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"Damn it, I said it’s just a nick. And give me that gun before you shoot yourself."

"I know what you said," she said soothingly, and placed the gun on the table. "Now please remove your shirt so I can attend to the scratch."

His brows drew together in a fierce scowl but he said nothing.

Templeton returned so quickly that Calliope wondered where he hid the bandages. She took the supplies from the butler and thanked him.

James sat, eyes closed. He crossed his arms and pain flashed across his brow. She put her hands on her hips. "Honestly, you’re acting like a child. Now take off your shirt."

He glared at her as she moved toward him. If he wasn’t going to take it off, then she would.

Calliope could have sworn he growled at her, but he acceded to her command and removed the blood-soaked shirt. She carefully checked his torso for other wounds, even peering under the patch covering the stab wound. She had seen his chest earlier in the day, but the intimacy of the act still moved her.

She snapped to attention, concentrating on the task at hand. Dipping a towel in water, she cleansed the colorful mess on his arm. The bullet had taken a fair chunk out of the side. A nick indeed!

After she bandaged the wound, she sat back on her heels.

Templeton, who had been anxiously hovering during the entire ordeal, relaxed. "I will be in the kitchen, ma’am. Please pull the cord if you or my lord require anything." He exited the study and closed the door behind him.

Calliope studied James as he stared at the ceiling. His eyes were dark and remote. What was he thinking? She had prodded the wound and knew it had hurt, but as earlier, he remained detached and distant.

"Are you all right?"

He refocused on her, an intense look on his face. "What the bloody hell did you think you were doing, climbing out of the coach?"

"I-I-I thought I could help." His stormy look had reduced her to stammering.

"It would have helped if you had stayed inside the carriage."

Her chin went up a notch. "Jenkins might’ve died."

"Yes, and so might’ve you." He heaved a breath and leaned back against the sofa. "As it so happens I would not have pulled that maneuver had you been inside the carriage."

She brightened perceptibly.

"But don’t ever do it again." His aristocratic mien was back in place and she wanted to smack him. She balled her hands into fists instead.

"You can’t return home tonight," he said.

"I know."

He nodded and closed his eyes.

A wave of pent-up emotion washed through Calliope and she fought a hysterical giggle. She lost. One eye peeked open and he looked at her. He repeated her earlier question. "Are you all right?"

Another shrill giggle bubbled out and this time his other eye snapped open.

Hysteria whipped through her and it must have shown, because he swept her onto his lap, disregarding any pain in his left arm.

"You’re safe. Let it go."

His gentle words were her undoing. She buried her head against his neck and let the tremors sweep through her. The fear uncoiled within and she held on to him tightly, tears running down her cheeks unheeded. The stress that had been building since the beginning of the masquerade burst forth, as if waiting for just this moment to be released.

James ran his fingers down her back and stroked her hair with his left hand, comforting her as if she were a child, and whispering soft, incoherent words against her hair. He was using his injured arm to comfort her and that made her cry even harder.

Calliope couldn’t seem to stop. James was murmuring about stressful campaigns, battle-hardened men reduced to tears, her needing this release.

Calliope finally reached the sniffling stage, feeling infinitely better than she had in a long time. And safe. Nothing harmful could happen as long as he continued to hold her this way. James pulled her head back and smoothed her hair away from her face. She knew her eyes were bloodshot and her face was mottled, but James’s eyes were the same mesmerizing black velvet as the night of the Killroys’ and Pettigrew’s balls. Energy sparked between them and it sent a shiver down her spine.

James twirled a ringlet of her hair around his finger, then curved his hand gently around the back of her head, slowly drawing her toward him, allowing her time to settle back against his shoulder or pull away. The gentle caress and the intensity in his eyes were her undoing. She lifted her left hand and traced a path from his cheek to his silk collar. She heard his sudden intake of breath and her eyes searched and held his for a long moment. This man had somehow lodged himself into her being. His eyes mirrored her own need and a rush of excitement pulsed through her veins.

His lips touched hers like a feather. Then another mere brush. The gentle pressure on her head ceased and he looked into her eyes once more. He was allowing her time to make her decision, and once made, there would be no interruptions. Her heart made the choice. She relinquished her rigid control, shed all guises and gave in to the dream.

"Make me whole, James."

Her words loosened a dam within him, as he stroked the back of her neck and claimed her lips in a searing kiss. Calliope felt a sunburst in her stomach and she kissed him back with a longing she didn’t know she possessed.

It was heavenly, his spicy cologne, the feel of his lips against hers. He leaned into her and laid her against the sofa’s armrest.

He kissed her over and over like a starving man who hadn’t eaten a meal in days. Calliope felt the same way. Her hands delved beneath the edges of his white broadcloth, stroking the heated skin and exploring the hard-muscled planes she had observed earlier. He groaned.

Suddenly her shirt was unbuttoned and his hands slipped inside her chemise. He didn’t stop kissing her as he lightly rubbed his thumb over her left nipple. Everything blurred and little red and gold lights burst in her vision. She leaned her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck, over her breasts to her stomach. Her breeches had somehow come undone. Then they were gone. His hands and mouth were everywhere. Dear lord, his mouth was everywhere.

She gave in to the pleasure and arched on the sofa as her body reveled in the new sensations he stirred. He quickly removed the rest of her clothes and his. She gasped when she looked at him naked before her, all hard muscles and strong taut planes. Gone was the aristocrat, and in his place was her fantasy. And for one night he was hers.

His eyes seared her as he touched her with his hands. The inferno raged as he stroked her again and again, reaching his head down to pull first one nipple and then the other between his lips. Half the staff could have appeared beside the couch and she wouldn’t have cared. The pleasure was so intense she thought she might explode.

His eyes were molten and she wondered how she could have ever thought him cold. He continued the assault on her senses until she was damp and aching. She needed him to fill the missing piece.

"You’re beautiful. Beyond my wildest imaginings." He suddenly changed course and kissed her lips again, deeply, at the same time lifting her hips. She gripped the back of his head and kissed him hard, whispering against his mouth for him to hurry. She couldn’t remember ever needing anything so badly. He eased inside her and discomfort overrode the pleasure as she tried to adjust to the foreign sensation. He looked into her eyes, a question appearing in their depths, but she gave a tentative wiggle and they darkened. He continued to gaze at her, stroking her between their bodies until her wiggles became frenzied and the discomfort was forgotten.

Then he began to move. She lost all rational thought as the room lit on fire. A crescendo was building inside her unlike anything she’d experienced. Her body moved with a will of its own, pulling James closer, and matching him eagerly stroke for stroke. She cried out his name and heard hers echoed before losing all thought to the overwhelming waves of passion.