head as he scanned the dance floor with his eyes, seeking his bride. The reception room was crowded. Saint John society adored parties, and guests danced with eager faces, the men in formal dress, the women bright as flowers, their hair bound up with silver combs.
There she was, dancing with Martinus Soule, the tails of the banker’s frock coat flying out as they spun about the floor. Samuel clenched his teeth and absorbed the scene.
As he followed her progress through the dance, he experienced a sense of déjà vu so acute he felt momentarily dizzy. She was wearing a gown of white satin with a pale green sash and a low bodice from which her breasts swelled in becoming fashion. Between them, shifting and gleaming with each movement of her bosom, was the simple silver crucifix he had given her on her sixteenth birthday….
They’d sneaked out of that party so that Caitlin could show Samuel the mare her father had bought for her. A full moon had shone through the barred windows of the stable. In his mind, he saw her face dappled in moonlight, moving from shadow to shadow.
She’d stumbled, and he’d reached out toward her. “Careful, Cat. You’re such a tiny thing—a real shrimp. I’ll bet you’ve got the hem of that gown all dirty.”
“Who cares about a silly old dress. And you can find a better thing to call me than a shrimp, surely?”
Her face had shone like a playful puppy’s, all innocence and light. Samuel had felt a shared intimacy, and it had made him careless. He’d been thinking of her in an oblique fashion. He would be twenty-one in another week, but he would be gone by then. Somehow his imminent departure had triggered in him an intense sadness.
“A pixie? An elf? A fairy? A sprite? A witch?” Each question had been interspersed with a kiss. The first on her forehead, the second on her nose, the third on her ear, the fourth on her neck, the fifth on her mouth.
By that time, his knees were weak, his hands less than steady, and all he was aware of was the heavy weight between his thighs. Desire was a physical ache. Her mouth was open, all moist, warm invitation. She had been so wild, so sweet, that he wanted to part her soft thighs and feel that honeyed warmth wash over him.
He was, in short, so enchanted that when she took his hands and pressed them to her breasts, taut with passion, he savored the sweetness beneath his fingers. They kissed long and deep, their tongues exploring for the first time.
It was madness, he knew, and for a second he began to pull away. But then he felt her fingers undo the flap of his trousers, move across his flesh, saw that languid, lustful look in her eyes, and he melted inside.
Caitlin’s sleek head came forward, through bars of shadow and light. He saw the pink of her tongue tip, bright and shining as it passed through a swath of light just before it touched him. A sigh like a cloud riding high on warm wind and sunlight escaped her lips as she traced his long length upward.
“Go on,” he said thickly. His chest heaved. “Go on.”
His eyes closed in exquisite pleasure as she explored the nerve on the underside of the thickening head. Her open lips engulfed him slowly, slowly and so wetly. Spirals of ecstasy swirled with each swipe of her tongue, and he groaned deep in his chest as liquid heat rushed up his body.
Her lips lifted and she stared into his face, her eyes huge and glassy. “Love me, Samuel,” she said to him. “Love me, now.”
And Samuel, his manhood quivering with tension, slid to his knees, moved against her. But that was as far as he got.
Sound brushed through Samuel’s mind. A noise at the stable doorway. It was Caitlin’s father. Caitlin scrambled up, retreating now to the mare’s stall. Streamers of hay flew from her skirts, attaching themselves to his broadcloth trousers.
The squire had given him an ultimatum. Get out of England or his father would be told of the incident. As he boarded the Savannah, he had had the taste of ashes in his mouth as the sight of Caitryn exacerbated his guilt. She had not even said a word to him. Perhaps he had called out to her. He did not remember.
He thrust the memory away sharply, turned again to the dancers. Elfin Caitlin might be, but she had a nice shape, curves in all the right places. She had an unconscious grace, and her slim hips swayed in an enticing manner. He did not think she did it on purpose. She always had been a spritely creature.
Samuel idly swirled his drink and watched the candlelight spinning off her glossy black hair as she tilted her swanlike neck to the music. The arch of her throat made him feel heavy in his chest. Her vivid smile generated conflicting emotions deep within him. His hunger was like a pulse, a living thing existing deep inside him, separate and undeniable.
Samuel knew now that nothing would permanently slow or alter the quick, impatient way Caitlin moved. What was she now? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? Her character was volatile, complex, and her restless intellect reached out for knowledge that was neither attractive nor necessary in a woman.
It was ridiculous, of course, but he felt the tension growing inside of him. He felt his insides clench, and he could hear the rushing of his blood in his inner ears as if it were part of a spring thaw. His hammering heart seemed to be threatening to choke him.
God, this was torture! He had not lain with a woman in a long, long time. Another dismaying thought flitted through Samuel’s mind. What of Caitlin? Why had she come all this way to marry him?
Caitlin’s eyes strayed to the corner where Samuel was leaning on the counter and conversing with Liam Murphy. She felt her skin tighten and tingle all over. Though she could not like the way he was paying more attention to his business partner than to his bride, she had to concede he did look very handsome in his dark blue evening coat.
She also had to concede that Saint John, at least, was above her expectations. Samuel’s letter had hinted that this country was crude, full of inconveniences and uncouthness, and that she would need all her strength for what lay ahead of her.
On the contrary. The hotel ballroom was as grand as any in London. From the lovely green-papered walls to the fine trio of crystal chandeliers that hung from the high gilded ceiling, the room reflected elegance and refinement.
Caitlin was partly amused, partly provoked, by Samuel’s harsh evaluation of his new country. She hoped that his opinion of her destination would prove as inaccurate. Until this journey, her childhood dream of having a true adventure had seemed unattainable. She sighed with pleasure, feeling a delicious sense of anticipation.
Samuel suddenly looked up, directly at her. She experienced again that queer breathlessness whenever he looked in her direction. He studied her for a moment, an intensity revealed beneath those half-closed lids that shocked her. It was as if there were a kind of vexation there, a frustration, held in check.
A heartbeat more, and he inclined his head. A smile appeared and vanished on his lips, so quickly that Caitlin was not sure she had actually seen it. The noise in the ballroom seemed distant, dreamlike, unreal.
It was happening again—that disturbing feeling was back, deep in the pit of her stomach, an awareness of the pressing softness of her shift across her breasts. She couldn’t pinpoint the feeling. All she knew was that it made her uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.
She felt
