CHAPTER NINETEEN

      DANY HAD RELUCTANTLY gone up to her borrowed bed just after midnight, still hoping Coop would come knocking on the door with good news.

      Now she not only had to worry about Mari, but she was forced to worry about Coop, who could have failed, could be bleeding in a ditch or could have just not considered it necessary to seek her out because he didn’t care if she was going quietly out of her mind with worry.

      And what did that say about the man?

      What did it say about her?

      “That I’m a fool,” she told herself as she punched once more at her pillows, unable to sleep. And what did Clarice say, hmm? Men don’t buy the cow when they can get all the milk they want for free. Yes, that was it. And everyone else had laughed, except for Thea. Dany hadn’t understood at first, and when she did, her cheeks had gone hot with embarrassment.

      “But they do come back,” Clarice had gone on to say. “My goodness, sometimes there’s no getting shed of them. Isn’t that right, Minerva?”

      “I like this gel,” Coop’s mother had said, saluting Clarice with her well-laced cup of tea. “Knows the way of the world, she does. And when they come back for more? Ah, that’s when a wise woman plays the maiden all over again, until the poor sot can’t stand anymore and begs—pleads!—for her hand in marriage. Then, of course, you’re really stuck with him. Look at you, Viv, for pity’s sake. You’ve been stuck with Basil for nearly forty years. Stuck to him, in your case. Randy old goat.”

      “Yes, but that’s all right, if there’s love,” Clarice had argued. “I love my Jerry straight down to my toes. What do you have to say for yourself, Thea? And remember, I was there when you and Gabe were courting, so don’t try to play the innocent with us, for it won’t fudge.”

      Thea had just smiled and lifted the tray of lemon squares. “Anyone care for another?”

      Dany had grabbed one, and shoved the entire thing into her mouth, so that she didn’t have to say anything at all.

      Now here she was, where she didn’t want to be, knowing nothing she needed to know, and caught between worry for Coop and a strong desire to box his ears for not dutifully reporting back to her on what had transpired since she’d last seen him.

      And when she’d last seen him, he had been all tight-lipped and clamped jaw and looking very, very dangerous.

      She threw back the badly mussed covers and stood up, fully prepared to pace away the remainder of the night, but when she heard the faint click of the latch she quickly dived back beneath the covers, to lay on her side, her back to the door, and feign sleep.

      The last, simply the last, thing she needed at the moment was one of the ladies—dear women, all of them—stopping by to share something else she really didn’t want to hear.

      She felt the faint pressure of someone joining her on the mattress, and prayed the next voice she heard wouldn’t be that of Minerva Townsend, who had already heard the story of the assault on the roadway twice—and why had the two of them driven so far from London in the first place?—and still believed there must be more details being kept from her.

      “Dany? Dany, are you asleep?”

      Coop? Here, in the duke’s residence? In her bedchamber? With the mansion chock-full of people—his mother!—any of them fully capable of discovering him here?

      Was he insane?

      She didn’t move. It would be better for both of them if she feigned sleep and he went away.

      Was she insane?

      “Coop!” she exclaimed, throwing off the covers so she could sit up, launch herself into his arms, pressing kisses all over his face.

      “Happy to see me?” he joked after he’d finally captured her mouth in a long, satisfying kiss that ended with the two of them reclined against the pillows.

      “You could have come sooner,” she said, remembering that cow and milk business Clarice and everyone had thought so amusing. “Are you all right? Where have you been? What were you doing? Did Thea’s husband find you? You didn’t shoot anyone, did you? Who let you into the house? Who told you where I— You didn’t just prowl up and down the halls, looking in every room until you found me? Say something.”

      “I was waiting for you to run out of breath. Although I must say your concern—for most everything—has been amusing to hear. I have something to show you.”

      “The letters?” Dany felt as if she couldn’t breathe. “You have Mari’s letters?”

      She watched as he shrugged out of his jacket and reached inside his waistcoat, pulling out what had to be her sister’s letters. “We’re not going to read them.”

      She grabbed the packet, could feel its thickness. Mari had always been long-winded. “No. No, of course not.” Her fingers strayed to the tied length of black grosgrain ribbon. “Not even one?”

      “Not even one,” Coop told her, taking them from her and tossing them behind his back, where they landed with a soft thud on the carpet. “I think we have much better things to do right now, don’t you?”

      “Here? Now? But what if...?”

      “Dany, are you seriously telling me to leave?”

      The milk. The cow.

      “I should tell you to leave. I mean, you’ve done what I’d asked you to do, so there’s no real reason for you to remain now that we have the letters back, and you apparently have bested terrible Ferdie without permanently dispatching him so that you have to flee the country, and I know we said we’d be betrothed, but there’s no longer any reason, is there, for us to— Are you going to stop me anytime soon, Lord Townsend? Because I think this has been the longest, best and worst day of my life, and...”

      His kiss stopped her just as she felt herself ready to burst into tears, and she held on for all she was worth as they rolled together on the bed, limbs tangling, hands searching, seeking, finding.

      She knew now. Knew what lay at the end of the long, sweet and winding path he was leading her down, and she was determined, this time, to be a more active participant in that journey.

      What had been new, even strange, that morning now seemed as natural as breathing. They were two, and the goal was to become one.

      Her rising passion didn’t frighten her now; she welcomed it.

      She unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt with sure, confident fingers, and gloried in the warm, hard strength she encountered beneath. She traced his rib cage, marveled at the scarred flesh that must have come from an old wound, longed to kiss it, remove any memories of the pain he must have suffered.

      When he lifted her night rail, her breath caught in her throat and she bent her knees, opening to him, longing for his touch, the hot moist center of her his for the taking.

      Please. Please.

      She sensed his urgency, and it mirrored her own.

      “Yes,” she breathed against his mouth, just as she had earlier. Yes, Coop, yes.

      When he sank into her there was no real pain, but only a moment of soreness, easy to ignore, for now she knew what possession felt like, and welcomed the feeling of being filled, consumed while consuming.

      “God,