The most difficult thing that Andrew, Lord Rochester, had ever done was to wait for the next three days. He paced and fretted alone at the family estate, alternately bored and anxious. He nearly went mad from the suspense. But Caroline had asked him to wait for word from her, and if it killed him, he would keep his promise. Try as he might, he could not summon much hope that she would actually retrieve the letters. Julianne was as sly and devious as Caroline was honest . . . and it was not the easiest trick in the world to blackmail a blackmailer. Moreover, the thought that Caroline was lowering herself in this way in an attempt to clean up a nasty mess that he had helped to create . . . it made him squirm. By now he should be accustomed to feeling the heat of shame, but he still suffered mightily at the thought of it. A man should protect the woman he loved—he should keep her safe and happy—and instead Caroline was having to rescue him. Groaning, he thought longingly of having a drink—but he would be damned if he would drown himself in the comforting oblivion of alcohol ever again. From now on he would face life without any convenient crutch. He would allow himself no more excuses, no place to hide.

And then, just a few days before Christmas, a footman dispatched from the Hargreaves residence came to the Rochester estate bearing a small wrapped package.

“Milord,” the footman said, bowing respectfully. “Miss Hargreaves instructed me to deliver this into your hands, and no one else’s.”

Almost frantically Andrew tore open the sealed note attached to the package. His gaze skittered across the neatly written lines:

“Lord Rochester, shall I convey your reply to Miss Hargreaves?” the footman asked.

Andrew shook his head, while an odd feeling of lightness came over him. It was the first time in his life that he had ever felt so free, so full of anticipation. “No,” he said, his voice slightly gravelly. “I will answer Miss Hargreaves in person. Tell her that I will come to call on Christmas Day.”

“Yes, milord.”

Caroline sat before the fire, enjoying the warmth of the yule log as it cast a wash of golden light over the family receiving room. The windows were adorned with glossy branches of holly, and festooned with red ribbons and sprays of berries. Wax tapers wreathed with greens burned on the mantel. After a pleasant morning of exchanging gifts with the family and servants, everyone had departed to pursue various amusements, for there were abundant parties and suppers to choose from. Cade was dutifully escorting Fanny to no less than three different events, and they would likely not return until after midnight. Caroline had resisted their entreaties to come along, and refused to answer their questions concerning her plans. “Is it Lord Rochester?” Fanny had demanded in mingled excitement and worry. “Do you expect him to call, dearest? If so, I must advise you on the right tone to take with him—”

“Mother,” Cade had interrupted, flashing Caroline a rueful gaze, “if you do not wish to be late for the Danburys’ party, we must be off.”

“Yes, but I must tell Caroline—”

“Believe me,” Cade said firmly, plopping a hat onto his mother’s head and tugging her to the entrance hall, “if Rochester should decide to appear, Caroline will know exactly how to deal with him.”

Thank you, Caroline had mouthed to him silently, and they exchanged a grin before he removed their inquisitive mother from the premises.

The servants had all been given the day off, and the house was quiet as Caroline waited. Sounds of Christmas drifted in from outside . . . passing troubadours, children caroling, groups of merry revelers traveling between houses.

Finally, as the clock struck one, a knock came at the door. Caroline felt her heart leap. She rushed to the door with unseemly haste and flung it open.

Andrew stood there, tall and handsome, his expression serious and a touch uncertain. They stared at each other, and although Caroline remained motionless, she felt her entire being reaching for him, her soul expanding with yearning. “You’re here,” she said, almost frightened of what would happen next. She wanted him to seize her in his arms and kiss her, but instead he removed his hat and spoke softly.

“May I come in?”

She welcomed him inside, helped him with his coat, and watched as he hung the hat on the hall stand. He turned to face her, his vivid blue eyes filled with a heat that caused her to tremble. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

Caroline wrung her hands together nervously. “Merry Christmas. Shall we go into the parlor?”

He nodded, his gaze still on her. He didn’t seem to care where they went as he followed her wordlessly into the parlor. “Are we alone?” he asked, having noticed the stillness of the house.

“Yes.” Too agitated to sit, Caroline stood before the fire and stared up at his half-shadowed face. “Andrew,” she said impulsively, “before you tell me anything, I want to make it clear . . . my gift to you . . . the letters . . . you are not obligated to give me anything in return. That is, you needn’t feel as if you owe me—”

He touched her then, his large, gentle hands lightly framing the sides of her face, thumbs skimming over the blushing surface of her cheeks. The way he looked at her, tender and yet somehow devouring, caused her entire body to tingle in delight. “But I am obligated,” he murmured, “by my heart, soul, and too many parts of my anatomy to name.” A smile curved his lips. “Unfortunately the only thing I can offer you is a rather questionable gift . . . somewhat tarnished and damaged, and of very doubtful value. Myself.” He reached for her small, slender hands and brought them to his mouth, pressing hot kisses to the backs of her fingers. “Will you have me, Caroline?”

Happiness rose inside her, making her throat tight. “I will. You are exactly what I want.”

He laughed suddenly, and broke the fervent clasp of their hands to fish for something in his pocket. “God help you, then.” He extracted a glittering object and slipped it onto her fourth finger. The fit was just a little loose. Caroline balled her hand into a fist as she stared at the ring. It was an ornately carved gold band adorned with a huge rose-cut diamond. The gem sparkled with heavenly brilliance in the light of the yule log, making her breath catch. “It belonged to my mother,” Andrew said, watching her face closely. “She willed it to me, and hoped that I would someday give it to my wife.”

“It is lovely,” Caroline said, her eyes stinging. She lifted her mouth for his kiss, and felt the soft brush of his lips over hers.

“Here,” he murmured, a smile coloring his voice, and he removed her spectacles to clean them. “You can’t even see the damned thing, the way these are smudged.” Replacing the polished spectacles, he took hold of her waist and pulled her body against his. His tone sobered as he spoke again. “Was it difficult to get the letters from Julianne?”

“Not at all.” Caroline could not suppress a trace of smugness as she replied. “I enjoyed it, actually. Julianne was furious—I have no doubt she wanted to scratch my eyes out. And naturally she denied having had anything to do with Lord Brenton’s death. But she gave me the letters all the same. I can assure you that she will never trouble us again.”

Andrew hugged her tightly, his hands sliding repeatedly over her back. Then he spoke quietly in her hair, with a meaningful tone that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in excitement. “There is a matter I have yet to take care of. As I recall, I left you a virgin the last time we met.”

“You did,” Caroline replied with a wobbly smile. “Much to my displeasure.”

His mouth covered hers, and he kissed her with a mixture of adoration and avid lust that caused her knees to weaken. She leaned heavily against him, her tongue sliding and curling against his. Excitement thumped inside her, and she arched against him in an effort to make the embrace closer, her body craving the weight and pressure of him.

“Then I’ll do my best to oblige you this time,” he said when their lips parted. “Take me to your bedroom.”

“Now? Here?”

“Why not?” She felt him smile against her cheek. “Are you worried about propriety? You, who had me handcuffed to a bed—”

“That was Cade’s doing, not mine,” she said, blushing.

“Well, you didn’t mind taking advantage of the situation, did you?”

“I was desperate!”

“Yes, I remember.” Still smiling, he kissed the side of her neck and slid his hand to her breast, caressing the gentle curve until her nipple contracted into a hard point. “Would you rather wait until we marry?” he murmured.

She took his hand and pulled him out of the parlor, leading him upstairs to her bedroom. The walls were covered with flower-patterned paper that matched the pink-and-white embroidered counterpane on the bed. In such dainty surroundings, Andrew looked larger and more masculine than ever. Caroline watched in fascinated delight as he began to remove his clothes, discarding his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt, draping the fine garments on a shield-backed chair. She unbuttoned her own gown and stepped out of it, leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor. As she stood in her undergarments and stockings, Andrew came to her and pulled her against his naked body. The hard, thrusting ridge of his erection burned through the frail muslin of her drawers, and she let out a small gasp.

“Are you afraid?” he whispered, lifting her higher against him, until her toes almost left the ground.

She turned her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of his warm skin, lifting her hands to stroke the thick, cool silk of his hair. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “Don’t stop, Andrew. I want to be yours. I want to feel you inside me.”

He set her on the bed and removed her clothes slowly, kissing every inch of her skin as it was uncovered, until she lay naked and open before him. Murmuring his love to her, he touched her breasts with his mouth, licked and teased until her nipples formed rosy, tight buds. Caroline arched up to him in ardent response, urging him to take her, until he pulled away with a breathless laugh. “Not so fast,” he said, his hand descending to her stomach, stroking in soothing circles. “You’re not ready for me yet.”

“I am,” she insisted, her body aching and feverish, her heart pounding.

He smiled and rolled her to her stomach, and she groaned as she felt his mouth trail down her spine, kissing and nibbling. His teeth nipped at her buttocks before his lips traveled to the fragile creases at the backs of her knees. “Andrew,” she groaned, writhing in torment. “Please don’t make me wait.”

He turned her over once again, and his wicked mouth wandered up the inside of her thigh, higher and higher, and his strong hands carefully urged her thighs apart. Caroline whimpered as she felt him lick the damp, soft cleft between her legs. Another, deeper stroke of his tongue, and another, and then he found the excruciatingly tender bud and suckled, his tongue flicking her, until she shuddered and screamed, her ecstatic cries muffled in the folds of the embroidered counterpane.

Andrew kissed her lips and settled between her thighs. She moaned in encouragement as she felt the plum-shaped head of his sex wedge against the slick core of her body. He pushed gently, filling her . . . hesitating as she gasped with discomfort. “No,” she said, clutching frantically at his hips, “don’t stop . . . I need you . . . please, Andrew . . .”

He groaned and thrust forward, burying himself completely, while her flesh throbbed sweetly around him. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, breathing hard, while his hips pushed forward in gentle nudges. His face was damp, suffused with perspiration and heat, his long, dark lashes spiky with moisture. Caroline was transfixed by the sight of him—he was such a beautiful man . . . and he was hers. He invaded her in a slow, patient rhythm, his muscles rigid, his forearms braced on either side of her head. Writhing in pleasure, she lifted her hips to take him more deeply. His mouth caught hers hungrily, his tongue searching and sliding.

“I love you,” she whispered between kisses, her wet lips moving against his. “I love you, Andrew, love you. . . .”

The words seemed to break his self-control, and his thrusts became stronger, deeper, until he buried himself inside her and shuddered violently, his passion spending, his breath stopping in the midst of an agonizing burst of pleasure.

Long, lazy minutes later, while they were still tangled together, their heartbeats returning to a regular rhythm, Caroline kissed Andrew’s shoulder.

“Darling,” she said drowsily, “I want to ask something of you.”

“Anything.” His fingers played in her hair, sifting through the silken locks.

“Whatever comes, we’ll face it together. Promise to trust me, and never to keep secrets from me again.”

“I will.” Andrew raised himself up on one elbow, staring down at her with a crooked smile. “Now I want to ask something of you. Could we forgo the large wedding, and instead have a small ceremony on New Year’s Day?”

“Of course,” Caroline said promptly. “I wouldn’t have wanted a large wedding in any case. But why so soon?”

He lowered his mouth to hers, his lips warm and caressing. “Because I want my new beginning to coincide with the new year. And because I need you too badly to wait for you.”

She smiled and shook her head in wonder, her eyes shining as she stared up at him. “Well, I need you even more.”

“Show me,” he whispered, and she did just that.