By closeting herself with her writing partner for the entire snowy afternoon, Amarantha managed to stave off the urgent need to satisfy her desire for the Duke of Loch Irvine’s lips and body against hers again.

After dinner, as the ladies arose from the table to retire to the drawing room, the duke announced that he had no interest in port, thus forcing the other gentlemen to accede to their host’s whim. As they all went from the dining room, Amarantha felt her skirt snagged, and halted to detach herself.

The heel of the duke’s boot was hard upon her hem.

Then his hand was wrapping around hers and he was dragging her out of the light and beneath the stairs into darkness.

“This is most unusual, Urisk,” she whispered.

“This dress,” he said, putting her firmly between himself and the wall, and his fingertips just barely touching her forearms. “You wore it to drive me mad.”

“This is an unexceptional gown.”

“Must be the exceptional woman wearing it, then.”

“And you are already mad.” She rested her hand on his arm, and the madness filled her too in fine tendrils of pleasure. “You admitted it yourself just today. And I think at other times. I don’t remember. I am having trouble remembering anything at this moment.”

“Except how irresistible you find me.”

“I needn’t remember that. I experience that with no effort whatsoever.”

Without any preamble, any permission asked or granted he kissed her. His breath upon her lips was soft, his touch gentle, at first tentative, as though they had not tried to consume each other on a mountainside earlier that day. One of his hands circled her waist, warm and big and holding her lightly.

A sigh began in the depths of her chest and escaped her throat.

His lips moved to the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek and ear where he set tender, beautiful kisses everywhere until she was sighing again and again, and smiling.

“This is, admittedly, a much better end to today than I had anticipated upon waking.”

“The day’s no’ finished yet, my beauty.”

She pulled back from his caresses. “Please do not call me that.”

“Beauty?”

“Yours.”

“I will make a deal with you, lass.”

“What sort of deal?”

“I will call you whatever you wish if you’ll put your hands on me again. Now.”

She obliged. A sound of thorough contentment rumbled beneath her palms.

“I’ll be howling at the moon tonight,” he uttered.

“This was your idea.”

“I enjoy howling,” he said, and bent to her cheek, where he laid one soft kiss after another. Then her neck. “You hid from me this afternoon.”

“I was with Tabitha, writing. She is well. Relieved. And she is eager to return to Edinburgh. She hopes to depart as soon as the snow abates.”

“A fine plan. Now, where were we?”

“You were preparing to howl at the moon.” Both of his hands were on her body now, easing her toward him until her hips met his. Her eyelids dipped. “I will be returning to Edinburgh with her.”

His hands halted their descent down her back. “No.”

“No?”

“You’ll no’ leave here so soon.”

“You cannot order me to stay.”

“I can try to convince you.” His fingers threaded through her hair and he kissed her, this time longer, then more, taking her upper lip then the bottom lip one at a time, then her whole mouth. “Open for me, ambrosia woman,” he murmured, and she did so and tasted his desire upon her lips and in the caress of their tongues. There was such heat opening in her body, and need. She lifted her hands to his shoulders and felt it, felt him.

“You make me . . .” she whispered between kisses. “Want,” she breathed. “Want you.”

“’Tis good news.”

“But I will not be convinced to remain here with lovemaking.”

“Then I will ask,” he said, stroking his thumb over her lower lip. “Will you stay here at Kallin long enough for me to memorize every shape an’ texture o’ your lips, Amarantha?”

“The mystery of Luke’s father is not here.”

He drew back.

“Yesterday I spoke with everyone here,” she said. “None of them have ever heard of Penny. I don’t believe I will find the answers I seek here. I must return to her family and to those who knew her.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You’ll no’ sail to another continent in search o’ anyone, especially no’ a phantom man. For pity’s sake, woman,” he said, tilting her face up to his. “When will you leave off living your life for everyone but yourself?”

“I promised Penny that I would find her son’s father.”

“Then we will hire an investigator.”

“How could a stranger discover intimate details of my friend’s life that I cannot?”

“He makes his living at it, so he must. An’ while he is busy at that, you will stay here an’ continue to kiss me.”

She pushed against his chest and he released her.

“You will stay here voluntarily,” he amended.

“Just as the residents of this house must stay? You cannot contain women, Urisk.”

“The locks on the gates are no’ to keep them in, but to keep others out.”

“What if the men who are the legal masters of these women—Maggie’s betrothed, Cassandra’s father, the man who bought Molly off the auction block, the father of Rebecca’s child who would have the right to seize Clementine—What if any of those men hunt until they find this sanctuary?”

“We must hope they willna.”

“Even if they do not, even if no one ever comes looking for them, this is not a complete life, hiding away from the world. Don’t you see that?”

“Aye, I understand no’ living a complete life,” he said soberly. “What do you wish, lass?”

“Freedom for the women here to go and come as they please.” Her voice was soft steel, her eyes overbright. “To live and—and to love as they wish.”

“Then they’ll have it.”

“What will they have?”

“Autonomy.”

“The women of Kallin?”

“Aye. ’Tis a brilliant idea, in fact. No more endless letters filled with minutiae. Why didna I think o’ it myself?”

“Because women have the best solutions to everything,” she said. “Women should also have noble titles in their own rights, by the way.”

“Some Scots do.” His hand curved around her waist again, drawing her close.

“Clearly Scots are more civilized than all others.”

He laughed. “A civilized beast, am I?”

“Women should captain ships too.”

He stroked his knuckles gently over her cheek.

“You can captain my ship anytime you please, lass.”

“By ship do you actually mean . . . ship?”

He laughed. “I did.” Then his hands spread over her lower back and he drew her snugly against him. “But if you would rather—”

“Wait.”

He groaned. “Have mercy on a starving man.”

“Will you truly do it?”

“Aye. I will turn over the governing o’ Kallin entirely. They can make whatever sort of constitution they please: monarchy, democracy, tyranny in the case o’ Pike—”

She laughed.

His hands tightened. “Your laughter,” he said against her hair.

“My laughter?”

“Intoxicates me.” He kissed her brow and she felt the movement of his chest as he breathed, his life and strength and vitality.

In the darkness she found his face with her hands, and went onto her toes to find his mouth with hers.

“An’ these lips,” he said. “These lips taste as sweet an’ salty an’ rich as I always imagined they would. Finer. Like ambrosia. Trite simile, I know. But we’ve already concluded that I am no poet. An’ kissing you, I feel like a god. So, there you have it: ambrosia.”

“You imagined the flavor of my lips?”

“An’ the silk o’ your skin here. The flutter o’ your heartbeat here.” He touched her neck where her pulse was reckless.

“My heartbeat does not flutter.”

“It does now.” He took her mouth with his, and then with the most natural ease he pressed her gently into the wall with his body. Thigh to thigh, hips to hips, chest to chest, she felt every bit of his muscle and his arousal.

“Flutter,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, flutter, I see now.”

“The arc o’ your neck here,” he said, following his words with his touch. “Your soft, strong shoulder. I fantasized sinking my teeth into this shoulder.”

“Your teeth?” She shuddered, wanting his teeth in her shoulder quite acutely. “And you say you are not a beast.”

“I never said that.” He kissed her jaw, tilting her head up to stroke the tender curve of her throat with his lips, then with his tongue. She was all trembling and aching.

“Where else?” she whispered, wrapping her hands around his arms that were thick with muscle.

“The beauty here,” he said, and she felt the lightest caress upon the side of her breast, barely a touch.

“Only there?”

“An’ here.” Both of his hands rounded her ribs beneath her breasts. “This strong cage that contains the least containable heart I’ve ever known.”

“I cannot breathe. Your diabolical touch is drawing out the air through my skin and clothing.”

“You’ll need to take a good full breath now, lass.”

She did so. Upon her exhale his thumbs swept up and over the curves of her breasts and across the tender peaks.

“Oh.” She gripped his arms. “Gabriel.”

“When you say my name,” he said against her throat, caressing her arousal through the layers of her clothing, “I want to have all o’ you at once.”

“Yes,” fell over her tongue.

“Yes?”

“On the hill—earlier today—if the weather had not come.” Her breaths were fast. “I want you. Now. I want you.”

In the darkness, she felt the shifting, the change in the air that surrounded his body.

“Now?”

“Now. This morning. Yesterday. Five and a half years ago. On the ramparts at Haiknayes. Always.”

“Here?” he said.

“Perhaps we could—that is—later—after the others have—oh.”

He caressed her breasts again, and need pulsed in the taut tips and between her legs. He did it again, sending perfect pleasure down her center. Then he moved his hips into hers.

She moaned, and he captured the moan with his mouth. The kiss was deep, complete, his tongue taking hers.

“Here?” Then he was tugging down the bodice of the gown she had not worn to entice him but she loved that it had because she wanted this. The fabric gave way and his hands were on her skin, his palms surrounding her breasts and fingertips closing around her nipples and stroking.

Her sighs were lost as she closed her eyes and allowed it, whispered, “Yes, yes,” until she was arching her back, strung with pleasure.

In the darkness, his mouth closed over her nipple.

She groaned, shocked and filled with pleasure. It was hot, wet, his tongue playing, caressing, and her body was responding, throbbing, readying so swiftly.

He murmured so she felt the words vibrate against her breast, “Here, where we could be discovered?”

“Yes. You make me need as I have never—You make me an abandoned woman, Gabriel,” she said upon hopeless laughter.

“You have always been this, wild one. I’ve just opened the gate.” His hands swept down her sides and over her hips, and she felt her skirts rise.

“Really?” She was panting, her fingertips digging into his chest, her heartbeats furiously fast. “Here? Now?”

“Trust me,” he said against her lips and his hands gathered the fabric.

She nodded swiftly. “Only don’t stop.”

He went to his knees as his hands trapped her skirts upon her hip bones, and she was entirely exposed and shaking.

“What are you—”

The heat of his skin scraped her inner thighs. He licked her.

“Oh—” She gasped, felt his tongue, the caress that sent her to her toes and made her spread her knees.

“What are you doing? How are you—” Moans spilled from her one after another as she made herself accept his mouth on her, made herself accept his hands giving her no quarter. It was nothing she had imagined, nothing she had felt before, soft and firm at once, and gloriously wet and hot. He took her into his mouth as though he were tasting her, savoring her. Her legs were weak, her palms pressed the wall, the darkness swallowing her whimpers as she allowed herself to feel the pleasure. She had not known a man could do this, could be this.

With tender force he opened her, touched her, stroked her, and made her rock her hips forward seeking more, as she tightened within. The pleasure came. Hot and lush and explosive, it happened against his tongue, to her cries of astonishment that she swallowed one after another as he was consuming her. They were beautiful, the tumbling contractions that came one after another, spreading. Her flesh was ready to take his. She needed it now—needed to be taken. She did not even care that there would be pain and discomfort. She would have this memory of his tongue on her and that would be enough.

She was trembling all over, her legs shaking. Yet he did not draw away swiftly, rather, slowly, his thumbs stroking over the ridges of her pelvis, his mouth ascending to the base of her stays.

With a heavy inhalation that lifted his wide shoulders, he pressed his brow to her ribs and his hands wrapped tightly about her hips.

“Judas, woman,” he uttered low, “how you command me—my every breath an’ thought and wish.”

Loosening her hand from the wall, she threaded her fingers through his hair and stroked him.

His great, powerful body shuddered.

“Come kiss me,” she whispered. “If you have any kisses remaining.”

He rose, her skirts falling as he took her face between both of his hands and lifted her chin.

“Infinite for you,” he said. His lips were warm and tasted of both his mouth and her scent, a strange and heady mixture. “Have you had what you need?” he said.

She allowed her hands to slide down his chest. “Not entirely.” Her fingertips found the top of his trousers.

With a harsh breath, he grabbed her wrists.

“You’ll no’ have that, lass.”

She blinked but the darkness was nearly complete. Suddenly she could hear voices from the drawing room: laughing and animated conversation, the sounds of another raucous game.

“No?” she said.

“Aye, there’s a ‘no’ you canna demand that I retract.”

“I can admit surprise. You once had something of a reputation, of course. Don’t you want to? With me?”

“I have wanted little else for—well, since a stormy night in a storage cellar.” He bent and kissed her mouth so softly, so perfectly that as he drew back she went onto her toes to follow him. He lifted her hands and brought them together to his lips. “But I have changed,” he whispered against her palms. “You changed me.”

“I did?”

“Aye. Irrevocably.”

He released her and moved away.

“I don’t know that I approve of this particular change,” she said.

He barked a laugh. As he moved into the lamplight in the foyer she could see the spark in his eyes.

“Come, lass. We’ll have been missed.”

Amarantha smoothed her hands over her hair and discovered it a passionate tangle.

“I will be along in a moment,” she mumbled.

He chuckled. Then his footsteps moved into the foyer and the conversation from the drawing room got louder as he opened the door to enter. Amarantha stood in the darkness, waiting for her cheeks to cool and wondering that she felt no shame. Only happiness.

“Milady.”

Something tugged at the coverlet tucked up around her chin, plucking her from dreams of Gabriel’s hands on her.

“Mm?” she groaned.

“Milady, you must come now. ’Tis urgent.”

Amarantha started up. Maggie Poultney stood beside her.

Before she had tumbled into bed, the moon had sat high behind the parting clouds. Now through the windows she could see that it kissed the mountaintop. The hour was much later.

“Swiftly now.” Maggie held forward a gown.

“What has happened?” Her bare feet hit the frigid floor and she pulled the gown over her head. “Is Mrs. Aiken—”

“I’ll take you there.” The Scotswoman buttoned Amarantha’s gown swiftly. “But we must be quiet or we’ll wake the others.”

Dragging a shawl from her traveling trunk she slid her feet into slippers and hurried after Maggie. Through a twisting labyrinth of corridors she had not yet mastered, they went in silence, and shortly Amarantha was thoroughly lost.

Through a partially opened door, golden light flooded the corridor.

“God be with you, milady,” Maggie said, and disappeared up the stairs.

Amarantha drew the door open.

It was a small chapel, lit dimly with a handful of candles. Vaulted in the medieval fashion, with great stained glass windows that were dark now, it boasted neat rows of chairs near the east end which rose two steps to the rounded chancel.

Reverend Clacher stood at the center of those steps. He wore a stole about his neck and held a book in his palms. At the base of the stair were Tabitha and Nathaniel. And in the middle of the aisle was the man of every one of her fantasies.

He strode toward her, his gaze on her intent. He did not halt a proper distance away from her but came close, as he had from the beginning when she had thought him a great hulking creature.

“For a man who does not attend services,” she said, “you do seem to enjoy spending time in church in the middle of the night.”

“Only with you, lass,” he said as his gaze slipped down to where the ribbons of her nightgown poked out from her hastily donned gown at the bodice.

She glanced again at the two by the vicar.

“Is the Reverend to do a service?” she said. “Now?”

“Aye. A special service at my request.”

“Do you know, Shark Bait,” she said, blinking away the sleep that still clung to her. “You are the most unusual nobleman—really the most unusual man that I have ever known. But if you wish to have a service in the middle of the night, I will attend.”

“You just called me Shark Bait.”

“Maggie awoke me from dreams of a young naval captain.”

“You dreamed about me.” The pleasure in his smile dashed away all remaining thoughts of sleep.

“I have always dreamed about you, even when I should not have,” she said. “Now, shall we commence this? It must be midnight and—What are you—Oh, oh.”

He was on his knee before her and taking her hand and her heartbeats were careening and she could not breathe.

“’Tis a beast o’ a man, I am. But war breeds no other sort, an’ when a thing’s got to be done, I see no cause for delay.” The rumble of rough syllables pressed through her shock. He held her gaze as he had held her body earlier, with the virile strength of the beast he admitted to being that had always awoken the thrill in her, and the longing.

“Amarantha Garland, will you be my wife?”