A look of astonishment appeared in her eyes, her head fell back, her throat arching, and her legs curled around his waist, pulling him into the cleft of her body. With a supreme effort of will, he held himself still, glorying in her velvet warmth as her climax surged around him. He wanted to stay forever on the precipice, reveling in the feel of her, the grip of her body around him, but the deep spiraling urgency could not be controlled. With a sharp stab of loss, he forced himself to withdraw from the tight sheath in which she held him, gathering her against him as his own climax throbbed.

"Sweet heaven." Judith gasped. "What a wondrous thing."

Marcus fell back on the bed beside her, his eyes tightly closed, and for a long minute he didn't say anything. Then finally he asked in a curiously flat voice, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

He rolled over, propping himself on an elbow. "That you were a virgin." His gaze fell on the bright blood smearing her thighs as she lay sprawled in wanton abandonment beside him. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?" he demanded, his eyes hard as the shared glory of that union was abruptly tarnished by a wash of guilt and confusion.

"Did you think I wasn't?" she asked.

"How could I think you were? You behaved like an experienced woman. How could I possibly have imagined you to be still virtuous?"

"Does it matter?" Judith sat up, unease puncturing her euphoria.

"Of course it matters." He fell back on the pillows again. "I don't make a habit of deflowering virgins."

"But we only did what we both wanted." She was genuinely puzzled. "Nothing happened that wasn't supposed to happen."

He looked at her closely. "No," he said slowly. "Perhaps that's true. Nothing happened that wasn't supposed to happen."

There was an edge to the flat statement that was as

confusing to Judith as it was dismaying. She slid off the bed and went to the dresser, pouring water from the ewer into the basin. "You sound angry. I don't seem to understand why." She squeezed a cloth in water and sponged her thighs. "How have I upset you?"

Marcus stared up at the flowered canopy, trying to sort out the raging confusion in his brain. Perhaps he was wronging her. Why would she have contrived such a happening? And surely not even the most consummate actress could have faked her passion, her need, her fulfillment?

"Come to bed," he said. "It's well past dawn and we need to sleep."

"But won't you explain?" She came across to the bed, her eyes huge with tiredness and a distress that he would swear was genuine. With a wash of remorse, he reached up and drew her down beside him.

"Tristesse de I'amour, "he said gently. "Forgive me. It happens sometimes, and you did take me by surprise. I feel a little guilty, but it'll fade after a few hours' sleep. Close your eyes now." He closed her eyelids with his fingertips, stroking her cheek until he felt her relax against him, yielding anxiety to the soft billows of exhaustion.

Judith breathed deeply of the sweat tang of his skin and the lingering perfume of their loving as she slipped into unconsciousness. The whole business was so new to her it was no wonder it had some puzzling aspects.

She awoke to a rumbling, booming roar. For a moment she lay, disoriented, aware of the contours of an unfamiliar bed, staring up at the muslin canopy. Then memory rushed back and she sat bolt upright. "Whatever is that noise?"

"Guns." Marcus was standing at the window. He

had on his britches and was in the act of putting on his shirt. "The battle has been joined."

"What time is it?"

"Four o'clock." He turned to the bed. Judith was an artless yet bewitchingly wanton sight, sitting up, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, the sheet tangled around her thighs. He remembered the abandonment of her responses, the wild and glorious honesty of her desire. Honest… except that she hadn't told him of her innocence, had left him to discover it when it was too late for control or caution. But perhaps that was part of the openness of her response; she genuinely hadn't given it a second thought in the blind world of arousal. She was an adventuress, after all. He allowed doubt and confusion to fade and enjoyed the sight of her as she blinked and shook her head in some bemusement, struggling to come back to the bright world of daytime reality.

"We've slept the day away," she said finally.

"So it would seem." He crossed the room and bent to kiss her. "How do you feel?"

Judith took stock. "A little sore," she said, after due consideration.

He winced and said wryly, "I did ask, I suppose. There's hot water in the ewer. But how do you feel in yourself?" His voice was serious, telling her he wanted an equally serious answer.

"Wonderful," she declared. "Virginity is a much overprized condition." She smiled up at him. "Why were you worried about it last night? There's no need to feel guilty; you weren't responsible."

Marcus frowned. "Of course I was responsible." He caught a tangled ringlet and twisted it around his finger. "Things happened very fast… perhaps too fast."

"Oh, I don't know," she said, putting her head on one side. "I rather thought it was a very leisurely business."

Marcus gave up trying to persuade her to feel badly about something she clearly didn't regret in the least. Any regrets he might have would fade soon enough. It was done now, and there was nothing to hinder the progress of this liaison. Indeed, if it wasn't for the sound of cannon and the knowledge of what that meant, not to mention his own very empty belly, he'd be back in bed with her in a trice.

He laughed and pulled the sheet away from her legs. "Get up! Shameless wanton! I'm going belowstairs in search of an extremely delayed luncheon."

"Good, because I am starving. Are we going on to Quatre Bras, then?"

He was, but he had no intention of taking Judith into the theater of war. However, that tussle could wait on a full stomach. "As soon as possible. I'll be needed at Wellington's headquarters. I should have arrived there last night, but I daresay I'll think of some excuse other than the truth: that I was delayed by delight." He chuckled and drew the heavy, gold signet ring from his finger. "You had better wear this while you're here, for appearance's sake. Madame Berthold is sure to notice such an absence."

"Yes, of course. I hadn't thought," she said, slipping the ring on her finger. "It's a bit big, but I can hold it on." She poured water from the ewer into the basin.

Marcus stood transfixed by the door, watching the matter-of-fact manner in which she sponged her body. His loins stirred anew and, with a muttered oath, he fled the webs of enchantment and went down to the taproom that served as parlor and dining room.

"Oh, there you are, my lord. I was just explaining to these officers that we had a benighted gentleman and his wife as guests." Madame Berthold, the innkeeper's wife, looked up from the keg of ale from which she was drawing foaming tankards. She looked frightened. "The battle has begun, my lord. All day we've been waiting for the sound of the guns, only it didn't start till but an hour or two past. Boney's been delaying his attack, these gentlemen say."

"Carrington, good God, man, what brings you here?"

Marcus silently swore every oath he knew as he recognized the Dragoon officer and his two companions, lounging against the bar counter. "I'm on my way to Wellington's headquarters, Francis." He stepped into the room, nodding at the other men. "Whitby, George. Good day."

Colonel, Lord Francis Tallent, looked at his old friend with a suddenly arrested expression. "Wife?"

"We all have our secrets, Francis," Marcus said casually. His friends would draw the correct conclusion and discreetly drop the subject. A man's amorous adventures were his own concern. He turned to the innkeeper's wife. "Could you have a nuncheon taken abovestairs, ma-dame?"