He kept coming, and coming . . . like the tide washing up on the shore, only not so gentle, then it felt as if the ocean came to her, as if a flood of pure pleasure swept from her toes to the ends of her fingers.

Dimly, she heard his groan, then her own cry.

It was a night of discovery.

She woke in the dim light of dawn to find that Jonas had slept through the night for the very first time. Wick was bent over her. She reached up, only to realize that he was, once again, dressed in his livery.

“I must go,” he murmured, brushing strands of hair from her face. “And you must return to being Miss Philippa Damson rather than my favorite nursemaid.”

She smiled at him drowsily, but she was waking up, and his words coalesced into something ominous. “What do you mean?”

“I expect your father will arrive this morning to take you home.”

Philippa sat up, her heart suddenly pounding. “I shan’t go.”

“You must. Jonas is much better, and young ladies can’t serve in the nursery forever. You are no servant, Philippa.”

“I don’t want—” She stopped. “If you are a servant, I want to be a servant.”

“You mustn’t say such a thing.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“You must.” He said it gently, but she heard the stark truth of it in his voice. “There is no place for you here, in the castle. You might come as a visitor, but if I am in livery.” He hesitated. “I would rather you did not.”

And there it was.

She swung her legs from the bed and stood up, feeling the chill of his words spread through her body. “Please, Wick, don’t—don’t say this.”

He ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her close. “I will try to come for you,” he said, low and fierce. “I will try, Philippa. But I could never make you a servant or a beggar at my side. Wait for me—”

“Forever,” she said.

“One week. If I don’t come for you before one week has passed, I could not manage it. But know this, Philippa.” He looked down into her face, as unyielding as the greatest emperor who ever lived. “If I do not come for you, it is not for want of desire for you, nor for want of love for you, nor for want of trying. I would do anything to be worthy of you.”

Her breath caught on a sob. “Oh, Wick . . .”

“And I will never love another woman above you.”

The deep, hungry yearning in his eyes made her knees weak. She caught at him, fumbling for words, the vow that would make him understand that she was his forever. That she would wait a lifetime.

But he was gone.

Chapter Ten