Hurt and outraged, Catherine struggled so violently that he was forced to release her.

“I’ve had enough of you and your tasteless, insensitive humor,” she cried, leaping to her feet. “You cad, you—”

“I’m not joking, damn it!” Leo stood and reached for her, and she hopped backward, and he grabbed, and she flailed. They grappled until Catherine found herself tumbling backward onto the bed.

Leo fell over her in a controlled descent—a pounce, really. She felt him sinking into the mass of skirts, his superior weight urging her legs apart, the muscular mass of his torso pinning her down. She writhed in distress as excitement went skimming and tickling all through her. The more she wriggled, the worse it became. She subsided beneath him, while her hands kept opening and closing on nothing.

Leo stared down at her, eyes dancing with mischief … but there was something else in his expression, a purposefulness, that unsettled her profoundly.

“Consider it, Marks. Marrying me would solve both our problems. You would have the protection of my name. You wouldn’t have to leave the family. And they couldn’t nag me to get married any longer.”

“I am illegitimate,” she said distinctly, as if he were a foreigner trying to learn English. “You are a viscount. You can’t marry a bastard.”

“What about the Duke of Clarence? He had ten bastard children by that actress … what was her name…”

“Mrs. Jordan.”

“Yes, that one. Their children were all illegitimate, but some of them married peers.”

“You’re not the Duke of Clarence.”

“That’s right. I’m not a blueblood any more than you are. I inherited the title purely by happenstance.”

“That doesn’t matter. If you married me, it would be scandalous and inappropriate, and doors would be closed to you.”

“Good God, woman, I let two of my sisters marry Gypsies. Those doors have already been closed, bolted, and nailed shut.”

Catherine couldn’t think clearly, could scarcely hear him through the pounding in her ears, the wild clamor of her blood. Will and desire pulled at her with equal force. Turning her face away as his mouth descended, she said desperately, “The only way you could be certain of keeping Ramsay House for your family is to marry Miss Darvin.”

He gave a derisive snort. “It’s also the only way I could be certain of committing sororicide.”

“Of what?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Sororicide. Killing one’s wife.”

“No, you mean to say ‘uxoricide.—”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, uxor is the Latin word for ‘wife.—”

“Then what’s ‘sororicide’?”

“Killing one’s sister.”

“Oh, well, if I had to marry Miss Darvin, I’d probably end up doing that too.” Leo grinned down at her. “The point is, I could never have this kind of conversation with her.”

He was probably right. Catherine had lived with the Hathaways long enough to fall into their style of banter, slipping into the verbal detours that could start one talking about the increasing problem of the Thames River pollution, and end up debating the question of whether or not the Earl of Sandwich had actually invented sandwiches. Catherine restrained a miserable laugh as she realized that although she might have had a slight civilizing influence on the Hathaways, their influence on her had been much greater.

Leo’s head lowered, and he kissed the side of her neck with a slow deliberation that made her squirm. Clearly he had lost interest in the subject of Miss Darvin. “Give in, Cat. Say you’ll marry me.”

“What if I couldn’t give you a son?”

“There are never guarantees.” Leo lifted his head and grinned. “But think of how much fun we’ll have trying.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for the Hathaways losing Ramsay House.”

A new seriousness infused his expression. “No one would hold you responsible for that. It’s a house. No more and no less. There isn’t a structure on earth that could last forever. But a family goes on.”

The front of her bodice had gone loose. She realized that he had been unbuttoning her as they had been talking. She moved to stop him, but he had already managed to spread the front of her bodice open, revealing her corset and chemise.

“Therefore the only thing you’ll be responsible for,” Leo said huskily, “is going to bed with me as often as I wish, and participating in all my heir-inducing efforts.” As Catherine turned her face away, gasping, he bent to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to pleasure you. Fill you. Seduce you from head to toe. And you’re going to love it.”

“You are the most arrogant and absurd—oh, please don’t do that.” He was investigating her ear with the tip of his tongue, a silky-wet tickle. Paying no attention to her protests, he kissed and licked his way along the taut arch of her neck. “Don’t,” she moaned, but he took her panting mouth with his, and let his tongue play there as well, and the sensation and taste and smell of him made her feel drunk. Her arms groped around his neck, and she surrendered with a weak moan.

After her mouth had been teased, searched, and thoroughly ravished, Leo lifted his head and stared into her dazed eyes. “Do you want to hear the best part of my plan?” he asked thickly. “In order to make an honest woman of you, I’ll have to debauch you first.”

Catherine was dismayed to hear herself giggle in witless amusement. “No doubt you’re good at that.”

“Gifted,” he assured her. “The trick is for me to find out what you like best, and then let you have only a little of it. I’ll torment you until you’re absolutely miserable.”

“That doesn’t sound at all pleasant.”

“You think not? Then you’ll be surprised when you beg me to do it again.”

Catherine couldn’t hold back another helpless giggle.

Then they were both motionless, flushed, staring at each other intently.

She heard herself whisper, “I’m afraid.”

“I know, darling,” Leo said gently. “But you’ll have to trust me.”

“Why?”

“Because you can.”

Their gazes held. Catherine was paralyzed. What he asked was impossible. To give herself over entirely to a man, to anyone, was anathema to her very nature. Therefore, it should have been easy to refuse him.

Except that when she tried to form the word “no,” she couldn’t produce a sound.

Leo began to undress her, pulling the gown away in rustling armfuls. And Catherine let him. She actually helped him, loosening laces with shaking hands, lifting her hips, tugging her arms free. He unhooked her corset deftly, betraying easy familiarity with women’s unmentionables. He was in no hurry, however. He was slow and deliberate as he removed the protective layers one by one.

Finally Catherine was covered in nothing more than a blush, her pale skin scored with temporary marks left by the edges of the corset and the seams of her clothes. Leo’s hand descended to her midriff, fingertips moving sensitively along the faint lines like a traveler mapping unexplored territory. His expression was absorbed, tender, as his palm skimmed over her stomach … lower … softly grazing the fluff of intimate hair.

“Blond everywhere,” he whispered.

“Is that … does that please you?” she asked bashfully, gasping as his hand ascended to her breast.

There was a hint of a smile in his voice. “Cat, everything about you is so lovely, I can hardly breathe.” His fingers caressed the cool rise of her breast, toying with the tip until it was taut and rose-colored. He bent and took it in his mouth.

Her heart missed a beat as she heard a noise from downstairs, a clatter that sounded like dishes being dropped in the tavern, the pitch of a raised voice. It was unimaginable that other people were going about the perfectly ordinary business of their day while she was naked in bed with Leo.

One of his hands slid beneath her hips, aligning her exactly with the hard ridge behind his trousers. She whimpered against his lips, shaken by intense pleasure, wanting to stay against him like that forever. He kissed her deeply, and down below his hand pressed her against him in a corresponding rhythm, the voluptuous nudges driving her into some new dimension of feeling. Closer, closer, lapping waves urging her forward … but then he was easing her away. She made an agitated sound, her body aching with unspent sensation.

Leo sat up and stripped his clothes off, revealing a powerful masculine body, efficiently lean and paved with muscle. There was hair on his chest, an intriguing dark fleece, and more of it lower down. His body was ready to couple with hers, she saw. Her stomach clenched in nervous anticipation. He returned to her, gathering her against him, length to length.

She explored him hesitantly, her fingers moving over his chest to the sleek skin of his side. Finding the small scar on his shoulder from their mishap at the ruins, Catherine pressed her lips to it. She heard his rough intake of breath. Encouraged, she inched lower on the bed and rubbed her nose and mouth through the soft mat on his chest. Everywhere their bodies touched, she felt his muscles tighten in response.

Trying to remember Althea’s long-ago instructions, she reached down to the upthrust shape of his arousal. The skin was like nothing she had ever felt, thin and silky, moving easily over astonishing hardness. Timidly she leaned down to kiss the side of the shaft, her lips brushing against a strong pulse. She looked up to gauge his reaction, her gaze questioning.

Leo wasn’t breathing at all well. A tremor shook his hand as he passed it over her hair. “You are the most adorable woman, the sweetest—” He gasped as she kissed him again, and laughed unsteadily. “No, love—it’s all right. No more of that for now.” Reaching down to her, he pulled her up beside him.

He was more insistent now, more authoritative, in a way that allowed her to relax completely. How strange that she could so easily relinquish all control to him, when they had been such fierce adversaries. He parted her thighs with his hand, and she felt herself turn wet even before he touched her there. He teased through the protective curls, spreading her intimately. Her head tilted back against his supportive arm, and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply as his finger slipped inside her.

Leo seemed to luxuriate in her response. His head bent to her breast, and he used his teeth gently, licking and gnawing in time to the slow thrust of his finger. It seemed her entire body aligned with that coaxing rhythm, every quiver, pulse, muscle, thought, surging together, and again, until sensation amassed into one exquisite rush of pleasure. She sobbed, riding the swell, letting it take her, letting the heat pump and swirl and ripple all through her … then finally she subsided into trembling weakness.

He loomed over her, panting, staring into her dazed face. Reaching up, she pulled him closer, her limbs moving easily to accommodate him. As he pressed against the entrance to her body, a sharp pain burned through her. He went deeper. Too much of him, the intrusion slow and hard and relentless. When he had gone as far as her resisting flesh could take him, he held still and tried to soothe her. His mouth slid gently over her cheeks and throat.

The intimacy of the moment, the sensation of holding him within her body, was stunning. She found herself trying to soothe him as well, her hands stroking his sleek back. Murmuring his name, she slid her palms to his flanks and urged him to continue. He began to thrust cautiously. It hurt, and yet there was something assuaging in the deep, low pressure. She opened to him instinctively, pulling him closer.

She loved the sounds he made, the quiet groans and fragmented words, his roughcast breathing. It became easier to take him, her hips lifting naturally with each forward motion, slippery flesh plunging and grasping. Her knees bent, angling to cradle him. His body trembled roughly, a grunt of something that sounded like pain coming from his throat.

“Cat … Cat…” Leo withdrew from her abruptly and thrust against her stomach, and she felt heat spill in wet pulses over her skin. He held her tightly, groaning into the joint of her shoulder and neck.

They lay together, trying to catch their breath. Catherine was limp with exhaustion, her limbs heavy. Contentment had saturated and softened her, like water seeping into a dry sponge. For the moment, at least, it was impossible to worry about anything.

“It’s true,” she said drowsily. “You are gifted.”

Leo eased to his side heavily, as if the movement had required great effort. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, and she felt the shape of his smile on her skin. “How delicious you are,” he whispered. “It was like making love to an angel.”

“Sans halo,” she murmured, and was rewarded by his low chuckle. She touched the film of moisture on her stomach. “Why did you do it that way?”

“Withdrawing, you mean? I don’t want to get you with child, if you’re not ready.”

“Do you want children? I mean … not because of the copyhold clause, but for their own sake?”

Leo considered that. “In abstraction, not especially. With you, however … I wouldn’t mind.”

“Why with me?”

Taking a handful of her hair, Leo let the pale runners sift through his fingers, playing with it. “I’m not sure. Perhaps because I can see you as a mother.”

“Can you?” Catherine had never seen herself that way.

“Oh, yes. The practical kind who makes you eat your turnips, and scolds you for running with sharp objects.”

“Is that how your mother was?”

He stretched, his feet reaching far past hers. “Yes. And thank God for it. My father, bless him, was a brilliant scholar one step removed from lunacy. Someone had to be sensible.” Rising up on one elbow, he studied her. He used the pad of his thumb to smooth the arc of her eyebrow. “Don’t move, love, I’ll get a cloth for you.”

Catherine waited with her knees drawn up, watching as he left the bed and went to the washstand. He took up a cloth, dampened it with water from a jug, and cleaned himself efficiently. Taking up another cloth, he moistened it liberally and brought it to her. She sensed that he intended to perform the service for her, but she reached for the cloth and said bashfully, “I’ll do it.”

Leo found his discarded clothing, pulled on his linens and trousers, and returned to Catherine bare-chested. “Your spectacles,” he murmured, setting them carefully on her nose. His hands were strong and warm against the humid coolness of her cheeks. Seeing the shiver that went through her, he pulled the quilt up to her shoulders, and half sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Marks,” he said soberly. “What just happened … am I to take that as a ‘yes’ to my proposal?”

She hesitated, and shook her head. And then she gave him a wary but resolute glance, as if to indicate that there was nothing he could do or say to change her mind.

His hand found the shape of her hip, squeezing her through the quilt. “I promise it will get better for you, once you heal and have time to—”

“No, it’s not that. I enjoyed it.” She paused, blushing fiercely. “Very much. But we don’t suit in any way other than in the bedroom. We argue so dreadfully.”

“It won’t be like that now. I’ll be nice. I’ll let you win every argument, even when I’m right.” His lips twitched with amusement. “You’re not convinced, I see. What are you afraid we’ll argue about?”

Catherine looked down at the quilt, smoothing out a frayed seam. “It is fashionable among the peerage for the husband to take mistresses and the wife to take lovers. I could never accept that.” As he opened his mouth to argue, she continued in a rush. “And you’ve never concealed your aversion to marriage. For you to change your mind so quickly … it’s impossible to believe.”

“I understand.” Leo’s hand covered hers in a vital grip. “You’re right—I’ve been against the idea of marriage ever since I lost Laura. And I’ve invented all kinds of excuses to keep from taking such a risk again. But I can’t deny any longer that you are entirely worth it. I wouldn’t propose to you unless I knew without a doubt that you could satisfy all my needs, and I could satisfy yours.” He slid his fingers beneath her chin and urged her to look at him. “As for fidelity—I’ll have no difficulty with that.” His smile turned wry. “My conscience is burdened enough with past sins—I doubt it could stand any more.”

“You would become bored with me,” she said anxiously.

That brought a slight smile to his lips. “Obviously you have no idea of the prodigious variety of ways a man and woman can entertain each other. I won’t be bored. Neither will you.” He stroked her pink cheek with a gentle finger. His gaze was steady. “If I went to another woman’s bed, it would be a betrayal of two people—my wife and myself. I wouldn’t do that to either of us.” He paused. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve always known you to be truthful. Annoying, but truthful.”

There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Then give me your answer.”

“Before I make any decisions, I would like to talk with Harry.”

“Of course.” A smile played on his lips. “He married my sister, now I want to marry his. If he objects, I’ll tell him that it’s a fair trade.”

As he sat leaning over her, his dark brown hair falling over his brow, Cat could hardly believe that Leo Hathaway was trying to convince her to marry him. Although she was certain that he meant what he said, some promises were broken despite people’s best intentions to keep them.

Reading her expression, Leo reached out and pulled her against his warm, hard chest. “I’d tell you not to be afraid,” he murmured, “but that’s not always possible. On the other hand … you’ve already started to trust me, Marks. There’s no point in stopping now.”