“I’ll walk along the sill,” Harry said. “I’m not afraid of heights.”

Leo’s expression was grim. “Neither am I. But it won’t hold either of us—too much stress on the trusses. The ones above us are rotting, which means they probably all are.”

“Is there another way to reach her? From the third-story roof?”

“That would take too long. Keep talking to her while I find some rope.”

Leo disappeared, while Harry hung farther out the window. “Cat, it’s me,” he said. “It’s Harry. You know me, don’t you?”

“’Course I do.” Her head dropped to her bent knees, and she wobbled. “I’m so tired.”

“Cat, wait. This isn’t the time for a nap. Lift your head and look at me.” Harry continued to talk to her, encouraging her to stay still, stay awake, but she barely responded. More than once she altered her position, and Harry’s heart plummeted as he expected her to roll right off the winged gable.

To his relief, Leo returned in no time at all with a substantial length of rope. His face was misted with sweat, and he was drawing in deep lungfuls of air.

“That was fast,” Harry said, taking the rope from him.

“We’re next door to a notorious whipping den,” Leo said. “There was a lot of rope.”

Harry measured two spans of rope with his arms and began to tie a knot. “If you’re planning to coax her to come back to the window,” he said, “it won’t work. She won’t respond to anything I say.”

“You tie the knot. I’ll do the talking.”

Leo had never experienced fear like this before, not even when Laura had died. That had been a slow process of loss, watching her life slip away like sand from an hourglass. This was even worse. This was the deepest level of hell.

Leaning out the window, Leo stared at Catherine’s huddled, exhausted form. He understood the effects of the opium, the confusion and dizziness, the sense that one’s limbs were too heavy to move, and at the same time a feeling of buoyant lightness as if one could fly. And added to that, Catherine couldn’t even see.

If he managed to get her to safety, he was never going to let her out of his arms again.

“Well, Marks,” he said in as normal a voice as he could manage. “Of all the ridiculous situations you and I have found ourselves in, this one takes the biscuit.”

Her head lifted from her knees, and she squinted blindly in his direction. “My lord?”

“Yes, I’m going to help you. Stay still. Naturally you would make my heroic rescue effort as difficult as possible.”

“I didn’t plan on this.” Her voice was slurred, but there was a familiar—and welcome—touch of indignation in it. “Was trying to get away.”

“I know. And in just a minute, I’m going to bring you inside so that we can argue properly. For the time being—”

“Don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to come in?” Leo asked, puzzled.

“No, don’t want to argue.” She lowered her head to her knees again, and gave a muffled sob.

“Christ,” Leo said, his emotions nearly getting the better of him. “Darling love, please, we won’t argue. I promise. Don’t cry.” He took a shuddering breath as Harry handed him the rope, looped with a perfect bowline knot. “Cat, listen to me … lift your head and put your knees down just a little. I’m going to throw a rope to you, but it’s very important that you not reach for it, do you understand? Just sit still and let it fall into your lap.”

She held obediently still, squinting and blinking.

Leo let the loop swing a few times, testing its weight, estimating how much line to allow. He tossed it in a slow, careful motion, but the loop fell short of its mark, bouncing off the shingles near Catherine’s feet.

“You need to throw it harder,” she said.

Despite Leo’s desperation and bone-deep anxiety, he had to bite back a grin. “Will you ever stop telling me what to do, Marks?”

“I don’t think so,” she said after a moment’s reflection.

He gathered up the rope and tossed the loop again, and this time it caught neatly on her knees.

“I’ve got it.”

“Good girl,” Leo said. He fought to keep his voice calm. “Now, put your arms through the circle, and lift it over your head. I want it to go around your chest. Not too fast, keep your balance—” His breath quickened as she fumbled with the loop. “Yes, just so. Yes. God, I love you.” He let out breath of relief as he saw that the rope was in place, fitting just above her breasts and beneath her arms. He gave the other end of the rope to Harry. “Don’t let go.”

“Not a chance.” Harry quickly tied it around his own waist.

Leo’s attention returned to Catherine, who was saying something to him, her face drawn with a frown. “What is it, Marks?”

“You didn’t have to say that.”

“I didn’t have to say what?”

“That you love me.”

“But I do.”

“No, you don’t. I heard you say to Win that…” Catherine paused, struggling to recollect. “That you would only marry a woman you were certain never to love.”

“I often say idiotic things,” Leo protested. “It never crossed my mind that anyone actually listens to me.”

A window opened in the brothel next door, and an annoyed prostitute leaned out. “There’s girls what’s tryin’ to sleep in ’ere, and you’re shoutin’ fit to wake the dead!”

“We’ll be finished soon,” Leo called back to her, scowling. “Go back to bed.”

The prostitute continued to lean out. “What are you doin’ wiv a girl on the bleedin’ roof?”

“None of your business,” Leo said curtly.

A few more windows opened, and more heads stuck out, with incredulous exclamations.

“’Oo is he?”

“Is she goin’ to jump?”

“Gor, what a filfy mess that would be.”

Catherine didn’t seem to notice the audience they had attracted, her squinting gaze fastened on Leo. “Did you mean it?” she asked. “What you said?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Leo said, straddling the windowsill, holding on to the frame. “For now, I want you to put your hand against the side of the house and step onto the sill. Carefully.”

“Did you mean it?” Catherine repeated, unmoving.

Leo gave her an incredulous glance. “Good God, Marks, do you have to be stubborn now, of all times? You want me to declare myself in front of a chorus of prostitutes?”

She nodded emphatically.

One of the whores called out, “Go on an’ tell ’er, dearie!”

The others joined in enthusiastically. “Go on, luv!”

“Let’s ’ear it, ’andsome!”

Harry, who was standing just behind Leo, was shaking his head slowly. “If it will get her to come in off the blasted roof, just say it, damn it.”

Leo leaned farther out the window. “I love you,” he said shortly. As he stared at Catherine’s small, shivering figure, he felt his color run high, and his soul open with an emotion deeper than he had ever imagined could reside in him. “I love you, Marks. My heart is completely and utterly yours. And unfortunately for you, the rest of me comes with it.” Leo paused, struggling for words, when they had always come so easily to him. But these had to be the right words. They meant too much. “I know I’m a bad bargain. But I’m begging you to have me anyway. Because I want the chance to make you as happy as you make me. I want to build a life with you.” He fought to steady his voice. “Please come to me, Cat, because there’s no surviving you. You don’t have to love me back. You don’t have to be mine. Just let me be yours.”

“Ohhh…” one of the prostitutes sighed.

Another blotted her eyes. “If she won’t ’ave ’im,” she sniffled, “I’ll take ’im.”

Before Leo had even finished, Catherine had gotten to her feet and was creeping to the sill. “I’m coming,” she said.

“Slowly,” Leo cautioned, tightening his grip on the rope as he watched the movements of her small, bare feet. “Do it exactly the way you did before.”

She inched toward him, her back to the wall. “I don’t remember doing it before,” she said breathlessly.

“Don’t look down.”

“I can’t see anyway.”

“That’s just as well. Keep moving.” Gradually Leo gathered the excess rope, as if he were reeling her in. Closer and closer she came, until she was finally within arm’s reach. Leo stretched his hand as far as possible, his fingers trembling with effort. Another step, another, and then he finally had his arm around her, and he dragged her inside.

Cheers erupted from the brothel, and the multitude of windows began to close.

Leo sank to the floor with his knees splayed, his face buried in Catherine’s hair. Tremors of relief ran through his body, and he let out a shuddering sigh. “I have you. I have you. Oh, Marks. You’ve just put me through the worst two minutes of my entire life. And for that you’re going to spend years atoning.”

“It was only two minutes,” she protested, and he choked on a laugh.

Fumbling at his pocket, he pulled out her spectacles, and placed them carefully on her nose. The world became clear again.

Harry knelt beside them and touched Catherine’s shoulder. She turned and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “My big brother,” she whispered. “You came for me again.”

She felt Harry smile against her hair. “Always. Whenever you need me.” Lifting his head, he glanced ruefully at Leo as he continued, “You’d better marry him, Cat. Any man willing to put himself through that is probably worth keeping.”

It was with the greatest reluctance that Leo surrendered Catherine to Poppy and Mrs. Pennywhistle when they arrived back at the hotel. The two women brought her to her room and helped her to bathe and wash her hair. She was exhausted and disoriented, and infinitely grateful for the soothing attention. Clad in a fresh nightgown and dressing robe, she sat before the fire while Poppy combed out her hair.

The room had been cleaned and tidied, the bed changed and freshly made. The housekeeper left with an armload of damp toweling, allowing Catherine and Poppy some privacy.

There was no sign of Dodger anywhere. Remembering what had happened to him, Catherine felt her throat clench in grief. Tomorrow she would ask about the gallant little creature, but for now she couldn’t quite bring herself to face it.

Hearing her sniffle, Poppy reached around to give her a handkerchief. The comb moved gently through her hair. “Harry told me not to bother you with this tonight, dear, but if it were me, I would want to know. After you left with Leo, Harry stayed behind until the police came to your aunt’s house. They went upstairs to find your aunt, but she was dead. They found raw opium paste in her mouth.”

“Poor Althea,” Catherine whispered, pressing the handkerchief against her welling eyes.

“You’re very kind, to have any sympathy at all for her. I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

“What about William?”

“He ran off before they could arrest him. I heard Harry and Leo discussing it—they’re going to commission a runner to find him.”

“I don’t want that,” Catherine protested. “I want them to let him go.”

“I have no doubt Leo will agree to whatever you ask,” Poppy said. “But why? After what that dreadful man did to you—”

“William was a victim, as surely as I,” Catherine said earnestly. “He was only trying to survive. Life was brutally unfair to him.”

“And to you, dear. But you made something far better of it than he did.”

“But I had Harry. And I had you and your family.”

“And Leo,” Poppy said, a smile in her voice. “I would say you have him without question. For a man who was so determined to go through life as an observer, he’s certainly been pulled back into the stream. Because of you.”

“Would you mind if I marry him, Poppy?” she asked almost timidly.

Poppy hugged her from behind, and rested her head briefly against Catherine’s. “I’m sure I speak for all the Hathaways in saying that we would be eternally grateful if you would marry him. I can’t imagine who else would dare to take him on.”

After a light supper of toast and broth, Catherine went to bed and dozed for a while, waking every now and then with a fearful start. Each time she was reassured to see Poppy reading in a chair by the bed, her hair gleaming like mahogany in the glow of lamplight.

“You should go back to the apartment,” Catherine finally mumbled, not wishing to seem like a child afraid of the dark.

“I’ll stay a little longer,” came the soft answer.

The next time Catherine awoke, Leo was sitting in the chair. Her drowsy gaze moved over him, taking in the contours of his handsome face, his serious blue eyes. His shirt was partly unbuttoned, revealing a shadow of chest hair. Suddenly desperate to be held against that hard, strong chest, she reached for him wordlessly.

Leo came to her at once. Wrapping his arms around her, he reclined back against the pillows with her. Catherine luxuriated in the feel and scent of him. “Only I,” she whispered, “would feel so safe in the arms of the wickedest man in London.”

He made a sound of amusement. “You like them wicked, Marks. An ordinary man would be tame sport for a woman like you.”

She snuggled closer, her legs tense beneath the bed linens. “I’m so weary,” she said, “but I can’t sleep.”

“You’ll be better tomorrow morning. I promise.” His hand settled on her hip, over the covers. “Close your eyes, love, and let me take care of you.”

She tried to obey. But as the minutes ticked by, she was plagued by increasing restlessness and irritated nerves, a sense of dryness that permeated to her bones. Her skin clamored to be touched, scratched, rubbed, but even the delicate chafing of the sheets was enough to make her raw.

Leo left the bed and returned with a glass of water, and she drank thirstily. Her mouth tingled agreeably from the cool wetness.

Taking away the empty glass, Leo extinguished the lamp and returned to her. She flinched at the feel of his weight depressing the mattress, the disparate information of her senses distilling into one compelling need. In the darkness, Leo’s mouth found hers, tender and gentle, and she couldn’t prevent her own exaggerated response. His hand came to her breast, finding the tip already hard beneath the veil of muslin.

“It sometimes happens with opium smoke,” Leo said quietly. “Later with habit, it decreases. But when you first try it, it can act upon you this way. As the effects leave your body, your nerves start screaming for more of it, and the result is … frustration.”

As he spoke, his hand cupped her breast, his thumb gently circling the tight bud. She felt the sensation everywhere, streamers of fire unraveling to the pit of her belly, and along her legs and arms. She panted and squirmed, too desperate to feel embarrassed by her own muffled cries as his hand slipped beneath the covers.

“Easy, love,” Leo whispered, caressing the taut plane of her stomach. “Let me help you.”

His fingers were gentle on her swollen flesh, stroking and parting and entering, sliding easily into the moisture. She hitched upward, her body craving and willful, every movement enticing him to stroke deeper, harder.

Leo bent his head and kissed her throat. The tip of his thumb rested just above the little spot that burned with white fire, manipulating delicately as his invading fingers stretched her. It sent her into spasms of near-painful release, tearing an unwilling groan from her, and she clutched the back of his shirt in her fists until she felt the fine linen begin to rip. Breathing hard, she let go of the shirt and stammered out an apology. He stripped off the ruined shirt and hushed her with his mouth.

He spread his hand over her intimately, teasing her with exquisite care, while she whimpered and stiffened. Another burst of fire, a series of deep shudders, and she opened her thighs as he slid his fingers in. When the last vibrations had faded, she lay heavily in his arms and let exhaustion overtake her.

In the middle of the night, Catherine pressed against him furtively, needing him again. He rose above her, murmuring that she must relax, he would help her, he would take care of her, and she sobbed openly as she felt him kiss his way down her body. He lifted her legs over his shoulders and cupped her bottom in his hands. His mouth searched gently, his tongue stroking deep into the tender chalice. He did not find a rhythm but instead played with her, pulling softly, licking and nuzzling. The pleasure broke over her in waves, making her gasp in relief.

“Take me,” she whispered as he lay beside her again.

“No,” Leo said gently, turning to pin her to the mattress. “No chance of that tonight. We’ll have to wait until your judgment isn’t clouded. By morning, most of the opium will have worn off. If you still want me then, I’ll be ready and willing.”

“I want you now,” she said, but he held her down and pleasured her with his mouth once more.

Catherine woke a few hours later, glimpsing the plum-colored sky as it began to lighten with the premonition of dawn. Leo’s long body was tucked comfortably behind hers, one arm beneath her neck, the other draped across her middle. She loved the feel of him, vibrant heat and muscle, his skin like satin in some places, hair-roughened in others. Although she was careful not to move, Leo stirred and murmured.

Slowly she reached for his hand and drew it to her breast. Leo began to fondle her before he was even awake. His lips touched the back of her neck. Feeling him harden against her bottom, she pressed against him. One of his legs intruded between hers, as his hand slid down to the light fleece of curls.

She felt the taut pressure of him, nudging against her entrance, circling into the moisture. He pushed partway inside her and stopped, while her flesh, swollen from the night’s excesses, had difficulty accommodating him.

His soft, amused voice tickled her ear. “Mmmn … you’ll have to try harder, Marks. We both know you can take more than this.”

“Help me,” she gasped.

With a sympathetic murmur, he lifted her top leg and adjusted her position. Her eyes closed as she felt him slide inside her.

“There,” he whispered. “Is this what you want?”

“Harder … harder…”

“No, love … let me be gentle with you. Just for now.”

He moved inside her with slow, deliberate drives, his caressing hand sliding back between her thighs. He took his time, and she had no choice but to let him. She was suffused with warmth, sensation building as he courted her, stroked her. Pressing love words and kisses against her neck, he sank more deeply inside her. She cried out his name, cresting, and he gently urged her even higher. Her shaking hand went to his hip and gripped the flexing surface.

“Don’t leave me. Please, Leo.”

He understood. As her wet flesh clenched around him once more, delicately wringing and pulling at the hardness, he pumped forcefully, letting himself go. And at last she knew the feel of his release, the way his belly tightened, the trembling of a powerful man rendered helpless in that ultimate moment.

They stayed joined as long as possible, resting together and watching as the dawn seeped through the parted curtains.

“I love you,” she whispered, “so dearly, my lord. My Leo.”

He smiled and kissed her. Rising, he went to drag on his trousers.

While Leo sluiced his face at the washstand, Catherine reached for her spectacles. Her gaze happened to fall on Dodger’s empty basket by the door, and her smile dimmed. “Poor weasel,” she murmured.

Leo returned to her, instantly concerned as he saw her watering eyes. “What is it?”

“Dodger,” she said with a sniffle. “I miss him already.”

Leo sat and drew her up against him. “Would you like to see him?”

“Yes, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Before she could answer, she saw an odd movement beneath the door … a furry, skinny body wiggling industriously beneath the ridiculously narrow space. Catherine blinked, afraid to move. “Dodger?”

The ferret came loping toward the bed, chuckling and chirping, his eyes bright as he hurried to her.

“Dodger, you’re alive!”

“Of course he’s alive,” Leo said. “We put him in Poppy’s apartment last night to allow you some rest.” He smiled as the ferret bounded onto the mattress. “Mischievous little beggar. How did you get all the way down here?”

“He came to find me.” Catherine held out her arms, and Dodger climbed up to her and snuggled against her chest. She stroked him over and over, murmuring endearments. “He tried to protect me, you know. He bit William’s hand quite terribly.” She nuzzled her chin against Dodger and crooned, “Good little watch ferret.”

“Well done, Dodger,” Leo said. Leaving the bed for a moment, he went to his discarded coat and rummaged through the pockets. “I suppose that leads to the question … in marrying you, am I going to be gaining a ferret, as well?”

“Do you think Beatrix would let me keep him?”

“There’s no doubt of it.” Leo returned to sit beside her. “She’s always said that he belongs to you.”

“Has she?”

“Well, it’s rather obvious, in light of his fascination for your garters. And one certainly can’t blame him for that.” Leo reached for her hand. “I have something to ask you, Marks.”

She sat up eagerly, letting Dodger drape around her neck.

“I can’t remember if this is the fifth or sixth proposal,” he said.

“It’s only the fourth.”

“I asked you yesterday. Are you counting that one?”

“No, that wasn’t really ‘will you marry me,’ that was more ‘will you come down off the roof.—”

One of Leo’s brows arched. “By all means, let’s be technical.” He slid a ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It was the most breathtaking ring she had ever seen, a flawless silver opal with flashes of blue and green fire hidden deep inside. With every movement of her hand, the opal glimmered with unearthly color. It was encircled by a rim of glittering small diamonds. “This reminded me of your eyes,” he said. “Only not nearly as beautiful.” He paused, looking at her intently. “Catherine Marks, love of my life … will you marry me?”

“I want to answer another question first,” she told him. “Something you asked me before.”

He smiled and put his forehead against hers. “The one about the farmer and the sheep?”

“No … the one about what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.”

A laugh rustled in his throat. “Tell me your answer, love.”

“The unstoppable force stops. And the immovable object moves.”

“Mmmn. I like that.” His lips brushed hers tenderly.

“My lord, I’d rather not wake up as Catherine Marks ever again. I want to be your wife as soon as possible.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

Catherine nodded. “Although … I will miss you calling me Marks. I’ve gotten rather fond of it.”

“I’ll still call you Marks from time to time. During moments of lurid passion. Let’s try it.” His voice lowered to a seductive whisper. “Kiss me, Marks…”

And she lifted her smiling mouth to his.