Her body jerked and a sharp gasp tore from her, but the pain was gone almost as quickly as the sound, and her husband was already easing deeper into her tight passage until she was filled with his heat and strength, holding him tightly to her, lost in the sheer beauty of the slow, deep strokes he was beginning to take. Guided by pure instinct and a wealth of love, Elizabeth willingly molded her hips to his and began to match his movements, and in doing so she unwittingly drove Ian to unparalleled agonies of desire as he held himself back, determined to ensure her climax before he had his own. He began to quicken his deep thrusts, circling his hips, and the young temptress in his arms matched his movements, clasping his pulsing shaft in her tight warmth.

Elizabeth felt something wild and primitive building inside her, racing through her veins, jarring through her body. Her head moved fitfully on the pillow as she waited for it, sought whatever it was that Ian was trying to give her as he drove into her again and again and then it exploded, making her gasp against his mouth and cry out.

His shoulders and arms taut with the strain of holding back, Ian thrust into her in short sharp movements, matching the spasms shaking her and pulling at him. The instant they subsided he tightened his arms around her and drove into her full length, pouring himself into her, startled when the groan he heard was his own. His body jerked convulsively again and again, and he clasped her to him, breathing in deep pants against her cheek, his heart raging in frantic tempo with hers, his life merging into hers.

When a little of his strength returned he moved onto his side, taking her with him, still a part of her. Her hair spilled over his naked chest like a rumpled satin waterfall, and he lifted a shaking hand to smooth it off her face, feeling humbled and blessed by her sweetness and unselfish ardor.

Several minutes later Elizabeth stirred in his arms, and he tipped her chin up so that he could gaze into her eyes. "Have I ever told you that you are magnificent?"

She started to shake her head, then suddenly remembered that he had told her she was magnificent once before, and the recollection brought poignant tears to her eyes. "You did say that to me," she amended, brushing her fingers over his smooth shoulder because she couldn't seem to stop touching him. "You told me that when we were together-"

"In the woodcutter's cottage," he finished for her remembering the occasion as well. In reply she had chided him for acting as if he also thought Charise Dumont was magnificent, Ian remembered, regretting all the time they had lost since then. . . the days and nights she could have been in his arms as she was now. "Do you know how I spent the rest of the afternoon after you left the cottage?" he asked softly. When she shook her head, he said with a wry smile, "I spent it pleasurably contemplating tonight. At the time, of course. I didn't realize tonight was years away." He paused to draw the sheet up over her back so she wouldn't be chilled, then he continued in the same quiet voice, "I wanted you so badly that day that I actually ached while I watched you fasten that shirt you were wearing. Although," he added dryly, "that particular condition, brought on by that particular cause, has become my normal state for the last four weeks, so I'm quite used to it JIOW. I wonder if I'll miss it," he teased.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, realizing that he was perfectly serious despite his light tone.

"The agony of unfulfilled desire," he explained, brushing a kiss on her forehead, "brought on by wanting you."

"Wanting me?" she burst out, rearing up so abruptly that she nearly overturned him as she leaned up on an elbow, absently clutching the sheet to her breasts. "Is this-what we've just done, I mean-"

"The Scots think of it as making love," he interrupted gently. "Unlike most English," he added with great scorn, "who prefer to regard it as ?performing one's marital duty."

"Yes," Elizabeth said absently, her mind on his earlier remark about wanting her until it caused him physical pain, "but is this what you meant all those times you've said you wanted me?"

His sensual lips quirked in a half smile. "Yes." A rosy blush stained her smooth cheeks, and despite her effort to sound severe, her eyes were lit with laughter. "And the day we bargained about the betrothal, and you told me I had something you wanted very badly, what you wanted to do it with me... was this??"

"Among other things," he agreed, tenderly brushing his knuckles over her flushed cheek.

"If I had known all this," she said with a rueful smile, "I'm certain I would have asked for additional concessions."

That startled him-the thought that she would have tried to drive a harder bargain if she'd realized exactly how much and what sort of power she really held. "What kind of additional concessions?" he asked, his face carefully expressionless.

She put her cheek against his shoulder, her arms curving around him. "A shorter betrothal," she whispered. "A shorter courtship, and a shorter ceremony."

A fresh surge of tenderness and profound pride swept through him at her sweetness and her candor, and he wrapped his arms tightly, protectively around her, smiling with joyous contentment. He had realized within minutes of meeting her that she was rare; he had known within hours that she was everything he wanted. Passionate and gentle, intelligent, sensitive, and witty. He loved all of her qualities, but he hadn't discovered the one he particularly admired until much later, and that was her courage. He was so proud of the courage that had enabled her to repeatedly confront adversity and adversaries-even when the adversary was him. Without it she'd have been lost to him long ago; she'd have done what most of her sex did, which was to find the first available male they could stomach and let him deal with life's unpleasantness. His Elizabeth hadn't done that; instead she'd tried to cope, not only with him, but with the terrible financial burdens she'd carried. That reminded him of how thrifty she was, and he promptly decided-at least for the moment-that her thriftiness was one of her most endearingly amusing qualities.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked. He tipped his chin down so that he could better see her and brushed a stray lock of golden hair off her cheek. "I was thinking how wise I must be to have known within minutes of meeting you that you were wonderful."

She chuckled, thinking his words were teasing flattery. "How soon did my qualities become apparent?"

"I'd say," he thoughtfully replied, "I knew it when you took sympathy on Galileo."