The mattress dipped as Perry climbed up, dumping her closer.

Dear God, she was so beautiful. “Perry—”

She kissed him, stopping his words.

He eased her onto his lap again. She slipped a hand round his neck, and let the other trail down his center.

“No.” He lifted her hand from his trouser placket.

“I want—”

Flipping her onto the bed, he clamped a leg over hers, kissing her, teasing her, stroking her, making her writhe.

“Please,” she said. “Plea—”

She shattered again and went limp.

He rolled her over and pulled her against him, gritting his teeth, willing his cock into submission. She was a dream—willing, responsive, beautiful.

And he couldn’t have her. He could never have her that way.

“Fox,” she said, and he heard tears in her voice. “Fox, why…why not? I care for you, and I know you care for me.”

Why not? She is here. She is willing. You’re here at this cottage with only a servant and MacEwen.

A cottage that had belonged to her mother. They were, in fact, in her mother’s bed. “And it’s because I care for you, I won’t dishonor you.”

She lifted his hand away and rolled toward him, wincing.

And then there was the matter of her injuries. “You’re hurt.”

She pressed a hand to his cheek. “This is not dishonor, Fox. This is love.”

The lamp cast shadows across her face and chest but the dark of the bruising stood out.

She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut.

Oh, hell.

Tears glistened in the light. He swept a finger through them.

“Perry, I have nothing to offer you but this…physical pleasure. Beyond that, it would be a life lived in shabby rooms on the fringe of society, wife to the season’s interesting painter. And in the long run it won’t be enough.”

She raised up on one elbow and her face lit in a smile. “Marriage has crossed your mind also? Oh, Fox. My dowry will come to me, no matter who I marry.”

He closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t have alluded to marriage. “Turning over your fortune to a husband would never satisfy you.”

In his younger days, he had upon occasion, lived off a patroness he might like but didn’t love. True, besides the bed sport, he’d produced portraits for his commission, but it had all become loathsome. There was no honor in those arrangements, neither for the woman nor for the man. He’d rather starve.

Over her silence, the open window let in the sound of waves crashing, rhythmically.

He should be listening for other sounds—voices, the soft rustle of a horse’s hooves on the gravelly path, movement downstairs.

He smoothed back the hair from her face. She looked pink, breathless, and completely undone. No one could look at her and not know what they’d been doing.

“I might not want to turn my dowry over to a husband, but as I’ve mentioned, it’s my main attraction for suitors. It might as well go to a man I care for, who sometimes cares for me.”

“Oh, Perry.” Anger swelled in him. She didn’t know her own worth. “It’s not true. I’ve told you that. You’re beautiful. You deserve everything. You deserve all the best.” He lifted her hand and kissed it.

Hurt shimmered in her eyes. She reached for her robe and covered her nakedness.

What a fool he was. This had been a mistake.

“You offer me…everything…and then yank it away. You care, and then push me away.” She took in a shaky breath. “Give me this night, Fox. Please. Take me.”

“You’re a lady. You deserve to marry honorably, with your father’s blessing.”

Shaldon would never allow them to marry, and she knew it.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “A lady wouldn’t beg for a man who is not her husband to make love to her.”

How wrong she was there.

“Just tell me one truth. Putting aside your honor, my supposed great beauty and my dowry, do you care for me?”

He sat up next to her. “There’s nothing supposed about your beauty.”

“Stop dodging and answer me.”

Dear God. He wanted her, in his bed, in his arms, arguing, bolting, occasionally falling out of trees. Always. He couldn’t tell her that.

She fell back onto the bed, frowning. “I don’t even know your first name.”

He dropped a brotherly kiss on her forehead, unsmiling. “Yes, I care for you. And you may call me Reynard.”

She grimaced and choked out a laugh, as he’d wanted her to. He stood and looked for his shirt.

He needed to leave, and now, before she started probing again.

Perry rolled to sitting. “You are not Reynard the Fox. What is your Christian name, Fox?”

He pulled on his stockings. He had stopped using his true name years ago. It had been part of his cover, and then became who he truly was.

“I suppose should you ever marry, one might find your full name in the marriage lines.”

He shook out his shirt.

“Arrgh,” she said. “It’s a curse to love a man so honorable.”

His gaze jerked to her. She loved him.

Well, of course she did. She had for years. It would pass.

Still, the anger in her voice and in her expression flayed him. And how had he been honorable? He’d just stripped her naked and brought her to pleasure twice. And now she perched on the edge of the bed, hair floating in a wild halo that suited her much better than the Rapunzel locks she’d left on the bedside table.

His heart clinched. A woman well-loved, a goddess ready to issue a command—he would remember this vision and paint it someday. He let his damp shirt fall over his head and cover his desire.

“What’s honorable, Perry?” He came and helped her into the dressing gown. She shoved her arms through the sleeves, biting her lower lip. He thought of her brother’s ball. He’d been drawn to her, pulled by an invisible tether.

He picked up his damp waistcoat. Dry clothes, that’s what he needed. He pulled on the waistcoat anyway. “I won’t lie to your father. When he shows up, and you know he will, eventually, I’m telling him everything.”

She straightened, the fine muscles around her mouth and her eyes barely moving.

“You won’t,” she said.

“I will. Are you afraid for me, or for yourself?”

Her gaze dropped and she squeezed her lips together. “I hardly know my father. If it doesn’t involve the fate of England, I don’t believe he’ll truly care.” She shook her head. “Or he might lock me up and arrange a quick marriage, to some rural squire. I don’t know. My brother Bakeley, though, he’s more likely to kill one of us.”

“Bakeley won’t kill his sister.” Fox sat on the chair and pulled on his boots. They were damp on the inside.

“And he won’t kill you. Fox, stay with me tonight. I promise I won’t plague you.”

He went to her then, armored with boots, coats, and trousers and knelt, bracing his hands on each side of her. “You need to rest and I can’t stay. MacEwen will be back soon, in one piece I hope. Gaz and Davy, also. I sent them to retrieve the gelding after they settled Pip. And there’s no telling if Farnsworth may be along behind them.”

She looked down at her hands twined in her lap. “I shall get dressed and come down.” She lifted her chin, mouth dropping open, eyes shining with sudden tears. “Chestnut. Oh dear, I forgot—”

“She’s safe. Pip found her and brought her back.”

“Oh.” She blinked several times. “I’d hoped she would…I sent her off when they captured me. I cannot thank him enough. And you. Thank you for…” She waved a hand.

“I’m going to find some dry clothes, and then I’ll send Jenny up.” He kissed her knuckles and released her. “Rest. Sleep. Tomorrow will be very busy.”

He filled Perry’s vision, moving around the room, picking up and stowing the last of his belongings and his weapons. She gathered her robe around her, cinched the belt, and walked with him to the door.

“Fox.” She went on tiptoes and kissed him, watching his eyes blaze again.

He wanted her. There was pain in him setting her away. He was denying himself out of some notion about class difference, perhaps that she, being an earl’s daughter, was better than him.

She wouldn’t be for long. If he wouldn’t have her, she’d leave England and build her own life. She’d just go about it more sensibly than she had tonight.

For now, she would dare to be brave.

“When you are finished with MacEwen, will you come back to my bed?” she asked.

Desire lit his face, but he said nothing, nor did he need to.

He kissed her forehead. “Rest, Lady Perry.”

He would only marry honorably with Father’s approval. He would expect to have banns called.

Her heart quaked at the thought of a lifetime with Fox. Would he really tell her father everything? And if Father demanded Fox marry her, would he do it? Would she make him happy?

What he wanted with his life, she had no idea. Perhaps he would travel back to America. Perhaps he would go to the Continent and paint. Or perhaps he expected to stay in England and eke out commissions among merchants and gentry. Perhaps her father would send him somewhere else to spy, if he didn’t first challenge him to a duel and shoot him.

And Fox, if he left, might not want her along.

For just a few moments, he’d made her feel warm and almost powerful. But he’d mastered her, not the other way around. Certainly, another man would have lost control and let her seduce him.

Thoughts of other men made her skin crawl. She wouldn’t be forced into a loveless marriage. She only wanted Fox.

She closed the door and padded across the carpet to the table. The tea had gone tepid, but she drank some anyway, took a crumble of biscuit, and realized she was starving. She shoved the whole damp mass into her mouth and chewed, groaning.

All of her injuries had come to life when that door closed, and stiffness crept into her shoulders and arms from the fight with the waves.

But between her legs was a satisfying wholeness that echoed in her heart.

“My lady.”

She’d not heard Jenny enter. “Has MacEwen returned?”

“Not yet.” Jenny picked up her discarded trousers and looked at them. “I’ll try to mend this hole in the knee.” She examined the neckcloth. “This is done for, I’m afraid.” She tossed them aside and lifted the lid on the teapot. “And this has gone cold. Are you all right, miss?”

Jenny did not seem at all scandalized. Well, she was a girl from the streets. The memory of his warm hands washed over her.

“What happened out there? Mr. Fox rushed in so fast with you in his arms and blood on your shirt, and them bruises…” Jenny took a deep breath.

Jenny wasn’t worried a bit about Fox and her almost swiving.

The events on the road came back to her. “I was taken by the worst of smugglers. Oh, Jenny. I shouldn’t have gone.”

“Not without me, miss.”

Fox’s stinging rejection earlier came back to her. He’d have MacEwen go for her brother to take her away, he’d said. Even so, she’d been a fool to take off on her own.

“Mr. Fox sent up his brandy.” Jenny poured some into an empty teacup. “Drink this while I brush out your hair.”

She settled into the chair and felt the first gentle tug.

“A little pink on your jaw is all you’ll have, I think,” Jenny said. “The bruise on your neck we can cover with a scarf. It’s much like the bruise Lady Sirena had.”

Nonplussed was Jenny, as if she dealt with that kind of injury quite regularly, and well, hadn’t Bakeley’s wife, Sirena, been assaulted by a villain also?

And…she recalled a story shared by Bink’s wife, Paulette. Jenny had once also faced a violent man intent on harming her.

“For certain, it will be easier to comb out your hair now, miss. I knew as soon as I saw that chopped off plait you’d run off for good.”

“I should have burned it.”

“No. Mr. Fox and I would have known anyway, though we mightn’t have been so certain.” She tugged at a knot and clucked when it unsnarled. “And anyway, hair that lovely shouldn’t be tossed out.”

No one wanted her hair. Her mother might have, but she was dead. Her father and brothers wouldn’t want it. And Fox…her heart twisted as doubt crept in. She took a big swallow of brandy, letting the hot liquor burn her, and glanced at the table where she’d left the long plait.

It was gone.

Her heart picked up its pace. “What did you do with the braid?”

Jenny’s hands paused. “Me, miss? Nothing.”

Heat poured through her, making her heart swell, sending her nerves tapping against her skin. He could have the plait. He could have every strand of hair attached to her head, and her dowry, and this house, and every horse in her stable. The dowry was hers, this house was hers, through her mother. Father wouldn’t, and Bakeley couldn’t take them away. And if they did, she’d learn how to cook. She’d learn how to clean brushes. And stretch canvas. She’d even live without a horse if need be. She would marry him, somehow, with or without Father’s permission.

She clenched and unclenched her hands, itching to find him and touch him. She just had to somehow, get Fox’s agreement.

“It’s still long enough to put up, miss, and the curls spring up better. There.” Jenny set down the brush. “Shall I get your nightgown?”

“I’ll put on a dress. When MacEwen returns, I want to hear what he has to say.”

Jenny didn’t protest. She wanted to hear also. “There’s much afoot here, that’s for sure, miss.”

She returned with the pale green morning dress draped over her arm.

“Not that one.” The other two gowns she’d packed were just as flounced and beribboned. If they’d caught the man who’d abducted her, she might have to go out again tonight. “I want something more practical. What about the travel gown?”

“Still damp. I did find some plain kerseymere dresses in the press that might be long enough for you.”

Her mother’s. She sprang from the chair. “Let’s have a look.”