“You’re not acting as though you truly find me difficult.”
He flung the towel around her and lifted her into his arms. “I find you adorable.”
He carried her to his bed and very gently dried her off, then he flung the towel aside.
With one smooth motion, he sank into her and stilled. “When I saw him strike you, when you fell—” His voice was rough with emotion.
“Don’t think about it,” she urged.
“Why do you have to be so damned courageous?” he asked as he kissed her neck, her ear, her throat, her chin.
She wondered if he’d want her if she weren’t, but she wasn’t brave enough to ask, so perhaps she wasn’t as courageous after all.
“Don’t talk,” she murmured as she kissed his temples.
He took her slowly, as though he realized this would be the last time, savoring each thrust, creating memories with each touch. There was nothing frenzied about their joining. Rather it was simply an appreciation that they’d escaped the fire, a celebration of survival, and perhaps in a way, a farewell.
As the pleasure peaked, she shivered in his arms, he shuddered in hers. Breathing heavily, he pressed a kiss to her temple before rolling off her and drawing her near.
Nestled up against him, she fell into a deep sleep.
“Mummy!”
“Shh, darling, shh, we have to be quiet. We’re playing a game. We’re going to hide from Papa.”
“Scared.”
“Shh. Don’t be frightened, darling. Shh. Mummy will never let anything bad happen.
We’re going to have fun. Do you see the magical lever? It’s our little secret.”
Catherine awoke to an agonized groaning. At first she thought it was the thunder, but then she became aware of being in the bed alone, of harsh breathing in the room.
Reaching out to the bedside table, she turned up the flame in the lamp.
It chased back the shadows to reveal Claybourne, naked, kneeling on the floor, rocking, his arms wrapped around his stomach as though he were suffering intense pain. She scrambled out of bed and crouched before him. “Luke, Luke, whatever’s wrong?”
He lifted his face, and she saw the tears trailing down his cheeks.
“I remember,” he rasped. “Dear God, I remember.”
Feeling powerless to stop his agony, she touched his shoulders, his face. “Remember what?”
She heard him swallow, felt him shudder beneath her fingers. “My parents. Ah, it hurts!”
“Your head?”
“No, my heart. It was my uncle.”
“Luke, darling, I don’t understand.”
“They took me to a menagerie. So many animals. A lion. And a giraffe. And a striped horse. I didn’t want to leave. But it was growing dark and the crowds were thinning—
there had been so many people that the carriage was parked far away. I grew tired of walking. My father lifted me onto his shoulders. And then the boy…”
His voice trailed off, but she was still confused. What was he saying?
“What about the boy?” she asked.
