He was so damned aware of her—of her breath, of the slight warmth in the air to his right where she lay. Of what they’d done together last night. Of what they couldn’t do together any longer.

He touched her shoulder ever so gently.

“I am the last woman in the world you want to marry,” she whispered. It was not quite a question.

He shut his eyes. “Yes. You’re the last woman in the world I should want to marry. So why are you the only one I’ve been able to think of for months?”

Her eyes flashed.

“Jane.” He reached for her. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to—”

“Stop apologizing for speaking the truth,” she snapped out. “It is what it is, and there’s no use my crying over it.”

“But I—”

“I told you, I’ve had a long time to think it over. And you’re right. Marriage between us would be a disaster. I know what I can do and what I can’t. I can pretend to be a great many things, but even if I could act the proper hostess, the sort you’d need, I wouldn’t want to do it. I’m done taking on the role of pretender.”

It made so much sense when she spoke it aloud. It was only the other half of his own objections. If this was rationality, some part of him recognized it and agreed with it. The other part…

Well, she was near and she was naked. That curtailed most of his thoughts beyond the obvious.

“I have been thinking,” Jane said to him. “In fact, I have been thinking for months now. Of what I would do when this was all over. Once Emily was safe and no longer dependent on my uncle.”

He turned to her.

“It’s unlikely I will ever marry. Not that I couldn’t find a husband, but I don’t need one, and I don’t want the ones I can get.” Her lips pressed together. “Any man who was honorable enough for me to fall in love with… Well, I think my birth and reputation will put him off. Even if he could look past it for himself, I would be nothing but a liability to him.”

There was a hard note to her voice, something barren and desolate.

“Jane. That’s not true.”

“If I could find a man exactly like you, but without ambition…” She laughed. “A sun that was warm but not bright, a fish that lived in air.”

He recognized the sentiment precisely, recognized it like the cruel edge of a knife blade that it was. “You want someone exactly like me, but completely opposite.” How appropriate. How utterly appropriate.

This wasn’t the way he was supposed to fall in love. He was supposed to meet someone, to discover that her wants and wishes coincided with his, that their dreams overlapped. He didn’t want to meet a woman, to discover that the breath he drew seemed to come from her lungs, and then to realize that they couldn’t both breathe at the same time.

“So that is that.” She smiled sadly. “An impossible girl. I decided long ago that you and I should have been lovers, when we had the chance. Last night confirmed my belief.”

He didn’t answer. Oh, his body did; he’d gone from interested to ready at her words.

“We’re here,” she said. “We’re together until we find Emily. Why not make the most of it?”

Because he didn’t want to agree with her. He couldn’t say yes, Jane, you’re right—we should be lovers. It would remove what had happened last night from a land of fairy-tale pretense, one where he could imagine that the obstacles between them could be swept away without so much as a second glance. It would make what happened next real and therefore impermanent. This would be an affair. Nothing but an affair.

Her voice dropped. “I’m glad I started with you.”

She leaned toward him.

He set his hand on her lips, blocking her kiss. “Jane.” Started implied that Oliver was a beginning, that there would be another after him, and another after that. That Jane would be kissed by men who were not Oliver. If he acquiesced in this, he’d be admitting to the end when they had barely even started.

But the alternative… The alternative was just as impossible.

“Jane,” he said helplessly.

“Oliver.”

He surrendered and found her mouth.

If last night was a mistake, this was a deadly error. He could taste the end on her lips—a hint of bitter, and beneath that, the ravenous heat of her mouth, the sweetness of Jane.

“God, Jane,” he whispered. “I almost lost you.”

Her hands came up to touch his wrists, a tentative flutter at first. “I almost lost me, too.”

And she kissed him back.

There were some things a man could not say in response to a confession like the one he’d heard.

I love you, but…

I want you, but…

He had nothing to give her except conditions and disavowals. Even the kiss he gave her was too aware—too much of his lips on hers, caressing her, kissing her, but…

There was always a but.

So Oliver didn’t speak. And when Jane touched him, there was no hesitation in his response. She came on top of him, her br**sts brushing his chest, her hair tickling his shoulders. He could do this forever, lose himself in moments like this.

He kissed her mouth and welcomed the weight of her against him.

“Oliver.” Her hips flexed.

He could lose himself in her. More frightening, he could find himself in her. He was doing it right now, discovering how much it meant to hold her and touch her and show her how much he cared.

“Possible girl,” he whispered. “Too possible.”

She smiled at him.

They were entangled. It was already too late to avoid getting hurt. There was nothing to do now but hold out until the end. And so he let it happen. He kissed her neck, her br**sts. He held onto his own arousal, letting it peak, stroking her until she was as ready as he was. Until she was wet and desperate, until he could bear it no longer. Then he guided her down onto his shaft. She was good, so good around him.

He’d needed just this all these months. He held her hands as she discovered the pace she needed, the pressure she wanted. And when she was close, he touched her just where it mattered and brought her to pieces. When she was still shuddering, he turned her over and drove into her until all his thoughts shattered and fled. Until there was nothing but the two of them.

Until, at least for that one final moment, there was no but after the silent I love you that he gave her.

Oliver stood behind the house where Jane’s uncle liveed. The morning had been taken up with their journey to Cambridge by rail; it was mid-afternoon by the time they’d arrived. In the early summer heat, the residents had retreated inside to the cool. By his count, Dorling would just be meeting his cart driver. In a few hours, all would be over, but for now…