He hadn't taken his eyes off of the girl since she had appeared, nor did he now. But the old woman's words caused an unexpected panic he couldn't quite control. They'd leave—she would leave? He'd never see her again? Unacceptable. She would agree to be his mistress. He'd buy her anything she wanted, give her anything—short of a marriage license. How could she not agree?
Yet as much as he wanted to believe that money would solve this for him, that couldn't be depended on when dealing with a people so different from his own. He was out of his element. Who but foreigners would think that he could just marry her, just like that, ignoring the fact that he was a titled lord and she was a common vagrant? Well, not so common. Well, utterly beautiful, utterly desirable, but that was beside the point. It simply couldn't be done.
Why not?
The question startled him. He needed another drink. That, at least, was easily done, and he pulled the bottle of rum out of his wide coat pocket, opened it, and tipped it to his lips, still without taking his eyes from her.
She was desire. She was passion. She danced like an angel. She danced like a wanton. God, he wanted her. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted her. She made him feel again. It had been so long since his emotions had been this alive. He had to have her. No matter the cost, he had to have her . . .
The groan woke him. Christopher couldn't figure out where it had come from until he heard it again and realized he was the one groaning. His head was splitting apart. A bloody hangover, and no more than he deserved, he supposed, for drinking rum, of all things. It certainly wasn't his normal libation, but he'd wanted something strong yesterday, and there had been nothing else left in the house— which he would see about rectifying first thing today.
"I can fix that for you."
The voice was lightly accented, soft as a whisper. He turned to see who it belonged to. He wasn't surprised to see that it was her, lying on the pillow next to him, smiling at him. Ann, Anna, no, Anastasia, yes, that was the name he had finally got from her at some point last night, though he couldn't remember just when.
"Fix what?"
"The pain you're experiencing from your overindulgence last night."
"Oh, that?" He winced as another pain shot through his temples. "Think nothing of it. If you'll just come a little closer and let me hold you, the pleasure of that will make me forget all about my aching head."
She touched his brow gently. "No it won't, but it's sweet of you to say so."
She moved closer anyway, pressing to his side and resting her head on his chest. He sighed blissfully as he realized she was quite naked under the sheet. Whatever had happened last night between them—why the deuce couldn't he remember?—he had little doubt that he had enjoyed it.
"So you agreed?" he said with a good deal of male satisfaction as he ran a hand through her soft hair. "Knew you would, though I'm damned if I can remember it."
"You insisted, if you must know."
"I did? Well, good for me."
She chuckled. It was a husky sound that provoked a quick response in his lower regions. Amazing, how easily she could make him want her.
"Not recalling the best part of the evening leaves me feeling distinctly—unsatisfied," he told her with some chagrin. "But I'm ready to have a go at it again, so I can remember it this time."
Her head lifted so she could look at him. Her lovely eyes held humor, but tenderness as well. "Again? I hate to disappoint you, Christoph, but the moment your head touched that pillow last night, you were fast asleep. You didn't even stir once when I undressed you, and that was no easy task, as big and heavy as you are. A cannon could have gone off in this room, and you wouldn't have—"
"I get the idea," he grouched. "Bloody hell, I drank that much?"
She nodded with a grin. "You really are quite funny deep in your cups. You don't slur your speech. You don't stagger or sway in your movements. You don't appear intoxicated at all. But the things you say—I really doubt you would say them if you had a clear mind."
"Such as?"
"Oh, such as when you told me I would never dance again. So silly, of course I will—whenever you ask me to. And when you tossed me up onto your horse and told me to stay there while you killed Nicolai."
His eyes widened. "I didn't, did I?"
''No, you got distracted, trying to find a weapon in one of your pockets, then finally couldn't remember what you were looking for."
He grimaced. "Never again. If I ever see another bottle of rum, I'll—"
"Yes, I know, you'll break it over your head before you drink it."
"I wouldn't go that far."
She chuckled. "I didn't think so, but that is what you said last night."
The sound of her humor again stirred him. He pulled her farther up his chest, so that her mouth was within reach of his. His eyes locked with hers. He had no doubt she would recognize the desire she could see in his.
