He slowly caressed her folds, then eased a finger inside her. A long groan vibrated in her throat. Unlocking her hands at the back of his neck, she ran her palms down his thighs. She broke off their kiss, and whispered against his throat, “Touch you… want to touch you.”

Slipping his finger from her velvety heat, he grasped her waist and helped her turn over. Rising to her knees between his spread legs, she settled her backside on her heels. A groan escaped him at the sight of her, azure eyes glittering, dark hair mussed, the lower part wet and clinging to her shoulders, color high, lips swollen and reddened from their kisses, full breasts topped with coral-tipped, aroused nipples, water streaming down her body. Before he could regain the wits just looking at her had robbed, she said, “Put your hands behind your head.”

Their eyes met, and his heart thudded at her unmistakable meaning. She meant to stroke him just as he’d stroked her. Lifting his arms, he locked his fingers at his nape. And prayed for strength.

Starting at his elbows, she slowly dragged her hands down his arms and over his chest, igniting a trail of flame under his skin. Watching her touching him, her eyes bright with avid curiosity, wonder, and desire, he knew he’d never seen a more arousing sight. Her hands skimmed over his hips, then down his thighs to his knees, where she changed direction and started her upward stroke.

“Do you like that, Philip?”

“God, yes.”

By gritting his teeth and clenching his fingers until they turned numb, he endured another slow pass of her hands along his body. On her third downward journey, her fingertips brushed over the head of his erection. He sucked in a sharp breath, then groaned.

Clearly encouraged by his response, she touched him again, this time trailing her fingers down the length of his rigid flesh. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, engulfed in raw sensations as her hands caressed and stroked him. When she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and gently squeezed him, a growl of need ripped from him, and he could no longer deny the demands of his body. He needed her, wanted her. Now.

Lifting his head, he reached for her, commanding in a raw voice, “Straddle me.”

Without hesitation, she rested her hands on his shoulders, then shifted her legs to the outside of his thighs. Grasping her hips, he settled her over the tip of his erection and gently urged her downward until her maidenhead impeded their progress. Their gazes locked, he simultaneously surged up and pressed her down, and buried himself deep within her silky heat.

Her eyes widened and his heart clenched. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head slowly, and he forced himself to remain perfectly still, to give her a chance to become accustomed to the feel of him, while he absorbed the exquisite sensation of her tight, velvety heat wrapped around him. Nearly a minute passed before she experimentally moved against him, dragging a groan from him.

Releasing her hips, he skimmed his hands up to her breasts, determined to allow her to set the pace. Watching every nuance of her wonder-filled arousal, he filled his hands with her breasts, while she slowly rocked against him. The effort to hold off his rapidly approaching orgasm beaded sweat on his forehead. Her tempo increased, and the last shreds of his control evaporated, leaving him lost, mindless with need. Gripping her hips, he thrust upward, hard and fast. Her eyes slid closed, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. The instant he felt her tighten around him, he let himself go, his own release pounding through him.

When his tremors finally subsided, he opened his eyes. Her eyes were still closed, and her head hung limply forward, as if too heavy for her neck to bear. Heart still thudding against his ribs, he said the one word he could manage.

“Meredith.”

She slowly lifted her head. Her eyelids fluttered open, and their gazes locked. A long, silent look passed between them. He wanted to say something, but damn it, words were beyond him. And even if they weren’t, what words could possibly describe what they’d just shared?

“I had no idea…” she finally said quietly. “Thank you. For showing me how beautiful that act can be.”

The area around his heart went hollow, then filled with such love for her, he ached with it. “Then I must thank you as well, because I never knew it could be that beautiful.”

She said nothing for several heartbeats, then a smile pulled up one corner of her lips, and a hint of mischief flickered in her eyes. “Do you think it’s possible that it could get even more beautiful?”

Smiling, he fisted his hand in her hair and dragged her mouth down to his. “A very intriguing hypothesis, one which I believe requires immediate experimentation,” he said, punctuating each word with a nipping kiss. “But as the water is growing cool, I suggest we remand to the comfort of my bed to conduct our research.”

They shared one final lush kiss, after which he helped her to rise. Then he stood and helped her step over the edge of the tub, onto the wooden stool, and down to the carpet. Following her out, he snatched up the strigil. He skimmed the instrument down each of her arms and legs, removing the water from her skin, then wrapped her in a thick towel, warmed from its spot near the fire. He was about to apply the strigil to his own arm when she asked, “May I?”

He set the instrument in her outstretched hand, then enjoyed her gentle ministrations. When she finished, he shrugged into his robe, then led her to stand in front of the fire, where he used the other warmed towel to dry her hair. When he finished, he stood in front of her, sifting his fingers through the long, dark, still slightly damp strands. She smiled up at him, a smile so filled with love and happiness, she dazzled him. “Would you mind terribly if I told you again that I love you?” she asked.

He frowned and pretended to give the question great thought. “Well, I suppose if you feel that you must…”

“Oh, I must.” Rising up on her toes, she looped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Philip.”

Pulling her tighter against him, he said, “I love you, too.”

Something flickered in her eyes, prompting him to ask, “What is it?”

“I was just thinking, do you think perhaps we might have… made a baby?”

The question stilled him. An image of her, large with their child, flashed in his mind. “I don’t know. But I do know the thought of you bearing our child…” His voice trailed off and he lowered his head to touch his forehead to hers. “The mere thought leaves me speechless with joy.”

She leaned back in the circle of his arms, her eyes dancing. “I can picture our son now. Strong and intelligent, with your kind eyes behind his spectacles, and your thick, dark hair.”

“And I can picture our daughter now,” he countered with a grin, “with your vivid coloring, determination, and generous spirit.” Taking her hand, he led her toward the bed. “What sort of wedding would you like? Something grand in St. Paul’s?”

“Actually, I’d prefer something simple. Perhaps here, in your home.”

“Then that is precisely what we shall have. I will arrange for a special license as soon as-”

His words cut off as she stumbled. Her hand slipped from his, and before he could catch her, she fell forward, landing on her knees, and breaking her fall with her palms. He dropped to his knees beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, helping her to sit back on her heels.

“Are you all right?”

“Y-yes. I must have tripped on something.”

He glanced around, but no stray objects littered the floor, nor were there any bumps in the carpet. He was about to ask her if she felt able to stand when she groaned and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed by her sudden pallor.

She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a sharp breath. “My head. It hurts. Severely.”

He stared at her, a kernel of uneasiness knotting his stomach. A fall… then a headache… The words from the Stone of Tears reverberated through his mind.


For true love’s very breath

Is destined for death.

Grace will fall, a stumble she’ll take,

Then suffer the pain of hell’s headache.

If ye have the gift of wedded bliss,

She will die before you kiss.

Or two days after the vows are said,

Your bride, so cursed, shall be found dead.

Once your intended has been lo

Nothing can save her from


Bloody hell, what were the missing words to the curse? Could it be ‘Once your intended has been loved?’ His uneasiness turned into dawning, stunned horror. She’d fallen. And now was suffering a terrible headache. By proposing to Meredith, telling her he loved her, then making love to her, had he brought the wrath of the curse upon her? If not, then the fall and the headache immediately following were odd coincidences-and by God, he didn’t believe in coincidence. Especially when his gut tightened in this foreboding way.

She groaned again and everything inside him froze. No, this was no odd coincidence. Stark fear iced his veins at the horrible realization that he’d done exactly that- brought the wrath of the curse upon her-and had thereby sealed her fate.

Unless he found a way to break the curse-

She would die in two days.

Nineteen

Philip knelt beside Meredith, who pressed her hands against her forehead and moaned. He struggled to draw a breath and silence the agonized Noooooo! ricocheting through his brain. Her falling, the headache, the curse… this could not be happening. Not when they’d just found each other. Not when their future, only seconds ago, had bloomed so bright upon the horizon.