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inside, but his hands slid to her hips, stopping her and she protested hoarsely, “Stephen.”
    “Tell me what you want, love,” he said thickly from behind her, “do you want it hard and fast?”
    She wanted it—him—period. “Yes,” she breathed, her arms braced against the thrust she craved. “Fuck me, Stephen, please.”
    He froze. “Wherever did you hear that word?”
    The prim note of disapproval in his voice when he had her bent over and half-naked, his hard cock between her legs and partially penetrating her from behind, made her give a muffled laugh. “I’ve traveled all over the world. Do you think I haven’t heard most everything there is to hear? I can say it in Russian, for God’s sake. Now, please, do it.”
    To her relief, he complied, his entrance urgent and gloriously intrusive, filling her completely. True to his word, he moved swiftly, pulsing forward and then sliding backwards to penetrate again, pumping in and out of her body as she closed her eyes in bliss and felt the decadent rise of orgasmic release flood her blood, her bones, the very core. He was right, the sensation was not the same, the friction different as she braced for each thrust and began to tremble.
    “Oh God.” She felt the convulsions begin, holding hard to the dusty wooden seat, her body milking his shaft as he pushed impossibly deep and found the same rapturous pinnacle, hoarsely saying her name and pouring his release into her as he caught her before her knees buckled and she fell on the dusty floor.
    His breath was ragged and warm against her ear, his arm strong around her waist, supporting her. “That was impetuous, but I suppose that is one of the things I love most about you.”
    And Stephen was rarely impetuous. They were a good balance for one another.
    When he slipped free, she felt disconcerting empty.
    “Here, this is the least I can do.”
    When she felt the gentle pressure between her thighs, she moaned again, her body still so aroused that the brush of cloth made her tremble. Vaguely she realized he was wiping the fluids of their lovemaking from her thighs and cleft. When she could breathe again, she straightened and began to adjust her clothing, turning to see him refastening his breeches, the bulge there not yet gone. It was almost comical to see him eye his soiled handkerchief, discarded on the dusty bench.
    Stephen said firmly, “I have no desire to put that back in my pocket, but no idea how to dispose of it either.”
    Victoria laughed, a spontaneous burst of mirth, because she was at once reminded that despite their reckless passionate joining just seconds before, he was truly a gentlemen at heart.
    “Remember our treasure box?” she said, still laughing. “Put it in there.”
    “I’d forgotten about it,” Stephen, looking fairly normal except for his rumpled hair, bent and pushed at a panel on one of the built-in wooden benches. Sure enough, it came loose, and inside still lay the collected items they once deemed treasure; a small ball, some dusty marbles, and a few Roman coins they had unearthed in the garden.
    It was rather poignant to see him add the white linen cloth, still stained with the evidence of their sexual union, to that childhood collection.
    “Who would have thought,” she said, “that things would turn out this way?”
    Straightening, Stephen wiped a speck of dust from his breeches. “I did,” he said with absolute conviction. “Always.”
     
    Aunt Clara looked nothing like herself, Victoria decided uneasily, when they entered the parlor. In fact, for someone who had invited a neighbor over for tea, she seemed to have forgotten the tea trolley.
    “There you are,” her aunt said in an uncharacteristically brisk tone. “Both of you, together. That’s convenient. Sit down.”
    Victoria sat in an embroidered chair, cautiously eyeing her aunt’s flushed face. Usually Clara was so cheerful and affectionate, but they hadn’t even gotten so much as a greeting. Stephen sat