Fingers trembling, she reached up to return the favor, a fever of curiosity rising inside her to see his own flesh laid bare. With only partial success, she managed to unfasten a couple buttons before he took over the task, hastily shucking off his coat and opening his waistcoat before yanking his shirttails out of his breeches.

Tunneling her arms under his shirt, she sought out his skin, marveling at the byplay of textures she discovered. Warm, velvety skin layered over hard muscle and bone. Crisp, springy hair that clung to her fingers when she threaded them into the soft curls that grew close to his chest.

Shivering at her touch, he buried his face between her breasts and sent the ache shooting hot and high. Her longing spiked even more when he shoved her nightgown to her waist and began to touch her as he had earlier in the coach.

She whimpered and moaned as he drove her to a feverish pitch, her body growing slick in ways she hadn't realized it could, her inner flesh clinging to his fingers with a sweet suction that made her half crazy.

Curling her fingernails into her palms, the pleasure suddenly caught her, making her buck and cry out. Shuddering, she rode the crest, swamped by a cascade of sensations and emotions. She was still gathering her breath, drawing her thoughts back from the brink of oblivion, when she felt him reach between their bodies and free himself from his breeches.

Sliding a hand under one of her knees, he parted her legs, using his knee to grant him even greater access.

Leaning across her, he plunging his fingers into her hair and savaged her mouth, his kiss raw and elemental. Without breaking contact, he lowered his hands to clasp her hips and position her to accept his penetration.

He began pressing inside her, slowly at first, then with increased pressure. Tensing against the initial feeling of invasion as he thrust, she worried suddenly whether or not she would be able to take him. He was large, she knew, given what she had felt of him earlier that evening in the coach. Fear coursed through her. Was he going to fit? But Kit must believe he would, she mused, or else he wouldn't be attempting to push himself inside her.

Forcing herself to trust him, she closed her eyes and bit her lip against the discomfort, and the mild sense of panic.

Breathing heavily, he paused, obviously sensing her need for time, and for an opportunity to adapt to his size and the sensation of their joined flesh. Murmuring tender words, he urged her to raise her legs and hook them around his narrow hips. Compliant, she obeyed, her feminine flesh opening wider to take more of him inside.

Taking advantage, he plunged again and gained another few inches, then paused to let her adjust. Reaching up, she slid her hands across his naked back beneath his shirt, finding his skin slightly damp with perspiration. Needing to hold on, she curled her fingernails in to anchor herself. He grunted in surprise, then kissed her, letting her know he didn't mind the mild pain.

Pulling back, he thrust once more, hard and firm and to the hilt, seating himself fully.

A sharp burst of pain spread deep within her. She cried out against the hurt, but to her surprise found the ache fading almost as swiftly as it had arrived.

"All right?" he grunted, his eyes dark green flame, sparkling fiercely in the ruddy glow of the fireplace light.

Overwhelmed, she could only nod.

Cupping her face in his large palms, he brushed his lips over hers. "It won't hurt again. I promise."

She gazed up into his beloved face, reading the signs of both his strain as well as his restraint. Until that moment, she hadn't realized Kit had been holding back, keeping firm control of his actions and his needs.

Trembling above her as if he could take no more, he caught her mouth in a frenzied kiss and began thrusting. In and out he plunged, taking her in long, deep, powerful strokes, his movements establishing a primal rhythm that rocked her to her center.

She lay still, quite prepared to endure whatever might come next, but as he drove into her, hunger sprang to life once more. Her spine arched of its own volition, her body heating, proving it knew what it wanted, even if she didn't fully understand. Sweet yearning engulfed her, flooding her senses so that she was rendered incapable of catching a proper breath, her sanity taking flight as he swept her toward the pinnacle.

Pumping her hips in naive instinct, she tried to match his pace, hands sliding and grasping, nails scratching as she fought toward her pleasure. She yielded her body utterly and completely to him, knowing he would keep her secure.

When a wail ripped from her throat, she barely recognized the sound as belonging to herself, the intensity of her release both frightening and fulfilling. Gliding aloft the way birds must as they soar above the clouds, she sobbed out her pleasure, shuddering violently before drifting gradually downward.

Aftershocks pinged and popped inside her, her mind and body drowsy with rapture and repletion.

But Kit had not yet taken his satisfaction, stroking inside her a few last, powerful times, before stiffening and calling out her name. Smiling, she held him as he quaked, then cradled him as he collapsed upon her and tucked his cheek against her own.

Lying together, she knew he loved her. How else could a man do what they had done and not feel more than simple lust? Her heart burst wide at the thought as she sifted her fingers through the damp silk of his hair.

I love you, Kit.

The words trembled on her lips, about to spill forth when suddenly she noticed a change in him, a slight cooling of his skin, a new tension that tightened the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

Exhaling, he eased himself from her body and rolled onto his back beside her.

"Dear Lord," he groaned, lifting a hand to cover his eyes, "what have we done?"

A shiver raised gooseflesh on her skin, her buoyant glow of happiness fading like a doused candle. She frowned. Was that regret she heard in his voice? Did he wish they had not made love after all? Surely she must be wrong.

Quiet fell over the room, the gentle hiss and spit of a last log burning in the fireplace, accompanied by the soft ticking of the rosewood casement clock that stood in a distant corner.

Raising his hips to tuck his shirttails into his breeches, Kit fastened his falls, then sat up.

And that's when she realized she was not mistaken.

Suddenly, brutally, she became aware of her rumpled state, sprawled on the study floor like some doxy, with her nightgown bunched around her waist, her breasts naked and exposed. A draft of air washed over her, making her nipples pucker, but from cold this time, not desire.

Reaching down, she struggled to cover herself, plucking at her nightgown and robe, and the open top of her gown.

"Here," Kit murmured, "let me."

With an irritation wholly unlike her, she considered slapping his hands away. Instead she allowed him to help her into a sitting position, only then noticing the rude smear of blood on her thighs, a few crimson drops staining the white cloth beneath.

She stared.

Her lost virginity, she mused. Given in love. Defiled by remorse.

Obviously unaware of her thoughts, Kit drew her skirts down over her legs, concealing the evidence of their recent coupling. When he moved his hands toward her bodice, she hunched her shoulders and turned away. "I'll do it."

He paused, then dropped his arms to his sides. "As you wish."

Ignoring the stiff, clumsy movement of her fingers, she forced herself to fasten every last button, all the way to her chin, then did the same with her robe.

Standing, he extended a hand and assisted her to her feet.

Instead of releasing her, he pulled her against his chest and bent to brush a kiss over her forehead, tender and almost sexless, as though he were comforting a child.

"Forgive me," he said, his expression grave, his voice gruff and serious, more serious than she had ever heard him. "I completely lost my head tonight. But the responsibility is all mine and you are not to worry. I am fully prepared to do as honor requires."

Honor? What was he saying?

"It's very late, or very early depending upon your point of view. Either way, you should go to bed now and sleep." He skimmed a palm over her hair, then set her from him. "Tomorrow will be soon enough to discuss our plans."

A line formed between her brows. "What are you talking about? I am afraid I do not understand."

"No, you are far too innocent, even now." He sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. "We must wed, Eliza. Duty leaves us no choice in the matter."

Wed? He wished to marry her?

But no, she realized, he did not wish it. He spoke of duty and honor and, yes, obligation, saying they had no choice.

A deep ache formed inside her chest.

"I'll apply for a special license, and we can do the deed as early as this weekend, assuming the archbishop gives us his consent. Under the circumstances, I am sure he will have no objection."

Deed! Is that what marriage to her would be? A task that must be performed no matter how disagreeable? A kind of penance from which he could not escape? He made the idea of their union sound about as pleasant as a trip to the tooth-drawers.

A splinter of pain stabbed beneath her breast. She wondered if it might be the breaking of her heart.

"No," she said in a low, steady tone.

The word stopped him in his tracks. "No? What do you mean?"

"I will not marry you."

For a moment, she couldn't believe what she had just heard herself say. Had she really turned down an offer of marriage from Kit? Miserable an offer as it most certainly was.

Isn't that what she had always wanted? What she had craved for so many, long years now? The chance to be Kit's wife, to live with him and share his life and bear his children. And yes, sleep in his bed. Despite the dreadful circumstances, she ought to have been jumping at the opportunity, willing to accept him on any terms, no matter how grim.

But she couldn't do it, not now, knowing he desired her but nothing more.

Knowing he did not love her.

And when the desire faded in time, as it surely would for him, what would be left for her but bitterness and sorrow?

No, she vowed, she would not bind them inside an uneven marriage. One he obviously did not want. One that she knew with certainty would tear her soul apart a single, small piece at a time.

She would have been better off accepting Lord Maplewood. At least with him she could feel an equal and not a burden forced upon him because of a single, imprudent act of passion.

No matter how much she loved Kit, she deserved better. And so, she thought, did he.

Kit shot her a fierce look. "You have to marry me."

She shook her head. "I do not. Now, it is late, as you said, and I am tired. It has been a long...eventful day."

"Eventful? Is that how you describe losing your virginity?"

His question brought heat into her cool cheeks.

He clasped his hands around her upper arms, pitching his voice to a gentle timbre. "I took your innocence, Eliza. I compromised you and now I must make amends."

Her resolve hardened, whatever ambiguity she might have been feeling about her decision dropping away.

"I thank you for your sacrifice, but there is no need. You are not the only one who participated in tonight's activities. I wanted you as much as you wanted me, perhaps more. With all these lessons we have been having, my curiosity has been running rampant. I must admit you more than satisfied my wildest fancies. You're better than any book, even a naughty one."

She drew in a breath to carry on her lighthearted act. "So you see there is no need for gallantry. I shall be quite fine, just as I am."

"But Eliza-"

She hushed him with a finger across his lips. "Please, don't persist. You do not wish to marry me, and I"-she swallowed-"do not wish to marry you. Let us leave it at that."

His green-gold eyes looked troubled. "But what if you are with child? You could be, you know."

Her eyes widened. No, she thought, she had not realized that such a thing could happen after only one time. But as she considered the possibility, she knew in her heart she had not conceived. A part of her cried at the knowledge.

She shook her head. "I feel sure I am not."

"But you could be, and if-"

"If anything should happen, I will let you know."

He sighed, whether from frustration or relief she could not tell.

Suddenly, needing one more touch, she rested her palms against his cheeks and pulled his head down for a final kiss. A last, wonderful, blindingly sweet kiss that rocked her to her toes.

"Thank you for a thrilling evening," she whispered. "I know I shall never forget it for as long as I live."

Then, already weeping inside, she turned and let him go.

Chapter Nineteen.

A long while later, Kit made his way to his bedchamber, a newly refilled glass of brandy in his hand. Quaffing a healthy swallow, he proceeded along the hallway of the family quarters, his shoes silent against the finely patterned carpets.

As he neared Eliza's room, his step slowed. He stopped outside her door.

Was she already asleep? he wondered. Dreaming? And if so, of what? Of him? Of their lovemaking? Or something else? Her mind utterly calm and at peace?

He clenched a fist at his hip and drank another mouthful of spirits, desire firing his blood every bit as strongly as the drink. Despite their recent lovemaking, he was honest enough with himself to admit he wanted Eliza again. Even in her virgin state, she had been a magnificent lover, warm and ardent and inviting.

A few kisses from her satiny sweet lips, a couple caresses from her delicate hands, and he'd been lost to all reason and good sense. So far gone had he been, in fact, that he'd taken her there on the study floor like a barbarian. What must she think of him? Although, as he recalled, she had made no protest, welcoming, even encouraging his advances.

He had no excuses, though, castigating himself for his weakness, his all-too-human frailty. He was the one with experience and control, the "teacher," who ought to have found a way to stop, no matter how impossible his need, or her own.

Afterward, his body brimming with sexual satisfaction, the magnitude of their act had rushed upon him. With stark clarity, he realized that he had done what no gentleman would dare to do outside the marriage bed. He had taken Eliza's virginity, stolen the virtue that by rights should have belonged only to the man she would one day wed.

In the next moment, he'd known that man must be him.

But when he offered her marriage, she had refused. Shock still radiated through him to remember her words.

What was it she had said? You do not wish to marry me, and I do not wish to marry you. Let us leave it at that.

But how could he leave it? How could he, in all good conscience, do as she said and simply forget? Behave as though the night just past had no real significance? As if their lovemaking had been nothing but a mad, impetuous, passionate mistake?

Yet hadn't it been precisely that? A night of loveplay gone much, much too far?