She clung to his neck, opening her mouth to draw him in. Energy, hot and carnal, flowed between them. Desire licked through her body, settling deep in her womb.

Anthony reached up to gently grip the tidy braids of her hair, pulling her head back as he kissed his way down from her mouth. She pulled in a sobbing breath as his lips fastened on her neck with a teasing suck.

“Anthony,” she moaned.

He gave a soft, guttural laugh, then licked the base of her throat as he gently pulled her back into an arch. Her breasts, aching in the confinement of their stays, rubbed against the silk of his waistcoat. Sensation streaked out from her nipples, gathering in the cove between her thighs. She whimpered and shamelessly rubbed herself against his erection. It was all so delicious, so overpowering, her senses swam.

“Wait,” she gasped, clutching his shoulders.

He growled in frustration but eased her away from his body. “Damn it, Marissa! I’ve been waiting thirteen years for this. And you want to stop me?”

If she hadn’t been so light-headed, she would have giggled at the aggrieved masculinity in his voice. “Anthony, my legs feel like jelly. Can we please sit down?”

A predatory grin curled the edges of his sensual mouth. “I’m yours to command, My Lady,” he purred.

He swept her up — this time she did giggle — and carried her to the sofa. He set her down and began to pull her clothes off with impatient hands.

“Anthony,” she squeaked as one of her buttons popped, ricocheting off the low table in front of the sofa.

“I’ll buy you a new dress. I’ll buy you a hundred new dresses,” he said through clenched teeth. “But right now I’m getting you out of this one.”

A moment later, he tossed her gown over a chair. A few moments after that, her stays and chemise followed. Leaving her stockings on, he lifted her in his arms and carefully placed her on the sofa.

“Now you,” she murmured, reaching for his waistcoat. “I want to see all of you.”

He pulled off his coat, ripping a seam in the process, and then divested himself of the rest of his clothing. As he turned to her, candlelight flickered along the hard vaulting of his ribs, his broad shoulders, and the dense, tightly knit muscles of his chest and abdomen. She caught her breath at the impressive size of his erection — that part she had somehow managed to forget — and her innermost flesh grew soft and damp.

He came down on her, pressing her into the velvet cushions of the sofa.

“Open for me, darling,” he whispered, as he settled between her spread thighs.

Marissa groaned and let her head fall back. Draping her arms loosely around Anthony’s shoulders, she gave herself up to all the fantasies she had ever had about him.

But the reality was so much better.

He propped himself on his elbows, studying her body through slitted eyes of gold. Marissa panted as her breasts quivered and her nipples stiffened under his gaze. She squirmed, trying to increase the contact between their bodies.

A long breath hissed out between his teeth. His dark head lowered to her breast and his tongue flicked one nipple. Once, twice, three times.

“Please,” she gasped, arching up into his chest. “Anthony, I can’t wait.”

“God, Marissa,” he groaned, “neither can I.”

He clamped his calloused palms around her face, holding her still for his devouring kiss. As his tongue slid between her lips, hot and demanding, he pressed his length against her. He slipped one hand down to her bottom, tilting her hips up to meet him. Then, with a long, low thrust, he pushed inside.

She cried out, breaking free of his kiss to thrash her head against the velvet pillows. It was like nothing she remembered. He filled her, possessed her, as he had never done before. Anthony was no longer a boy, but a man, with a man’s power and a man’s way of loving a woman.

He flexed his hips, moving slowly at first until she heard her own voice — breathless and needy — begging for more. And he gave her everything she needed, taking her with long, powerful strokes. The end came quickly, like a rip tide, driving her to a shattering climax.

Anthony came with her, growling out her name as he thrust into her one last time. She gripped him with her arms and legs, curling around him as joy flooded her soul, obliterating years of shame and denial in an overwhelming rush of emotion.

He collapsed on to her, big, sweaty and heavy. Marissa didn’t care. She wanted to lie there all night, with him inside, loving her as it was always meant to be. She was safe, home at last.

Her eyes flew open.

Home. Where Antonia was. Anthony’s daughter.

Suddenly, he was crushing her. A surge of panic squeezed her chest and throat. “Anthony,” she gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

His head came up. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, but he moved, shifting their bodies so that she came to rest between the back of the sofa and his chest. One big hand stroked down the length of her spine as he murmured soothing words and planted soft kisses on the top of her head.

Under the influence of that comforting voice and hand, her breath slowed and her reason returned. Of course she had to tell him that Antonia was his daughter. He would know it, anyway, as soon as he caught sight of her eyes. Unless Marissa intended to hide Antonia away — which would be well nigh impossible — he was bound to meet her sooner or later.

She squeezed her eyes shut, snuggling into the warmth of his body as his arms tightened around her. She should tell him, right now, but she couldn’t force the words past the lump in her throat.

Tomorrow. She would tell him tomorrow. Or the next day, after she’d thought about the most sensible way to break the news. After all, Anthony might not want a ready-made family. Or he might be furious that she hadn’t already told him. Marissa couldn’t bear the thought of ruining this moment between them — not when they had just found each other after so long apart.

And she had to think about Antonia, too. What in God’s name would she say to her daughter about all this?

Anthony’s deep voice rumbled through his chest and into her body, startling her out of her uneasy reverie. “What troubles you, my sweet?”

She looked up. He gave her a loving smile, but his eyes were sombre and watchful. Her heart twisted at the idea that he might reject Antonia. He might reject her, too, for keeping such a dark secret.

Tomorrow, whispered the coward’s voice in her head.

She stretched up to kiss him. “Nothing, my love. Everything is just perfect.”

Anthony strode along Bond Street, feeling as light as a gull skimming over the whitecaps. For the first time in years, all was right with the world.

As he skirted a pair of dandies preening at their own reflections in a shop window, he patted his waistcoat to check that the small box from Phillip’s jewellers remained safely stowed in his pocket. Marissa’s engagement ring was a stunner — a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds. The stone matched her eyes. That made him a sentimental fool, of course, but he didn’t care. He would propose to her this evening, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

As he made his way to a hackney stand on Piccadilly, he spied a woman walking hand in hand with a young girl as they turned into Hatchard’s bookshop.

Marissa. He’d recognize her graceful figure anywhere. The girl must be her daughter.

He smiled. No time like the present to meet his future stepdaughter. Not that he would drop any hints, but surely Marissa couldn’t object to introducing him, especially under these circumstances. Meeting her might even be easier this way — running into them in a casual fashion. And he had to admit he was eager to meet the child. Marissa obviously adored her, and Anthony had every intention of loving her, too.

He crossed the street and followed them into Hatchard’s. After a short search, he found them looking through a pile of books, their backs to him as he approached.

“Lady Paget,” he said, affecting surprise. “How do—”

Marissa spun on her heel. She gasped, all the colour leaching from her complexion as she stared at him in horror. The girl turned with her, lifting a questioning gaze to his face. Her big amber eyes opened wide and her mouth gaped into a surprised little oval.

Anthony’s mind whirled as he stared into a living picture of himself as a child, especially her eyes. He had never seen eyes like that anywhere but reflected in the mirror.

After he managed to pound his brain into a semblance of order, he dragged his gaze to Marissa’s dead-white face. Her desperate eyes pleaded for mercy.

“How old is she?” he rasped. “She’s older than you told me, isn’t she?”

Marissa pressed a hand to her mouth, looking like the world had just come to an end. Maybe it had — for him, anyway.

“I’ll find out, whether you tell me or not,” he threatened.

“My daughter is twelve,” she finally whispered.

He could barely comprehend the words, or even hear them through the roaring in his ears. Not that he needed to. Proof was in that childish gaze, darting back and forth between the two adults.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he growled at Marissa.

She cast an anxious glance around the store. “Captain Barnett, please keep your voice down.”

The girl tugged on her mother’s arm. “Mamma, what’s happening?”

Marissa dredged up a weak smile. “Just a small misunderstanding, darling. Don’t worry.”

Anthony gave a harsh laugh. “Is that what people call it these days?”

“I’ll explain everything later,” she replied, looking frantic. “But I beg you, don’t make a scene.”