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Again her eyes strayed to the pile of weapons. “Do you love me?” she whispered. “Please tell me if I have been so mistaken...”

Harry was shaking his head before she finished. “The first sight of you bewitched me. You held my heart in your hand the moment you asked me to come see you, even after I climbed into your room at midnight and wouldn’t tell you my name. If Dexter had hurt you, I’d have slit his throat without a moment’s regret, and if I hadn’t caught up to your coach in Piccadilly in time, I might have slit my own throat in grief. Do I love you? More than that small, simple phrase can convey. I love you enough that I cannot bear to ruin your life by taking you away from this life”—he swept one hand around the room—”and condemning you to mine.”

“I see.” She raised her chin and put her hands on her hips. “Instead, you would condemn me to an unhappy marriage to someone I could never love half as much as I love you. You shall be off ‘watching after’ people in Whitechapel and throwing yourself in front of bombs while I will have to suffer through some other man’s insipid lovemaking, always wishing it was you kissing me, and you making me laugh, and you holding me at night in bed⁠—”

Harry cursed, crossing the room in two long strides. Mariah gave a small, involuntary squeak as he caught her to him and kissed her, a deep, demanding kiss that made her stomach leap and her bones wilt.

“You’re a plague,” he murmured, his nimble fingers unfastening her plain traveling dress. “You’ve infected my brain with a fever that drives out all sense and restraint.”

She laughed, giddy in triumph. “A fine couple we shall be, I in my madness for you and you with your fever for me...”

Harry laughed. “Fine, indeed.” He pushed the fabric off her shoulders.

“Shall I tell you my plan?” she asked, helpfully pulling her arms free of the sleeves as he slid the dress down past her hips until it crumpled to the floor along with her petticoat.

“Later.” He swung her into his arms and carried her to her bed. Mariah watched with awe as he pulled his shirt over his head. She had seen statues, but nothing as fascinating as Harry. Her breath felt short as her eyes moved over the flex and bunch of muscles under his skin. There was such latent power in his body, she reached out to trace the swell of his biceps to reassure herself he was real. London had thought him a withered old man, she thought in amazement as her fingers skimmed over warm, solid muscle that quivered at her touch. His other arm was wrapped tightly in a bandage, and she felt a fierce tenderness well up inside her, knowing he had been injured protecting her.

“Make love to me, Harry,” she whispered. His muscle clenched under her hand. “Please.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Forward wench.”

She blushed, from excitement and anticipation. It was intoxicating to know she had such power over him, this dangerous man who deposited an arsenal of weapons on her dressing table but kissed her so gently and sweetly. She ran her fingertips down his arm once more, shifting around until she was sitting on her knees close enough to see the pulse at the base of his throat. “I have thought about what you did once before. When you made me burn for you...”

He kissed her, a light, lingering contact. “Have you?” Her corset loosened, the string coming undone in Harry’s hands.

“Yes.” She shrugged her shoulders as he stripped the corset off, leaving her in only her thin chemise. “Every night you did not come to see me, I thought of it.”

He made a soft growl low in his throat. “Did you? And what did you think of it?”

Her heartbeat was so strong she could feel the blood throbbing through her veins, pulsing between her legs. “I wondered how long it would be until you did it again,” she whispered. “Until you touched me again... here.” She cupped one breast. His eyes dropped there and seemed to ignite. “And here...” Her voice was barely a thread of sound as she slid one hand between her legs. She was already warm and wet there, and she stroked her fingers back and forth, leaving a damp spot on her chemise. Harry’s face darkened with pure, feral desire as he watched, and she felt a heady rush of exhilaration. He was right to call her a forward wench; she certainly wasn’t a lady when he looked at her that way.

“Far be it from me...” His hand closed over hers, large and callused but gentle, his fingers moving between hers to touch where she had touched. “... to disappoint a lady.” He kissed her mouth, bearing her back into her pillows, and Mariah pulled her hands free to wind her arms around his neck. Then there was no more conversation as her chemise came off, and Harry demonstrated how thoroughly he would not disappoint her, finding every sensitive spot and tender area on her body until she was shaking.

“Tell me once more,” he whispered between kisses. “One last time, tell me you want this—me. Because you’re going to be very thoroughly ruined in a few minutes...”

“I already am,” she said on a sigh, running her hands over the lean, firm lines of his back. “For every other man but you.” His eyes half closed as she scraped his skin lightly with her fingernails, and Mariah stretched beneath him. The sensual creature no longer slumbered inside her; it had become her, writhing with need.

“You bring me to my knees when you say things like that.” He slid down, trailing kisses over her collarbone. His breath warmed her nipple, and Mariah trembled even before he kissed her there, too. His hands had been running all over her, and yet when he touched between her legs, her whole body tensed in giddy anticipation.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured. She thrashed her head from side to side, already feeling the storm gathering inside her belly. “God, you’re so beautiful, so wet...” His fingers were inside her now, just as before. She pressed her heels into the bed and pushed her hips against the delicious pressure he was exerting, making her body hum.

When he pulled back, she could hardly see straight and her limbs shook. She murmured some inarticulate protest, grasping for him. Harry laughed, the sound strained and dark, and then he moved over her, rising to his knees and unfastening his trousers. Sprawled on the bed, Mariah watched breathlessly as he peeled off the last of his clothing. She simply had to see...

“Worried?” Harry asked.

She dragged her eyes away from his cock, blushing that she had been caught staring and then blushing harder because she hadn’t been worrying, she had been thinking too much about touching him, that mysterious, virile part of him, and what it would feel like when he was inside her. Drat Joan and the naughty poems; perhaps she was too bold. “No,” she whispered. “I—I was thinking I would like to touch you.”

Harry closed his eyes. His cock bobbed. “Later,” he said in a strained voice. “Well—perhaps just once...” His words choked off as she reached out and stroked him. “Blessed Christ,” he croaked, letting her explore him for a minute before grasping her knee and pushing it toward her chest. He bent down and pressed his mouth between her legs, licking her on that sensitive, pulsing spot. Mariah gasped, her body surging up against him. Then, before she could recover from the shock of it, he had pressed the head of his erection against her and nudged his way inside.

She gulped in small, rapid breaths, feeling her body stretch. It didn’t hurt, but it felt tight and full and unbearably intimate. Slowly, he sank all the way into her, his hips settling between her thighs until she just wrapped her legs around his waist. The movement made her more aware of him, thick and hard, inside her, and she shivered, raising her eyes to Harry’s.

His head had fallen forward, as if he were studying the place where his body joined hers. The tendons in his neck stood out, and his fingers shook as he slowly stroked one hand down the inside of her thigh until he touched her, there, where it made her gasp and arch her back because it felt like lightning crackling beneath her skin. He moved, sliding out of her, and then moved forward again, rocking his hips against her as he continued to touch her so exquisitely softly until the pleasure was almost suffocating.

Just as she felt it begin to shatter, Harry fell to his elbows and slipped one hand beneath her bottom and lifted, tilting and holding her so his every movement set off that lightning, sharper and brighter every time. Mariah gripped his arms and pushed against his every thrust until he sucked in his breath and froze, holding himself deep within her while she clung to him and cried a little as her body shuddered in time with his.

Neither moved for a while as they lay tangled together in exhausted satisfaction. So this was ruin. Mariah smiled sleepily, thinking that she enjoyed it very much, from the feel of Harry’s arms around her to the weight of his body atop hers.

“Tell me your plan now,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the sweat-dampened hair at her temple.