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“And maybe take Dixon with you, if Wallace could talk you into it. That’s what Stafford would want him to do, isn’t it?”

Angelique felt her patience snapping, one thread at a time. She didn’t want to fight with him, but the strain of the day had decimated her usual control. She felt trapped and tense and now even Nate questioned her. “If I wanted to leave, I would leave,” she retorted. “With Dixon or without him, no matter what Stafford preferred. If this is how much you trust me, perhaps I should go, now that your true feelings are clear.”

“The hell you will,” Nate growled, lunging after her as she whirled to go. His weight crashed against the door a moment before she could fling it open. “That is not what I said!”

“No?” She arched her brow in contempt. “I have defied my employer because I want to help you, and this is how well you trust me—to think I would just walk away with your prisoner?”

“I said Wallace,” he began, his teeth gritted.

“And I said I trust Ian,” she shot back. “Do you believe my word or not?”

Nate stared at her furiously. “Goddamn it,” he muttered. “What a waste of time.” She opened her mouth, drawing an outraged breath to lash out at his dismissal of her words, and he kissed her. Nate had kissed her many times before—with gentle yearning, with playful affection, with hungry seduction. None of those kisses compared to this one; his mouth claimed hers forcefully, almost harshly. She started to twist away and he grabbed her arms, dragging them above her head and pinning her wrists to the wall. In spite of her anger, she found herself kissing him back, her body arching toward his. She didn’t want to think those wretched thoughts, let alone fight with Nate about them. Without him at her side, she would be lost, caught in an impossible situation with no idea which way to turn. As long as she had him, at least her ultimate goal was clear.

“I don’t want to argue with you.” He kissed his way down the side of her neck with sharp little nips of his teeth that stung with erotic pleasure.

“Then don’t,” she said, her voice gone husky with desire. He was still holding her hands, so she hooked one leg around his, pulling him closer.

He shuddered against her, and released her wrists. He dragged up her skirts as she reached for his shirt, yanking on the wet linen to pull it free of his trousers, sliding her hands up his chilled skin. His cravat was still tied, preventing her from removing his shirt, and she hissed her disappointment in profane French. Nate laughed under his breath as he slid both his hands under the bunched-up fabric of her dress, and then Angelique gave a little scream as he cupped her bottom with one hand and stroked her with the other.

“Your hands are like ice,” she gasped, even as his wicked, freezing, fingers ignited a fire inside her.

“You’ll warm them up.” He pushed two fingers up inside her, and she moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders to keep her balance. The cold of his flesh inside her heightened every sensation. She let her head fall back and pushed her hips forward, moving against the every stroke and thrust of his fingers. “God, yes,” Nate muttered roughly. “That—just like that…”

Shaking with desire, she pulled blindly at his trousers until they gave way, and she could stroke him. This part of him wasn’t cold at all, and a moment later he knocked her hands away and crowded closer, lifting her thighs to curl around him. He kissed her, stroking her at the same time until she teetered on the brink of ecstasy, and then finally he thrust inside her. Angelique came apart as he entered her; she gave a low, keening cry, her body moving instinctively as Nate surged into her again and again until finally he climaxed with an almost feral growl.

They stayed where they were, wrapped around each other, for several minutes. Angelique didn’t want to move. This was what she needed—not just the contentment flooding her, but Nate in her arms, holding her, loving her. Now she didn’t feel alone, and that made all the difference.

Nate must have felt the same way, for he didn’t move for several minutes, either, and when he spoke, his voice almost startled her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For losing my temper.”

She stirred, remembering the terrible things she had said to him. “No, I was at fault as well. I am sorry.” She sighed. “You are not wrong to keep a wary eye on Ian. He works for Stafford. I know there is a chance I am wrong about him, but still I trust him.”

His lips brushed the curve of her shoulder. “Apology accepted.” He heaved a sigh and raised his head. “And now I’ve got your dress all wet.”

She smiled. “It is nothing. I shall just take it off.”

Even his grin looked weary. “Let me help.”

They undressed each other, and Nate banked the fire before tucking her into bed beside him. His skin was still cool, but Angelique curled herself against him anyway. He held her close and dropped his head on her shoulder as if exhausted.

She ran her fingers through his still-wet hair. The tension in her back and neck had melted away under the heat of their lovemaking, leaving her mind refreshed and clear but not sleepy. She watched the firelight cast shadows on the ceiling, and listened to the slow rhythm of Nate’s breathing, and thought.

She would do anything to keep this. Whatever she had to do to stay with Nate, she would do it and count it worth the sacrifice.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured without moving.

She laughed. “How do you know I am thinking?”

“I can tell by the way you hold very still and barely breathe,” he said, a smile lurking in his voice. “I can practically hear the air vibrate when your mind is working on something. And since my own mind is unable to function at the moment, I thought I would like to hear what you’re thinking.”

She turned her head and pressed her lips against his forehead. “I was thinking,” she said softly, “that I would like to stay like this with you forever.”

Nate rolled onto his back. The arm that had been draped over her waist fell away. “Ah,” he said.

She felt a sudden chill. “Nothing lasts forever, of course,” she said stiffly. “I did not mean⁠—”

“You said you didn’t know my true feelings.” His eyes were wide open now, staring at the bed canopy above them. “The truth is… I love you.”

Mouth still open indignantly, Angelique gaped at him. Finally he looked at her, his eyes as clear and sparkling as emeralds. “I’ve been too afraid to say it,” he confessed, “but I love you, Angelique. Since the night you threw a damned knife at me. Since you promised to cut my throat that first day when I followed you from Bow Street, perhaps. You have fascinated me and confounded me from the moment I saw you, and I would go quietly mad if I had to leave you behind. That’s why I want you to come to America with me.” He shrugged, looking somewhat helpless. “But this grows more tangled by the day, and more dangerous for you. I can’t ever forget that.”