A soft shriek escaped her lips, and she did not know whether to pull back or push forward, and in the end it did not matter, because he was holding her securely in place, and judging from his growls of pleasure, she was not going anywhere. His hand—the one that had been delivering such sweet torture—had curved around her backside and was pulling her relentlessly against his desire. And his other hand—it slid along the soft, sensitive skin of her arm, stretching her up, and up, until their hands were both over their heads.

Their fingers entwined.

I love you, she wanted to cry.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t allow herself to utter a word. He would stop if she did. She didn’t know how she knew it, or why she was so certain, but she knew it was true. If she did anything to break the spell, to bring him back to reality, he would stop. And she could not bear it if that happened.

She felt his hands move between their bodies, fumbling with the fastenings of his breeches, and then there he was. Hard and hot, pressing her, then stretching her, and she was not sure if this was going to work, and then she was no longer so certain she was going to like it, and then—

He thrust forward with a primal grunt, and she could not help it—she let out a tiny scream of pain.

He froze instantly.

As did she.

He pushed himself up so that his head drew back, and she got the impression that he was only just now seeing her. The haze of passion had been pricked, and now—oh, it was everything she’d feared…

He regretted it.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Oh my God.”

What had he done?

It was a bloody stupid question, and an even stupider time to ask it, as he was lying atop Amelia, buried to the hilt, and they were in a field. A field. He’d taken her virginity without even a care to her comfort. Her dress was bunched around her waist, there were leaves in her hair, and good God—he hadn’t even managed to take off his boots.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She shook her head, but he could not tell from her expression what she meant.

He would marry her now. There could be no question. He had ruined her in the most debasing way possible. Had he even whispered her name? In the entire time he’d been making love to her—had he said her name? Had he been aware of anything besides his own unrelenting desire?

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but words could never be enough. He moved to withdraw, so that he could help her, comfort her.

“No!” she cried, grabbing his shoulders. “Please. Don’t go.”