagined her belly swollen, full of his child.