“Your sisters would be shocked. I should be shocked.” But she wasn’t, and couldn’t hide the fact.

“You don’t need to worry, their rooms are on the other side of the house from here.”

“Hmmm,” Anna said. “Can I trust you on that?”

“You can trust me on everything. Anything.” He paused. “Almost anything.” He backed her up against the closed door and leaned in, his hands to either side of her head.

“But—”

He interrupted her. “Do you really want to be talking about my sisters just now?”

•   •   •

A FEW MINUTES later when he let her go Anna realized she had been robbed. Her mind was blank, emptied of common sense and reason both. And they were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Mezzanotte.”

“Hmmm?” He hummed it against her ear and sent a tidal wave of gooseflesh down her back.

“You are—” Her train of thought slipped away from her.

“What?” He sat back to look at her. “I’m what? Irresistible?”

“Single-minded,” she said. “And irresistible.”

He gave a short laugh and closed his hands around her forearms. No doubt he would feel her pulse racing, just as she felt his.

“And persistent,” she added.

“Desperate,” he agreed.

And now she had to laugh. “You are just caught up—”

He put his hand over her mouth and brought his forehead to hers. “I am in love.”

The words blossomed in the very center of her being, sparked their way up her spine and along every nerve, closing her throat so that even breath was impossible for that moment while he watched her face.

He said, “Are you struck speechless?”

“Not quite,” Anna said.

“Then I still have work to do.”

•   •   •

ANNA REMEMBERED THAT just the night before she had found his kisses almost too much, as consuming as fire. He was showing her now how little she knew, leading her down and down into an embrace as bottomless and wide as the sea. The part of her mind that was still aware of the world asked her questions: about the sisters who were hopefully in their rooms on the other side of the house, about the way her sense of propriety had disappeared without a whimper, about Jack himself. She wondered at the simple beauty of him, at heavily muscled arms and shoulders and a chest so hard beneath his clothes that he might have been wearing a leather chestplate. She wondered at the strength he held in abeyance and how his hands—broad, callused, big-knuckled—could be so gentle. She lay back on the narrow bed and pulled him down with her.

Then she sat up again. “Wait—”

Jack reached into a pocket and pulled out a square of brown paper, no larger than a silver dollar. One male capote, the labeling read. Finest sheep gut. Twenty-five cents.

He said, “You look surprised.”

“Um,” Anna said. “Because I am surprised. Where did you get this?”

“Schmidt’s on the Bowery, near Canal.”

“The druggist?” She sat up and turned the wrapped condom over to study it from all angles, and then she handed it back to him. “With Comstock on the prowl lately, I’m surprised he hasn’t been arrested.”

“He doesn’t advertise,” Jack said. “And he has a very small customer base for such things. None of whom want to see him go to jail.”

“How many druggists are there who sell these?”

“This type?”

“Any type.”

He shrugged. “Pretty much every druggist has some kind of condom to sell. This particular brand is harder to find.”

What a strange conversation, Anna thought, but then asked the next question anyway. “What’s unusual about that brand?”

Jack thought for a minute. “This is Jacob Goldfarb’s work. He runs the business out of his apartment on Forsyth. The whole family works together. They use lamb intestines. Before you ask, they don’t keep sheep in a two-room apartment, and I have no idea where they get the raw material. I would guess from butchers.”

“A family business that produces lambskin condoms,” Anna said again. She heard the disbelief and irritation in her own voice, and shook herself. “Well, good for him, and for you too. But we don’t need it. I have a cervical cap.”

It was Jack’s turn to look surprised. “A what?”

“Sit down,” Anna said. “And I’ll explain it to you.”

He looked as frustrated as a man could be, which Anna understood, because she felt much the same. “Just a short explanation,” she said, and took one of his hands between both of her own, traced the long strong fingers, and began to talk.

•   •   •

FIVE MINUTES LATER Jack said, “I’m not the only one who planned ahead, am I?”

Anna grabbed him by the ears and kissed him until he stopped laughing.

Between kisses he unbuttoned and untied and unveiled, layer after layer, only to stop, transfixed by nothing more than the hollow at the base of her throat. He lay his head on her breast and drew in her scent and held it, as an opium eater held smoke until he stood on the brink of nothingness. Jack ran a hand over her chemise, his knuckles brushing against her breastbone as he opened the first button. By the time he reached the fifth she was distinctly light-headed.

“You smell of lavender.” He nuzzled under her arm and inhaled deeply. “And oranges and cinnamon.”

“You have a poetic nose,” she said, her voice catching. “I couldn’t smell like very much other than sweat and talcum powder and soap. And,” she added, shifting under him, “your clothes may be very comfortable for you, but they are quite itchy on the outside.”

He said, “Paying attention to the wrong things, Savard.”

She knew a challenge when she heard it. He wanted evidence of the history she had related to him while they sat on the new bridge. Anna ran her palm down his chest over a tightly muscled abdomen to his groin and traced the shape of him.

“Oh,” she said. And then: “I have seen many penises, you realize.”

He gave her an elaborate frown. “A very technical term.”

“I’m a doctor,” Anna said. “I don’t have use for anything but technical terms. I suppose you think of it as a cock.”

He pressed his face to her shoulder and laughed.

“Or do you prefer dick? Or wait, what would it be in Italian?”

He was laughing so hard that he shook. Irritated and charmed in equal measure, Anna used the blunt edge of a fingernail to skim over the bulge of his erection. He drew in a sharp breath and stopped laughing.

“So,” he said, catching his breath. “Since you’ve seen so many examples, how do I compare?”

Anna said, “We’ll never know, will we, unless you take your pants off.”

•   •   •

SOMETIME LATER WHEN they were glued together by sweat from knee to belly to breast, Jack said, “You look like you just spent a whole day in the desert sun.” And realized that as unusual a woman as Anna might be, she was unlikely to take this as a compliment, though he meant it as one. He had never seen anything more beautiful than Anna flushed and breathless and undone, her hair rioting around her face.

She had to make an effort to focus her gaze on him. “What?”

“Nothing important.” Jack rolled to his side but kept his face right next to hers, feathering small kisses over her jaw and her neck until she shuddered.

“So,” she said. “That’s what all the fuss is about.”

He hummed agreement, wondering if there was anything he might say here that wouldn’t get him in one kind of trouble or another. She hadn’t been a virgin, but her surprise had been genuine. Then it occurred to him that this was a question he could ask Anna, just as long as it didn’t sound like a question.

“That wasn’t your first climax.”

“Um, well. It was the first one I didn’t arrange on my own. Oh look, now you’re blushing. Many women masturbate, you know. It’s exactly that fact that has the Comstocks of the world up in arms. They think we’ll do away with men entirely and let the undesirables do all the reproducing.”

“But this was different. I hope.” He rubbed his face against her breast to give himself time to digest this new, oddly intriguing idea and his voice came muffled.

“Oh, yes.” She slid down too, so they were face-to-face once again. “We don’t have to talk about this if it makes you uneasy.”

“That would be a shame,” Jack said, pulling her closer. “Because I have a lot of questions I never thought I’d be able to ask.”

She gave him her widest, most brilliant smile. “I’ve got a few of my own. And—” She hesitated, but then pushed on. “I’ve never been able to really study a male body. Or rather, I’ve only been able to study the very old and the very young. And the dead.”