As the last tremors smoothed into peacefulness, Gabriel rose over her and pulled her into his arms. She stretched and nestled against his side, hitching a thigh over one of his. Her limbs felt pleasantly heavy, as if she were waking from a long sleep, and for once her mind was utterly focused, without the distraction of too many thoughts. She felt the shapes of words brushing her ear as he whispered something, the same few words over and over, until Pandora stirred and mumbled, “That’s my bad ear.”

His smile curved against her cheek, and he lifted his head. “I know.”

What had he been whispering? Bemused, Pandora let her hand drift over his chest, playing with the light, glinting fur, feeling the armor of ribs and hard muscle beneath. The flesh of his stomach and sides was so different from hers, tough and sinewy, the skin gleaming like polished marble.

Fascinated, she let the backs of her fingers inch timidly to the front of his trousers, where the heavy ridge of his aroused flesh strained against the black broadcloth. Turning over her hand, she dared to curve her palm against the shaft, and followed it all the way down to the base and up again. It was scary and exciting and unbelievable to be touching him like this. His breath quickened, and an involuntary quiver chased across his stomach as she gripped over the stiffness.

Beneath her fingers, the hard flesh seemed to possess its own pulses and responsive twitches. She wanted to see this mysterious part of him. She wanted to find out what it felt like. The front of his trousers had been styled in the classic formal design, a fall attached with two side rows of buttons. Timidly her hand slid to the nearest row of buttons.

His hand came to hers, arresting her wandering touch, and his lips grazed her temple. “Better not, sweet.”

Pandora frowned. “But it’s not fair for you to treat my nervous condition, and me to do nothing for yours.”

His gentle laugh filtered through her hair. “We’ll take care of mine later.” Leaning over her, he took her lips with a brief, ardent kiss. “Let me carry you to bed now,” he whispered, “and tuck you in like a good little girl.”

“Not yet,” she protested. “I want to stay here with you.” The storm rolled over the house, rain falling with the force of bronze pennies. She snuggled more tightly into the warm crook of Gabriel’s arm. “Besides . . . you still haven’t answered the question I asked you at the archery grounds.”

“What question?”

“You were going to tell me the worst thing about yourself.”

“God. Do we have to discuss that now?”

“You said you wanted to talk about it in private. I don’t know when we’ll have another chance.”

Gabriel frowned and remained silent, occupied with thoughts that seemed far from pleasant. Perhaps he wasn’t certain how to begin.

“Does it have something to do with your mistress?” she asked helpfully.

Gabriel gave her a narrowed glance, as if the question had taken him aback. “So you’ve heard about that.”

She nodded.

He let out a controlled sigh. “The devil knows I’m not proud of it. However, I thought it better than resorting to harlotry or seducing innocents, and I’m not exactly suited for celibacy.”

“I don’t think badly of you for it,” Pandora hastened to assure him. “Lady Berwick says it’s often done by gentlemen, and ladies must pretend not to know about it.”

“All very civilized,” Gabriel muttered. His expression was dark as he continued. “There’s nothing wrong with the arrangement unless one or both of the parties involved are married. I’ve always considered marriage vows to be sacred. To lie with another man’s wife is . . . unforgivable.”

His tone remained even and calm, except for the self-loathing that colored the last word.

For a moment Pandora was too surprised to speak. It seemed impossible that this man, with his golden good looks and sophistication—a man so perfect in every way—would feel ashamed about anything. Then the surprise melted into a tender feeling as she reflected that he was not some godlike being, but a man with very human flaws. It wasn’t an unwelcome discovery.

“Your mistress is married,” she said without asking.

“She’s the wife of the American ambassador.”

“Then how do you and she . . .”

“I bought a house where we meet whenever possible.”

Pandora felt something clutch at her chest, like a set of claws digging into her heart. “No one lives there?” she asked. “The house is only for rendezvous-ing?”

Gabriel gave her a sardonic glance. “I thought it preferable to rutting behind the potted palms at the latest soirée.”

“Yes, but to buy an entire house . . .” Pandora knew she was belaboring the point. But it rankled, the idea that he had bought a private, special place for himself and his mistress. Their house. It was probably smart and fashionable, one of those detached villas with bow windows, or perhaps a cottage orné with its own little kitchen garden.

“What is Mrs. Black like?” she asked.

“Vivacious. Confident. Worldly.”

“Beautiful too, I suppose.”

“Very.”

The invisible claws sank deeper. What a nasty feeling this was. It almost felt like . . . jealousy? No. Yes. It was jealousy. Oh, this was awful.

“If the idea of taking a married woman as a mistress bothers you,” she asked, trying not to sound snide, “why didn’t you look for someone else?”

“It’s not as if one can advertise for a mistress in the papers,” Gabriel said dryly. “And attraction doesn’t always happen with convenient people. It bothered me a great deal that Nola was married. But that wasn’t enough to stop me from pursuing her, once I realized—” He broke off and rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth clamping in a sullen line.