“Dinah,” he murmured, and he withdrew his arm from beneath her knees and stroked back the hair fromher face with light fingertips.
She opened her eyes. It seemed that she had not fainted after all.
“Foolish Dinah,” he murmured, the words more a caress than a reproof. “Foolish, brave, impossible girl.You might have been killed.”
“They were going to shoot you,” she said. “One of them had the gun to his shoulder already. He wasgoing to kill you.” She raised one hand and touchedher fingers to his lips. Her hand was shaking slightly.
“But they didn’t,” he said. And he took her hand in his, lifted it, and kissed her palm.
“Edgar.” Her voice was trembling too.
He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. Warm, sweet, and trembling. “You are safe now,” hesaid against them. “And so am I, love. We are bothsafe.”
The truth of his words hit him with dizzying force and he could feel the sand beneath him and hear thewash of waves against the beach and smell the salt ofthe sea. He felt very, very alive. He parted his lips andtouched his tongue to her lips and was equally awareof her warmth and aliveness.
“Edgar.” Her arm came up about his neck and she turned in to him and left her lips parted beneath hisso that his tongue could circle the warm moistnessinside and finally, when she moaned, enter her mouthslowly, tentatively, deeply.
He wanted her as he had not wanted a woman in several years. He had been too busy for women, hislife too fraught with danger. He had sublimated theenergies he had once used on women into the life hehad been leading more recently. But he wanted Dinahwith all the desire that had been kept in check for toolong. He wanted her now.
“Sweet love,” he murmured against her ear, and he murmured countless endearments against her eyes, hertemples, her throat, her mouth, as his one hand soughtout the inviting warmth beneath her cloak and roamedover the firm young breasts and found the buttons extending from her throat to her waist. He undid themone by one and slid his hand inside, over her smoothfirm shoulder, down to the silky skin below and ondown to the soft swelling of her breast. He cupped hispalm beneath it and touched his thumb to her nipple,feeling it harden with answering desire.
God, he wanted her. His need pulsed through him.He wanted to be inside her. Inside her he wanted to release all the tensions and all the self-discipline thathad become a way of life with him. He wanted to giveall of himself to her and become vulnerable again,human again in her arms.
He withdrew his hand from her breast and reached down to draw up the hem of her nightgown. He feltthe slim smoothness of her ankle. And kept his handthere, stroking it lightly over the lower part of her leg.He wanted her more than he had ever wanted awoman—even the most beautiful and the most skillfulof the courtesans he had once possessed. The physicaldesire for her body was hammering through him. Butthere was something else too. Something that was atwar with his desire. There was tenderness and affection and—something else. She was not just a womanto cater to his desires. She was Dinah.
And then he listened to what she was saying, to what she had been saying for a little while, he realized.
“No,” she was saying, her voice small and bewildered. “Please, no.” She would not actively stop him. He could tell that. And she wanted him as he wantedher. Her body told him that. But the part of Dinah thatwas beyond the desire wanted him to stop, was begging him to stop, and would be shamed and sorry ifhe did not.
He kissed her warmly on the mouth. “All right, my love,” he whispered to her. “It’s all right.” And hecontinued to kiss her until the roaring of his own bloodin his ears had reduced to a mere thumping and shehad relaxed in his arms. He lifted his head and lookeddown into her eyes. God. Oh, God, she was preciousto him.
She gazed back at him before wriggling out of hisarms and getting to her feet and setting herself to rights, her back to him. Then she stood silently, looking out to sea. He stood up behind her and set hishands gently on her shoulders.
But she whirled on him, her eyes blazing, and struck his hands away. Then she raised the side of one fistand pounded it once against his chest. “You are asmuggler,” she said, disgust and contempt loud in hervoice. “And a murderer. Don’t touch me!”
He was taken aback. Shaken. “Neither, Dinah,” he said, taking a step toward her. But she took two back.
“I suppose it is a ghost ship,” she said, pointing dramatically into the distance. “I suppose that was aghost boat that pulled in to shore. You are a smuggler.A base, thieving smuggler.”
“No,” he said.
“And a murderer,” she said. “I saw you shoot the one customs officer. You gave the order for the shooting of the other. Your lackeys are burying them evennow where their families will never find them to mournthem. You are a murderer. You deserve to hang.”
“If I had not shot him,” he said, “then he would have shot me, Dinah. And if I had not told Trevor toshoot the other, he would have killed you. Self-defenseboth times. Not murder.”
“Murderer!” Her voice was shaking.
“And customs officers, Dinah?” he said. “Customs officers speaking French? And preparing to shoot aman in the back? And willing to slice the throat of aninnocent young woman in order to bring smuggledcargo back to shore?”
He saw the uncertainty in her face. Clearly she had not had time to consider those matters.
“They were thugs,” he said. “Hired killers. In allfairness, I suppose they would call themselves patriots.”
She searched his eyes and said nothing. She looked small and slender in the moonlight. And utterly vulnerable. He saw her again as he had seen her a matterof only minutes before, clamped against the body of adesperate and murderous ruffian, his knife against herthroat. The image took itself one step farther and hesaw the blood welling from her throat and soakingdown over the knife and the hand and her cloak. Hemight at this moment be carrying her bloody and lifeless body back to Malvern to explain to his mother.To explain to her mother and stepfather. To explain tohis own conscience.
“And you.” His voice was very quiet, but he could feel his hands close into tight fists at his sides. “Whatthe devil are you doing out of your room and out of the house and down here almost getting yourself killed? I want an explanation, and it had better be agood one.” He could hear the coldness and the suppressed fury in his voice.
“I saved your life,” she said.
