body, and the probe of his penis. It was smooth and hard at her entrance. He swirled it against her moisture and then with one quick thrust seated himself within her. She felt the depression of the mattress on either side of her shoulders, as if he held his upper body up off her with his arms. Then his mouth was against her left nipple as he set a leisurely pace. He thrust and withdrew firmly, but without any haste, as if he had all the time in the world. As if she were his private plaything that he might amuse himself with for as long as he wished.
He tongued her nipple, then moved to the other, his penis moving in and out of her without pause. It was maddening. She tried to thrust up, but the bonds prevented her.
“Please,” she whimpered.
“What is it?” he whispered like some devil in her ear.
“Please.”
“Tell me.” He kissed her ear.
“Harder.”
There was a split second’s pause and then a low, muttered curse. He hitched himself up her and slammed himself into her as if he’d lost all control. Fast and hard, as she’d asked, and it was pure bliss. White light burst behind her eyelids, hot and blinding, and she would have cried out had he not covered her mouth with his. He kissed her deeply as he continued to pound into her, taking his pleasure on her helpless body.
And when he jerked and broke their kiss, rubbing his face into her neck, she knew he’d found his bliss as well. He thrust once more, and again, and then his entire weight slumped against her.
For a moment they lay like that, and then the neckcloth was removed from her face. She blinked up into his sapphire eyes.
“Now will you tell me what the matter is?” he asked.
MAKING LOVE TO Temperance like this had been like a dream come true. But there had been something missing. Something small, nagging at the back of his brain, and the moment Lazarus took the neckcloth off her face, he knew what it was: Temperance’s eyes. He’d wanted to see the golden stars in her eyes as they made love. And he’d wanted for her to see his eyes.
To see him.
Those extraordinary gilded eyes shifted away from his gaze now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He should’ve felt anger at her obvious prevarication, but instead tenderness flooded him. He pushed the hair back from her face. “Cut line, Temperance. Tell me.”
She pulled at the bonds on her wrists. “Untie me.”
He nuzzled her cheek. “Not until you tell me.”
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Mary Hope, the baby I brought home that first night we met, is dying.”
Relief was a liquid lightness in his chest. She’d told him; she’d let him in a little. “I’m sorry.”
“She’s so small, so weak. I should’ve known she would not make it. But then she rallied for a bit and I hoped…”
He was silent, absorbing her pain.
She sobbed and shook her head. “She’s dying there at the home. I couldn’t bear to watch her struggle to breathe, so I left Nell to nurse her.”
“It’s all right.” He lifted his head to look at her. “You bear so much already.”
“No.” She grimaced, as if in physical pain. “I don’t bear enough. Winter collapsed this morning. The home is killing him, I fear. I should never have left there today. I should never have come here.”
“No, you probably shouldn’t have left, but everyone needs a rest sometime. Don’t worry yourself so.”
She merely shook her head.
He kissed her forehead, thinking. An uneasy emotion he couldn’t quite identify was growing in his chest. “That home is like a prison for you.”
Her eyes flew open. “What?”
He reached to work at the ties at her wrists. “I’ve wondered for some time why you insist on working there. Do you like it? Do you enjoy the work?”
“The children—”
“The work is no doubt very admirable,” he said. “But do you enjoy it?”
She didn’t reply and he looked down at her. She was staring at him wide-eyed. He’d succeeded in shocking her into silence, it seemed.
“Do you like it?” he asked again gently.
“Liking has nothing to do with it.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No. No, of course not. The home is a charity. One doesn’t have to enjoy charity.”
He half smiled. “Then there is no shame in admitting you don’t like it.”
“I’ve never thought about it one way or the other. I like the children, naturally, and I do sometimes feel satisfied when we place one