esmerized, Emma could not tear her eyes off of Alex's face as his mouth descended to rest on hers. The touch was fleeting,

his lips lightly brushing hers. She felt paralyzed, barely able to breathe.

Alex lifted his head to look at her. Her eyes still open wide, she gazed up at him as if she'd never seen him before. "Emma?"

he questioned, touching his fingers to her chin.

Emma continued to stare at him as he scanned her face with his brilliant green eyes. She fought the urge to reach up and brush

a lock of tousled hair from his forehead. He was looking at her so tenderly, she thought that all she really wanted to do was burrow in the warmth of his arms and melt in his embrace. She knew he didn't love her, didn't intend to marry her. But she also knew that he did care for her and that he wanted her very much. And God help her, she wanted him just as badly. She had spent months trying to convince herself that there was nothing special about the strange, new feelings she felt whenever he was near. Alex had said he had to kiss her. It was finally time to be honest with herself. She needed to kiss him, too.

Alex could tell the moment her hesitation gave way to desire. Her eyes softened, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

But before he could resume the kiss, she stopped him, placing her hand on his cheek and murmuring his name in a husky voice.

Alex turned his head slowly to kiss the palm of her hand. "What, my love?"

Emma's voice was hoarse with emotion. "Will you promise me you'll stop when we should stop?"

Alex looked at her intently, wondering if she understood what she was asking of him.

"I—I don't have very much experience with this sort of thing, Alex." Emma swallowed, trying to work up the courage to

continue her request. "I do want to kiss you. I think I want it more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. But I may not

know when we should stop, or how I should stop you. I am asking you to give your word as a gentleman to stop us before

we do anything— irrevocable."

Alex knew at that moment that she was his. He knew that he could make love to her right there on that very blanket, and she would do nothing to stop him. But he also knew that her mind did not want what her body so obviously desired. Alex looked

down at her shining face and realized that there was no way he could live with himself if he took advantage of her trust.

"I give you my word," he said softly.

"Oh, Alex," she moaned, her arms stealing around his neck as he bent down over her once again.

"If you only knew how long I've been waiting for this," he murmured, his lips trailing hot kisses across her face and then

down the side of her neck.

"I—I think I know exactly how long," Emma returned shakily, her voice tremulous under the onslaught of his desire. As he

slowly lowered her down onto her back, she sank her fingers into his thick hair, desperately pulling him closer to her.

Something deep inside her seemed to know that this was the right man, and she just couldn't seem to overcome the urge to

get as close to him as possible. Unthinkingly, she pressed her body up to his, molding herself against his powerful frame.

To Alex, her innocent movement was like a torch igniting the spark that had been burning steadily inside him for months.

"Oh God, Emma," he groaned. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?" He looked down at her. Her dark eyes were burning with newly discovered desire and also—trust. As he lost himself in those violet pools, Alex groaned again. "I can see you do not."

Emma did not understand his cryptic comment. "Is—is something wrong?" she queried, worried that her lack of experience had caused her to do something that displeased him.

Alex leaned down and placed twin kisses on her eyelids. "Believe me, love, nothing is wrong." He chuckled as he saw relief

flood her expression. It warmed him to his very core that she was so concerned about pleasing him. "You seem to have a

natural affinity for this sort of thing." Privately, Alex was wondering how on earth he'd be able to force himself to stop as he promised Emma, but he did not voice that thought, fearful of breaking the sensual spell that had been cast over their secluded picnic.

Emma flushed with pleasure over his compliment. "I just want to—ohh!" she gasped aloud as Alex's hand stole across her

midriff and came to rest on her full breast. The heat of his touch was so searing she was surprised it hadn't burned right

through the fabric of her riding habit. Her eyes flew open and her lips parted in surprise at his bold caress.

Alex's smile was one of pure masculine satisfaction. "You like that, don't you, love?" As he felt her nipple harden into a tight

little bud through the material of her dress, he squeezed the mound of flesh he held in his hand and watched Emma shiver with desire. He silently cursed the row of tiny buttons marching down the back of her dress that made it next to impossible to pull the fabric down off of her shoulders. With a ragged sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that he would not be able to gaze down upon the full breast and dusky nipple that were proving to be so intoxicating. This setback, however, was probably all for the best considering the vow he had made just moments earlier.

"Oh, Alex," Emma moaned softly. "This is all so very strange." She let out another gasp as she felt his hand creep under the

folds of her skirts and caress her firm, sleek calves. Spasms of pleasure shot up her legs to the very center of her being and

she sighed with abandon. "And so very nice."

Alex's hand stroked steadily upward until it reached the sensitive spot where the tops of her stockings met pale, soft flesh, and Emma nearly flew off the blanket from the sheer energy that seemed to pour forth from his fingertips. And then, although she could not quite believe it was happening, he moved further still.

"Alex?" she asked breathily. "What—what? Are you sure? I don't know."

Alex silenced her with a soft kiss. "Shh, darling. I promise you that I will not"—he smiled wryly at his melodramatic words—"ravish you right here on the blanket. When we make love, it will be perfect, with no hesitations or misunderstandings between us." He continued to drop gentle kisses across her face to ease her fears as he slipped his hand beneath her undergarments and began to tease the soft thatch of hair that protected her womanhood. • Emma's breath caught in her throat, and she tensed up against him, twenty years of proper upbringing flooding her mind and telling her that she ought not to be in

such a situation. She pressed a hand against his chest, feebly trying to push him away. "Wait, Alex, I'm not sure..."

"Not sure of what, love?"

Her voice quavered with apprehension. "Of you, of this, of anything."

"You're not sure of me?" he asked, trying to tease her fears away. "Are you telling me you'd rather be here with someone else?"

"No!" she burst out. "It's not that, it's..."

"It's what?"

"I don't know!" Her mind was screaming that she ought to get up and walk away, but she could not deny the thrilling

sensations that poured forth from his every touch. And even as her internal struggle raged, she felt herself relax against

him, her body begging for what so frightened her mind.

"Don't worry, love," Alex murmured, relieved by her acquiescence. "I will keep the vow I made to you this afternoon." He

took a deep breath, laboring hard to keep his own desire in check. His need for her was painfully apparent, his hard manhood swollen and straining against his breeches. "I just want—I need to be inside you somehow. I can't explain it. I just need to feel

you right now."

With that he slipped one finger inside her. She was hot and wet, just as he knew she'd be, but so very small and tight. He felt a surge of pride as he realized that he was the first man ever to touch her in so intimate a manner. He felt himself throb with need for her, his manhood begging to trade places with his wandering fingers.

Delicious waves of pleasure shot through Emma's body, and she began to feel herself tensing in expectation of something she didn't understand but somehow knew had to happen. "Alex!" she cried out. "Help me, please. I can't bear any more."

"Oh, yes you can, love." As Alex's finger continued to stroke her intimately, his thumb found the sensitive nub of flesh that was hidden beneath her soft curls.

"Oh, my God! Alex!!" Emma screamed his name in complete abandon. Every little wisp of desire that had been curling through her body moved to one tender spot in her abdomen, and she started to tense convulsively until her world simply burst apart, and she lay limp and exhausted on the soft flannel blanket.

Alex gently slid his finger out and laid his body down alongside hers, propping himself up on his elbow. "Shhh," he murmured comfortingly, trying to ease her back down from her climax. As he stroked her hair, he gazed out over the countryside and

began to will his body to calm down, for he knew that he would not be enjoying the same kind of release Emma had. Still,

there had been an undeniable sense of satisfaction in pleasuring Emma. And although Alex had always been an extremely considerate and giving lover, this was the first time his own need had become completely secondary to someone else's.

"Oh my," Emma sighed, just as soon as she regained her powers of speech.

"Oh my, indeed/' Alex chuckled, running his forefinger along the elegant line of her jaw. "How do you feel?"

"I feel—oh, I don't know how I feel." Emma closed her eyes for a moment, utterly relaxed. A light smile touched her lips,

and she reopened her eyes and fixed her gaze on the man before her. "You know more about this than I do. How do I feel?"

Alex laughed aloud. "You feel splendid, my sweet. Absolutely splendid."

"Yes, I suppose I do," she sighed, curling up against him. "Although I wasn't too... vigorous?"

He bit back a smile. "No, darling, you weren't too vigorous. You were just perfect."

"Thank you so much for saying that," she said, burying her face in his side. "I wasn't at all sure what to do, you know." She

wanted to look up at him, wanted to see the expression in his eyes, but a faint flush of embarrassment crept over her.

"Have no fear. I plan to give you plenty of practice."

"What?" Emma sat up quickly, suddenly extremely eager to smooth her skirts. Alex's words had somehow triggered the

return of reality. "Alex, you know we can't be doing this all the time."

"Why not?"

"We just can't. There are too many people who would be hurt. Too many people who expect better of me."

"I can't think of anything I'd like better from you."

"You are being deliberately obtuse. I just—" Emma's face suddenly drained of color. "I can't believe what I just did," she said,

her eyes wide with shock over her scandalous behavior. A stolen kiss was one thing, but this—dear Lord, she had let, no

begged, Alex to touch her in a most intimate fashion.

Alex groaned as he watched doubt and self-recrimination pour over Emma's face. His body throbbed painfully, and quite

frankly he did not have the energy to deal with her sudden attack of feminine sensibilities.

I don't blame you," Emma said quickly. "I blame myself. I lost control of myself."

Nothing she could have said would have made him feel worse. She was such a little innocent; she had no idea what kind of sensual pressure he had used on her. How like his brave darling to try to assume the responsibility for their lovemaking. But despite the guilt that was beginning to invade his mind, Alex wasn't feeling particularly charitable. His body was still begging

for release, straining his nerves.

"Emma," he said suddenly, his voice even and controlled. "I'm only going to say this once. Do not regret what happened this afternoon. It was beautiful and natural, and you were everything I ever dreamed you would be. If you continue to berate

yourself you're only going to make yourself sick. And if you feel that we should never again share our souls as we did today,

well, you're just going to have to accept that I will probably put up quite a fight."

* * *

They rode home in silence. Emma felt as if her every emotion had been torn asunder. On the one hand, she could not help blissfully replaying the torrid lovemaking she had experienced just moments earlier. On the other hand, she wanted to flog

herself once she got home.

Life, she decided, was getting rather confusing.

Alex was not inclined to make conversation, either. His body felt like it was about to snap, and it didn't help that Emma's scent seemed to be everywhere—in his clothes, on his hands, simply floating through the air. He had known from the beginning that

he would not find satisfaction, but he had felt that the thrill of pleasuring Emma would be enough. And it had been—until she

had begun to doubt herself, cheapening the experience with her shame.

He was going to have to make some major decisions in his life, he decided—and soon. He wasn't sure how much more of

this he could take.

By the time the couple finally arrived back at Westonbirt, Emma was in a complete state of confusion. As they entered the cavernous foyer, she mumbled something incoherent to Alex and raced up the long, curving staircase with speed she had

never dreamed she possessed.

Alex was left with a fleeting vision of midnight-blue muslin and flaming hair flying away from him. He sighed wearily. He

almost wished he could just tell himself that he'd handled her badly. At least then he could try to undo his mistakes. But the

fact was that Emma's anguish stemmed from her own feelings of guilt and was probably something that she was going to

have to work out on her own. With a frustrated groan, Alex raked his hand through his hair, turned on his heel and strode

off to his suite, thinking that he ought to have his valet prepare a chilling bath.

* * *

When Emma reached her room, she was still moving with such haste that she practically flew through the doorway, flinging herself onto her bed with complete abandon. Which was why, she later supposed, she had been so surprised when she

realized that Belle was lying there, curled up peacefully with a volume of Shakespeare.

"Hell and damnation, Belle," Emma snapped, rubbing her shoulder where it had connected with her cousin's hip. "Couldn't

you possibly read in your own room?"

Belle looked at her with innocent blue eyes. "The light is better in here."

"For God's sake, Belle. Try to be a little more creative with your excuses. Your room is directly next to mine, and it faces

the same direction."

"Would you believe your bed is more comfortable than mine?"

Emma looked ready to explode.

"All right, all right," Belle said hastily, quickly scooting off the bed. "I admit it. I wanted to hear about your ride with Ashbourne."

"Well, it was fine. Are you satisfied?"

"No," Belle replied vehemently. "This is Belle, remember? You're supposed to tell me everything."

Something about Belle's wheedling tone struck an emotional chord in Emma, and she felt a hot tear spill down her cheek.

"I'm not sure I want to talk right now."

Belle took one look at Emma's stricken expression, dropped her book, and then, with her characteristic presence of mind,

thought to quickly slam the bedroom door shut. "Oh my God, Emma. What happened? Did he—? Did you—?"

Emma sniffled and wiped away a tear.

"Did he ravish you?"

"I hate that word," Emma bit out. "Have I ever told you that I hate that word?"

"Did he?"

"No, he didn't. What kind of a woman do you think I am?"

"A woman in love, I suppose. I hear men can be awfully persuasive when you're in love."

"Well, I'm not in love," Emma returned defiantly.

"Aren't you?"

I don't know, Emma's mind cried out. She didn't say anything.

"I can see that you are at least thinking about it." Belle continued. "That's a start, I suppose. I don't really have to tell you

how happy we would all be if the two of you did decide to get married."

"Believe me, I've sensed your feelings."

"Well, you can't really blame us. We do so love having you here in England. Especially me," Belle said gravely. "It's hard

when your best friend is an ocean away."

Belle's last remark sent Emma over the edge, and she exploded into tears, hiccuping loudly as she soaked the pillowcase.

"Oh dear." Belle quickly moved back to the bed and began to stroke her cousin's hair from her face. Emma wasn't the

crying sort of female, so Belle knew that something serious had occurred. "I'm sorry," she crooned. "I didn't mean to put

any pressure on you. We all know that it has to be your decision in the end."

Emma didn't respond, but the tears continued to squeeze out of her eyes. She laid on her side, taking deep breaths as her

tears rolled over her nose and dripped onto the pillow.

"You might feel better if you talk about it," Belle commented. "Why don't you come over to the dressing table, and I'll comb

out your hair. It looks as if the wind whipped a few tangles into it."

Emma rose and moved slowly across the room, ungraciously rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She plopped herself down in the plush chair that accompanied the dressing table and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She looked awful. Her

eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her nose was red, and her hair was strewn every which way. She took a deep breath to regain

her equilibrium and silently marveled at the society women who even knew how to cry with style. A single tear or two, a

delicate sniffle—nothing like the heart-wrenching sobs that racked Emma, leaving her feeling like a wrung-out, pathetic mess.

She turned to Belle with another loud sniffle. "Do you know something? I used to be someone else."

"Whatever do you mean?" Belle picked up a comb.

"I mean—and correct me if I'm wrong—I used to have something of a reputation as an exceptional female. I don't mean to

boast, but I did."

Belle nodded, trying to hide a smile.

"I didn't simper," Emma continued with a little more enthusiasm. "Or make stupid conversation. I had a quick wit. People

used to comment on it." She looked up to Belle for reassurance.

Belle continued her sympathetic nods but was obviously finding it more difficult to contain her smile. She began to pull the

comb gently through Emma's hair.

"And I had confidence in myself, too."

"Don't you now?"

Emma sighed, slumping in the chair. "I don't know. I used to feel decisive about my actions. Now I never know what to do.

I'm constantly confused, and when I do finally make a decision about something, I regret it later."

"Do you think that all this confusion might have something to do with Ashbourne?"

"Of course it has something to do with Alex! It has everything to do with him. He's turned my entire life upside down."

"But you aren't in love with him," Belle stated quietly.

Emma clamped her mouth shut.

Belle tried a different tactic. "How do you feel when you're with him?"

"It's completely crazy. One moment we're joking like old friends, and the next I've got a lump in my throat the size of an

extremely large egg, and I feel like I'm an awkward twelve-year-old."

"You don't know what to say?" Belle guessed.

"It's not that I don't know what to say. I feel as if I've forgotten how to speak!"

"Hmmm." Belle continued to work the tangles out of her cousin's hair. "It sounds quite fascinating. I've never felt that way

around a man before." She paused thoughtfully. "Although I am looking forward to rereading Romeo and Juliet when I finally

get to the R's."

Emma grimaced. "Please recall that they met with a rather unfortunate demise. I'd rather you didn't draw comparisons."

"Oh. Sorry."

It may have been Emma's overexerted emotions, but she didn't think Belle sounded terribly contrite.

"There we go," Belle said matter-of-factly. "All done with the left side." She began combing the back of Emma's hair.

"Why don't you tell me about this afternoon? Something must have happened to have put you in such a state."

Despite herself, Emma felt her cheeks grow warm. "Oh, nothing really. We just went for a ride. The countryside here is lovely."

Belle pulled the comb through Emma's hair with a vicious yank.

"Ow!" Emma howled. "What are you doing? I'll be bald by the time you're through."

"You were saying something about this afternoon?" Belle prodded in a sweet voice.

"Give me that comb!" Emma snapped. Belle lodged the offending weapon in her bright hair

and gave it a little tug, symbolizing the torture that was yet to come. "Oh, all right," Emma gave in. "We stopped for a picnic."

"And?"

"And we had a perfectly marvelous time. We traded stories about when we were children."

"And?".

"And he kissed me! Are you satisfied?"

"He must have done more than kiss you," Belle surmised. "You've kissed Alex before, and you never started crying like this."

"Well, maybe he did a little more than kiss me." Emma really wished she weren't sitting right in front of a mirror, where she

was forced to watch her skin color slowly redden until it matched her hair.

"But he didn't ravish you?" Belle looked almost upset.

"Belle, are you disappointed that I made it through the afternoon with my virtue intact?"

"No, of course not," Belle replied quickly. "Although I must admit, I'm a bit curious about 'the act' and all that, and I cannot

get Mother to tell me anything about it."

"Well, you won't get any more details from me. I'm just as innocent as you are."

"Not quite as innocent, I imagine. I may be naive, but even I know that there is quite a bit between a kiss and 'the act'."

To say that words failed Emma would be a gross understatement.

"Isn't there?" Belle persisted.

"Uh, well, yes," Emma spluttered. "Yes, there is."

Belle plodded on. "Would it be fair to say that you did something somewhere between kissing and 'the act'?"

"Would you stop calling it 'the act'?!" Emma burst out. "You make it sound so sordid."

"Would you rather I call it something else?"

"I'd rather you didn't call it anything." Emma's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This is getting extremely personal."

Belle would not be deterred. "Did you?"

"You do realize that you have no shame?"

"None whatsoever," Belle said blithely, giving the comb an impertinent tug.

Emma winced, groaned, and barely suppressed the urge to curse. "Oh, all right," she huffed. At this rate, Belle would have

all of her hair pulled out by supper. "Yes," she groaned. "Yes, yes, yes! Are you satisfied?"

Belle stopped combing immediately and sank down into the chair opposite Emma. "Oh my," she breathed.

"Could you possibly stop staring at me as if I've suddenly been ruined?"

Belle blinked. "What? Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that—oh my."

"For heaven's sake, Belle. I wish you wouldn't go on and on about this. It's a trivial matter." Oh, really? she asked herself.

Then why were you sobbing your heart out a few minutes ago? Emma quickly stifled her inner voice. Maybe she had overreacted a little. After all, it wasn't as if she had gotten herself (perish the word) ravished. And, she admitted with a

rueful smile, it wasn't as if she hadn't enjoyed herself.

Belle was also weighing the matter carefully in her ever-pragmatic mind. This was big news, indeed. She had privately

decided that a wedding between her cousin and the duke of Ashbourne was imminent. A slight indiscretion before the

actual nuptials could be easily overlooked. Still, that didn't mean that Belle wasn't intensely curious about the incident.

"Just tell me one thing, Emma," she implored. "What was it like?"

"Oh, Belle," Emma sighed, giving up all attempts at offended maidenly virtue. "It was splendid."