Daniel licked inside her once more then put his whole mouth over her point of fire. Violet wanted to wrench herself from the feeling, and at the same time to press Daniel harder down upon her.

She thought he’d have to stop—surely he’d stop—but Daniel never did. He went on licking, nipping, suckling, teasing, licking again. His hands on her legs kept her open for him, and the rough of his whiskers touched her most intimate places.

Dark shivers replaced Violet’s trembling. He had to stop, but Daniel went on. There was no pain, no hurting, no forcing, just the tender pressure of Daniel’s mouth, the sweet wildness of his tongue.

Violet’s skin dampened as heat flowed through her, loosening every limb and yet tightening her at the same time. She was aware of her blood pounding, every beat of her heart sending the goodness of Daniel through her.

Her fantasy—the sweet, beautiful fantasy of being in Daniel’s bed, his wife, his—dissolved. Violet clutched at the vision, not wanting it to go. But Violet’s body fought for attention. Wild waves of feeling poured over her, and all thoughts vanished.

She’d never felt anything like this before. Her gladness on seeing Daniel standing before her in the theatre, alive and whole, had been something like it. The joy of flying in the balloon, rushing on the wind, was more like it. Just as Daniel had said it would be. He’d known.

Violet had no idea what was happening to her. One of the waves swept her up, higher, higher, her body one point of astonishing feeling. Everything coalesced and centered on one point of aching heat, and on Daniel.

She was drowning. Dying. She must be. “Help me! Daniel, please help me!” Violet dragged in a breath, which ended in a sob. “Please!”

Another wave of pure joy hit her, and more words came out, but she had no idea what she said. Violet heard one last help me! and then tears came.

She was sobbing, her face wet, something inside her shattering and breaking open.

Daniel rose from her, triumph in his eyes, but his arms went around her, and he pulled her close. Daniel kissed her hair, soothing, holding her, warming her and keeping Violet safe from all harm.

Daniel held Violet as she shook like a terrified kitten. She was weeping, tears wetting his open shirt and bare skin. Daniel hoped to God he hadn’t just broken her.

As he stroked her hair, Daniel finished loosening it from its braid, and let the warm weight of it flow over his hands. It felt beautiful, as he’d known it would.

Daniel had sensed the moment Violet had relaxed into what he did. Her body, which had been stiff and resisting, had taken over, knowing what to do.

But now Violet continued crying, weeping as though she couldn’t stop.

“You all right, love?”

Violet looked up at him, her eyes streaming. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Tell me those are tears of joy. I won my wager, didn’t I?”

She wiped her eyes, her sobs easing. “I think so.”

“You think so? Lady, you crush me.” Daniel fished in his discarded coat for a handkerchief and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Will you tell me what you were thinking about? Ye don’t have to, ye know. Don’t worry, I’m only curious.”

“The inn,” Violet said, her voice very quiet. “With you.”

He could like this. “Which part? Me stuffing all that breakfast into my mouth? Simple French country fare can be the best in the world.”

“In the bed.” Violet blushed, looking down. Violet, shy. This was new. “As we were. Except you were doing . . . what you just did.”

Heat filled Daniel’s blood. “I wanted to stay there all day long, you and me getting to know each other. Damn that we ever had to leave.”

“We could go back.” Her voice held hope.

Daniel pulled her closer. “’Tis not a bad idea. Perhaps we could make the journey tomorrow.”

Violet shook her head, regret in her eyes. “My mother and I have a performance tomorrow.”

“The day after, then. I’ll come steal you away again. Though we’ll have to go by train all the way—I don’t think Monsieur Dupuis will let me near another balloon anytime soon.”

“Can we truly? You’re not lying to please me?”

“Of course not.” Daniel put on his best shocked voice, learned from the pile of nannies the Mackenzies employed. “I’d give up everything to whisk you away again, this time to repose at our leisure. I’m sure the innkeeper and his wife would be pleased to see Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie back again.”

Violet’s eyes flickered, but she snuggled her head into his shoulder. “What will we do there?”

“All kinds of things, my Violet. Anything you want. Maybe I’ll show you just how many different ways a man can make a woman feel pleasure.”

“You would want to do that? I mean, I thought that men only sought . . .” Violet trailed off, as though unsure how to finish.

“Their own pleasure?” Daniel asked. “You’ve lived among Sassenachs too long. If a Scotsman tried to use a woman only for his pleasure, he’d get clouted about the head. Come to think of it, you clout pretty well yourself.”

“I said I was—”

Daniel pressed his fingers to her lips. “I was teasing. Not one more word about it.” He was glad to see, though, a sparkle of spiritedness return to her eyes. “I pushed you too fast and assumed you were hungry for the touch of Daniel Mackenzie. Never thought you’d try to kill me so hard, but I know now I frightened you.”