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ecstasy.
    “Cerise, love, what do you need?” he rasped. “I won’t last.”
    “This!” she cried. Then she gasped, “Oh, Your Grace!” She gave a long, agonized moan, bouncing wildly on top of him.
    Her lushly erotic scream ripped through him, and he lost control. His arse lurched up from the sofa and he drove hard into her. His body went rigid as his orgasm roared through him, spun through every nerve, took every ounce of his strength. His muscles seemed to turn to fluid. Every thought left him. There was nothing but pleasure and the pulsing of his body as the almost endless climax pummeled him.
    Devon flopped back onto the settee beneath her, a ragged laugh rising from his chest. Deep inside, his heart hammered.
    Cerise collapsed on him, gasping too. Her breasts, warm and damp, crushed to his chest. The earthy scent of her surrounded him, as if enclosing them in a world built solely of pleasure. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her tighter than he’d ever embraced a woman before.
    “Are you sleepy, Your Grace?” she murmured, her voice throaty after all her screams. “Or do you want another bout?”
    “All right, love. Another round.” He rocked gently into her. It would take time to get aroused again. Heshut his eyes and stroked her, letting his fingers see her where his eyes could not.
Much better this way
. She had the perfect back, long and slender, with a sweet dip at the bottom. He took care as he caressed her, remembering how she had described her bruises. He cupped the flare of her curvy bottom. She had a delectable rump. Lightly, he ran his fingers over her rounded derrière, savoring her hot, silky skin, and she giggled in her pretty, endearing way.
    She possessed a lot of hair, and it fell over his chest and shoulders like a silken throw. He gathered a mass of it in his hand, moved it so it fell over his face and he could breathe in the scent of it. He was hard again. Ready to pound into her. Ready to make her burst—
    The vision came so quickly and slammed into his head so hard, he was amazed it didn’t knock him off the chair. He was back on a smoke-strewn, deafening battlefield. An enormous weight pinned his legs—the flank of his dying horse. Through a gap in the dark ash and struggling bodies, he saw the boy. A French lad. Ragged uniform. The boy had lifted a rifle, and his skinny body was jerking with tension as he got ready to shoot one of Devon’s men. Before Devon knew it, his pistol was in his hand.
    A split-second choice. Shoot a soldier who was little more than a child or let a good man die—a man who’d left his wife and child to go to war.
    He’d had to make the choice. That damnable, haunting, inhuman choice—
    Cerise shifted on him.
    He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make love. Not now. He grasped her arms and hauled her off him, and she squeaked with surprise and fear as he dropped her down hard on his thighs. She scrambled forward, but he tightened his hold on her wrists so she couldn’t move.
    “You—you’re hurting me.”
    “It’s not going to work. Nothing you do will make the demons go away. You need to get off me and go upstairs, back to bed.”
    “Demons?” she whispered huskily. “What demons, Your Grace?”
    “Go away, angel.”
    “The nightmares? Is that what you mean? You could tell me about them. I want to help you.” Her voice was purring temptation. The silly git wanted him to unburden his soul. To her.
    “No.”
    “Please, Your Grace, I am yours to help you in every way I can.” She ran her hands over his chest, down his abdomen, to his privates. She stroked him there. “I’m going to fondle you until you tell me.”
    She thought she could tease him into some kind of sanity. Like Ashton, she thought all it would take was a bit of conversation and some fucking. “You have no idea, love. I’ve seen men torn apart by cannonballs and bullets.”
    She gasped, and he knew it was in horror. But she wasn’t going to stop, was she, until he