His breath left his chest. He almost wished that she had banished him. He wasn't in command of himself. "You want to kill me," he muttered, only half in jest.

She shook her head, a movement in the dark against his throat. "I want… everything," she whispered, the words a mere breath of air on his skin. "I don't want to stop this time."

Trev lay very still, closing his eyes as a wave of white-hot urgency possessed him. He turned onto his back, his arm f lung wide, a low laugh in his chest. "It would be heaven, wouldn't it?"

"Do you think so?" she whispered, and he could see her face in his mind, her soft, shy eyes looking up at him like a wild deer watching from the wood.

He laughed aloud. "My God, Callie, have a little mercy. We'd better not start it. A man can only go so far and contain himself."

"Oh," she said.

It was not that she sounded disappointed or miffed or offended, the way any number of women of his past had sounded when he had tactfully refused their very agreeable offers. She didn't weep or withdraw. There was only that single small syllable she spoke, but he heard all the damage, the hurt they must have given her, those bastards who had left her standing at the altar or alone in the line of chairs against the wall, all their excuses and lies, those blind, blind, stupid bastards who never saw what was right before their eyes.

Here he lay, burning, and she thought he didn't want her. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in the faint slackening of her fingers on his arm.

He sat up on his elbow. "It's not a good idea," he said, trying to explain. "There are risks. We're not wed." He felt helpless. "What if I… what if you… what if we…" His voice trailed off. A green boy would have explained it better, but now he was drowning in visions of Callie carrying his child. He took a deep breath. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, of course," she said quickly. "I understand."

"Oh Christ." He fell back on the pillow. "Ma vie, you don't understand." He swore. "There's so much you don't understand."

"Yes I do. Truly. It's all right." She had taken her hand away. "I know what you mean."

"Marry me," he said suddenly. "Callie."

She drew back. "Marry?"

He would reckon it all out somehow. He'd tell her everything. And she'd take him anyway, and they would go to France or America or Italy. He'd buy her all the prize bulls she wanted, and they'd make love in haystacks all over the world. He realized from her shocked reaction that he'd been deplorably blunt. "Of course I meant—Lady Callista, will you do me the honor—"