Jerking her hard against him, Caleb kissed her. There was none of the gentleness, none of the care he'd shown her before. It was a fierce, demanding kiss, the kind a man claimed from the mistress he had bought and paid for.

And yet she felt the heat stirring to life inside her, burning between them, scorching like a fire in her blood.

She trembled, tried to draw away, but Caleb wouldn't have it. Instead he slid the gown off her shoulders, paused for an instant at the sight of her berry-stained nipples, then lowered his head and took the crest of one into his mouth. He laved the tip, suckled and tasted, then turned to her other breast and began to feast again. Each tug sent liquid fire pouring through her, drew damp heat into her core.

Her knees trembled. She tangled her fingers in his thick brown hair and fought to stay on her feet.

Caleb raised his head and the edges of his lips barely curved. "You want me to show you what a man expects from his mistress?"

She had pushed him too far. She could see it in the muscle flexing in his cheek, the hard set of his jaw. She had meant to goad him, but now he seemed like another man entirely and she was a little afraid.

She swallowed. "That is… that is what I am, is it not?"

Caleb didn't answer. Instead, he swept her up in his arms and strode into the bedchamber, tossed her down in the middle of the bed and began to unbutton his shirt.

He tugged it off and tossed it away, started on the buttons at the front of his breeches. "Come here."

A tremor of unease ran through her. "You're angry. Perhaps we should—"

"I said come here. Now."

She eased across the bed to where he stood with his legs slightly splayed, his breeches unbuttoned and hanging open, riding low on his hips. "Turn around and get up on your hands and knees."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me. Do it."

Her heart began to thunder. She did as he commanded, her hair swinging forward as she looked at him over her shoulder.

Caleb moved behind her. Reaching down, he slid the slick lavender silk up over her bottom and ran his hands over her hips. The anger was gone from his face and instead, she caught a glimpse of hunger. He didn't hurry, as she thought he would, just took his time, leaning down to kiss the back of her neck, biting an earlobe, pressing soft, moist kisses against her shoulders. All the while, his hands kept moving, tracing patterns, skimming over her flesh, sliding between the globes of her bottom. He slid his fingers inside and began to stroke her and her whole body infused with heat.

She was wet. Unbearably hot and wet. He stroked her until her hips arched, until she whimpered his name.

He moved closer. She could feel the heat of his bare skin, the strength of his arousal pressing against her bottom. Then he guided himself into her passage, gripped her hips, and thrust himself deeply inside.

She could feel the heat of him, the delicious fullness, and then he started to move. Long, determined strokes shook her, sent ripples of fire burning out through her skin. Deep, penetrating strokes sent waves of pleasure coursing through her. Gripping her hips, he held her immobile, pounding into her, impaling her as deeply as he could. Lee moaned at the sweet sensations sweeping through her, thick saturating waves that seeped out from her core and trembled over her flesh. Her body tightened around him and she heard him groan.

Caleb didn't slow until she reached release and even then he went on until she came again. Finally, he allowed his own climax to come, his big hands tightening around her hips, his body going rigid. Bare-chested, still wearing his breeches, he lay down on the bed and pulled her into his arms. As she curled against him, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his smooth, sun-darkened skin.

"You taste like berries," he said softly, his mouth just inches from her ear. "Even your nipples. God, Lee."

She started to smile. He had called her Lee, not Vermillion. Lee. The way he had before.

He turned onto his side, traced a finger along her cheek. "You don't have to be Vermillion, love. Not ever again. I never wanted Vermillion—I've told you that from the start. It's you I want, Lee. It's always been you."

Something burned behind her eyes and her lips trembled.

"You're here because you chose to be. You'll stay for that reason or not at all. You're no man's harlot and especially not mine."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry, Caleb. I've just… it's all been so confusing."

"It's all right, love. I'm a little confused myself."

He lifted a lock of her hair, toyed with it, smoothed it between his fingers. "Tomorrow we're going shopping. I want you to pick out a completely new wardrobe—the kind of dresses you'd like to wear, not something your aunt has convinced you to wear." He grinned as he looked down at the flimsy lavender gown that no longer even covered her breasts. "Though I can't fault your choice of night clothes."

She laughed. It felt incredibly good. And she couldn't find fault with the lesson she had received, since she had baited him into it. In truth, she could hardly wait for the next one.

"I think I should like that sort of shopping, but I insist on paying for what I purchase."

He cast her a look, started to argue, closed his mouth and sighed. "Fine, if it makes you happy, you can pay."

At the very least, it would help her maintain a little of her treasured independence. But the thing that most made her happy was Caleb. Dear Lord, she loved him a little more every day.

It was a terrifying thought.

He bent his head and nuzzled her shoulder, traced the star-shaped birthmark the sleeveless nightgown could not hide, bent and pressed his mouth to the spot. "I've seen a mark like this before. I've been trying to remember where it was."

Lee turned away, an uneasy feeling crawling into her stomach. She knew who carried a mark like this. Her mother had told her and so had her aunt.

"It'll come to me, sooner or later."

Lee hoped he never recalled, but even if he did, surely the mark he had seen had nothing to do with her.

"You must be tired," she said, changing the subject. "Why don't you finish undressing so you can get some sleep?"

His mouth curved roguishly. "I'm not tired, woman—I'm hungry. I think I'd like a little dessert and I know exactly the thing." Bending his head to her breast, he whispered, "Some fresh berries would exactly suit my appetite."


It took Caleb three more days to remember where he had seen a birthmark the same shape as the one Lee carried on her shoulder. The dormitory at Oxford. The rusty-pink, star-shaped image rode in the exact same location on the shoulder, but the bearer of the mark hadn't been a woman. It had been a young student named Bronson Montague, eldest son of the Marquess of Kinleigh, who boarded in the room next to his.

Now that Caleb remembered seeing the mark on Bronson's shoulder, the memory continued to nag him. Could Lee be related to Montague in some way? Bronson was older, the same age as Caleb. He wondered if Lee knew anything about him.

It was the question foremost on his mind as he climbed the stairs to her suite at the Hotel Purley. He hadn't looked for any other place. He wouldn't be in London that much longer, though he still hadn't told Lee how soon he would be leaving.

He was acting as her lady's maid at present, enjoying the role more than he would have thought. He wanted her all to himself. He didn't want to spoil the brief time they had left together. Or perhaps he was simply trying to avoid the truth himself.

Whatever the reason, the days were slipping away, and Caleb was determined that when he left London, Lee Durant would be facing a better sort of life than she was living now.

Thinking about her brought a faint smile to his face. Yesterday they had finished the last of their shopping, more fun than he had expected since Lee was so excited about everything she bought—an amazing assortment of gowns, walking dresses, morning dresses, riding habits, bonnets, gloves, mantuas, cloaks, pelisses, boots and slippers.

"I never liked shopping before," she told him. "It's different when you're buying things for yourself. Before I was buying clothes for Vermillion."

Something about the way she said the name gave his heart a little pang. It was clear she was Lee now, a new and different person, even more vibrant than the independent young woman he had first discovered in the stable. And even more enticing.

Last night they had gone to the opera and Lee had surprised him by translating the Italian lyrics for him.

"I've always loved opera," she said, a wistful look in her eyes. "Since the first time Aunt Gabby took me to see Lucio Vero when I was a little girl."

"Where did you learn to speak Italian?" he asked.

"My aunt believed in a thorough education. Aunt Gabby says it makes a woman more interesting to a man." She shrugged. "Whatever the reason, I am grateful. I also speak Latin, and of course I speak French."

Caleb smiled, no longer daunted by her ancestry. "My French is passable at best, but I'm fluent in Spanish. It's come in handy over the past few years."

The words brought a pall over the conversation and he wished he hadn't said them. He told himself it was time to tell her how soon he would be returning to duty, but she started smiling again and he decided to wait.

Today he was taking her to the house she often visited in Buford Street, to see Helen and Annie and the other women and children who had become her friends.

Earlier that morning, he had left to run a couple of errands. Sometime just before dawn, he had started thinking again about the traitor passing secrets to the French, and though he was officially off the assignment, a couple of things needed checking into.