Michael studied her face searchingly. "The first time is often painful for a woman."

"It didn't get any better. In fact, things got-worse. The… the pleasures of the flesh were very important to Colin. He assumed that in return for surrendering his freedom he was getting a beautiful, lusty bedmate." Sadly she thought of the exciting time when she had just met Colin, and she had believed she was normal. "Based on how I behaved when we were courting, he had every reason to expect that. Instead, whenever he touched me, I began to cry."

"That must have been dreadful for both of you," Michael said with deep compassion.

"It was horrible," she said vehemently. "I never refused him, but he found me so unsatisfactory that he soon stopped asking. We were both relieved when I became pregnant. Without ever discussing it, we devised a kind of silent pact that made our marriage tolerable."

"So you knew about his other women, but never complained?"

"Complain?" She gave a humorless smile. "I was grateful for them. As long as he was happy, I didn't feel so guilty. I did my best to provide a comfortable home for Colin and Amy. In return, he supported us and didn't torment me about my failure. I got the better of the bargain, really. Colin was a decent husband and a father. He was careless in many ways, but he didn't abandon us, and he never allowed another man to bother me. No one ever knew what a farce our marriage was. Not until now."

"There were benefits for him," Michael said dryly. "Colin was a born womanizer. In you, he found the perfect wife-a beautiful, compliant woman who was the envy of every man he met. You never nagged about his philandering, and as a married man he never had to worry about other women trying to maneuver him into marriage. Some men would consider that heaven."

"Perhaps that's true. But the fact remains, I was the one who failed our marriage. I'm not fit to be a wife." Especially not the wife of the man she loved. She continued, "You see now why I can't marry you, or anyone. You can't possibly want a woman who cannot fulfill the most fundamental duty of a wife."

"Considering how much I desire you, that would be difficult. And yet…" Michael hesitated, then said slowly, "even so, I think I would marry you if you would accept me."

Her eyes widened. "You can't be serious."

"No?" He cupped her face with a warm hand. "I enjoy being with you, Catherine. As for the physical part-we may be able to work that out to our mutual satisfaction."

Her lips thinned. "I accepted Colin's infidelity, but I hated it. I won't have such a marriage again."

"Adultery was not what I had in mind." His fingers lightly skimmed her ear and throat, causing a shiver of pleasure to run through her. "Intercourse is not the only way to find physical satisfaction. I don't think you're cold by nature, so you might learn to enjoy some of the other possibilities."

"I'm not sure I understand." Heat rose in her face. "I'm ignorant as well as deformed."

"Ignorance can be cured, and it's possible that you're not deformed at all. The pain you experienced could have been the result of youth and inexperience, and a certain insensitivity on the part of a young husband." He searched for more words, then shook his head with exasperation. "Polite society doesn't discuss such matters, so forgive me if I say things that embarrass you. Bluntly put, if intercourse is forced too quickly, it will be uncomfortable for both partners, especially the woman. Once fear set in, you might have been caught in a vicious circle, with your body so dry and unyielding that you experienced pain again and again. The more the pain, the greater the fear."

"Surely it was more than that," she said doubtfully.

"Perhaps," he admitted. "But even if you were unusually small when you were sixteen, bearing a child causes permanent changes. It's quite possible that you will no longer experience the pain you felt when you first married."

It was a startling theory, almost terrifying in its implications. To be able to lie with a man without agony. To have another child. To be normal.

Not quite daring to hope, Catherine said, "You're about to say there is only one way to find out if you're right."

Michael gave her a long, level look. "I know I'm asking a great deal. Are you willing to try?"

"It was easier to go onto a battlefield during combat," she said with a shaky laugh. "But… dear God, Michael, I want so much to believe that you're right. That I'm a normal woman, that I'm capable of doing what almost every other woman in existence does."

He took her hand again. She looked down and saw the faint saber scar, and the sheer size and power of the warm fingers that engulfed hers. He was so large. So male.

The awareness triggered a sudden, ghastly memory of being a helpless thing trapped beneath a pounding masculine body. Of pain and violence that were degradingly personal. She pressed her fist to her mouth, her teeth biting into her knuckles. "But… the fear runs deep."

"Of course it does. It wasn't created in an hour, and it won't be healed in an hour," he said soothingly. "There are many, many kinds of sensual pleasure other than intercourse. You need to learn to enjoy them. Only when you've done that will it be time for the final intimacy."

She felt like a young bird being told it was time to leave the nest. All she had to do was jump from her nice safe bough and she would be able to fly. Unless, of course, her wings were inadequate, and she fell helplessly to the ground, smashing every bone in her body.

Seeing her indecision, he gently kissed the inside of her wrist. Her pulse accelerated under his warm lips, and heat curled insidiously through her.

"I swear I will do nothing-nothing at all-that you don't like," he said softly. "If you become uncomfortable at any time, simply tell me to stop. Can you trust me to do that?"

His green eyes burned with an intensity that touched cold, desolate places deep inside her. With a shock, she recognized that ever since they had met, he had suppressed his innate sensual power because he considered her beyond the pale.

That was no longer true. He desired her, and he was saying so with every subtle, voiceless lure a man could use to enthrall a woman. In the fact of his potent masculinity, she had no more will than a moth flying into the flame, seeking one transcendent moment of joy before being consumed.

"Yes, Michael, I trust you," she said huskily. "Do with me what you will."

Chapter 27

A smile started in Michael's eyes and spread across his face. "I'm so glad. I don't think you will regret it, either. We might as well begin tonight, before you have a chance to worry yourself into knots. Are you game?"

She immediately tensed. "Tonight?"

"First lesson only," he said reassuringly. "It will end whenever you wish."

He drew her from the chair into his arms, tenderly stroking her head where it lay on his shoulder. As his strong fingers kneaded her nape, she murmured, "That's very soothing."

"Since you like being petted, I think I'll treat you to what the French call a massage," he said thoughtfully. "Will you let me use your bottle of that lovely rose-scented skin lotion that makes you smell good enough to eat?"

"My Spanish lotion?" she said doubtfully.

He laughed, and she felt the rumblings of his levity under her ear. "You think I've gone mad, don't you? Don't worry, I promise you'll like this. We're going to turn this room into a delicious, and utterly painless, den of iniquity. First, a fire so the room will be warm enough for bare skin."

He released her and stood, then went to the fireplace. "Undress and wrap yourself in a sheet. And let your hair down."

Bemused, she did as he ordered. By the time she had brushed her hair out and emerged from behind the screen, swaddled in a sheet from the linen chest, the fire was burning steadily and Michael had made a soft pallet of folded blankets in front of the hearth. He had also changed to a green robe tied with a sash at the waist. It fell open loosely over his chest, revealing soft patterns of dark hair and hard planes of muscle.

She had come to know his body very well when she nursed him, but she had tried to make herself think of him only as a patient. For the first time, she allowed herself the pleasure of open admiration. He was beautiful, strong and well-made, utterly male…

The thought of surrendering herself to that strength chilled her. She turned away and silently got her lotion from the dresser. He examined her face shrewdly as she handed him the bottle. "We have a long way to go, don't we? We'll start with a single small step. How far the journey goes is up to you." He held out his other hand.

Shyly she took it. He drew her forward for a kiss. Gentle and undemanding, it loosened the coiled fear inside her. Her taut muscles eased as his hand made slow circles on her back. "You taste wonderful," he murmured. "Like nectar. Like music."

She actually giggled. "That doesn't make sense."

"Sense is not welcome within these walls tonight." He slipped his arm around her waist and led her to the pallet. "Lie on your lovely front and I'll drape the sheet over you. Then I will massage you, starting with your back."

She stretched out on her stomach. He arranged the linen sheet over her, the weight of the fabric settling lightly on her bare skin. She felt tense, acutely aware of her nakedness and vulnerability.

"It's easy to tell when you feel anxious." He knelt beside her and moved the mass of her hair to the side of her head. Then he opened the lotion bottle, rubbing the rose-scented fluid between his palms. "You become as hard as a piece of army biscuit. A soldier of mine was spared when a ball struck a biscuit in his pocket. Even a French bullet couldn't penetrate the damned thing."