Then he was a child no longer. He kissed her, a bruising kiss, stealing from her even her gasp of welcome as he reached under her robe, his hands as hungry as his mouth. She moaned with the terrible pleasure of it. He yanked at his own clothing and then he was with her, sinking deep inside with a cry, whispering in her ear, shocking, entrancing words in bright colors as piercing and immediate as the thrust of his body into hers. She arched against him but another part of her waited, terrified, for the next knock on the door.

It was over quickly. When he began to shudder in her arms she held him tightly until his trembling subsided, stroking him and wiping her wet cheeks against his hair.

"I would guess this is what they call putting the cart before the horse," she said softly, when he was quiet.

He laughed then and gripped her closer to him.

"You didn't get much out of that," he said. "I'm sorry."

"I beg to disagree," she said, stretching under him a little. His head came up in surprise. "Do you now?" One hand slid over her damp skin to capture a breast. "Well, let me show you, then."

"Oh, no." Elizabeth began to untangle herself from him, pulling back from his embrace. "Mrs. Schuyler will be outraged. We're late already."

But his hands were everywhere, touching her, his mouth moving across her bare shoulder. She tried to stop him and managed only to press his palm against her breast.

"Nathaniel!" "With a great shove she removed herself from the bed and stood there' with the robe half draped about her, her hair dancing wildly, her chest heaving with every breath. "Listen to me!"

He focused, with considerable effort, on her face.

"Don't look at me that way!"

"What way?" He reached out to touch her; she scrambled away.

"Like you want to—devour me whole."

"Darlin'," he said, finally producing a smile. "That's just what had in mind."

She clutched her robe tighter, and tried to modulate her voice.

"Nathaniel. We are supposed to be in the parlor being married, right now. Do you realize that the whole household is waiting downstairs for us while we—"

A wolfish grin, flashing white.

"While we—do—this." She stamped her foot. In irritation and frustration and fierce, undeniable arousal.

"All right, then," he said, sitting up. "I suppose this"—that grin again, scalding her—"will have to wait. If you think you can keep your mind on the business at hand, as unsatisfied as you are."

"I am perfectly satisfied!"

He raised one brow, and his voice came hoarse. "You don't know the meaning of the word, Boots. Not yet."

Elizabeth choked back a hasty reply, realizing that she could not enter into this conversation, not without fear of repercussions which might keep them here while the whole household waited. Pressing her lips together, she whirled away from him and stood in front of the mirror, trying to bring some order to her hair with shaking hands. He pulled his clothes into shape and came up behind her. Gently, he caught her wrist and took the brush away from her.

"Let me," he said, and he did, he brushed her hair while she stood and watched him in the mirror, unable to break away from his gaze.

"Leave it free."

"But—”

“Leave it free," he repeated. "Please."

She nodded, finally.

"I'll be waiting downstairs," Nathaniel said. "Don't be too long."

She watched him go, his hand on the handle, the way it turned. His shirt, somehow, looked completely as it had when he came in. He was unruffled, with no sign about him of what he had just done. Elizabeth looked in the mirror at her own flushed face and cursed him soundly, but silently.

"Nathaniel!"

He raised a brow.

"What about the letter, and my father?"

His look of preoccupation cleared, completely and absolutely.

"I don't know what it means," he said. "But I'm guessing we'll find out soon enough."

Chapter 25

She who had always been punctual to a fault, who had always saved her strongest censure for those who could not keep their appointments, she was late for her own wedding. It took longer than she would have thought for her color to settle, for the tremble to leave her hands, and then she put on Many-Doves ' wedding dress, looked in the mirror, and had to work hard not to start weeping.

Elizabeth recognized herself not at all. She did not understand how this could be her, Elizabeth Maria Genevieve Middleton once of Oakmere. She stared at her image for long minutes. Soon Mrs. Schuyler or Nathaniel would come to her door again, and what could she say? That she must have wedding dress that was satin and lace, in which she would feel like who she was? That she could not attend her own wedding as an imposter, wearing clothes she had no right to? In the end, because she could not do otherwise, Elizabeth took off the dress and the leggings and put on her good gray dress with its neat, round lace color, the same dress she had worn in the night to go looking for Nathaniel. It was not fashionable, certainly. But it was her own. Now, in the mirror, she saw herself.

It took another few minutes to tame her loose hair into something that might not affront sensibilities. From the hem of her shift she pulled the satin ribbon and this she wrapped around her head to hold her hair away from her face, tying it to a bow under her ear. It was too girlish, but it was better. The curls drifted around her temples and she resisted the urge to comb them back, tuck them away. This much she could do for Nathaniel, if she couldn't wear Many-Doves ' beautiful dress.