And proved how desperate he was to find a way to secure some kind of future with Chloe.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to the text. Now more than ever, ’twas imperative he exercise utmost discipline. Though he’d far prefer to sweep Chloe into his arms, carry her from the chamber and show her more of his world, live only in the moment, he knew he had to revert to the schedule he’d kept in Manhattan.

Work from dawn till dusk, love Chloe only in the night, then work again whilst she slumbered.

He had his eye on much more than a few moons with his mate. He was determined that he would have his full measure of life with her.

When she got up and slipped from the chamber, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the tome in his lap.

Chloe strolled blissfully through the gardens, marveling that already a week and a half had sped by. They’d been the finest days of her life.

Her time had been divided primarily between exploring the contents of the chamber library and exploring the newfound pleasure of passion. The explosive heat between her and Dageus was evidently palpable enough that on several occasions Silvan had ordered them to leave the chamber library, telling them dryly “to go … walk a wee or … some such activity. The two of you are like a pair of tea kettles, steaming up my tomes.”

The first time he’d said such a thing, Chloe had blushed furiously, but then Dageus had given her what she’d come to think of as The Look and she’d swiftly forgotten her embarrassment. He had a way of canting his head low and looking up at her, his dark gaze heated and intense, that never failed to make her weak-kneed with desire, thinking about all the things he was going to do to her.

Because she was unable to read a lot of the stuff in the chamber and was insatiably curious about the sixteenth century, while the men had worked, she’d stolen away frequently. She’d thoroughly explored the castle, leaving no part untouched: the buttery, the larders, the kitchens, the chapel, the armory, the garderobes (though scrupulously cleaned daily, those she could have done without), even Silvan’s tower library—where she was grateful to discover she could translate some of the more recent works. The elderly man had copies of every philosophical, ethical, mathematical, and cosmological treatise of historical significance on his meticulously organized shelves.

Also during those hours away from Dageus, she’d gotten to know Nell and had met his young half brothers, Ian and Robert, precious dark-haired two-and-a-half-year-old boys with sunny dispositions. She could hardly look at them without thinking what beautiful babies Dageus would make.

And that she’d like to be the one he made them with.

A delicious little shiver raced over her skin at the thought of making a family with him, building a future.

For the past ten days she’d watched him carefully and had concluded that he definitely cared about her. He treated her the same way Drustan had treated Gwen that day at Maggie’s castle, anticipating her desires: slipping from the chamber library to fetch her a cup of tea or a snack, or a damp cloth to wipe dust from her cheek. Disappearing into the gardens and returning with an armful of fresh flowers, leading her to bed and covering her naked body with them. Lazily, tenderly bathing her in the evenings before a peat fire, helping her plait her hair like Nell’s. She felt treasured, cosseted, and though he didn’t say it, loved.

She’d realized, while watching him and reflecting upon all she knew of him, that Dageus MacKeltar would probably never speak of love, unless someone spoke to him about it first. Gwen had essentially told her that much back in the stones.

Dageus doesn’t look for love from a woman because he’s never been given any reason to.

Well, Chloe Zanders was going to give him the reason to. Tonight. Over a romantic dinner in their bedchamber, which she’d already filled with urns of fresh-cut heather and dozens of oil globes that she’d pilfered from other rooms in the castle.

She’d set the scene, embellishing it with romantic touches, Nell had arranged the menu, and all she had to do was speak her heart.

And if he doesn’t say it back? a niggling little doubt tried to surface.

She thrust it firmly away. She would entertain no doubts, no fears. A few days ago, over mugs of cocoa in the kitchens, she and Nell had had a long talk. Nell had openly shared her own experience with Silvan, and had told her about the twelve years they’d wasted. Chloe couldn’t imagine loving in silence for so long.

Twelve years! Sheesh, she wasn’t going to be able to wait twelve more hours.

When Chloe had been a teenager, not knowing anything about kissing, she’d practiced on a pillow, feeling inordinately silly, but how else was a girl supposed to get a feel for it? She’d read books, and avidly watched movies to see how lips met and where noses went, but it wasn’t the same as actually trying to press her lips to something. (Personally, she harbored the firm conviction that there wasn’t a person alive anywhere in the world that hadn’t practiced kissing on something. A mirror, a pillow, the back of their hand.)