He laughed. Turning onto his elbow, he looked down at her with such fondness, her eyes filled with tears. Frowning, she blinked them away. He kissed her frown, the corner of each eye, her mouth. “I meant protection against pregnancy.”

She gasped. “Language, sir! But you need not worry. Pleasance has certain herbs I can steal.”

“In that case—” He turned away again, causing her to make noises of confusion; he removed his boots, coat, knives, and gun, then returned to her side with a smile he’d perfected over the years, a smile to make her squirm even before he set one finger on her. She responded just as he’d hoped, her body restless, her tongue slipping across her lips to wet them. It was such an erotic sight, Ned could only be grateful he’d left his trousers on or else they’d be finished a whole lot quicker than necessary. Gathering her skirts up to her knees, removing her shoes and drawers, he slipped his hand along the length of one thigh, swallowing dryly as his touch moved from silk stocking to soft skin. This was secret, sacred territory. He’d been here with other women, but none so precious to him as the one who lay with him now. Inexplicably, he began to feel frightened.

“Hurry,” she whispered.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “let me take you out of time for a while.”

And he kissed her until even he forgot there was a world beyond this room.

Cecilia stared at the ceiling in bemusement. She knew nothing of how this procedure should go, apart from having overheard Mrs. Rotunder say it was a convenient time to work out her weekly budget. She did not expect Captain Lightbourne would be touching her thigh in that highly discombobulating manner, or—

Oh! That wasn’t her thigh he just—

Oh!

She might have leaped from the bed were he not leaning over her, supporting himself with one arm while the other was occupied beneath her dress. His fingers were being decidedly rude, but before she could reason that this was acceptable under the circumstances, her body reached its own opinion. It rose toward him with wicked piratic abandon, legs spreading, hips moving in concert with his stroking fingers. The sensation was—

Alas, every possible adjective disappeared from mind, taking the mind itself with them. She reached for Ned, brushing back his hair, cupping his face, finding anchorage in his calm, steady gaze.

Then he slipped a finger inside her body and she lost it again, her hands falling back helplessly to the bed.

“Yes?” he asked, making sure.

She wanted to answer yes, or at least tell him to not waste energy talking, but all she could do was moan. He apparently translated this correctly, for he moved down and his tongue made a reply of its own where his fingers had been. Disgraceful! her wits declared in titillated horror. Shut up, her body replied.