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of fluid run down her thighs. She clamped her legs together, but he caught her up in his arms.
    “Let me wash you,” he whispered in her ear.
    “No.” She pushed against him as he laid her to the bed again.
    He caught her chin with two fingers. “You have allowed me to taste you with my lips and tongue, to claim you with my cock and now you will not permit me the intimacy of washing you?”
    Her cheeks aflame, she swallowed. Looked away.
    He turned her toward him once more. “For this night and tomorrow, you belong to me. Have I not already proven I am worthy?”
    His tenderness undid all her objections. She lay back. “You are. I am a silly goose.”
    He kissed her quickly. “To me you are the brave young woman who withstood a French capture in wartime. A lovely creature of the ton who makes her way alone in a society not often forgiving of free thinking.”
    She chuckled. “The gossips talk of me as an oddity, do they?”
    “A woman who speaks her mind about politics and marriage,” he admitted.
    “Ah. Well. Politics can kill.”
    “So can some marriages.” He arched a brow. “You knew it firsthand.”
    “I did.” But no longer. And never again.
    At her expression, he scowled but smiled half-heartedly as if he made a note of this issue. “Wait here. I will return to be your maid.”
    She laughed as he strode away, his long naked back a beautiful ripple of muscle and sinew. “I enjoyed your copper tubing for heated water for my bath.”
    “I’m afraid,” he called to her from the main room, “I have no such convenience here. I am boiling water.”
    She inched up and pushed pillows behind her. As she sat, she looked down at her nude body and marveled at her ease under the circumstances. Had she ever thought to take a lover, she never would have presumed she could lounge about without a stitch to cover herself. But this was Justin. And she was enchanted. Amused. And you’ve thrown caution to the wind. Tossed away more than your clothes. Have you even lost your mind?
    “The kettle’s boiling on the fireplace. It’ll be a few minutes,” he told her as he came to sit on the bed, lean over her and kiss one nipple and then the other. “What bothers you, darling?”
    She stared at him. Her naked lover. Serene. Pleased with himself. His plans. His seduction of her. Did he think beyond this rendezvous? The consequences? God knows, she had, but then caught off guard in the garden, she had turned into a blithering idiot! “Do you have any French letters?”
    “I do.” His tone grew grave. “Did you bring any with you?”
    “To the Manor? Yes. They’re in my room.”
    “Do you like using them?” He scowled. “I don’t.”
    “I’ve never used them,” she declared. “Henry had no need for them.”
    “Of course not.” Justin pushed up. “And yet you have only one child by him?”
    “Yes,” she said and sat higher against the headboard. “He was not always able to perform.”
    “As I thought,” he said with a mixed tone of acceptance and relief.
    “I doubt you have that problem.” She could not help the challenge in her voice.
    “You are perceptive.”
    Her lower lip quivered. “We must use them. I cannot become pregnant.”
    “If you did—”
    “I cannot!” Cannot marry you. Your uncle would not allow it. He wants too much, including a sizable dowry which I do not have. Worse, if I were to become pregnant, he still might not permit the marriage for the lack of wealth. And I? Dear God. If I were to become pregnant, once discovered, my condition would mean I lose my social standing. Become disgraced. “All my work, my business, my need to—”
    “Stop. Stop! ” He had his hands in her hair, his mouth on hers, sweet little kisses pressed against her lips. “We will use the letters. Hate them though I do, I will not have you think me so dastardly that I will get you with child and never care for him or her or—Sweet Puss—or you! Look at me!”
    She did, though tears dribbled down