Catriona nearly choked on her tea. "She's a fully fledged disciple-she was my mentor after my mother died. So beware-she might turn you into a toad if you step too tar over the line."
Richard sipped, then turned and studied her. She was still simmering. "You can rip up at me, if you like."
The glance she shot him suggested she was seriously considering it. "This is all your fault. While they think there's an outside chance-the most distant possibility-they'll feel compelled to make a push to"-she gestured-"interest you in me."
"You could always explain they don't need to make the effort."
Catriona stiffened, she glanced up-and saw the lurking heat in his eyes. She frowned "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Stop thinking of that kiss in the graveyard."
"Why? It was a very enjoyable kiss, even in a graveyard."
She fought not to wriggle her shoulders, fought not to think of it herself. "It was a mistake."
"So you keep insisting."
"You could end this entire charade, this senseless agony of expectation, by simply stating your mind."
"How can I do that if I don't know it myself?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know perfectly well you'll return to London in a week's time, unencumbered by a wife." He merely raised his brows, with that irritatingly arrogant confidence that never failed to get her goat. She looked away "You don't want to marry me, any more than I wish to marry you."
Turning his head, he looked down at her; she felt the sudden intensity of his gaze.
"Ah-but I do wish, very much, to bed you, as much, if not more, than you wish me to do so, which might well predispose us to wed."
Stunned, Catriona looked up; politely, he raised his brows, his eyes like blue flame. "Don't you think?"
She snapped her mouth shut. "I do not!" Her cheeks burned, she dragged in a breath and looked away, adding through clenched teeth: "I most certainly do not wish you to bed me."
He studied her profile, even without looking, she knew his brows rose higher "Now who's lying?"
She straightened, but couldn't meet his eyes. "You're only teasing me."
"Am I?"
The soft words set her nerves skittering. And his fingers settled on the sensitive skin of her nape. She lost her wits, lost her breath. His fingers shifted, in the lightest caress-
She hauled in a breath and whirled to face him. "Stop that!"
"Why?" His expression unreadable, he studied her frown. "You like it."
Biting her tongue against another lie, she forced herself to meet his gaze-to ignore the wild sensations crashing through her. "Given that you will not be bedding me, there will be no reason for us to wed, and you will go back to London, and Seamus's fortune will go to the Church. Why won't you admit it?"
He raised his brows. "I will admit that if I'm involved at all, a wedding will certainly necessitate a bedding. In your case, to my mind, the two are inseparable-the one will beget the other."
"Very likely." Catriona spoke through gritted teeth. "However, as there will be no wedding-"
"What's this?"
Before she could focus, let alone gather her wits, he reached for the fine chain that hung about her throat, visible above the neckline of her gown. Before she could catch his hand, he drew the chain tree, lifting the pendant from its sanctuary in the valley between her breasts.
And clasped it in his hand, turned it between his long fingers. Catriona froze.
Squinting at the long crystal, he frowned. "It's carved, like the one on my mother's necklace, only of the other stone."
Drawing a shaky breath, Catriona lifted the pendant from his grasp. "Rose quartz." She wondered whether her voice sounded as strained as it felt. She dropped the pendant back into its haven-and nearly gasped in shock at its heat. It had been warm from her flesh, but the heat of his hand had raised its temperature much higher. With a herculean effort, she reassembled her scattered defenses, and retreated behind a haughty wall. "And now, if you've quite finished teasing me-"
The chuckle he gave was the definition of devilish. "Sweet witch, I haven't even started."
His blue eyes held hers; trapped for one instant too long, Catriona felt the hot flames sear her. And felt…
"You re a devil." She picked up her skirts. "And very definitely no gentleman!"
His lips twitched, just a little at the ends. "Naturally not. I'm a bastard."
He was that-and much more.
And he will father your children.
Catriona awoke with a start, with a gasp that hung quivering, in the empty dark. About her, the room lay still and silent the bedcovers lay over her, in tangled disarray. She lay on her back her heart racing to a beat she did not know, but recognized too well. Her arms lay tensed at her sides, her fingers gripping the sheets.
It took effort to straighten her fingers, to ease her locked muscles. Gradually, the tension holding her decreased, her breathing slowed.
Leaving behind confusion, consternation-and a compulsion that grew stronger by the day, by the hour. And even more by the night.
Night-when she need not-could not-hide from herself, when, in her dreams, her deepest yearnings and unvoiced needs held sway. Overridden, as always, by The Lady's will.
But that was not happening now. Instead, The Lady's will and her own deep yearnings were acting in concert, pushing her forward, into the arms of-
"A man I can't marry."
Rolling onto her elbow, Catriona reached for the glass of water on the table by the bed. She sipped, the cool water doused the lingering heat-heat that had flared at the dream of his lips on hers, of the touch of cool marble that incited flame Heat that had spread through her like forest fire in response to the hot hunger in his eyes, in his soul.
In response to his desire.
Alone in the night, there was no point in denying that, from the first, she had wanted him. Wanted him with a finality, a certainty, an absolute conviction that stunned her. She wanted him in her bed, wanted him to be the one to fill the empty space beside her, to dispel the private loneliness that was a part of her public persona. But from childhood she'd been taught to put her wants below the needs of her people in this instance, the choice had been clear.
Or so she had thought.
She was no longer so sure. Of anything.
Slumping back in the bed, she focused on the canopy. She had occasionally in the past, in her wild and willful youth, fought The Lady's will; she knew what it felt like. This was what it felt like. A draining combination of uncertainty, dissatisfaction, and an overwhelming confusion, from which, no matter how hard she tried, she could not break tree.
She was at odds with herself, because she was at odds with fate, with The Lady's will.
Muting a scream of keen frustration, she thumped her pillow, then turned on her side and snuggled down.
It had to be impossible. Had the Lady seen him? Did she know what-in this case-she was suggesting? Ordering?
Did she know what she was getting her senior disciple into?
Marriage to a masterful bastard.
The thought froze her mind, she stared, unseeing, into the dark, then shook herself, closed her eyes, and willed herself to sleep-without any more dreams.
She woke late the next morning-too late for breakfast. After taking tea and toast on a tray, she dressed warmly, dragged on her pelisse, and, avoiding Algaria's watchful eye, set out for a long walk. She needed to clear her head.