A log popping in the grate jerked Martin awake. The sensation of a warm, naked, feminine-soft body pressed to his was not immediately disturbing. He lay slumped on his stomach; she lay half beneath him, facing away, one hip pressed to his loins. Then he remembered who she was.
The realization washed over him, through him… and left him adrift. Disconnected. His world-the frame of reference he'd established for his life-had been shaken loose from its moorings, swept away by the night's glory, leaving him without anchor or direction.
He shifted, not away but toward her, one hand rising to touch her hair, to feel the soft silk under his palm, to feel her shoulder against his chest. One point of reality-she was real, solid. Here and now.
Conscious of his satiation, of the languor that weighted his limbs, of the bone-deep satisfaction that had only grown with the hours, he lay still as understanding flooded him. This state was not attainable by mere sensual gratification; content this deep sprang from some more profound source, one he hadn't previously tapped.
A wellspring no other woman had previously reached.
He stroked her hair, felt her firm curves against him… lifting his hand, he turned onto his back.
His mind was functioning again, yet when he tried to define what had happened, what it meant-where they now were-nothing but a surge of emotions answered him. Emotions he had little experience in handling; many he didn't recognize, could put no name to.
One, however, he felt so intensely there was no disputing it.
Possessiveness. She was his.
As for the rest… he glanced at her, then turned to her once more, lifted his hand to her hair. Felt her warmth once again against his body. Tried to sort through the unfamiliar emotions.
He'd made little headway when she stirred, when she realized and turned to him, blue eyes blinking wide, swollen lips parting. Her sleep-dazed expression rapidly cleared. He could see the memories rolling across her mind-small wonder she looked shocked.
Even less wonder given his immediate reaction to that tousled, tumbled, wide-eyed look, a reaction which, with her hip pressed to him, she had to be able to feel.
Rolling onto his back, he didn't succeed in stifling his groan, one of pure torment. He literally ached. Dropping his arm over his eyes to block out the sight of her, he stated with commendable calm, "I'll have to marry you."
That much seemed blatantly obvious.
Silence greeted his pronouncement.
Then, quite definitely, she said, "No."
He replayed the word in his mind, then lifted his arm and looked at her. "No?"
Her eyes were wide; he couldn't comprehend her stunned, almost horrified expression. Then her lips thinned; her chin took on that mulish cast he'd seen all too often in recent weeks.
"No." This time her tone was firm.
"What the devil do you mean, 'No'?" He came up on his elbow. Tension of quite a different sort shot through him-it felt perilously close to panic. He pointed a finger at her nose. "No more games. This"-he indicated the pair of them, naked beneath his exceedingly jumbled sheets-"is real."
Her eyes narrowed. "Quite."
With that, she turned and slid from the bed. He dived after her, grabbing-all he ended with was a mass of silk sheets. "Amanda!"
She paid not the slightest heed. Swiping up her clothes, she tossed them on a chair, pulled her chemise free.
Full-blown panic collided with total confusion
. Cursing, Martin tossed back the covers and leaped from the bed. He stalked around it, getting between her and the door. She'd shrugged into her gown, was fumbling with the laces; he halted a foot away, towering over her. He didn't offer to help. Fists on hips, he growled through clenched teeth, "Where do you think you're going?"
She flicked him a glance; if she found his naked nearness at all intimidating, she hid it well. "Home."
He bit back the information that she was home-where she belonged; that might, perhaps, sound too dictatorial. Too expressive of exactly how he felt. "Before you leave, we have a matter of considerable moment to discuss."
"What?" She reached for her cloak. "Our marriage."
Balling up her stockings and garters, she stuffed them in her cloak pocket. "We're not getting married because of last night."
He clenched his fists against the urge to shake some sense into her. "No-we're getting married because of the events that occurred during the past night." His voice had risen to just short of a roar. "You're a damned lady-you're a Cynster, for God's sake!-and you spent the entire night in my house, in various beds. I realize I've been absent from the ton for a decade, but some things never change. Of course we're getting married!"