Victoria caught the odd way Jason was slurring his words; she even thought there was a flirtatious tone in his voice, but she blamed his queer speech on either pain or possibly loss of blood.

When they reached his big four-poster bed, he pulled his arm away and waited docilely while Victoria swept the covers back; then he sat down and looked at her with a foolish grin. Victoria looked back at him, hiding her anxiety. Using her father’s gentle, matter-of-fact tone, she said, “Can you tell me what happened to you?”

“Certainly!” he said, looking affronted. “I’m not an imbecile, you know.”

“Well, what happened?” Victoria repeated when he made no attempt to tell her.

“Help me take off my boots.”

Victoria hesitated. “I think I ought to get Northrup.”

“Never mind about the boots then,” he said magnanimously, and with that, he lay down and carelessly crossed his booted feet upon the maroon coverlet. “Sit down beside me and hold my hand.”

“Don’t be silly.”

He gave her a hurt look. “You ought to be nicer to me, Victoria. After all, I have been wounded in a duel over your honor.” He reached out and captured her hand.

Horrified at the mention of a duel, Victoria obeyed the increasing pressure of his hand and sat down beside his prone body. “Oh, my God—a duel! Jason, why?” She searched his pale features, saw his brave, lopsided smile, and her heart melted with contrition and guilt. For some reason, he had actually fought for her. “Please tell me why you dueled,” she implored.

He grinned. “Because Wiltshire called you an English bumpkin.”

“A what? Jason,” she asked anxiously, “how much blood have you lost?”

“All of it,” he averred outrageously. “How sorry do you feel for me?”

“Very,” she answered automatically. “Now, will you please try to make sense? Wiltshire shot you because—”

He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Wiltshire didn't shoot me— he couldn’t hit a stone wall at two paces. A tree shot me.” Reaching up, he cradled her shocked face between his two hands, drawing her closer to him, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he said hoarsely, and this time pungent whiskey fumes blasted her in the face.

“You’re foxed!” Victoria accused, lurching back.

“Yer right,” he agreed genially. “Got drunk with yer friend de Salle.”

“Dear God!” Victoria gasped. “Was he there too?”

Jason nodded but said nothing as his fascinated gaze moved over her. Her shining hair tumbled over her shoulders in a gloriously untidy mass of molten gold, framing a face of heartbreaking beauty. Her skin was as smooth as alabaster, her brows delicately arched, her lashes thick and curly. Her eyes were like large luminous sapphires as they worriedly searched his face, trying to assess his condition. Pride and courage showed in every feature of her face, from her high cheekbones and stubborn little nose to her small chin with its tiny, enchanting cleft at the center. And yet her mouth was vulnerable and soft—as soft as the breasts that swelled at his eye level above the bodice of her lace-edged cream satin nightdress, practically begging for his touch. But it was her mouth Jason wanted to taste first. ... He tightened his hand on her upper arm, drawing her closer.

“Lord Fielding!” she warned darkly, trying to pull back.

“A moment ago, you called me Jason. I heard you, don’t deny it.”

“That was a mistake,” Victoria said desperately.

His lips quirked in a faint smile. “Then let’s make another one.” As he spoke his hand went to the nape of her neck, curving around it and inexorably pulling her face down to his.

“Please don’t,” Victoria begged, her face only inches from his. “Don’t make me fight you—it will hurt your wound.” The pressure on her nape eased very slightly, not enough to let her up, but not forcing her closer either as Jason studied her in thoughtful silence.

Victoria waited patiently for him to let her go, knowing his senses were confused by loss of blood, pain, and a goodly quantity of liquor. Not for a moment did she believe he felt the slightest genuine desire for her, and she gazed down at him with something akin to amusement.

“Have you ever been kissed, really kissed, by anyone besides old Arnold?” he asked hazily.

“Andrew,” Victoria corrected, her lips twitching with laughter.

“Not an men kiss alike, did you know that?”

A giggle escaped before Victoria could stop it. “Really? How many men have you kissed?”

An answering smile tugged at his sensuous lips, but he ignored her quip. “Lean down to me,” he ordered huskily, subtly increasing the pressure of his hand on her nape again, “and put your lips on mine. We’ll do it my way.”

Victoria’s complaisance vanished and she began to panic. “Jason, stop this,” she pleaded. “You don’t want to kiss me. You don’t even like me more than a little when you aren’t foxed.”

A harsh laugh escaped him. “I like you too damned much!” he whispered bitterly, then pulled her head down and captured her lips in a demanding, scalding kiss that took everything and gave nothing in return. Victoria struggled in appalled, frightened earnest, bracing her hands on either side of him and shoving hard, trying to free her mouth from his. Jason swiftly plunged his fingers into the thick hair at her nape and twisted hard. “Don’t struggle!” he said through clenched teeth, “you’re hurting me.”

“You’re hurting me,” Victoria choked, her lips less than an inch from his. “Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he said hoarsely, but his grip on her hair loosened and his long fingers slid downward, curving around her nape while his mesmerizing green eyes gazed deeply into hers. As if the confession were being tortured out of him, he said raggedly, “I’ve tried a hundred times to let you go, Victoria, but I can’t.” And while Victoria was still reeling from that incredible statement, Jason pulled her head down and took her mouth in an endless, drugging kiss that stole her breath and stunned her into immobility. His lips moved against hers with tender, hungry yearning, tasting and shaping them, fitting them to his own, then sliding back and forth as if he wanted more of her. Something deep within her sensed his lonely desperation and, helplessly, Victoria responded to it. Her lips softened and melted against his. Instantly, the demanding heat of Jason’s kiss increased. His tongue slid over her lips, urging them to part, and the moment they yielded to the sensual pressure, his tongue plunged gently between them.