His lips strayed over the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her chin, before wandering back for another dizzying kiss. “Let me pleasure you. After all the care you’ve taken of me, let me do at least that much for you.”

The idea quivered through her. But she shook her head and said, “I didn’t go to the trouble of saving your life merely for you to toss it away in a moment of self-indulgence.”

“I only want to play,” Ethan coaxed, unloosening the fastenings of her bodice.

“It’s a dangerous game—”

“What’s this?” His fingers curled around a long pink silk cord and tugged, gently unearthing a small object from beneath her chemise. It was the little silver whistle he’d given her. Closing his hand around the bright metal, still warm from her skin, he sent her a questioning look.

Turning pink, Garrett confessed sheepishly, “It’s a sort of . . . talisman. Whenever you’re not with me, I pretend I can use it to send for you, and you’ll magically appear.”

“Whenever you want me, love, I’ll always come running.”

“You didn’t the last time I tried it. When I’d finished my rounds at the workhouse, I stood on the front steps and blew this whistle with no results whatsoever.”

“I was there.” Ethan stroked the hollow of her throat with the rounded end of the whistle. “You just couldn’t see me.”

“Truly?”

He nodded, setting aside the gleaming little tube. “You were wearing the dark green dress with the black trim. Your shoulders were drooping, and I knew you were tired. I thought of all the women in London who were safe and cozy in their homes, while you were standing out in the dark, after spending your evening taking care of people who couldn’t afford a penny for your services. You’re the best woman I’ve ever known . . . and the most beautiful . . .”

He tugged her chemise down and drew the spread fingertips of one hand over her exposed chest, the side of his smallest finger brushing a tender pink bud as if by accident. Her throat closed on a whimper. Using his fingertips, he rolled and stroked the sensitive peak, then moved to her other breast, gently clamping the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s too soon for this,” Garrett said anxiously, and managed to turn onto her side, facing away from him.

Ethan reached out and tucked her back into the exciting weight and hardness of his body. She felt the curve of his smile at the nape of her neck, as if her perfectly rational concerns were unwarranted. “Acushla, you’ve had your say for the past two weeks, and I’ve abided by your rules—”

“You’ve fought my rules every step of the way,” she protested.

“I’ve been drinking that evil tonic you keep giving me,” he pointed out.

“You’ve been pouring it into a potted fern whenever you think I’m not looking.”

“It tastes worse than the Thames,” he said flatly. “The fern thought so too, which is why it turned brown and died.”

A laugh bubbled up before she could stop it, but her breath caught as one of his muscular legs came between hers and urged her thighs apart. His hand slid under her skirts and into the open seam of her drawers, until he found the bare skin above the top of her stocking garter. The massaging stroke of his thumb, high inside her thigh, made her weak with excitement.

“You want me,” Ethan said with satisfaction as he felt her tremble.

“You’re impossible,” she moaned. “You’re the worst patient I’ve ever had.”

His husky laugh tickled her neck. “No,” he whispered, “I’m the best. Let me show you how good I am.”

Breathing raggedly, Garrett started to wriggle away from him, then checked the movement.

That made him laugh again. “That’s right, don’t struggle. You might hurt me.”

“Ethan,” she said, trying to sound stern, “this is too much exertion for you.”

“I’ll pull away if I feel myself starting up in a passion.” He untied her garters and pulled down her drawers, murmuring in her ear all the while, telling her how sweet she was to the touch, how he longed to kiss and love every part of her. His hand slid between her parted thighs, stroking the folds of her sex open, teasing and teasing until her skin was sweat-misted and hot and all her muscles were clenching. Gently his fingertip found the entrance to her body and wriggled into silkiness, wetness, pulsing warmth.

They both groaned softly.

Garrett tried desperately not to move as his finger eased farther into the wet, grasping depths, pushing in deep, sliding out slowly and back in again. “Éatán,” she begged, “let’s wait until you’ve healed properly. Please. Please. Seven more days, that’s all.”

A breath of laughter rushed across her bare shoulder as he worked at the front of his trousers. “Not seven more seconds.”

Garrett squirmed as she felt the pressure of a smooth, broad shape at the tender breach of her sex. She couldn’t hold back a moan. The rim of her entrance contracted, tiny muscles grasping for the blunt silken pressure.

“You’re trying to pull me in,” came his dark whisper. “I can feel it. Your body knows where I belong.”

She felt a liquid nudge, her flesh tightening then yielding at the helpless sensation of being opened and penetrated. He entered an inch or two. Agitation quickened her blood as she lay there cradled and surrounded, with that hot, teasing presence just inside her.

Garrett had no idea how many minutes passed while they lay together, motionless except for the rhythms of their breathing. Her body stretched . . . a slight relaxation . . . and there was another slight easing inward. In the dreamlike stillness, she began to feel fuller and fuller . . . he was gradually moving deeper, occupying her in such slow increments that she couldn’t perceive whether the impetus was coming from him or herself. Some of it had to be her own doing: the maddening craving had made it impossible to stay absolutely still. Her hips kept spasming with the urge to push down on that tantalizing hardness.

Every sensation was magnified in the silence. She was acutely aware of the air against her bare legs, the coolness of the linen sheets and knitted cotton bedding beneath her. The hairiness of Ethan’s arm across her, the resinous spice of shaving soap, the faint, salty traces of intimacy.

Her eyes closed as she felt the throb of his shaft far up inside her. He was buried to the hilt now, filling her so thickly that she could feel every twitch and pulse of him. They were both outwardly still, while deep inside her flesh was shaping around him, eagerly caressing his hard length, enticing him to stay. She clamped against the swollen invasion, and pleasure washed down to her toes and up to the top of her skull, and the stiff length inside her throbbed and jerked in response, and that made her inner muscles clench again. Over and over again, their joined flesh squeezing, swelling, throbbing, the deep and secret movements as uncontrollable as her heartbeat. Exquisite heat suffused her until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

His name broke from her lips in a dry sob. “Éatán.”

His hand slid down over her front to the place where she clasped him, and he massaged her sex tenderly, steadily. She arched, her hips locking tight to his, and she convulsed and shuddered within his cradling embrace, the release surging out of control, draining her until she collapsed in his arms like a handful of wilted meadow flowers.