Her breasts rose and fell rapidly; her skin was gently flushed.

Naked, fully aroused, he turned to her.

Not a single hint of shock showed in her face-the face of a Fragonard wanton. Her gaze slid down, over him, then slowly rose to his face.

She lifted her arms. To him.

Vane went to her-covered her-took her lips in a searing kiss and eased himself into her. She was hot and tight; she tensed as he tested her maidenhead. And cried out as, with one well-judged thrust, he breached it. He held still, for one long, achingly tense moment, then she eased about him. Instinct claimed him-he thrust powerfully, deep into her body-and claimed her.

His reins broke-his demons took charge. Driving him, driving her, in a frenzied mating.

Far beyond thought, beyond reason, beyond anything except feeling, Patience held tight and let their passion take her. Every sensation was new, battering in on her mind, her overloaded senses, yet she clung to each thrill, each new intimacy, determined to miss nothing, determined to feel all.

To know the sheer delight of his hard body heavy on hers, his chest hard, hair-roughened, rasping against her sensitive nipples and the soft swells of her breasts. To glory in the hardness that filled her, the steely velvet that pressed deep into her, stretching her, claiming her. To experience, with every gasp, with every desperate pant, the power with which he repeatedly drove into her, the flexing of his spine, the rhythmic fusing of their bodies. To sense her vulnerability, in her nakedness, in the weight that anchored her hips, in the blind wanting that drove her. To revel in the excitement, shamelessly hot, unquenchably erotic, that swelled, grew, built, then flooded them, a raging tide avidly seizing them.

And to feel, deep within her, the unfurling of an anchoring force, more powerful than desire, more deep, more enduring, than anything on earth. That force, all emotion, golden and silver, swelled and caught her. She gave herself up to it and bravely, eagerly, knowingly claimed it for her own.

Ecstasy filled her-eagerly, she shared it, through her lips and their hungry kisses, through the worship of her hands, her limbs, her body.

He did the same; she tasted it on his tongue, felt its heat in his body.

Whatever he needed she gave, whatever she craved, he delivered. Mouth to mouth, breasts to chest, urgent softness gripping his hardness.

On a groan, Vane straightened his arms, and managed to find support enough in the hay to lift from her. He drove himself into her, savoring every hot inch that closed about him, pausing for an instant to feel her throb about him, before withdrawing, only to thrust deeply again. And again.

Sating himself-and her.

She writhed, heated and urgent beneath him. He'd never seen anything so beautiful as her, locked in passion's snare. She lifted and twisted, her head turning blindly from side to side as, inside, she sought release. He sank deep and pushed her higher, but still held her back from the edge-she could go higher yet. So could he.

And he wanted to watch her-so splendidly wanton, so gloriously abandoned-as she took him in and held him, as she gave herself to him for the first time. The sight stole his breath-and more. He would have her again, many times, but none would be the same as this, as vested with emotion as this moment was.

He knew when the end was upon her, felt the keen edge of tension ready to explode-and felt the hot flowering within her. He drove into it, and let go-let his body do what came naturally and sent them both over the edge. And, at the last, he watched as the explosion took her, as desire coalesced and turned her womb molten, a hot, fertile pocket for his seed.

Gritting his teeth, he hung on for the last second, and saw her ease. Saw the lines of her face, drawn tight with passion, soften; felt, deep inside her, the strong ripples of her release. On a silent sigh, her body softened beneath him. The expression that washed over her face was that of an angel in the presence of the divine.

Vane felt the shudders rack him. Closing his eyes, he let them-let her-take him.

It had been more-much more-than he'd expected.

Lying on his back in the hay, Patience curled into his side, her skirts and petticoats flipped over her to keep her warm as she slept, Vane tried to come to grips with that reality. He couldn't begin to explain it, all he knew was that no other had ever been like this.

It therefore came as no surprise to discover, as his sated senses cleared, that he was once more possessed of an urgent desire.

Not the same urgent desire that had driven him for the past days, and which she'd so recently and so remarkably thoroughly sated, but a related desire-the compulsive need to secure her as his own.

As his wife.

The four-letter word had always made him flinch. In a reflexive manner, it still did. But he was not about to run counter to his fate-to what he knew, in his bones, was right.

She was the only one for him. If he was ever to marry, it had to be to her. And he wanted children-heirs. The thought of her, his son in her arms, had an instant effect on him. Uunder his breath, he swore.

He glanced sideways, at Patience's topmost curls, and willed her to wake. Gaining her formal agreement to their marriage had just become his top priority. His most urgent priority. In accepting him as her lover, she'd already agreed informally. Once he'd made his offer and she'd said yes, they could indulge their senses as they willed. As often as they willed.

The thought intensified his growing discomfort. Gritting his teeth, he tried to think of something else.

Sometime later, Patience drifted back to consciousness. She came awake as she never had before, her body floating on a sea of golden pleasure, her mind hazed with a deep sense of golden peace. Her limbs were heavy, weighted with warm langor; her body felt buoyed, sated, replete. At peace. For long moments, no thought could pierce the glow, then, gradually, her surroundings impinged.

She was lying on her side, cocooned in warmth. Beside her, Vane lay stretched on his back, his body a hard rock to which she clung. Outside, the rain had ceased, but drips still fell from the eaves. Inside, the glow they'd created lingered, enclosing them within a heavenly world.

He had given her this-shown her the way to this state of grace. The delicious pleasure still lapped about her. Patience smiled. One hand rested on his chest; under her palm, beneath the curly brown hair, she could feel his heart beating, steady and sure. Her own heart swelled.

The emotion that poured through her was stronger than before, glowing golden and silver, so beautiful it made her heart ache, so piercingly sweet it brought tears to her eyes.

Patience closed her eyes tight. She'd been right-right to press for the knowledge, right to take this road. No matter what happened, she would treasure this moment-and all that had brought her here. No regrets. Not ever.

The intense emotion faded, sinking from her conscious mind. Lips gently curving, she shifted, and planted a warm kiss on Vane's chest.

He looked down. Looking up, Patience smiled more deeply and, eyes closing, sank against him. "Hmm-nice."

Nice? Looking down at her face, at the smile on her lips, Vane felt something in his chest shift. Then lock. The feeling, and the emotions that coursed, tumbled and jumbled, in its wake, were not nice at all. They shook him, and left him feeling vulnerable. Lifting one hand, he brushed back Patience's honey gold hair; the tangled mass caught in his fingers. He started releasing the strands, gathering her pins as he went. "Once we're married, you can feel nice every morning. And every night."

Concentrating on her hair, he didn't see the shock flare in Patience's eyes as, stunned, she looked up at him. Didn't see the shock fade into blankness. When he glanced down, she was staring at him, her expression closed, unreadable.

Vane frowned. "What is it?"

Patience drew a shuddering breath, and desperately tried to find her mental feet. She licked her lips, then focused on Vane's face. "Marriage." She had to pause before she could go on. "I don't recall discussing that." Her voice was flat, expressionless.

Vane's frown deepened. "We're discussing it now. I'd meant to speak earlier, but, as you well know, our attempts at rational discussion haven't met with any great success." He drew the last of her hair free and, raking it back with his fingers, laid it across the hay. "So." Finding her eyes once more, he raised a cool brow. "When's it to be?"

Patience simply stared. She was lying here, naked in his arms, her body so sated she couldn't move, and he, suddenly, entirely without warning, wanted to discuss marriage? No, not even discuss it, but simply decide when it was to be.

The golden glow had vanished, replaced with an arctic chill. A chill colder than the grey misery outside the hay doors, colder than the breeze that had sprung up. Icy panic sent gooseflesh rippling over her limbs, then sank to her marrow. She felt the touch of cold steel-the jaws of the trap that was slowly, steadily, closing on her.

"No." Summoning every ounce of her strength, she pressed against Vane's chest; closing her eyes to its bare state, she struggled to sit up. She would never have made it except that he deigned to help her.

He stared-as if he couldn't credit his hearing. "No?" He searched her face, then the shutters came down over his grey eyes. His expression leached. "No what?"

His steely accents made Patience shiver. Turning away from him, keeping her skirts over her lap, she reached for her chemise. She pulled it over her head. "I have never intended to marry. Not at all."