Their frantic pace fell to stillness. For a moment they remained like that, brow to brow, breathing heavily. Then, carefully and with strong hands, he pulled away and set her feet on the ground. She unwound her arms from his neck and smoothed her wrinkled skirts back in place, and her hair. He buttoned his trousers. Without a word, he took her into his arms again.

She had not expected that.

She pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing in his scent shakily.

“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered, already dreading the next moment when he would release her again and she would be obliged to reaccustom herself to distance from him. “Stay with me.”

His hands fell away.

“Viola-”

“Tonight, the party was not- Though I managed it, it was not easy for me. I think you are the only person who can understand that,” she hastened to explain, in truth to pretend. “This one night. Only for comfort. You needn’t make love to me again.” She was begging, and frankly lying. She wanted him for more than comfort and rather forever. “I want your arms around me.”

He regarded her for a long moment, his eyes shining like crystal in the darkness, again distant, and it swept the life from her.

“Were I to hold you in my arms tonight,” he finally replied softly, “I could not prevent myself from making love to you again.”

She blinked back prickling heat, swallowing over her hope. “We could be very quiet?”

“I do not believe that is possible for you. Under any circumstances.”

Her throat caught. “Ass.”

“Harpy. Where is your bedchamber?”

“I am not quite certain. I was actually lost.”

He threaded his fingers through hers. “That is apparently what I am here for.” He opened the door a crack. “All clear.” He drew her into the corridor and released her and she started back the way she had come, bemused, shaken. She wanted him to make love to her again, yes-but even more keenly for him to again hold her hand. She reached back and found his. He curled his strong fingers snugly around hers and her heart thudded madly.

But after only moments of that unmitigated pleasure, his hand slipped from hers. Then voices came to her. Good Lord, he had acute hearing. No wonder he had been such a successful criminal.

A gentleman appeared, then another.

“There he is.” Sir Tracy gestured. “Seton, our host has sent me to find you to make up even numbers at our table.” He turned a bleary smile upon Viola. “Evening, Miss Carlyle. How do you do?” He flashed a grin at his friend. “Hope you’re jealous of me, Hopkins. Isn’t every day a fellow inherits a stepsister pretty as can be. Though I suppose it happens to me more often than most. Least once a decade.”

They laughed.

Jin smiled slightly.

Viola wished them at the bottom of the ocean, which was not very sisterly of her, to be sure, but she saw how this would go.

“What do you say, Seton? Care to lose a few guineas to a good cause?” Mr. Hopkins smacked his waistcoat pocket meaningfully, tilting like a schooner at full sail.

Sir Tracy leaned forward confidentially and said sotto voce, “He’s got his eye on Michaels’s matched pair coming up for auction week next. But he can’t afford ’em yet. I told him you’re a sure steal at the card table, Seton. Want the pair myself, don’t you know.” He winked. “Give a friend a hand and fleece him, will you, old chap?”

“Pollywog,” Mr. Hopkins exclaimed at large.

“Miss Carlyle has mislaid her quarters.” Jin’s smooth voice at her shoulder nearly sent her to the floor. She needn’t even look at him to become jelly at his feet. “Allow me to escort her there and I will join you shortly, gentlemen.”

“Actually.” She flicked a glance at him, heart sinking; there was no getting around it. “There is my door.” She pointed. “Thank you, Mr. Seton.” That was it. No being held in his arms and making love to him now. He would not return. He had already gotten what he wanted.

He bowed. “Good night, Miss Carlyle.”

She nodded to Sir Tracy and his friend, and went into her room. She closed the door, pressed her brow against it, and tried to breathe. Probably just the tight stays. Or not. She climbed onto her bed and stared at the canopy, blinking in time with Madame Roche’s snores in the next room.

It was better this way. Jin always caused her to make all sorts of inappropriately intimate noises when he made love to her. There could be no privacy here.

She stared at the canopy a little longer, then wiggled back and forth a bit. The bed knocked against the wall. Madame Roche’s snores halted. Silence reigned. Suddenly a great huffing snort cut through the wall and the snoring took up its regular cadence again.

Viola sighed and closed her eyes. Even if he were to come, they could not make love. The bed would not allow it. But he would not come anyway. She must rest content with the lingering warmth in her from their adventure in the linen cabinet.

She cracked her eyes open and peeked at the rug before the hearth. She’d sat on it quite comfortably picking kitten hairs out of her shawl the other day after she visited a new litter in the barn. She supposed the gossiping ladies had gotten one thing right; she always liked barn kittens. She always loved barns, so full of adventure and messiness. The April Storm reminded her a little of a barn. A floating barn. Perhaps that was one reason she hadn’t yet scrapped it.

She slid off the bed, dragging the top coverlet with her. A servant had made up the fire; the rug was warm and soft. She knelt, then curled up on her side and pulled the coverlet over her. As she drifted off she allowed herself to imagine a handsome pirate making love to her all night long.

She slept like a sailor, hard and motionless. But she looked like a lady, slender hands tucked beneath her cheek and hair sparkling with bejeweled pins. She still wore the glowing gown that caressed her curves and had every man between the ages of eighteen and eighty staring at her all night. Now her breasts pushed against the low neckline, soft rose-colored areolas peeking out.

Jin’s mouth went dry even as he told himself he had seen her body already, had enjoyed it, and should not be so affected by a mere glimpse of it now. But he could stand about all day and night trying to convince himself that she was just another woman. He would never succeed.

He crouched and touched her cheek. Her breaths hitched, black lashes flickering. He slipped his fingertips through the tangle of dark curls straying across her brow, imprinting upon them the texture of perfection.

Her eyes opened. “You came back.”

“You did not wait long for me. I think I am disappointed by your lack of eagerness.” He smiled and stroked the graceful column of her neck.

She blinked, sleep clinging. “Not long? I am eager.” She stifled a yawn. “How long?”

“Perhaps thirty minutes.”

“That was a quick game.”

“I threw it.”

“Mr. Hopkins will have his matched pair, then.”

“I couldn’t give a damn. Viola, I will leave you to your sleep.”

Her fingers clamped about his wrist. “Don’t!” She pushed up to sit, her thick hair tumbling across a shoulder and half-exposed breast. “Don’t leave.”

Never, if it could be. “I shan’t now.”

The tip of her tongue stole over her bottom lip, moistening it, then flicked upward. Jin could not look away. Remaining aloof from her had been the most difficult challenge he had ever met. He didn’t need Carlyle’s disapproval to remind him that he was not a suitable suitor for this lady; he had known that since the first. But she wanted him, and he would not deny her what little he could give her, tonight.

“Have you come back to make love to me again?”

“Indeed I have.” He brushed his fingertips across her cheek again, the silken skin he could not seem to take his fill of, then trailed the backs of his fingers along her throat to the cleft between her breasts. Her lashes dipped, her breath pressing her soft flesh against him.

“But…” She sighed, her eyes closing. “I must have something to drink first. Wine.”

He smiled. “You must?”

“My mouth is all wooly. I don’t want you to kiss me until I have washed it out.”

He laughed and her eyes snapped open. “What?”

He shook his head. She claimed confidence, but she had no idea of her true allure. It made her more beautiful yet.

“Viola, I don’t care about that.”

Her full lips tweaked into a frown. “Well, I do. There is cordial on the nightstand.”

He stood and retrieved the cordial. When he turned again she was standing facing the fire, hair cascading down her back, gown crumpled but the curve of her behind still discernable, the profile of her features delicate. He nearly dropped the cordial. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever known, and even now it was nearly impossible to believe his good fortune.

She looked over her shoulder at him, her sleepy eyes reflecting the flickering golden light. She accepted the cordial and sipped, took some time with it in her mouth, then swallowed, the sweetness of her throat’s movement working like a drug on him. Finally she set down the glass.

The entire operation had taken far too long. His pulse pounded. Curving his hands around her shoulders, he drew her back against his chest, bent to her neck, and breathed her in. No heavy perfume now, only her scent-sweet, stubborn, intoxicating Viola.

“Tell me where you wish to be touched.” He stroked back her hair and set his lips to the nape of her neck where she was perfect woman. Everywhere she was perfect woman. But he would begin here.

Her breaths came fast. With such a slight touch, he could do this to her. He could almost pretend that she had been made for his hands. Hands that had made men suffer in the most brutal fashion.