When she looked into his eyes there was no hiding the truth. A truth she thought she saw mirrored in his own.

“Oh God, sweetheart, I’m sorry . . . I can’t . . . Too long. I’m going to . . .”

The words were lost in the cry of pleasure that tore from his soul. His entire body seemed to stiffen and then break apart. A warm rush shot between her legs and then spread through her as the wonder of the moment unfurled.

It was the most beautiful, romantic experience of her life.

And it was over far too soon.

No sooner had she felt the returning beat of his heart against her chest where he’d collapsed on top of her, than he stiffened again and swore. An instant later he rolled off her, and the connection that moments ago had seemed so strong and powerful snapped like a small twig.

What the hell have I done? Alex stared at the ceiling in disbelief, not wanting to answer the question.

He knew exactly what he’d done. Quickly and rather furiously, which under the circumstances was probably to be expected.

Bloody hell.

Shame crawled over him, eating away at all the euphoria, all the joy, and all the tenderness, leaving only guilt and self-disgust.

He’d dishonored her and himself. Years of discipline, of waiting for the bonds of marriage, had been rendered meaningless. He’d done what he’d vowed he would never do again.

When Alex was nineteen, his brother had done him a “favor” and taken him to a whore to lose his virginity. Chris had had a woman in his bed since he was seventeen, and he didn’t understand his younger brother’s reluctance to accept one of the many propositions that had been thrown his way because of his “golden boy” good looks.

“If I had your face,” Chris had said, “I’d never spend a night alone.”

But the experience had been an unmitigated disaster. Alex’s body had cooperated, but every minute of it had felt wrong, and when it was over, he hadn’t felt like pounding his chest or boasting of his prowess and telling jests like the other lads did, he’d felt like retching.

Which is exactly what he’d done. Even after all these years, it was still humiliating to think about. He’d run out of there half-dressed and barely made it outside before losing the contents of his stomach in the innkeeper’s flower box.

Chris had patted his back and cautioned him against drinking too much whisky, but Alex suspected that he’d guessed the truth. There had been no more “favors” or trips to the local inn.