"Win," he said, frowning as he washed her, pressing the steaming cloth between her thighs. "At the clinic, did you ever wear less than your exercise costume? That is, did Harrow ever look at you?"
Her face was composed, but there was a glitter of amusement in her rich blue eyes. "Are you asking if Julian ever saw me na*ed in a professional capacity?"
Kev was jealous, and they both knew it, but he couldn't stop from scowling. "Yes."
"No, he didn't," she said primly. "He was interested in my respiratory system, which, as you clearly know, is in a far different location than the reproductive organs."
"He's interested in more than your lungs," Kev said darkly.
She smiled. "If you're hoping to divert me from the question I asked earlier, it's not working. What happened to you last night, Kev?"
He rinsed the bloodstains from the towel, wrung it out, and pressed another warm pad between her thighs. "I was in the pinfold."
Her eyes widened. "The gaol? Is that where Leo went? To get you out?"
"Yes."
"Why in heaven's name were you behind bars?"
"I was in a fight at the tavern."
She clicked her tongue a few times. "That's not like you."
The statement was loaded with such unintended irony that Kev nearly laughed. In fact, a few huffs came from deep in his chest, and he was so amused and miserable that he couldn't speak. His expression must have been odd indeed, because Win stared at him intently and sat up. She removed the compress and set it aside, and pulled the sheet up over her breasts. She ran a light, graceful hand across his bare shoulder, her touch soothing. And she continued to caress him, stroking his chest, his neck, his midriff, and each loving pass of her hand seemed to erode his self-restraint further.
"Until I came to your family," he said hoarsely, "it was the only reason I existed. To fight. To hurt people. I was… monstrous." Looking into Win's eyes, he saw nothing but concern.
"Tell me," she whispered.
He shook his head. A shiver chased across his back.
Her hand slipped around the nape of his neck. Slowly she drew his head down to her shoulder so that his face was half-hidden. "Tell me," she urged again.
Kev was lost, unable to withhold anything from her now. And he knew what he was about to confess would disgust and revolt her, but he found himself doing it anyway.
He revealed it all mercilessly, trying to make her understand the vicious bastard he had been, and still was. He told her about the boys he had beaten to a pulp, the ones he feared might have died later, but he'd never been certain. He told her how he had lived like an animal, eating scraps, stealing, and about the rage that had consumed him always. He had been a bully, a thief, a beggar. He revealed cruelties and humiliations that he should have had the pride and good sense to keep to himself.
Kev had kept the confessions inside forever, but now they were spilling out like garbage. And he was appalled to realize that he had lost all control, that whenever he tried to stop, all it took was a gentle touch and a murmur from Win and he was babbling like a criminal with a gallows priest.
"How could I touch you with these hands?" he asked, his tone shredded with anguish. "How could you stand to let me? God, if you knew all the things I've done-"
"I love your hands," she murmured.
"I'm not good enough for you. But no one is. And most men, good or bad, have limits to what they would do, even for someone they love. I have none. No God, no moral code, no faith in anything. Except you. You're my religion. I would do anything you asked. I would fight, steal, kill for you. I would-"
"Shhh. Hush. My goodness." She sounded breathless. "There's no need to break all the commandments, Kev."
"You don't understand," he said, drawing back to look at her. "If you believed anything I've told you-"
"I do understand." Her face was like an angel's, soft and compassionate. "And I believe what you've said… but I don't agree at all with the conclusions you seem to have drawn." Her hands lifted, molding against his lean cheeks. "You are a good man, a loving one. The rom baro tried to kill all that inside you, but he couldn't succeed. Because of your strength. Because of your heart."
She eased back onto the bed and drew him down to her. "Be at ease, Kev," she whispered. "Your uncle was an evil man, but what he did must be buried with him. 'Let the dead bury the dead'-do you know what that means?"
He shook his head.
"To leave the past behind and look only to the journey ahead. Only then can you find a new way. A new life. It's a Christian saying… but it would make sense to a Rom, I think."
It made more sense than Win perhaps even realized. The Rom were infinitely superstitious regarding death and the dead, destroying all the possessions of those who had passed, mentioning the name of the deceased as seldom as possible. It was for the benefit of the dead as well as the living, to keep them from returning to the living world as wretched ghosts. Let the dead bury the dead… but he wasn't certain he could.
"Hard to let go," he said thickly. "Hard to forget."
"Yes." Her arms tightened around him. "But we'll fill your mind with much better things to think about."
Kev was quiet for a long time, pressing his ear to Win's heart, listening to the even beat, and the flow of her breathing.
"I knew when I first saw you, what you would mean to me," Win murmured eventually. "Wild, angry boy that you were. I loved you at once. You felt it, too, didn't you?"
He nodded slightly, luxuriating in the feel of her. Her skin smelled sweet like plums, with an arousing hint of feminine musk.
"I wanted to tame you," she said. "Not all the way. Just enough that I could be close to you." She threaded her fingers through his hair. "Outrageous man. What possessed you to kidnap me, when you knew I would have come willingly?"
"I was making a point," he said in a muffled voice.
She chuckled and stroked his scalp, the scrape of her oval fingernails nearly causing him to purr. "Your point was well-taken. Must we go back now?"
"Do you want to?"
Win shook her head. "Although… I wouldn't mind having something to eat."
"I brought food to the cottage before I went to get you."
She ran a flirtatious fingertip around the rim of his ear. "What an efficient villain you are. May we stay all day, then?"
"Yes."
Win wriggled with delight. "Will anyone come for us?"
"I doubt it." Kev drew the bed linens lower and nuzzled into the lush valley between her breasts. "And I would kill the first person who approached the threshold."
A quiet laugh caught in her throat.
"What is it?" he asked without moving.
"Oh, I was just thinking of all the years I spent trying to get out of bed, to be with you. And when I came home, all I wanted was to get back into bed. With you."
For breakfast they had strong tea and rarebit, cheese melted on thick slices of buttered toasted bread. Wrapped in Merripen's shirt, Win perched on a low stool in the kitchen. She took pleasure in watching the play of muscles on his back as he poured steaming water into a portable hip bath. Smiling, she popped the last morsel of rarebit into her mouth. "Being abducted and ravished," she commented, "gives one an appetite."
"The ravisher as well."
There seemed a near-magical aura about this ordinary place, this small and quiet cottage. Win felt as if she had been caught in some enchanted spell. She was almost afraid she was dreaming, that she would wake alone in her chaste bed. But Merripen's presence was too vital and real for it to be a dream. And the small aches and twinges in her body offered further proof that she had been taken. Possessed.
"They all know by now," Win said absently, thinking of everyone at Ramsay House. "Poor Julian. He must be furious."
"What about heartbroken?" Merripen set the water can aside and came to her dressed only in trousers.
Win frowned thoughtfully. "He'll be disappointed, I think. And I believe he cares for me. But no, he won't be heartbroken." She leaned against Merripen as he stroked her hair, and her cheek brushed the taut smoothness of his stomach. "He never wanted me the way you do."
"Any man who didn't would have to be a eunuch." There was a hitch in his breath as Win kissed the rim of his navel. "Did you tell him what the London doctor said? That you were healthy enough to bear children?"
Win nodded.
"What did Harrow say?"
"Julian told me that I could visit a legion of doctors, and get any number of differing opinions to support the conclusion I wanted. But in Julian's view, I should remain childless."
Merripen brought her to a standing position and looked down at her, his expression unfathomable. "I don't want to put you at risk. But neither do I trust Harrow, or his opinions."
"Because you think of him as a rival?"
"That's part of it," he admitted. "But it's also instinct. There's something… lacking in him. There's something false."
"Perhaps it's because he's a doctor," Win suggested, shivering as Merripen drew his shirt away from her. "Men of his profession often seem aloof. Superior, even. But that's necessary, because-"
"It's not that." Merripen guided her to the hip bath and helped to lower her in. Win gasped not only from the heat of the water, but also from being na*ed in front of him. The hip bath obliged one to straddle the tub and relax into the water with the legs held apart, which was wonderfully comfortable in private, but rather mortifying with someone else present. Her modesty was further violated as Merripen knelt beside the tub and washed her. But his manner was not at all lascivious, only caring, and she couldn't help but relax under the ministrations of those strong, soothing hands.
"You still suspect Julian of having harmed his first wife, I know," Win said while Merripen bathed her. "But he is a healer. He would never hurt anyone, least of all his own wife." She paused as she read Merripen's expression. "You don't believe me. You're determined to think the worst of him."
"I think he feels entitled to play with life and death. Like the gods of those mythology stories you and your sisters are so fond of."
"You don't know Julian as I do."
Merripen didn't reply, only continued to wash her.
She watched his dark face through the veil of steam, as beautiful and implacable as an ancient carving of a Babylonian warrior. "I shouldn't even bother to defend him," she said ruefully. "You'll never be disposed to think well of him, will you?"
"No," he admitted.
"And if you believed Julian was the better man?" she asked. "Would you have allowed him to marry me?"
She saw the muscles in his throat tense before he answered, "No." There was a touch of self-hatred in his response. "I'm too selfish for that. I could never have let it happen. If it came down to it, I would have carried you off on your wedding day."
Win wanted to tell him that she had no desire for him to be noble. She was happy-thrilled-to be loved in just this way, with a passion that left no room for anything else. But before she could say a word, Merripen had taken up more soap, and his hand glided over the soreness between her thighs.
He touched her with love. And ownership. Her eyes half-closed. His finger eased inside her, and his free arm slid behind her back, and she leaned weakly into the cradle of his hard chest and shoulder. Even this small invasion hurt. Her flesh was still too newly broached, unused to being entered. But the hot water soothed her, and Merripen was so gentle that her thighs relaxed, supported in the buoyant warmth.
She breathed in the morning air, luminous with steam, scented of soap and wood and hot copper. And the intoxicating fragrance of her lover. She brushed her lips against his shoulder, savoring the rich taste of skin salt.
His warm tickling lingers stroked against her like the idle sway of river reeds… cunning fingertips that quickly discovered where she most wanted them. He toyed with her. parting her, slowly investigating the cambered softness and the sensitive places within. Blindly she reached down to grip his strong wrist, feeling the intricate movements of bone and tendon. He slid two fingers inside her, his thumb gliding over her sex in tender circles.
The water sloshed in the tub as she began to push up rhythmically, urging herself into his hand. A third finger worked inside, and she tightened and gasped out a protest-it was too much, she couldn't-but he whispered that she could, she must, and he stretched her carefully and took her groans into his mouth.
Splayed and floating, Win felt herself loosening, opening to the sensuality of the fingers reaching inside her. She felt greedy and wild, undulating to capture more of the obliterating pleasure. She actually clawed him a little, her hands scrabbling against his hard, bare skin, and he growled as if it pleased him. An abbreviated cry left her lips at the first shock of release. She tried to stifle it, but another was torn from her, and another, and the bathwater rippled as she shuddered, the cl**ax lengthened by the delicately emphatic thrusting that continued until she was limp and panting.
Settling her against the high-backed tub, Merripen left her for a few minutes. She soaked in the steaming water, too replete to ask or notice where he'd gone. He returned with a length of toweling and lifted her from the bath. She stood passively before him, letting him dry her as if she were a child. As she leaned against him, she saw that she had scored little red marks on his skin, not deep ones, but marks nonetheless. She should have been apologetic, horrified, but all she wanted was to do it again. To feast on him. It was so unlike her that she withdrew into herself to ponder it.
Merripen carried her back into the bedroom and tucked her into a freshly made bed. She slid deep beneath the quilts and waited for him, drowsing, while he went to wash himself and empty the tub. She was steeped in a feeling she hadn't experienced in years… the kind of incandescent joy she had felt as a child waking on Christmas morning. She had stayed quietly in her bed, relishing the knowledge of all the good things that would soon happen, her heart alight with anticipation.
Win's eyes half-opened as she felt him climb into bed eventually. His weight depressed the mattress, his body startlingly warm against Win's coolness. Snuggling into the crook of his arm and shoulder, she sighed deeply. His hand made a slow, lovely pattern over her back.