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his legs tensed.

"No Socratic method?" she teased, and with a prayer to goddesses everywhere, she lowered her head to touch her tongue to the tip, to swirl around it.

He choked out a sound, and it didn't seem to be pain.

"You will come inside me?" she asked.

"Or?" His voice was hoarse.

"Or I will do my best to drive you mad."

She looked down, and suddenly any trace of reluctance fled. She longed to taste him, and put her mouth over and sucked.

"Behold a lunatic!" He surged up and seized her, and she was flat on her back, him deep inside before she caught breath.

With a happy laugh, she wrapped her legs tight around him as he drove in and out. She did nothing more but surrender and let him purge the last tawdry remnant of Lord Randolph's pathetic assault.

She had to think, when she could think again, to decide whether he was still inside. When she realized he was, she hugged him and said, "Thank you."

He still lay over her, heavy but welcome, and she ran her fingers through his hair.

"I will never let you go," she said, rubbing her cheek against his head, "so you might as well surrender to the lunatic moon. Or I'll just have to seduce you every full moon for the rest of our lives."

"The full moon," he said almost sleepily, "is tomorrow."

"Is that an invitation?"

He didn't reply, and she realized he was asleep. Despite his weight pinning her, she smiled through tears of love and joy. Surrender at last.

Chapter 30

She woke as if from a dream to bright sunshine shafting through a slit in drawn curtains.

Alone.

Bolting upright, she saw nothing to suggest the night. No oil, certainly no lover. Even the pillow he would have used was smooth.

Had she dreamed it? No. Traces of oil remained on the sheets, in stains and sensual perfume. He'd been here. He, the essence of him, had come within touch of her questing fingertips.

More than that. For a short time he had been hers, mind, body, and soul.

But now he was gone, and his careful obliteration of his presence filled her with despair. The final battle had not been won because it wasn't a matter of will, after all. That could be changed by a stronger will.

For him, it was a matter of the soul.

What, save God, could help with that?

Muddled last night, she'd assumed she was in his bedroom, but of course she wasn't. This room, though grand, held no personal items. Anyway, he wouldn't take her there and risk her reputation. Not the omnipotent, omniscient, infinitely controlled Marquess of Rothgar. She beat her hands on the bed. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him!

Then she sank her head in her hands. She had to face the day as well. The king. Society. Him.

Oh God, oh God. They could end this day forced into marriage to save her reputation. If he'd retreated behind the walls again they'd be in a worse state than when they'd begun.

She struggled out of bed and splashed her face with the cold water in the bowl. What was known? What would be said? What would the king's reaction be to this scandal?

Would the king see her as the innocent victim, or as a cause of trouble? She knew Bey would have come up with some clever explanation of the rescue, and for bringing her back here, but what could explain her slipping out of the house in response to a note from a man?

Turning back to the bed, she saw a bloodstain, and burst into wild laughter. At last her courses had begun, but now it might make people think she'd lost her virginity here!

A knock on the door. Diana spun to face it, but only Clara came in, wide eyed and bearing a jug of hot water. "Oh, milady, I'm so glad you're all right! I didn't know what to do, and that's the truth. I kept quiet, but I was so worried!"

The big jug tilted, and Diana rescued it. "It's all right, Clara. You did the right thing." So, Clara hadn't raised the alarm. That might help. "What happened?"

"I couldn't sleep a wink, of course. And then at first light that Madam Swellenborg came to say you'd been kidnapped, and rescued by the marquess, and I was to pack up your things to move here." She'd begun to stare at Diana, however. "Is... is that a shirt, milady?"

Diana looked down and felt her face burn. "My dress was ruined," she said, adding