“Thank you so much for saying that,” she said, burying her face in his side. “I wasn’t at all sure what to do, you know.” She wanted to look up at him, wanted to see the expression in his eyes, but a faint flush of embarrassment crept over her.

“Have no fear. I plan to give you plenty of practice.”

“What?” Emma sat up quickly, suddenly extremely eager to smooth her skirts. Alex’s words had somehow triggered the return of reality. “Alex, you know we can’t be doing this all the time.”

“Why not?”

“We just can’t. There are too many people who would be hurt. Too many people who expect better of me.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like better from you.”

“You are being deliberately obtuse. I just—” Emma’s face suddenly drained of color. “I can’t believe what I just did,” she said, her eyes wide with shock over her scandalous behavior. A stolen kiss was one thing, but this—dear Lord, she had let, no begged, Alex to touch her in a most intimate fashion.

Alex groaned as he watched doubt and self-recrimination pour over Emma’s face. His body throbbed painfully, and quite frankly he did not have the energy to deal with her sudden attack of feminine sensibilities.

“I don’t blame you,” Emma said quickly. “I blame myself. I lost control of myself.”

Nothing she could have said would have made him feel worse. She was such a little innocent; she had no idea what kind of sensual pressure he had used on her. How like his brave darling to try to assume the responsibility for their lovemaking. But despite the guilt that was beginning to invade his mind, Alex wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. His body was still begging for release, straining his nerves.

“Emma,” he said suddenly, his voice even and controlled. “I’m only going to say this once. Do not regret what happened this afternoon. It was beautiful and natural, and you were everything I ever dreamed you would be. If you continue to berate yourself you’re only going to make yourself sick. And if you feel that we should never again share our souls as we did today, well, you’re just going to have to accept that I will probably put up quite a fight.”

They rode home in silence. Emma felt as if her every emotion had been torn asunder. On the one hand, she could not help blissfully replaying the torrid lovemaking she had experienced just moments earlier. On the other hand, she wanted to flog herself once she got home.

Life, she decided, was getting rather confusing.

Alex was not inclined to make conversation, either. His body felt like it was about to snap, and it didn’t help that Emma’s scent seemed to be everywhere—in his clothes, on his hands, simply floating through the air. He had known from the beginning that he would not find satisfaction, but he had felt that the thrill of pleasuring Emma would be enough. And it had been—until she had begun to doubt herself, cheapening the experience with her shame.

He was going to have to make some major decisions in his life, he decided—and soon. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

By the time the couple finally arrived back at Westonbirt, Emma was in a complete state of confusion. As they entered the cavernous foyer, she mumbled something incoherent to Alex and raced up the long, curving staircase with speed she had never dreamed she possessed.

Alex was left with a fleeting vision of midnight-blue muslin and flaming hair flying away from him. He sighed wearily. He almost wished he could just tell himself that he’d handled her badly. At least then he could try to undo his mistakes. But the fact was that Emma’s anguish stemmed from her own feelings of guilt and was probably something that she was going to have to work out on her own. With a frustrated groan, Alex raked his hand through his hair, turned on his heel and strode off to his suite, thinking that he ought to have his valet prepare a chilling bath.

When Emma reached her room, she was still moving with such haste that she practically flew through the doorway, flinging herself onto her bed with complete abandon. Which was why, she later supposed, she had been so surprised when she realized that Belle was lying there, curled up peacefully with a volume of Shakespeare.

“Hell and damnation, Belle,” Emma snapped, rubbing her shoulder where it had connected with her cousin’s hip. “Couldn’t you possibly read in your own room?”

Belle looked at her with innocent blue eyes. “The light is better in here.”

“For God’s sake, Belle. Try to be a little more creative with your excuses. Your room is directly next to mine, and it faces the same direction.”

“Would you believe your bed is more comfortable than mine?”

Emma looked ready to explode.

“All right, all right,” Belle said hastily, quickly scooting off the bed. “I admit it. I wanted to hear about your ride with Ashbourne.”

“Well, it was fine. Are you satisfied?”

“No,” Belle replied vehemently. “This is Belle, remember? You’re supposed to tell me everything.”

Something about Belle’s wheedling tone struck an emotional chord in Emma, and she felt a hot tear spill down her cheek. “I’m not sure I want to talk right now.”

Belle took one look at Emma’s stricken expression, dropped her book, and then, with her characteristic presence of mind, thought to quickly slam the bedroom door shut. “Oh my God, Emma. What happened? Did he—? Did you—?”

Emma sniffled and wiped away a tear.

“Did he ravish you?”

“I hate that word,” Emma bit out. “Have I ever told you that I hate that word?”