She paused in her pacing and buried her face in her hands. Dear God, how humiliating if he knew… if he pitied her for her hopeless feelings. But what else could he do except pity her? There was no chance that he would return her feelings. He might treat her kindly, hold her in some affection, but he would never fall in love with her. Never want to marry her and spend his life with her. His earlier words reverberated through her mind. I've no intention of ever marrying.

She'd had no desire to marry either, a decision that had been simple to accept before today. Why would she wish to spend her life with someone who did not respect her dedication to her scientific studies? She hoped to someday make an important contribution to medicine with her honey cream-something Eric did respect. Now, for the first time, she could see that she would not have to give up her dreams in order to appease a man.

But the man she wanted had made his aversion to marriage very clear. Why did he feel so strongly about it? She shook her head. Although she was curious, in the end his reasons did not matter. He did not wish to marry, and that was that. And even if he should some day change his mind, he would of course choose a beautiful, young wife from the peerage.

Her common sense told her to end things between them. Immediately. Before she further risked her heart. But her heart rebelled, urging her to grasp whatever time she could with him, and to enjoy it while it lasted. She'd have a lifetime to mend her heart.

Perhaps. Yet she suspected her heart would never mend. And she could never bear his pity. And she'd never successfully hide her feelings from him. For her own sake, to save herself from falling so far in love with him that she would never recover, she had to end their affair.

Still, she could not bear the thought of not seeing him one more time. She had to hold him, touch him, just once more. To store up the memories that would have to last her for all the empty, lonely nights ahead. They'd agreed to meet again tonight, at the garden gate at eleven o'clock, then depart for his lodge. She would cherish him one more time, then pray she'd find the strength to let him go.


Eric stood in front of the windows in his private study, sipping his morning coffee. His gaze wandered to the mantel clock and a wry smile twisted his lips. Exactly three minutes had passed since he'd last checked the time.

Fourteen hours until he saw her again. No, actually fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes. How the hell was he going to fill the time? He glanced at his desk. Several dozen pieces of correspondence required his attention, as did the accounts for his Norfolk estate.

He expelled a long, frustrated breath. No matter how he might try to engross himself in work, nothing would banish the memories of last night. The feel of her under him. Over him. Wrapped around him. The sound of his name on her lips as she climaxed in his arms. Discovering all the fascinating secrets of her body. Her wide-eyed, wondrous exploration of his. The white-hot intensity tempered by the laughter they'd shared.

None of his previous sexual encounters had prepared him for what he'd experienced with Samantha. Never before had he felt this overwhelming rush of fierce protectiveness. This chest-aching tenderness. This sharp-edged desire to know everything about her… her mind as well as her body. This raw need to please her in every way. To hold her to him and simply not let her go.

Draining his last sip of coffee, he set the china cup on his desk, then pressed his fingers to his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the unsettling emotions scraping at him. Damn it all, he felt edgy, yet at the same time, uncharacteristically vulnerable. And he didn't like it one bit. How had she-an innocent in the ways of love-managed to arouse and enchant him as no experienced woman ever had? Why wasn't last night proving to be like all the other nights he'd spent in a lover's arms-delightful while it lasted, yet eminently forgettable once the act was completed?

A dozen words to describe last night jumped into his mind, but forgettable was not one of them. A humorless laugh rumbled in his throat as he recalled how less than a fortnight ago he'd entertained the notion that he could see Samantha Briggeham one more time and then forget her. What a raging jest on him! He hadn't been able to push the woman from his thoughts before he'd made love to her. Now she occupied every corner of his brain.

Forget her? How could he hope to do so when the feel of her, the scent of her, was indelibly etched in his mind? And, he feared, more than his mind. It was as if she'd engraved her name across his heart. And soul. A disturbing development to be sure.

This desire, this need for her, sorely tested his control, a facet of himself he'd always prided himself on. It had required a Herculean effort keep from spilling his seed in her last night. In truth, he'd barely managed to withdraw in time.

His gut clenched, and he mentally cursed himself. How had he allowed their relationship to progress to this point? Why had he pursued something so utterly impossible? Because you're a selfish bastard and you couldn't keep your hands off her. As much as it shamed him, he couldn't deny the truth of his inner voice. And there was only one way to fix what his selfishness had wrought.

He would have to end their affair.

Everything in him cringed in protest, and he swore his heart screamed No! But damn it all, these… feelings, these soft and tender emotions she generated in him did more than unsettle him. They frightened him. He could not offer her the sort of future she deserved. Indeed, any long-term liaison with him might possibly place her in danger.

Their affair would have to end sooner or later. For both their sakes, he needed to make it sooner.

But God, not just yet.

He had to see her again. One more time. To memorize every look, every touch, every inch of her. Because he knew, in his suddenly heavy heart, that he would never meet another woman like Samantha Briggeham.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the study door.

"Come in."

Eversley entered, his normally impassive butler's face showing unprecedented animation. "You've a guest, my lord."

His heart jumped. Had Samantha come to him? Forcing his voice to remain impassive, he asked, "Who is here?"

An unmistakable sheen glinted in Eversley's eyes. " 'Tis Lady Darvin, my lord."

At that moment, his sister, Margaret, appeared behind Eversley. Perfectly coiffed dark hair surrounded her face, which in spite of showing signs of strain and fatigue, was still beautiful. Tears shimmered in her dark eyes that exactly matched his own. He searched her gaze, relieved that no suffering lingered in her eyes, although it was painfully obvious she remained haunted and pitifully unsure of herself.

Her bottom lip trembled. "Hello, Eric. Thank you for-"

He reached her in three long strides, catching her against him in a fierce hug that cut off her words. Her arms slipped around his waist, and with her hands fisted against his back, she buried her face against his shirt. Long shudders racked her body, and he tightened his arms around her, prepared to stand there all day and absorb her tears if that's what she needed.

A lump lodged in his throat, and he cursed his inability to absorb her suffering as well. Damn, she felt so small and fragile in his arms, yet he knew she possessed an inner strength that defied her delicate appearance. He nodded to Eversley who discreetly withdrew. The instant the door closed behind the butler, Eric lowered his head, resting his cheek against her soft hair.

A smile touched his lips. She still smelled of roses. She always had, even as a little girl. Even at the age of ten, when she'd escaped the watchful eye of her governess and played in the mud. She'd returned to the house utterly filthy and bedraggled, but by damn, she'd still smelled like roses.

After several minutes, her shudders subsided. Lifting her head, she looked up at him through damp, spiky lashes. The bleak emptiness shadowing her eyes squeezed his heart like a fist. It was a look he vowed to erase.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I fell apart like that. I'm just so glad to see you. And to be here."

He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. "You have no idea how good it is to have you here. This is your home, Margaret. You are welcome to live here as long as you wish." He offered her a smile. "It's been lonely here without you."

She did not return his smile, and his gut clenched at the reminder that this was not the same bright-eyed, laughing girl from his youth. He inwardly cursed their father and the man he'd forced her to marry, for stealing her laughter and joy. By God, I'll do everything in my power to see that you are never sad again.

"Actually, this is your home, Eric," she said, "and I am grateful for your generosity."

" 'Tis no hardship to enjoy the company of my favorite sister."

She did not smile, but he thought he detected a tiny glint of amusement in her eyes. "I am your only sister."

"Ah, but even if I had a dozen others, I know you would still be my favorite."

Instead of the laugh he'd hoped for, she stepped back from his embrace. Walking to the window, she looked out at the flowering garden. "I'd forgotten how… beautiful it is here."

His hands fisted. The catch in her voice broke his heart. Forcing his own voice to be cheery, he asked, "Why don't we stroll through the gardens, and I'll bring you up to date on all the local news. Then, this afternoon, perhaps you'd care to accompany me on a visit."