“Easy, now, darlin’,” Ethan said with an uneven laugh, even though he was sweating and aching with his own vicious need. “It won’t help you to strangle me.”

Her brows lowered, and her fists slid down to grip his vest. “Why did you stop?”

Ethan lowered his forehead to hers. “I was taught that satisfying a woman properly should take at least as long as making dough for bread.”

Garrett writhed helplessly. “How long is that?”

“You don’t know?” he asked, amused.

“No, I can’t cook. How long does it take?”

He let his smiling lips brush her cheek. “If I told you, you’d probably time me.”

Reaching down to part the tender furrow, he caressed her until he felt a touch of wetness. The feel of that silky feminine elixir, coolness and heat, sent a charge of lust through him. He stroked the entrance to her body and insinuated a fingertip. Feeling the tiny muscles clenching to keep him out, he murmured soft words and crooning sounds—soothering, was the Irishman’s word for it—and worked carefully deeper. She went motionless at the feeling of being entered. Invaded.

“Relax,” he whispered, “and I’ll be able to reach places that will give you pleasure.”

Garrett looked up at him with hazy confusion. “What places? I’ve studied reproductive physiology, and there are no—” She broke off with a little yelp as he reached up to her breast and gave the nipple a quick double pinch. Her body tightened around his finger in surprised response. As soon as the inner muscles loosened, he searched more deeply, and covered her mouth with his. Her legs spread wider beneath the skirts, her body straining toward him.

The depths of her body were fluid and snug, working frantically to pull him in. Drawing his thumb through the gloss of feminine moisture, he caressed the intricate shape of her, teasing and swirling, while his finger began a gentle nudging, mimicking the way he wanted to thrust inside her.

His cock was excruciatingly full, as hard as stone as it pressed against the metal edge of the table. Delving his other hand beneath her skirts, he played with her, fingertips tapping and pattering softly like raindrops. After tracing the slightly distended folds, he tickled between them, grazing the swollen center again and again. No matter how she tried to hurry him, he was relentless and deliberate, stroking slowly, building her pleasure, torturing himself as well as her. Whimpers climbed in her throat. Opening her mouth with his, he licked at the sounds, relishing the way her body shivered and danced at his touch.

She was too far gone now to resist the feeling he was giving her, struggling a little, wanting everything faster, harder, closer, but he went even slower, ruthlessly patient and steady, drawing out the tension. The strong pulses began, her flesh wringing out an intense release, her thighs cinching hard on either side of him. Taking her sharp cry into his mouth, he caressed her, worked her, while her head dropped to his shoulder as if she were too weak to hold it up any longer. She breathed in soft little coos of pleasure and relief, the most delectable sounds he’d ever heard.

Eventually Ethan drew his hands away and wrapped his arms around her. “I’d love you night and day, if I could,” he whispered. “There’d be no limits for us. No shame. You and me, in the dark . . . that’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Carefully he slid a hand between them to cup her breast, and kissed it before settling it gently back into the confines of her corset. He did the same with the other side, and began to fasten her bodice.

Garrett sat in front of him quietly. When Ethan had finished the last of her buttons, she settled a palm over his heartbeat. “Come back to me,” she whispered. “Find a way to see me.”

Ethan held the slim relaxed weight of her against his chest, and lowered his cheek to her hair. “I can’t.”

“You could if you wanted.”

“No.” It would have been better to let her think the worst of him, especially after all his reckless indulgence tonight. But he couldn’t stand the idea of deceiving her in any way. She was the one person he didn’t want to lie to. “Garrett . . . I’m about to become a marked man. I’ve betrayed someone who’s been a mentor to me. After he finds out, my life won’t be worth a farthing.”

Garrett was silent for a moment, toying with a button on his shirt placket. “You mean Sir Jasper.”

“Aye.”

“Does it have anything to do with the night of the Guildhall reception? And the man who died? Mr. Prescott?”

It was such a good guess that Ethan smiled darkly. Given the chance, he thought, she could pry him open like a tin of sweets.

Taking his silence for affirmation, Garrett asked in a neutral tone, “Did you kill him?”

“If I tell you, I’d be putting my life in your hands.”

“I’m used to that.”

It was true, he reflected with a touch of surprise. In all likelihood, she dealt with matters of life and death more often than he did. Staring down into her expectant face, he said slowly, “I helped to fake his death, and smuggled him out of the country in exchange for information.”

“About what?”

Ethan hesitated. “A conspiracy involving government officials. If I succeed in exposing them, God willing, it’s worth the cost.”

“Not if the cost is your life.”

“One man’s life isn’t important when weighed against many.”

“No.” Garrett sounded urgent now, her hand closing on a fold of his shirt. “Every life is worth fighting for.”

“It’s your job to believe that. It’s my job to believe the opposite. Trust me, I’m expendable.”

“Don’t say that. Tell me what you’re planning to—”

“Garrett,” he interrupted gently, taking her head in his hands, “it’s not my way to say good-bye. I’ll take a kiss instead.”

“But—”

Ethan covered her mouth with his. He felt as if he’d been running for thousands of nights through violence and shadows, and had stumbled upon some serene place on a cool spring morning. She had brought him closer to joy than he’d ever been before. But like all moments of surpassing pleasure, it was tempered with the bittersweet awareness of its transience.

“Forget me,” he whispered after their lips parted.

And he left swiftly, without looking back.

The next morning, Garrett emerged from a troubled sleep, and began the day as usual. She woke her father and administered his medicine, and had a breakfast of bread, butter, and tea while reading the newspaper. As soon as she arrived at the clinic on Cork Street, she checked on the overnight patients, made notes in their charts, gave instructions to the nurses, and began to receive patients with scheduled appointments.

On the surface, everything was routine. But underneath, she was miserable, giddy, and shamed, all at once. The effort to regulate herself was exhausting.

Would she ever see Ethan Ransom again? How in God’s name was she supposed to forget him after the things he’d done to her? Every time she thought of those knowing masculine hands, the slow kisses and soft whispers, she wanted to melt to the floor. “You and me, in the dark . . . that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Thinking about him could drive her mad, if she let it.