Captivated

elegant, narrow feet.

'Time to eat,' he murmured into the jointure of her thighs, deliberately breathing into the soft nest of damp brown curls there.

Her legs quivered.

Grinning, he jumped up. 'Real food this time, Miss Abigail. If I am to satisfy more fantasies, I have to keep up my strength.'

Used as he was to field rations, the basket contained a veritable feast. Cold mutton. Cheese. Hard-boiled eggs. A loaf of bread still warm from the oven.

There was more than enough for two.

Abigail ate daintily but with a definite appetite. When her eyelids drooped, he repacked the food and carried her to bed.

He had never before slept with a woman until Abigail. Had never before experienced the simple joy of having a woman's spine curve to fit his abdomen and her butt snuggle into the flatness of his groin. Had never imagined this closeness that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the woman in his arms.

The reality of Abigail far surpassed his fantasies.

Sighing, he buried his face into her damp hair.

A blast of cannon fire woke him.

Jesus God, he had fallen asleep during battle. Boneless flesh curved to fit his bodya corpse, already stripped by the natives, body still warm.

Heart pounding, his fingers tightened around the butt of his rifleonly to sink into giving flesh.

And he remembered.

The storm. The burning need that had driven him out into it. The light in the cottage and the woman named Abigail.

He gently soothed the breast he had abused.

Abigail stirred. 'Robert?'

'Why are you here, Abigail?'

The boneless spine stiffened.

He refused to let her go, pressing her more firmly into the curve of his body while he braced his chin on the top of her head. 'Tell me.'

'I told you.' Her heart pounded against the palm of his hand. 'In three weeks I turn thirty.'

'Every secondsomewhere in the worlda woman turns thirty.'

'But not every woman is a spinster.'

'By your choice, Abigail.'

'But Idon't want to be a spinster, Robert.' He strained to hear her over the steady drum of rain. 'Idon't want to be passed between my brother and sisters. Idon't want to bealone.'

Robert braced himself against the pain in her voice.

'So why are you here, then, with only your books for company?' he persisted, determined to solve the mystery that was Abigail.

For long seconds he didn't think she was going to reply, then

She sighed. 'I came to say good-bye.'

Fear pumped though his veins. Along with images of death her death now instead of his. Immediately he thrust the images away. 'Who did you come to say good-bye to?'

'My dreams, Robert. I got tired of wanting things that could never be. I brought my books and journals with me here because I planned on leaving them behind. In the hope that without them, perhaps I could find… a little peace.'

Peace.

Hardened soldiers like himself sought peace, not gently bred ladies who had never faced death and chosen life. But the same loneliness was there, the utter aloneness that was the price paid for stepping outside the rules that bind societies together. Robert had killedin duty; Abigail had indulged her desires with forbid den eroticain secrecy. And had been passed from brother to sister

'What about your parents?'

'Dead. I have one brother and three sisters of whom I am very fond. But I am still the spinster sister. And I am the youngest, so of course they know what is best for me.'

He rubbed her nipple in gentle consolation. 'Not this.'

'No.' A hint of laughter lightened her voice. 'I think William would die of an apoplectic fit if he ever discovered my chest of books.'

'Tell me about your brother and sisters.'

Abigail cupped her hand over his. 'My brother and sisters have kindly provided me with twenty-one nieces and nephews. They are convinced that a woman's happiness lies in marriage. Or I should say, in having a familythe husband, or wife, whichever the case may be, is a trial one must endure in order to have children. And you are correctIam a spinster by choice. But I found myself wondering if my brother and sisters do not have the right of it. That perhaps life with one of the eminently eligible but dreadfully boring men they are constantly surprising me with might just possibly be preferable tobeing alone.'

Robert had no reason to be jealous. But he wasfuriously.

'You'd marry a fat-bottomed man with side-whiskers?' he growled. 'A man who would have you dress a piano for fear he would excite'he pinched her nipple'this?'

She caught his fingers and laughed softly. 'Cease, Colonel Coally, you have convinced me of the error of my thoughts. What about you? Do you have a family?'

Perhaps it was relief that prompted Robert's response. Perhaps it was the way her body bonelessly melded to his and her laughter chased away the darkness. Or perhaps it was merely that he did not mind sharing his past with this woman who was so willing to share her body.

'Four brothers and five sisters.'

'Are your brothers in the Army?'

'No.' He cautioned himself to stopshe was a lady, it was one thing to accept the fact that he killed in the name of duty. She would not want to know that her fantasy man came from low origins. But the words came unbidden. 'They followed in the footsteps of my father.'

'Is he still alive?'

'Very much so.'

'Why did he not stop you from enlisting in the Army?'

Robert smiled at the indignation in her voice. 'One less mouth to feed. But your blame is misplaced. Very few people can stop me when I make up my mind.'

'What does he do, this father of yours?'

Robert tensed, but knew he had come too far to lie now. 'He's a street vendor. He sells ices.'

Abigail's response at learning his pedigree was as unpredictable as her response to his lovemaking.

'Oh, I love ices!' she enthused, as if she was still the little girl who had played in the ocean. 'Strawberry is my favorite.'

'Take my advice, Abigail. Eat lemon ice or cream ices. But stay away from strawberry.'

'Why?'

'There are no strawberries in strawberry ice.'

'Yes, there are.' Her voice in the darkness was endearingly earnest. 'Not whole ones, of course. They are all mixed up in little pieces.'

'They're not strawberries, Abigail,' he murmured wryly.

'Then what are they, pray?' she asked tartly.

'Cochineals.'

'You mean…bugs?'

'I meanbugs.'

He could feel her coming to terms with the fact that she had eaten bugsthe initial stiffening of her body, the slow relaxation when she realized there was not going to occur some sort of delayed reaction. Finally, 'Is that why