he awoke slowly, feeling a physical soreness and a certain malaise of spirit as she had to face the morning. She would have preferred it to remain night forever, for then she could simply lie in bed with him and push reality away.

She was alone in the bed, for which she was grateful. Despite the heated carnality they had shared during the night, she didn't think she'd have been able to blithely crawl naked from the bed in full daylight with him looking on. Nor did she now; she stretched cautiously beneath the twisted, wrinkled sheet. Though her thighs protested and her breasts and lips felt swollen and tender, the only real soreness seemed to be between her legs and to her relief even that wasn't severe.

Her depression wasn't brought on by her physical complaints, which were minor, but by her uncertainty that had, perversely, been increased by his lovemaking. Before, the situation had been that she loved him but wasn't loved in return. A simple, if painful, reality.

She still loved him. If she hadn't done so, she could have resisted him, but she had long ago admitted that she loved the rough, hard-eyed gunman. No matter if he called himself Roper or Sarratt, no matter if he'd sworn vengeance on everything and everyone bearing the McLain name, she loved him. She couldn't love by half-measures, holding back in self-protection; nor could she stop loving him just because he'd lied to her and betrayed her trust. Whether or not he wanted it, he had both her heart and her loyalty. The sense of honor that had kept her with McLain even when she despised him would keep her heart with Jake Sarratt forever. So she had lain beneath him in the night, shocked by the intimacies he'd insisted on, burning with the pleasure he'd given her, and she had become, irrevocably, Jake Sarratt's woman.

She had given him everything, her body and her honor, her pride. What deepened the shadows in her eyes was the inner certainty that he didn't cherish the gift. He had enjoyed her body, but she remembered with sharp pain that he had also enjoyed the body of the woman she'd seen him making love to in the barn.

The bright sunshine pouring in the window mocked her, but after another moment of lying in bed she answered the mockery by rising. Even though she was alone, her head was high and her back straight as she washed the evidence of the night from her body and methodically dressed herself in her usual modest shirtwaist and plain skirt. After she had picked up her scattered garments from the floor, she sat down at the dresser to put up her hair. It was a moment she had been postponing, because she dreaded looking at herself this morning, afraid the night's sensuality would show on her face.

To her relief, she looked much as she always did, although a little paler. Her face was grave and serene, and if there was a depth of new knowledge in her eyes, that at least was to be expected.

Facing herself in the mirror had been difficult; facing Jake would take every bit of backbone she possessed.

Jake brooded in the library, a cup of Lola's strong hot coffee in his hands. The night had not left him untouched, either. He'd known he wanted Victoria; he'd even admitted to being obsessed by her. What he hadn't known was how strong the obsession was or that now, after taking her, he'd want her even more.

All of his plans had seemed so simple, but now he was caught. Victoria was a temptation he couldn't resist, a complication he couldn't solve. He and Ben had the ranch back, the land that was theirs by birthright but not by law. McLain was dead; though Garnet had survived, it was enough that he was gone. Jake wasn't inclined to go chasing after him. If Garnet ever crossed his path again, he would kill him, but for now at least Jake was satisfied. Almost.

What was he going to do about Victoria? She threatened him in a way no one else ever had, because she threatened him emotionally. Last night had shown him his own frightening vulnerability to her. He was terrified of his weakness for her, of how close and raw she made his emotions. The only way Jake knew to deal with this kind of threat was to flee, to protect himself by being rid of her, but he couldn't do that without losing the ranch.

She had been McLain's wife; he should be disgusted at the thought of touching her, but the truth was that he ached to have her again and again. She was so fine that McLain's ugliness hadn't been able to coarsen her. The night they had just shared hadn't diluted the intensity of his desire; it had increased it.

He desperately wanted to fight that desire, to keep himself heartwhole. He could send her away, but the thought of some other man marrying her made him grind his teeth in rage. And with her went the legal ownership of the ranch. He was caught in her woman's web like some stupid insect, and damn if he liked that idea.

He couldn't let her go, so there was no sense in even toying with the idea. He and Ben had control of the ranch, but they didn't have ownership. Unless he married Victoria. Then it would be his, and he would deed half of it to Ben.

He could keep the ranch, or he could protect himself by letting Victoria go. He and Ben had been born in this house; the thought of coming back to it, reclaiming it, had been the driving force of their lives. He'd fought for it, killed for it, won it back, but still it legally belonged to someone else. He could try to close himself off emotionally, try to protect himself with the wall of ice that had served him so well until now. But physically and legally, he and Victoria were to be man and wife. He really had no choice.

Ben walked in, sipping his own cup of coffee. He sprawled in a chair close to Jake's and eyed his brother with sharp awareness, both of where he had spent the night and of what was on his mind now.

"She's a fine woman," Ben said.

Jake looked up. "I know."

"And a real lady. I'm not too sure about that cousin of hers, but Victoria is a lady through and through."

Amusement lightened Jake's frown for a minute, and he grinned at his brother. "Emma? She's even more proper than Victoria. What did you do to her to get her stirred up?"

"Me?" Ben snapped. "She shot at me, damn it, and tried to knock my brains out with the rifle!"

Jake shrugged. "Victoria took a shot at me, too."

"She fought like a wildcat," Ben said, remembering the way Emma had felt beneath him, the way she had gone still when she'd felt his hardness pushing against her. He shifted restlessly and changed the subject.

"Do your plans still stand?"

"What choice do I have?"

"We both know the choices." Ben knew Jake would never harm Victoria, but he wanted to jolt his brother out of his brooding, so he said, "Victoria owns the ranch now. You can marry her, or you can kill her."

Victoria had come downstairs just after Ben had entered the library, and stood outside the door trying to work up enough courage to greet them. Jake had seen her as no one else had, touched her as no one else had. The memory would be in his eyes when he looked at her, and knowledge would be in Ben's because the things that a man did to a woman were something that all men knew, and did. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but in her hesitation to enter the room she had. And what she'd heard had drained all the blood from her face.

So that was why he'd been trying to seduce her. From the beginning he'd planned to make her fall in love with him so she would be willing to marry him and give him legal ownership of the ranch. She supposed she could only be relieved that he'd considered that option at all rather than simply killing her outright, as he'd killed McLain. It appeared he hadn't yet made up his mind about her fate, though, and the knowledge stiffened her spine.

She stepped into the library, her entrance making both men look around at her. She was still white, but composed. "I couldn't help overhearing," she said in a tone that was calm, if a bit strained. She clenched her hands together to prevent their trembling and forced herself to meet Jake's narrowed green eyes. "Which should I prepare myself for, a wedding or a funeral?"

Jake scowled; he still didn't like the idea that she had so much power over his emotions, but the fact was that she did. Here she was as calm and cool as a nun, all starched and buttoned, as if she hadn't dug her nails into his back and all but screamed with pleasure while he held her convulsing body still for his thrusts. The memory burned through him and made him grow hard. Kill her? He couldn't even form the thought in his mind. And how could she think it, especially after last night? Angered, he glared at her, his eyes icy green.

"The wedding," he said abruptly. "I've sent one of the men after Father Sebastian. He'll marry us this afternoon."

"Thank you," she whispered, and left the room.

At least there was no pretense between them, she thought with a bitter smile. He hadn't tried to lie to her and dupe her with romance. He hadn't even bothered asking her if she would marry him, but then, why should he have? She could marry him or die.

She sought out Emma, whom she found in the courtyard enjoying both the sun and their freedom from the yoke of constant fear. If for nothing else, Victoria felt gratitude to the Sarratts for getting them out of that.

"Jake is marrying me this afternoon," she said baldly, not knowing how else to state it.

Emma's mouth and eyes went round. "This afternoon?" she squeaked. Then she blushed and said, "Well, yes, of course, after last night—"

Victoria flinched. "You knew?" She was mortified.

Emma flushed even redder. "Not last night. But this morning… um, I saw him leaving your bedroom, carrying his shirt."

Victoria sank down on a bench and looked at her hands, struggling with her embarrassment. It was foolish, really, after all they had been through. Even though Emma didn't know the shocking things Jake had done to her or the way she had responded, Victoria knew very well and couldn't prevent herself from thinking of them.

Emma sat down beside her and hugged her. "Please don't be embarrassed," she said. "You'll be married this afternoon, so I don't think it's so scandalous to have anticipated your wedding vows by less than twenty-four hours. Unless… unless it was awful?"

"No, it isn't that." She paused, then said, "He doesn't love me." Victoria sighed and watched a rose blossom swaying in the slight breeze. "Now that the Major is dead, the ranch is legally mine. The only way Jake can get it is to either marry me or kill me. I'm terribly grateful that he's chosen marriage."

Emma stiffened, shocked. "Then you can't marry him."

"Pride would say so, wouldn't it? But I like living. And he'd have to kill you and Celia, too, so don't be so hasty saying I should refuse his decision." She found that there was, after all, some amusement to be had. She smiled at Emma. "And it wasn't awful at all."

Emma blushed and looked away, but a smile tugged at her lips, too. "So it isn't that the act is awful, but sometimes the man is."

"Exactly. One's modesty is useless and it's painfully intimate, but not awful." She took a deep breath. "The opposite, in fact."

Emma shivered, but not from a chill. She couldn't stop thinking about the suspended moment when Ben Sarratt had lain on top of her, his heavy arousal obvious. She had given him the cold shoulder since then because his frank arrogance irritated her, but all she had to do was let her concentration slip and she felt the imprint of his body again, lying all along hers, pressing her down.

They sat together, each of them thinking of a different Sarratt. At length Victoria's empty stomach prompted her to the kitchen, since she had slept so late she had missed breakfast. There was work to be done, now that two men had moved into the house, and she had dawdled long enough.

The Major had always been out most of the day, until the end when his mind had gone; in fact, practically the only contact they had had with him was at mealtimes. It wasn't that way with Jake and Ben. Their presence was very much felt in the house; they were in and out all day, filling the rooms with their deep voices, the stomp of their boots on the tile floors, bringing the scents of horses and tobacco with them. Victoria managed to avoid Jake, but cornered Ben long enough to get him to point out to her which gear was his and which was Jake's. When she had it separated, she dithered about what to do with Jake's clothes. Should she put them in her room or in the adjoining room? Perhaps he planned on taking that room for himself, since he'd obviously given orders that it be cleaned out. It would have been simple enough to ask him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. After all that had passed between them, now she didn't feel comfortable approaching him.

Jake noticed that his soon-to-be wife was avoiding him to the point that she didn't even look in his direction, and he grew more and more irritated as the day wore on. If she thought he would put up with this she was going to be sorely surprised. It was bad enough that she had gotten under his skin the way he had, but he was damned if he was going to let her sulk every time she didn't like something he did, especially when she was wrong. He was still angry that she'd thought he would kill her to get the ranch; more than angry, because that meant she put him in the same category with McLain. He felt wronged. But most of all, he still felt threatened, and he was glad of any excuse to feel angry, to hold himself at a distance from her. Damn her for the effect she had on him! All he had to do was see her and his heart started beating faster, he lost his concentration, and all he wanted was to take her to bed again. He thought of the night and his entire body shuddered with pleasure. It wasn't just that it had been good; it had been unique. Shattering. He had never before been so lost in a woman, so focused on her to the extent that the world outside that bed had vanished. There was a lot he'd intended to get cleared between them last night, but none of it had been discussed. He'd seen her standing there, he'd known that she was his for the taking, and he'd taken her. Nothing else had been important.

Jake and Ben, along with the foreman, Lonny, were discussing how they were going to handle the problem of the few remaining McLain men who were still out with the distant herds when Emma tapped politely on the open door and put her head into the room. She looked only at Jake, studiously avoiding the challenging, hooded examination Ben was giving her.

"Where do you want the wedding to take place, Jake? Victoria says it doesn't matter." That was a lie because Emma hadn't asked Victoria, but it was a small barb intended to sting. Emma hadn't forgiven him for his deception, and she wasn't above giving some back.

Jake scowled, just as irritated as Emma had meant him to be.

"In the parlor? That's where she married the Major." Emma smiled as she pushed the barb deeper.

Jake's face went rigid. "No," he said after a minute, his voice so flat and calm it took a good ear to hear the savagery in it. "The courtyard."

Emma smiled again and withdrew. Lonny stared at the closed door with a strangely satisfied smile on his face. "Thoroughbreds," he announced. "Yep, them women are thoroughbreds. It'll be nice, settlin' down with women around. They tend to make men act better than normal, don't they?"

"What would you know about it?" Ben asked with a snort of disbelief at hearing such a sentiment from their foreman, who was as tough and wiry as they came.

"Hell, I been around women!" Lonny snapped. "I reckon I know the difference atween ladies and whores, and these are ladies. They'll make you two watch your manners, iffen you got any."

Ben began chortling and after a minute Jake relaxed enough to laugh, too. Lonny was a veteran of more wars, shoot-outs, and brawls than the two of them combined. Their friendship with him had begun over five years before when they had hauled him, dead drunk, out of a burning whorehouse. For him to lecture them on the difference between ladies and whores was almost more than they could stand.

Father Sebastian arrived sooner than Victoria had anticipated, and she wasn't ready. Even given the circumstances of the marriage, she didn't intend to get married in the clothes she'd been working in all day. On her first wedding day she had brooded; on her second she didn't have time to do more than quickly freshen up and don one of her good dresses. On the first she had been terrified. She felt a lot of things on the second: sadness, because he didn't love her and was marrying her only for the ranch; innate fear, for her husband would still be very much a stranger to her despite their lovemaking, and he was a hard, rough man who had lived by his gun; relief, that he wanted her at all, that she would have a chance with him; excitement, very definitely. He would be her husband. Even if he never saw her as anything but a necessary nuisance, she would share his life, his name, and his bed, and she would bear his children.

There were other differences in this wedding, too. The people surrounding her seemed excited, even happy. Celia was still suffering from the effects of riding and was not as lively as before, but the look of strain was easing from her eyes and her merry laughter rang out several times. Emma was a whirlwind overseeing the rush and bustle of preparing for the hasty marriage, but her eyes were bright. Carmita chattered nonstop; Lola was singing in the kitchen; even Juana hummed as she rushed back and forth on errands. Men were in and out, bellowing, cursing, asking the pardon of any female within hearing distance for their cursing, cursing some more as soon as they forgot themselves, some of the bolder ones flirting with anyone wearing a skirt.

Only the bride and groom seemed less than ecstatic, though to be honest the men were interested only because of the chance for a party. Jake was tense, and therefore ill-tempered. Victoria was acutely sensitive to the reasons he was marrying her and became more and more nervous as the minutes passed. When she dashed down the stairs to the ceremony that would make her Mrs. Jacob Sarratt, she was shaking so hard she could barely hold her skirts up to keep from tripping over them.

"This way!" Emma said excitedly, hurrying her through the house. "Everyone's waiting."

Victoria hadn't asked and had vaguely assumed that the wedding would take place in the parlor because it was the most formal room in the house. But Emma led her into the courtyard. Relief swept through her. The late afternoon sun bathed the courtyard in a mellow, golden light; the open space was crowded with, she supposed, everyone who worked for them now, men and women alike. The men far outnumbered the women, of course, and shifted back and forth on restless feet, awkwardly turning their hats in their hands. The women had decorated the courtyard as best they could with bright Mexican lamps, even though the sun was still shining, and colorful streamers that Carmita or Lola had saved from some long-ago festival.

Father Sebastian beamed at her as she stepped to Jake's side. A bit hysterically, Victoria wondered if he didn't find it strange that he should be performing another wedding ceremony for her so soon after the first. She had become a wife, a widow, and now a wife again with disorienting speed. If she had been at home, she would have worn black for at least a year and been secluded within her family. It would have been unthinkable for her even to consider another engagement for a year and a half, and here she was now remarrying only three days after her husband's death.

She fought back the urge to giggle, and jumped when she felt Jake take her hand. She looked at him with huge, startled eyes and was shocked back to reality by the cold green glitter of his. But his hand was warm, and when he felt how she was shaking he gently squeezed her fingers. The action steadied her, reminding her that, for all the violence and danger of this man, he had chosen to protect her.

She could remember little of her first wedding ceremony, but this one was crystal clear and she knew it would be engraved on her memory. Most of the guests were armed, but Victoria couldn't fault that when the groom was, too. The sun shone, the birds sang, men cleared their throats, the priest performed the ceremony, and she and Jake made the appropriate responses. All the while, her hand was clasped in his hard, strong one.

There were no rings, but she didn't feel the lack. She had removed the Major's ring on the ride back to the ranch, after she had learned he was dead, and dropped it in the dust.

Jake was also intensely aware of his surroundings, but even more so of the woman beside him. Now that she was becoming legally his, he was struck by the realization that by the laws of God and man he was now her protector; he had sworn to keep her from danger, to keep her warm, to never let her know hunger, to provide for her and any children they might have. He now stood between her and the harshness of life. Yet she was still afraid, because he could feel her shaking and her delicate hand was cold. Didn't she trust him to protect her? Then he realized that it was himself that she feared. How could she? But the fact that she did told him she was marrying him only because she thought he would kill her if she didn't.

The woman needed to learn some lessons about the man she was marrying.

Then the priest was blessing them, and it was done. There was a flurry of handshakes, hugs, and congratulations, and Carmita threw her arms around Jake's neck and gave him an enthusiastic kiss on the lips, then was mortified at her own behavior. "Welcome back, Señor Jake," she stuttered, and fled.

One of the Mexican cowhands produced a guitar and began strumming it. As the sun went down, the liquor was brought out. Whiskey and tequila ran down the male throats. A few of them grabbed the women and began whirling them around the courtyard, stomping in an enthusiastic fashion that had little to do with an actual dance, but a great deal to do with their high spirits.

Jake kept Victoria at his side. As darkness blotted out the sky the bright Mexican lanterns cast their magic over the courtyard and the laughter ringing out eased Jake's tension.

Without a word he put his arm around Victoria's waist and eased her against him, moving her into the slow shuffle that was all he knew how to do. She gave him a quick, startled look, then relaxed in his arms. Her head dropped onto his shoulder and she sighed, but he thought it was a sigh of contentment, or at least relief.

She felt so delicate in his arms. Her bones were as slender as a child's, her shoulders straight but still only a little more than half as broad as his. Her head tucked neatly under his chin, and the sweet, faint perfume of her hair elusively teased him. Her breasts were soft against him; he remembered how round they were, how pale and delicately veined, and how he had rubbed his face against them. Her slender thighs moved gracefully against his as they swayed together in dance; last night they had clasped around his buttocks in eager passion.

He had been half-aroused all day, unable to keep his thoughts from returning time and again to the night before. Now his erection pushed painfully against his pants, and he stifled a groan as he unobtrusively moved her in a hidden caress against his swollen groin. She looked up at him, and he saw her swallow. Her blue eyes were shadowed, but she made no protest, and after a moment she returned her head to his shoulder.

Ben leaned against one of the posts, watching Jake dance with his new wife. He liked Victoria, but then he should have known that Jake never would have planned to marry her if she'd been a shrill, condescending sort. He didn't know what they would have done, but marrying her would have been out.

He looked around the courtyard and caught sight of Emma dancing with Lonny, of all people. Ben would have sworn that Lonny had never even seen a dance before, but there he was, whirling and stomping and having the time of his life. Emma was laughing. Ben stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her. She wouldn't even look at him, but she'd dance with every clumsy cowhand who asked her.

Lola brought out refreshments, doughnuts and some squares of plain cake. The men swooped down on the doughnuts, which they called "bear sign," with yells of delight, and the dancing momentarily stopped. When it started again, Ben noticed that Emma laughingly declined all invitations in favor of some much needed rest. She found a seat on a bench at the opposite side of the courtyard from where he stood and contentedly watched the others dance. Most of the men were dancing with each other since there were so few women, but it made no difference to the mood of celebration.

Ben made his way around the courtyard and came up behind Emma. She didn't know he was there until he propped his boot on the bench beside her, and leaned forward to rest his arm on his raised knee. "How long are you going to run away from me because of what happened?" he asked in a cool, hard voice.

Emma didn't look at him. "Nothing happened, Mr. Sarratt." Her voice was as cool as his.

"The hell it didn't. You got me hard, and we both enjoyed it."

She hitched her shawl higher on her arms, but still didn't look at him. "I think, Mr. Sarratt, that you must be used to a different type of female. I'm not responsible for your—your body, and neither do I enjoy being treated like a slut who would welcome your rubbing."

Ben's voice got even harder. "What I think, Miss Gann, is that your personality would be a lot sweeter if you had more rubbing."

Though Emma knew it was dangerous even to continue this wildly improper conversation, let alone make it even more personal, she couldn't prevent herself from sneering, "From you? You flatter yourself."

Ben straightened, a little shocked, then stepped over the bench to stand in front of her. Without a word he caught her wrist and pulled her to her feet, then dragged her out of the courtyard. Emma cried out a protest, but there was so much noise that no one noticed. When they were outside he whirled her around and flattened her against the wall, holding her there with both hands clasping her rib cage. Only a few inches separated them; he smelled hot and faintly sweaty, and she trembled with primitive response.

Out here it was dark, although light and music and gaiety were just on the other side of the wall. A peculiar bubble of silence surrounded them, broken only by the raspy sound of his breathing.

He bent his head. Emma pushed her hands against his chest and said sharply, "Don't you dare!" but her protest was useless. His mouth covered hers, and when she tried to turn her head away he shifted his hold on her so that her head was anchored against his shoulder, his hand clenched in her hair to hold her still. The hard pressure of his mouth bruised her soft lips. Desperately she bit him, her teeth sinking into his lower lip. He cursed and jerked his head away, and wiped at the blood that smeared his mouth.

"Do that again and I'll blister your bare ass," he snarled.

Emma found that she couldn't free herself from his tight grip. She threw her head back as she faced him defiantly. "You were hurting me! Was I supposed to do nothing?"

He paused, then said, "I guess not." He lifted his fingers to her lips and lightly rubbed them. Even in the faint light spilling over the wall he could see that they were already getting puffy. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

She could barely breathe, though she struggled to draw air into her constricted lungs. She wished he would release her, wished she couldn't feel his hard body pressing against her from breast to knee. She pushed against his chest again and found that the effort still had no effect.

He was still looking at her mouth. "We have to do something about this," he said under his breath.

"No, we don't," she quickly replied.

He gave a soft laugh. "That's what you think, girl." Then he kissed her again, claiming her lips with hunger, but no longer with violence. He moved his tongue into her mouth, penetrating deeply and drinking her taste. Emma jerked in his arms, then the tension abruptly drained out of her body and she sank against him.

A fine, heady madness welled up in her, born of the increasing pleasure she felt at his invasive kisses. She wound her arms around his neck and forgot about the protests she should make, forgot that no man could possibly respect a woman who let him kiss her like this unless they were engaged. Nor did she protest when he slid his hand to her bottom and arched her forward, nestling his hardness in the notch of her legs as he had done the day he'd wrestled her to the ground. Instead she whimpered, her head falling back to rest against the wall, and her legs parted even more in an instinctive yielding. Ben instantly took advantage, his hips moving in the slow grind and thrust of sex. He put his hand on her breast, kneading the soft mound through the barrier of her clothes. He felt her tremble, felt her legs give way, and caught her weight against him.

He kissed her jaw and the soft hollow below her ear, his mouth hot and wet. "Have you had a man before?" he asked roughly, praying that the answer would be yes.

But she dazedly shook her head. "No," she whispered.

He swore mentally for a long time, using every curse word he'd ever heard and coming up with a few new combinations. Damn, why couldn't she have done it just once before? As soon as he had the thought, his mind rebelled against it with angry possessiveness. He didn't want to think of another man sliding inside her, even though that would leave his conscience clear to do the same.

There were only two kinds of women: good women and bad ones. A good woman let no man except her husband enjoy her favors, but all it took was one slip to turn her into a loose woman. A good woman was both respected and protected; if a man ever forced himself on a good woman, he could expect himself to be hanged as soon as he was caught. That was the way it was, and Ben would have gladly helped hang the bastard who forced any woman, good or bad.

But other folks didn't see it like that; if Emma went to bed with him, she would automatically be stepping over the line that divided respectable women from the unrespectable ones.

The barrier was so black and white, so absolute, that Ben took a deep breath and stepped back. If he'd been thinking marriage it would be different, but Ben wasn't inclined to marriage. He wanted Emma, but the decision had to be hers because the risk would be hers, and he refused to seduce her into it.

"Then it's your choice, Emma," he said. The words were low and harsh; he could barely make his throat work. "We can go upstairs to my bedroom, right now, or we can stop. If you decide you want to go upstairs with me, I want it understood up front that I'm not a marrying man."

That was certainly honest, painfully so. Emma stared at him, bereft by the sudden loss of his touch, the pulse throbbing wildly at the base of her throat. In truth, her entire body was throbbing, hungry for more.

She hadn't thought of marriage, either. She had thought of nothing except first, the anger that had filled her, which she realized now was her protective response to the instincts he triggered in her, and then the wild urge to give in to those instincts. Marriage? No, that wasn't what she wanted, she barely knew the man. This was only the second time she had spoken to him. And the second time she had felt him lying against her with heavy arousal.

But his words were a slap of reality, showing her what she had been about to do. She could lie with him, but for no reason other than lust. And when she rose up from that bed, she would no longer be a respectable woman. If she ever married, and she hoped she did, she would have to explain to her husband why she wasn't virtuous. The only other alternative would be to go completely away from her family and anyone who knew her and begin a new life as a "widow," which would explain her lack of chastity.

She had so much to lose and so very little to gain. A few moments of pleasure, weighed against a lifetime of respectability. If she had loved him it would be different, but she didn't even have that.

With the inborn dignity with which she faced every hardship, Emma braced herself and gave him his answer. "Nor is marriage what I'm looking for. Thank you for giving me this choice."

Ben smiled crookedly at her. "What's the answer?" he asked, though he already knew.

"No," she replied, and walked away.