It had been two weeks since the Earl of Rochester had died, leaving Andrew the entirety of his fortune as well as the title and entailed properties. Two interminable weeks during which Caroline had received no word from Andrew. At first she had been patient, understanding that Andrew must be wading through a morass of funeral arrangements and business decisions. She knew that he would come to her as soon as possible. But as day followed day, and he did not send so much as a single written sentence, Caroline realized that something was very wrong. Consumed with worry, she considered writing to him, or even paying an unexpected visit to Rochester Hall, but it was unthinkable for any unmarried woman under the age of thirty to be so forward. She finally decided to send her brother Cade to find Andrew, bidding him to find out if Andrew was well, if he needed anything . . . if he was thinking of her.

While Cade went on his mission to locate the new Lord Rochester, Caroline sat alone in her chilly winter garden, gazing forlornly at her clipped-back plants and the bare branches of her prized Japanese maples. There were only two weeks until Christmas, she thought dully. For her family’s sake, Caroline had decorated the house with boughs of evergreens and holly, and had adorned the doors with wreaths of fruit and ribbons. But she sensed that instead of a joyous holiday, she was about to experience heartbreak for the first time in her life, and the black misery that awaited her was too awful to contemplate.

Something was indeed wrong, or Andrew would have come to her by now. And yet she could not imagine what was keeping him away. She knew that he needed her, just as she needed him, and that nothing stood in the way of their being together, if he so desired. Why, then, had he not come?

Just as Caroline thought she would go insane from the unanswered questions that plagued her, Cade returned home. The expression on his face did not ease her worry.

“Your hands are like ice,” he said, chafing her stiff fingers and guiding her into the parlor, where a warm fire blazed in the hearth. “You’ve been sitting outside too long—wait, I’ll send for some tea.”

“I don’t want tea.” Caroline sat rigidly on the settee, while her brother’s large form lowered to the space beside her. “Cade, did you find him? How is he? Oh, tell me something or I’ll go mad!”

“Yes, I found him.” Cade scowled and took her hands again, warming her tense fingers with his. He let out a slow sigh. “Drake . . . that is, Rochester . . . has been drinking again, quite a lot. I’m afraid he is back to his old ways.”

She regarded him with numb disbelief. “But that’s not possible.”

“That’s not all of it,” Cade said darkly. “To everyone’s surprise, Rochester has suddenly gotten himself engaged—to none other than our own dear cousin Julianne. Now that he’s got the family fortune in his possession, it seems that Julianne sees his charms in a new light. The banns will be read in church tomorrow. They’ll be married when the new year starts.”

“Cade, don’t tease like this,” Caroline said in raw whisper. “It’s not true . . . not true—” She stopped, suddenly unable to breathe, while flurries of brilliant sparks danced madly across her vision. She heard her brother’s exclamation as if from a great distance, and she felt the hard, urgent grip of his hands.

“My God”—his voice was overlaid with a strange hum that filled her ears—“here, put your head down . . . Caro, what in the hell is wrong?”

She struggled for air, for equilibrium, while her heart clattered in a painful broken measure. “He c-can’t marry her,” she said through chattering teeth.

“Caroline.” Her brother was unexpectedly steady and strong, holding her against him in a tight grip. “Good Lord . . . I had no idea you felt this way. It was supposed to be a charade. Don’t tell me you had the bad sense to fall in love with Rochester, who has to be the worst choice a woman like you could make—”

“Yes, I love him,” she choked out. Tears slid down her cheeks in scalding trails. “And he loves me, Cade, he does . . . Oh, this doesn’t make sense!”

“Has he encouraged you to think that he would marry you?” her brother asked softly. “Did he ever say that he loved you?”

“Not in those words,” she said in a sob. “But the way he was with me . . . he made me believe . . .” She buried her head in her arms, weeping violently. “Why would he marry Julianne, of all people? She is evil . . . oh, there are things about her that you don’t know . . . things that Father told me about her before he died. She will ruin Andrew!”

“She’s already made a good start of it, from all appearances,” Cade said grimly. He found a handkerchief in his pocket and swabbed her sodden face with it. “Rochester is as miserable as I’ve ever seen him. He won’t explain anything, other than to say that Julianne is a fit mate for him, and everyone is better off this way. And Caro . . .” His voice turned very gentle. “Perhaps he is right. You and Andrew . . . it is not a good match.”

“Leave me alone,” Caroline whispered. Gently she extricated herself from his arms and made her way out of the parlor. She hobbled like an old woman as she sought the privacy of her bedroom, ignoring Cade’s worried questions. She needed to be alone, to crawl into her bed and hide like a wounded animal. Perhaps there she would find some way to heal the terrible wounds inside.

For two days Caroline remained in her room, too devastated to cry or talk. She could not eat or sleep, as her tired mind combed relentlessly over every memory of Andrew. He had made no promises, had offered no pledge of love, had given her no token to indicate his feelings. She could not accuse him of betrayal. Still, her anguish was evolving into wounded rage. She wanted to confront him, to force him to admit his feelings, or at least to tell her what had been a lie and what had been the truth. Surely it was her right to have an explanation. But Andrew had abandoned her without a word, leaving her to wonder desperately what had gone wrong between them.

This had been his plan all along, she thought with increasing despair. He had only wanted her companionship until his father died and left him the Rochester fortune. Now that Andrew had gotten what he wanted, she was of no further consequence to him. But hadn’t he come to care for her just a little? She knew she had not imagined the tenderness in his voice when he had said, I can’t ever be without you. . . .

Why would he have said that, if he had not meant it?

To Caroline’s weary amusement, her mother, Fanny, had received the news of Andrew’s impending nuptials with a great display of hysterics. She had taken to her bed at once, loudly insisting that the servants wait on her hand and foot until she recovered. The household centered around Fanny and her delicate nerves, mercifully leaving Caroline in peace.

The only person Caroline spoke to was Cade, who had become a surprisingly steady source of support.

“What can I do?” he asked softly, approaching Caroline as she sat before the window and stared blankly out at the garden. “There must be something that would make you feel better.”

She turned toward her brother with a dismal smile. “I suspect I will feel better as time goes by, although right now I doubt that I will ever feel happy again.”

“That bastard Rochester,” Cade muttered, sinking to his haunches beside her. “Shall I go thrash him for you?”

A wan chuckle escaped her. “No, Cade. That would not satisfy me in the least. And I suspect Andrew has quite enough suffering in store, if he truly plans to go through with his plans to marry Julianne.”

“True.” Cade considered her thoughtfully. “There is something I should tell you, Caro, although you will probably disapprove. Rochester sent me a message yesterday, informing me that he has settled all my debts. I suppose I should return all the money to him—but I don’t want to.”

“Do as you like.” Listlessly she leaned forward until her forehead was pressed against the cold, hard pane of the window.

“Well, now that I’m out of debt, and you are indirectly responsible for my good fortune . . . I want to do something for you. It’s almost Christmas, after all. Let me buy you a pretty necklace, or a new gown . . . just tell me what you want.”

“Cade,” she returned dully, without opening her eyes, “the only thing I would like to have is Rochester trussed up like a yuletide goose, completely at my mercy. Since you cannot make that happen, I wish for nothing.”

An extended silence greeted her statement, and then she felt a gentle pat on her shoulder. “All right, sweet sister.”

The next day Caroline made a genuine effort to shake herself from her cloud of melancholy. She took a long, steaming bath and washed her hair, and donned a comfortable gown that was sadly out of style but had always been her favorite. The folds of frayed dull-green velvet draped gently over her body as she sat by the fire to dry her hair. It was cold and blustery outside, and she shivered as she caught a glimpse of the icy gray sky through the window of her bedroom.

Just as she contemplated the idea of sending for a tray of toast and tea, the closed door was attacked by an energetic fist. “Caro,” came her brother’s voice. “Caro, may I come in? I must speak with you.” His fist pounded the wood panels again, as if he were about some urgent matter.

A faint quizzical smile came to her face. “Yes, come in,” she said, “before you break the door down.”

Cade burst into the room, wearing the strangest expression . . . his face tense and triumphant, while an air of wildness clung to him. His dark brown hair was disheveled, and his black silk cravat hung limply on either side of his neck.

“Cade,” Caroline said in concern, “what in heaven’s name has happened? Have you been fighting? What is the matter?”

A mixture of jubilation and defiance crossed his face, making him appear more boyish than his twenty-four years. When he spoke, he sounded slightly out of breath. “I’ve been rather busy today.”

“Doing what?” she asked warily.

“I’ve gotten you a Christmas present. It required a bit of effort, let me tell you. I had to get a couple of the fellows to help me, and . . . Well, we shouldn’t waste time talking. Get your traveling cloak.”

Caroline stared at him in complete bewilderment. “Cade, is my present outside? Must I fetch it myself, and on such a chilly day? I would prefer to wait. You of all people know what I have been through recently, and—”

“This present won’t keep for long,” he replied, straight-faced. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a very small key, with a frivolous red bow attached. “Here, take this.” He pressed the key into her palm. “And never say that I don’t go to trouble for you.”

Stupefied, she stared at the key in her hand. “I’ve never seen a key like this. What does it belong to?”

Her brother responded with a maddening smile. “Get your cloak and go find out.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “I am not in the mood for one of your pranks,” she said pertly. “And I don’t wish to go outside. But I will oblige you. Only heed my words: if this present is anything less than a queen’s ransom in jewels, I shall be very put out with you. Now, may I at least be granted a few minutes to pin up my hair?”

“Very well,” he said impatiently. “But hurry.”

Caroline could not help being amused by her brother’s suppressed exuberance. He fairly danced around her like some puckish sprite as she followed him down the stairs a minute later. No doubt he thought that his mysterious gift would serve to distract her from her broken heart . . . and though his ploy was transparent, she appreciated the caring thoughts behind it.

Opening the door with a flourish, Cade gestured to the family carriage and a team of two chestnuts stamping and blowing impatiently as the wind gusted around them. The family footman and driver also awaited, wearing heavy overcoats and large hats to shield them from the cold. “Oh, Cade,” Caroline said in a groan, turning back into the house, “I am not going anywhere in that carriage. I am tired, and hungry, and I want to have a peaceful evening at home.”

Cade startled her by taking her small face in his hands, and staring down at her with dark, entreating eyes. “Please, Caro,” he muttered. “For once, don’t argue or cause problems. Just do as I ask. Get into that carriage, and take the deuced key with you.”

She returned his steady gaze with a perplexed one of her own, shaking her head within the frame of his hands. A dark, strange suspicion blossomed inside her. “Cade,” she whispered, “what have you done?”

He did not reply, only guided her to the carriage and helped her inside, while the footman gave her a lap blanket and moved the porcelain foot warmer directly beneath her soles.

“Where will the carriage take me?” Caroline asked, and Cade shrugged casually.

“A friend of mine, Sambrooke, has a family cottage right at the outskirts of London that he uses to meet his . . . Well, that doesn’t matter. For today, the place is unoccupied, and at your disposal.”

“Why couldn’t you have brought my gift here?” She pinned him with a doubtful glare.

For some reason the question made him laugh shortly. “Because you need to view it in privacy.” Leaning into the carriage, he brushed her cold cheek with a kiss. “Good luck,” he murmured, and withdrew.

She stared blankly through the carriage window as the door closed with a firm snap. Panic shuffled her thoughts, turning them into an incoherent jumble. Good luck? What in God’s name had he meant by that? Did this by chance have anything to do with Andrew? Oh, she would cheerfully murder her brother if it did!

The carriage brought her past Hyde Park to an area west of London where there were still large tracts of sparsely developed land. As the vehicle came to a stop, Caroline fought to contain her agitation. She wondered wildly what her brother had arranged, and why she had been such an idiot as to fall in with his plans. The footman opened the carriage door and placed a step on the ground. Caroline did not move, however. She remained inside the vehicle and stared at the modest white roughcast house, with its steeply pitched slate roof and gravel-covered courtyard in front.

“Peter,” she said to the footman, an old and trusted family servant, “do you have any idea what this is about? You must tell me if you do.”

He shook his head. “No, miss, I know nothing. Do you wish to return home?”

Caroline considered the idea and abandoned it almost immediately. She had ventured too far to turn back now. “No, I’ll go inside,” she said reluctantly. “Shall you wait for me here?”

“If you wish, miss. But Lord Hargreaves’s instructions were to leave you here and return in precisely two hours.”

“I have a few choice words for my brother.” Straightening her shoulders, she gathered her cloak tightly about herself and hopped down from the carriage. Silently she began to plan a list of the ways in which she would punish Cade. “Very well, Peter. You and the driver will leave, as my brother instructed. One would hate to thwart his wishes, as he seems to have decided exactly what must be done.”

Peter opened the door for her, and helped her off with her cloak before returning outside to the carriage. The vehicle rolled gently away, its heavy wheels crunching the ice-covered gravel of the front courtyard.

Cautiously Caroline gripped the key and ventured inside the cottage. The place was simply furnished, with some oak paneling, a few family portraits, a set of ladder-back chairs, a library corner filled with old leather-bound books. The air was cold, but a cheerful little fire had been lit in the main room. Had it been lit for her comfort, or for someone else’s?

“Hello?” she called out hesitantly. “If anyone is here, I bid you answer. Hello?”

She heard a muffled shout from some distant corner of the house. The sound gave her an unpleasant start, producing a stinging sensation along the nerves of her shoulders and spine. Her breath issued in flat bursts, and she gripped the key until its ridges dug deeply into her sweating palm. She forced herself to move. One step, then another, until she was running through the cottage, searching for whomever had shouted.

“Hello, where are you?” she called repeatedly, making her way toward the back of the house. “Where—”

The flickering of hearth light issued from one of the rooms at the end of the hall. Grabbing up handfuls of her velvet skirts, Caroline rushed toward the room. She crossed the threshold in a flurry and stopped so suddenly that her hastily arranged hair pitched forward. Impatiently she pushed it back and stared in astonishment at the scene before her. It was a bedroom, so small that it allowed for only three pieces of furniture: a washstand, a night table, and a large carved rosewood bed. However, the other guest at this romantic rendezvous had not come as willingly as herself.

. . . the only thing I would like to have is Rochester trussed up like a yuletide goose, completely at my mercy, she had unthinkingly told her witless brother. And Cade, the insane ass, had somehow managed to accomplish it.

Andrew, the seventh Earl of Rochester, was stretched full-length on the bed, his arms tethered above his head with what seemed to be a pair of metal cuffs linked by a chain and lock. The chain had been passed through a pair of carved openings in the solid rosewood headboard, securely holding Andrew prisoner.

His dark head lifted from the pillow, and his eyes gleamed an unholy shade of blue in his flushed face. He yanked at the cuffs with a force that surely bruised his imprisoned wrists. “Get these the hell off of me,” he said in a growl, his voice containing a level of ferocity that made her flinch. He was like some magnificent feral animal, the powerful muscles of his arms bulging against his shirtsleeves, his taut body arching from the bed.

“I am so sorry,” she said with a gasp, instinctively rushing forward to help him. “My God . . . it was Cade . . . I don’t know what got into his head—”

“I’m going to kill him,” Andrew muttered, continuing to tug savagely at his tethered wrists.

“Wait, you’ll hurt yourself. I have the key. Just be still and let me—”

“Did you ask him to do this?” he asked with a snarl as she climbed onto the bed beside him.

“No,” she said at once, then felt scarlet color flooding her cheeks. “Not exactly. I only said I wished—” She broke off and bit her lip. “He told me about your betrothal to Cousin Julianne, you see, and I—” Continuing to blush, she crawled over him to reach the lock of the handcuffs. The delicate shape of her breast brushed over his chest, and Andrew’s entire body jerked as if he had been burned. To Caroline’s dismay, the key dropped from her fingers and fell between the mattress and the headboard. “Do be still,” she said, keeping her gaze from his face as she levered her body farther over his and fumbled for the key. It was not easy avoiding eye contact with him when their faces were so close. The brawny mass of his body was hard and unmoving beneath her. She heard his breathing change, turning deep and quick as she strained to retrieve the key.

Her fingertips curled around the key and pried it free of the mattress. “I’ve got it,” she murmured, risking a glance at him.

Andrew’s eyes were closed, his nose and mouth almost touching the curve of her breast. He seemed to be absorbing her scent, savoring it with peculiar intensity, as if he were a condemned man being offered his last meal.

“Andrew?” she whispered in painful confusion.

His expression became closed and hard, his blue eyes opaque. “Unlock these damned things!” He rattled the chain that linked the cuffs. The noise startled her, jangled across her raw nerves. She saw the deep gouges the chain links had left on the solid rosewood, but despite the relentless tugging and sawing, the wood had so far resisted the grating metal.

Her gaze dropped to the key in her hand. Instead of using it to unlock the handcuffs, she closed her fingers around it. Terrible, wicked thoughts formed in her mind. The right thing to do would be to set Andrew free as quickly as possible. But for the first time in her entire sedate, seemly life, she did not want to do what was right.

“Before I let you go,” she said in a low voice that did not quite sound like her own, “I would like the answer to one question. Why did you throw me aside in favor of Julianne?”

He continued to look at her with that arctic gaze. “I’ll be damned if I’ll answer any questions while I’m chained to a bed.”

“And if I set you free? Will you answer me then?”

“No.”

She searched his eyes for any sign of the man she had come to love, the Andrew who had been amusing, self-mocking, tender. There was nothing but bitterness in the depths of frozen blue, as if he had lost all feeling for her, himself, and everything that mattered. It would take something catastrophic to reach inside this implacable stranger.

“Why Julianne?” she persisted. “You said the affair with her was not worth remembering. Was that a lie? Have you decided that she can offer you something more, something better, than I can?”

“She is a better match for me than you could ever be.”

Suddenly it hurt to breathe. “Because she is more beautiful? More passionate?” she forced herself to ask.

Andrew tried to form the word yes, but it would not leave his lips. He settled for a single jerking nod.

That motion should have destroyed her, for it confirmed every self-doubt she had ever possessed. But the look on Andrew’s face . . . the twitch of his jaw, the odd glaze of his eyes . . . for a split second he seemed to be caught in a moment of pure agony. And there could be only one reason why.

“You’re lying,” she whispered.

“No, I’m not.”

All at once Caroline gave rein to the desperate impulses that swirled in her head. She was a woman with nothing to lose. “Then I will prove you wrong,” she said unsteadily. “I will prove that I can give you a hundred times more satisfaction than Julianne.”

“How?”

“I am going to make love to you,” she said, sitting up beside him. Her trembling fingers went to the neck of her gown, and she began working the knotted silk loops that fastened the front of her bodice. “Right now, on this bed, while you are helpless to prevent it. And I won’t stop until you admit that you are lying. I’ll have an explanation out of you, my lord, one way or another.”

Clearly she had surprised him. She knew that he had never expected such feminine aggression from a respectable spinster. “You wouldn’t have the damn nerve,” he said softly.

Well, that sealed his fate. She certainly could not back down after such a challenge. Resolutely Caroline continued on the silk fastenings until the front of her velvet gown gaped open to reveal her thin muslin chemise. A feeling of unreality settled over her as she pulled her arms from one sleeve, then the other. In all her adult life, she had never undressed in front of anyone. Goose bumps rose on her skin, and she rubbed her bare upper arms. The chemise provided so little covering that she might as well have been naked.

She would not have been surprised had Andrew decided to mock her, but he did not seem amused or angry at her display. He seemed . . . fascinated. His gaze slid over her body, lingered at the rose-tinted shadows of her nipples, then returned to her face. “That’s enough,” he muttered. “Much as I enjoy the view, there is no point to this.”

“I disagree.” She slid off the bed and pushed the heavy gown to the floor, where it lay in a soft heap. Standing in her chemise and drawers, she tried to still the chattering of her teeth. “I am going to make you talk to me, my lord, no matter what it takes. Before I’m through, I’ll have you babbling like an idiot.”

His breath caught with an incredulous laugh. The sound heartened her, for it seemed to make him more human and less a frozen stranger. “In the first place, I’m not worth the effort. Second, you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, which throws your plans very much in doubt.”

“I know enough,” she said with false bravado. “Sexual intercourse is merely a matter of mechanics . . . and even in my inexperience, I believe I can figure out what goes where.”

“It is not merely a matter of mechanics.” He tugged at the handcuffs with a new urgency, his face suddenly contorted with . . . fear? . . . concern? “Damn it, Caroline. I admire your determination, but you have to stop this now, do you understand? You’re going to cause yourself nothing but pain and frustration. You deserve better than to have your first experience turn out badly. Let me go, you bloody stubborn witch!”

The flare of desperate fury pleased her. It meant that she was breaking through the walls he had tried to construct between them, leaving him vulnerable to further assault.

“You may scream all you like,” she said. “There is no one to hear you.”

She crawled onto the bed, while his entire body went rigid.

“You’re a fool if you think that I’m going to cooperate,” he said between clenched teeth.

“I think that before long you will cooperate with great enthusiasm.” Caroline took perverse delight in becoming cooler and calmer as he became more irate. “After all, you haven’t had a woman in . . . how many months? At least three. Even if I lack the appropriate skills, I will be able to do as I like with you.”

“What about Julianne?” His arms bulged with heavy muscle as he pulled at the handcuffs. “I could have had her a hundred times by now, for all you know.”

“You haven’t,” she said. “You aren’t attracted to her—that was evident when I saw the two of you together.”

She began on the tight binding of his cravat, unwinding the damp, starch-scented cloth that still contained the heat of his skin. When his long golden throat was revealed, she touched the triangular hollow at the base with a gentle fingertip. “That’s better,” she said softly. “Now you can breathe.”

He was indeed breathing, with the force of a man who had just run ten miles without stopping. His gaze fixed on hers, no longer cold, but gleaming with fury. “Stop it. I warn you, Caroline, stop now.”

“Or what? What could you possibly do to punish me that would be worse than what you’ve already done?” Her fingers went to the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, and she released them in rapid succession. She spread the edges of his garments wide, baring a remarkably muscular torso. The sight of his body, all that ferocious power rendered helpless before her, was awe-inspiring.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said. “You knew from the beginning that our relationship was just a pretense.”

“Yes. But it became something else, and you and I both know it.” Gently she touched the thick curls that covered his chest, her fingertips delving to the burning skin beneath. He jumped at the brush of her cool hand, the breath hissing between his teeth. How often she had dreamed of doing this, exploring his body, caressing him. The surface of his stomach was laced with tight muscles, so different from the smooth softness of her own. She stroked the taut golden skin, so hard and silken beneath her hand. “Tell me why you would marry Julianne when you’ve fallen in love with me.”

“I . . . haven’t,” he managed to choke out. “Can’t you get it th-through your stubborn head—”

His words ended in a harsh groan as she straddled him in a decisive motion, their loins separated only by the layers of his trousers and her gossamer-thin drawers. Flushed and determined, Caroline sat atop him in a completely wanton posture. She felt the protrusion of his sex nestle into the cleft between her thighs. The lascivious pressure of him against that intimate part of her body caused a silken ripple of heat all through her. She shifted her weight until he nudged right against her most sensitive area, a little peak that throbbed frantically at his nearness.

“All right,” he said in a gasp, holding completely still. “All right, I admit it . . . I love you, damned tormenting bitch—now get off of me!”

“Marry me,” she insisted. “Promise that you’ll break off the betrothal to my cousin.”

“No.”

Caroline reached up to her hair, pulling the pins loose, letting the rippling brown locks cascade down to her waist. He had never seen her hair down before, and his imprisoned fingers twitched as if he ached to touch her.

“I love you,” she said, stroking the furry expanse of his chest, flattening her palm over the thundering rhythm of his heart. The textures of his body—rough silk, hard muscle, bone, and sinew—fascinated her. She wanted to kiss and stroke him everywhere. “We belong together. There should be no obstacles between us, Andrew.”

“Love doesn’t make a damn bit of difference,” he almost snarled. “Idealistic little fool—”

His breath snagged in his throat as she grasped the hem of her chemise, pulled it over her head, and tossed the whisper-thin garment aside. Her upper body was completely naked, the small, firm globes of her breasts bouncing delicately, pink tips contracting in the cool air. He stared at her breasts without blinking, and his eyes gleamed with wolfish hunger before he turned his face away.

“Would you like to kiss them?” Caroline whispered, hardly daring to believe her own brazenness. “I know that you’ve imagined this, Andrew, just as I have.” She leaned over him, brushing her nipples against his chest, and he quivered at the shock of their flesh meeting. He kept his face turned away, his mouth taut, his breath coming in hard gusts. “Kiss me,” she urged. “Kiss me just once, Andrew. Please. I need you . . . need to taste you . . . kiss me the way I’ve dreamed about for so long.”

A deep groan vibrated within his chest. His mouth lifted, searching for hers. She pressed her lips over his, her tongue slipping daintily into his hot, sweet mouth. Ardently she molded her body against his, wrapped her arms around his head, kissed him again and again. She touched his shackled wrists, her fingertips brushing his palms. He muttered frantically against her throat, “Yes . . . yes . . . let me go, Caroline . . . the key . . .”

“No.” She moved higher on his chest, dragging her feverish mouth over the salt-flavored skin of his throat. “Not yet.”

His mouth searched the tender place where her neck met the curve of her shoulder, and she wriggled against him, wanting more, her body filled with a craving that she could not seem to satisfy. She levered herself higher, higher, until almost by accident her nipple brushed the edge of his jaw. He seized it immediately, his mouth opening over the tender crest and drawing it deep inside. His tongue circled the delicate peak and feathered it with rapid, tiny strokes. For a long time he sucked and licked, until Caroline moaned imploringly. His mouth released the rosy nipple, his tongue caressing it with one last swipe.

“Give me the other one,” he said in a rasping whisper. “Put it in my mouth.”

Trembling, she obeyed, guiding her breast to his lips. He feasted on her eagerly, and she gasped at the sensation of being captured by his mouth, held by its heat and urgency. Exquisite tension gathered between her wide-open thighs. She writhed, undulated, pressed as close to him as possible, but it was not close enough. She wanted to be filled by him, crushed and ravished and possessed. “Andrew,” she said, her voice low and raw. “I want you . . . I want you so badly I could die of it. Let me . . . let me . . .” She took her breast from his mouth and kissed him again, and reached frantically down to the huge, bulging shape beneath the front of his trousers.

“No,” she heard him say hoarsely, but she unfastened his trousers with unsteady fingers. Andrew swore and stared at the ceiling, seeming to will his body not to respond . . . but as her cool little hand slid inside his trousers, he groaned and flushed darkly.

Caroline brought out the hard, pulsing length of his sex, and clasped the thick shaft with trembling fingers. She was fascinated by the satiny feel of his skin, the nest of coarse curls at his groin, the heavy, surprisingly cool weight of his testicles down below. The thought of taking the entire potent length of him inside her own body was as shocking as it was exciting. Awkwardly she caressed him, and was startled by his immediate response, the instinctive upward surge of his hips, the stifled grunt of pleasure that came from his throat.

“Is this the right way?” she asked, her fingers sliding up to the large round head.

“Caroline . . .” His tormented gaze was riveted on her face. “Caroline, listen to me. I don’t want this. It won’t be good for you. There are things I haven’t done for you . . . things your body needs . . . for God’s sake—”

“I don’t care. I want to make love to you.”

She peeled off her drawers and garters and stockings, and returned to crouch over his groin, feeling clumsy and yet inflamed. “Tell me what to do,” she begged, and pressed the head of his sex directly against the soft cove of her body. She lowered her weight experimentally, and froze at the intense pressure and pain that threatened. It seemed impossible to make their bodies fit together. Baffled and frustrated, she tried again, but she could not manage to push the stiff length of him through the tightly closed opening. She stared at Andrew’s taut face, her gaze pleading. “Help me. Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

Even in this moment of crucial intimacy, he would not relent. “It’s time to stop, Caroline.”

The finality of his refusal was impossible to ignore.

She was swamped with a feeling of utter defeat. She took a long, shivering breath, and another, but nothing would relieve the burning ache in her lungs. “All right,” she managed to whisper. “All right. I’m sorry.” Tears stung her eyes, and she reached beneath her spectacles to wipe at them furiously. She had lost him again, this time permanently. Any man who could resist a woman at such a moment, while she begged to make love to him, could not truly be in love with her. Groping for the key, she continued to cry silently.

For some reason the sight of her tears drove him into a sort of contained frenzy, his body stiffening with the effort not to flail at his chains. “Caroline,” he said in a shaking whisper. “Please open the damned lock. Please. God . . . don’t. Just get the key. Yes. Let me go. Let me—”

As soon as she turned the tiny key in the lock, the world seemed to explode with movement. Andrew moved with the speed of a leaping tiger, freeing his wrists and pouncing on her. Too stunned to react, Caroline found herself being flipped over and pressed flat on her back. The half-naked weight of his body crushed her deep into the mattress, the startling thrust of his erection hard against her quivering stomach. He moved against her once, twice, three times, the pouch of his ballocks dragging tightly through her dark curls, and then he went still, holding her until she could hardly breathe. A groan escaped him, and a liquid wash of heat seeped between their bodies, sliding over her stomach.

Dazed, Caroline lay still and silent, her gaze darting over his taut features. Andrew let out a ragged sigh and opened his eyes, which had turned a brilliant shade of molten blue. “Don’t move,” he said softly. “Just lie still for a moment.”

She had no other choice. Her limbs were weak and trembling . . . she burned as if from a fever. Miserably she watched as he left the bed, then glanced down at her stomach. She touched a fingertip to the glossy smear of liquid there, and she was puzzled and curious and woeful all at the same time. Andrew returned with a wet cloth, and joined her on the bed. Closing her eyes, Caroline flinched at the coldness of the cloth as he gently cleansed her body. She could not bear the sight of his impassive face, nor could she stand the thought of what he might say to her. No doubt he would berate her for her part in this humiliating escapade, and she certainly deserved it. She bit her lip and stiffened her limbs against the tremors that shook her . . . she was so hot everywhere, her hips lifting uncontrollably, a sob catching in her throat. “Leave me alone,” she whispered, feeling as if she were going to fly into pieces.

The cloth was set aside, and Andrew’s fingers carefully hooked under the sidepieces of her spectacles to lift them from her damp face. Her lashes lifted. He was leaning over her, so close that his features were only slightly blurred. His gaze traveled slowly down the length of her slender body. “My God, how I love you,” he murmured, shocking her, while his hand cupped her breast and squeezed gently. His fingertips trailed downward in a lazy path, until they slipped into the plump cleft between her thighs.

Caroline arched wildly, completely helpless at his touch, while small, pleading cries came from her throat.

“Yes.” His voice was like dark velvet, his tongue flicking the lobe of her ear. “I’ll take care of you now. Just tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

“Andrew . . .” She gasped as he separated the tender lips and stroked right between them. “Don’t t-torture me, please. . . .”

Amusement threaded through his tone. “After what you’ve done to me, I think you deserve a few minutes of torture . . . don’t you?” His fingertip glided in a small circle around the aching little tip of flesh where all sensation was gathering. “Would you like me to kiss you here?” he asked softly. “And touch it with my tongue?”

The questions jolted her—she had never imagined such a thing—and yet her entire body quivered in response.

“Tell me,” he prompted gently.

Her lips were dry, and she had to wet them with her tongue before she could speak. To her utter shame, once the first words were out, she could not stop herself from begging shamelessly. “Yes, Andrew . . . kiss me there, use your tongue, I need you now, now please—”

Her voice dissolved into wild groans as he moved downward, his dark head dropping between her spread legs, his fingers smoothing the little dark curls and opening her pink lips even wider. His breath touched her first, a soft rush of steam, and then his tongue danced over her, gently prodding the burning little nub, flicking it with rapid strokes.

Caroline bit her lower lip sharply, struggling desperately to keep quiet despite the intense pleasure of his mouth on her. Andrew lifted his head as he heard the muffled sounds she made, and his eyes gleamed devilishly. “Scream all you like,” he murmured. “There’s no one to hear you.”

His mouth returned to her, and she cried out, her bottom lifting eagerly from the mattress as she pushed herself toward him. He grunted with satisfaction and cradled her taut buttocks in his large, warm hands, while his mouth continued to feast on her. She felt the broad tip of his finger stroke against the tiny opening of her body, circling, teasing . . . entering with delicate skill.

“Feel how wet you are,” he murmured against her slick flesh. “You’re ready to be taken now. I could slide every inch of my cock inside you.”

Then she understood why she had not been able to accommodate him before. “Please,” she whispered, dying of need. “Please, Andrew.”

His lips returned to her vulva, nuzzling the moist, sensitive folds. Gasping, Caroline went still as his finger slid deeply inside her, stroking in time to the sweet, rhythmic tug of his mouth. “My God,” she said between frantic pants for breath, “I can’t . . . oh, I can’t bear it, please Andrew, my God—”

The world vanished in an explosion of fiery bliss. She sobbed and shivered, riding the current of pure ecstasy until she finally drifted in a tide of lethargy unlike anything she had ever experienced. Only then did his mouth and fingers leave her. Andrew tugged at the covers and linens, half lifting Caroline’s body against his own, until they were wrapped in a cocoon of warm bedclothes. She lay beside him, her leg draped over his, her head pillowed on his hard shoulder. Shaken, exhausted, she relaxed in his arms, sharing the utter peace of aftermath, like the calm after a violent storm.

Andrew’s hand smoothed over the wild ripples of her hair, spreading them over his own chest. After a long moment of bittersweet contentment, he spoke quietly, his lips brushing her temple.

“It was never a charade for me, Caroline. I fell in love with you from the moment we struck our infernal bargain. I loved your spirit, your strength, your beauty. . . . I realized at once how special you were. And I knew that I didn’t deserve you. But I had the damned foolish idea that somehow I might be able to become worthy of you. I wanted to make a new beginning, with you by my side. I even stopped caring about my father’s bloody fortune. But in my arrogance I didn’t consider the fact that no one can escape his past. And I have a thousand things to atone for . . . things that will keep turning up to haunt me for the rest of my life. You don’t want to be part of that ugliness, Caroline. No man who loves a woman would ask her to live with him, wondering every day when some wretched part of his past will reappear.”

“I don’t understand.” She lifted herself onto his chest, staring into his grave, tender expression. “Tell me what Julianne has done to change everything.”

He sighed and stroked back a lock of her hair. It was clear that he did not want to tell her, but he would no longer withhold the truth. “You know that Julianne and I once had an affair. For a while afterward, we remained friends of a sort. We are remarkably similar, Julianne and I—both of us selfish and manipulative and coldhearted—”

“No,” Caroline said swiftly, placing her fingers on his mouth. “You’re not like that, Andrew. At least not anymore.”

A bleak smile curved his lips, and he kissed her fingers before continuing. “After the affair was over, Julianne and I amused ourselves by playing a game we had invented. We would each name a certain person—always a virtuous and well-respected one—whom the other had to seduce. The more difficult the target, the more irresistible the challenge. I named a high-ranking magistrate, the father of seven children, whom Julianne enticed into an affair.”

“And whom did she select for you?” Caroline asked quietly, experiencing a strange mixture of revulsion and pity as she heard his sordid confession.

“One of her ‘friends’—the wife of the Italian ambassador. Pretty, shy, and known for her modesty and God-fearing ways.”

“You succeeded with her, I suppose.”

He nodded without expression. “She was a good woman with a great deal to lose. She had a happy marriage, a loving husband, three healthy children. . . . God knew how I was able to persuade her into a dalliance. But I did. And afterward, the only way she could assuage her guilt was to convince herself that she had fallen in love with me. She wrote me a few love letters, highly incriminating ones that she soon came to regret. I wanted to burn them—I should have—but I returned them to her, thinking that it would ease her worry if she could destroy them herself. Then she would never have to fear that one of them would turn up and ruin her life. Instead the little fool kept them, and for some reason I’ll never understand, she showed them to Julianne, who was posing as a concerned friend.”

“And somehow Julianne gained possession of them,” Caroline said softly.

“She’s had them for almost five years. And the day after my father died, and it became known that he left me the Rochester fortune, Julianne paid me an unexpected visit. She has gone through her late husband’s entire fortune. If she wishes to maintain her current lifestyle, she will have to marry a wealthy man. And it seems I have been given the dubious honor of being her chosen groom.”

“She is blackmailing you with the letters?”

He nodded. “Unless I agreed to marry her, Julianne said she would make the damned things public, and ruin her so-called friend’s life. And two things immediately became clear to me. I could never have you as my wife knowing that our marriage was based on the destruction of someone else’s life. And with my past, it is only a matter of time until something else rears its ugly head. You would come to hate me, being constantly faced with new evidence of the sins I’ve committed.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “Damned inconvenient thing, to develop a conscience. It was a hell of a lot easier before I had one.”

Caroline was silent, staring down at his chest as her fingers stroked slowly through the dark curls. It was one thing to be told that a man had a wicked past, and certainly Andrew had never pretended otherwise. But the knowledge made far more of an impression on her now that she knew a few specifics about his former debauchery. The notion of his affair with Julianne, and the revolting games they had played with others’ lives, sickened her. No one would blame her for rejecting Andrew, for agreeing that he was far too tarnished and corrupt. And yet . . . the fact that he had learned to feel regret, that he wished to protect the ambassador’s wife even at the expense of his own happiness . . . that meant he had changed. It meant he was capable of becoming a far better man than he had been.

Besides, love was about caring for the whole man, including his flaws . . . and trusting that he felt the same about her. To her, that was worth any risk.

She smiled into Andrew’s brooding face. “It is no surprise to me that you have a few imperfections.” She climbed farther onto his chest, her small breasts pressing into the warm mat of hair. “Well, more than a few. You’re a wicked scoundrel, and I fully expect that at some point in the future there will be more unpleasant surprises from your past. But you are my scoundrel, and I want to face all the unpleasant moments of life, and the wonderful ones, with no one but you.”

His fingers slid into her hair, clasping her scalp, and he stared at her with fierce adoration. When he spoke his voice was slightly hoarse. “What if I decide that you deserve someone better?”

“It’s too late now,” she said reasonably. “You have to marry me after debauching me this afternoon.”

Carefully he brought her forward and kissed her cheeks. “Precious love . . . I didn’t debauch you. Not completely, at any rate. You’re still a virgin.”

“Not for long.” She wriggled on his body, feeling his erection rising against the inside of her thigh. “Make love to me.” She nuzzled against his throat and spread kisses along the firm line of his jaw. “All the way this time.”

He lifted her from his chest as easily as if she were an exploring kitten, and stared at her with anguished yearning. “There’s still the matter of Julianne and the ambassador’s wife.”

“Oh, that.” She perched on him, with her hair streaming over her chest and back, and touched his small, dark nipples with her thumbs. “I will deal with my cousin Julianne,” she informed him. “You’ll have those letters back, Andrew. It will be my Christmas gift to you.”

His gaze was patently doubtful. “How?”

“I don’t wish to explain right now. What I want is—”

“I know what you want,” he said dryly, rolling to pin her beneath him. “But you’re not going to get it, Caroline. I won’t take your virginity until I’m free to offer you marriage. Now explain to me why you’re so confident that you can get the letters back.”

She ran her hands over his muscular forearms. “Well . . . I’ve never told this to anyone, not even Cade, and especially not my mother. But soon after Julianne’s rich old husband died—I suppose you’ve heard the rumors that his death was not of natural causes?”

“There was never any proof otherwise.”

“Not that anyone knows of. But right after Lord Brenton passed on to his reward, his valet, Mr. Stevens, paid a visit to my father one night. My father was a well-respected and highly trustworthy man, and the valet had met him before. Stevens behaved oddly that night—he seemed terribly frightened, and he begged my father to help him. He suspected Julianne of having poisoned old Lord Brenton—she had recently been to the chemist’s shop, and then Stevens had caught her pouring something into Brenton’s medicine bottle the day before he died. But Stevens was afraid to confront Julianne with his suspicions. He thought that she might somehow falsely implicate him in the murder, or punish him in some other devious way. To protect himself, he collected evidence of Julianne’s guilt, including the tainted medicine bottle. He begged my father to help him find new employment, and my father recommended him to a friend who was living abroad.”

“Why did your father tell you about this?”

“He and I were very close—we were confidantes, and there were few secrets between us.” She gave him a small, triumphant smile. “I know exactly where Stevens is located. And I also know where the evidence against Julianne is hidden. So unless my cousin wishes to face being accused and tried for her late husband’s murder, she will give me those letters.”

“Sweetheart . . .” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’re not going to confront Julianne with this. She is a dangerous woman.”

“She is no match for me,” Caroline replied. “Because I am not going to let her or anyone else stand in the way of what I want.”

“And what is that?” he asked.

“You.” She slid her hands to his shoulders and lifted her knees to either side of his hips. “All of you . . . including every moment of your past, present, and future.”