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Marjorie cut her gaze to him. “She sang that part earlier. I can’t tell if I remember it or just learned it quickly.

” She tasted her soup and drank some coffee.

Simon wanted to bang his head on the table when she didn’t suddenly gasp as her memory rushed back.

He’d been so certain this trip to the village would rouse something in her.

What the devil was he supposed to tell the smugglers when they came tonight?

He couldn’t ask them to wait another night.

Their window to make the rendezvous would be incredibly slim, leaving no margin for error.

He was running out of time. England was running out of time.

The singer launched into “Barbara Allen,” which was an old ballad.

“You must know this,” Simon said.

Marjorie shook her head and pushed her soup aside. “It’s hopeless, Simon. If we return to London now, could Melbourne send someone else to give the rendezvous point in time?”

“No. The captains must be away tonight for the best chance at making the rendezvous. If they go with the tide in the morning, they might still have a chance, but every moment that passes that chance is slimmer.”

She put her head in her hands. “I’m sorry. I wish—”

He reached over and took her hand. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But it is my fault. Why did I go out that night? Why didn’t I share the information I held so I wasn’t the only one who knew?”

“We still have a few more hours. Try not to think about it. You seem to remember more when you aren’t so focused on it.”

She scowled at him, which was familiar. Except this time her eyes weren’t cold and hard. “How am I supposed to not think about the one thing that will save countless soldiers from dying and possibly save England from falling into the hands of a ruthless French emperor?”

“I don’t—” But even as he began the singer spoke.

“Now for something a bit livelier.”

The violinist stepped forward and began to play the “Sailor’s Hornpipe.” Almost without thinking, he began to tap his foot. Several people rose and began to dance in the small area before the dais. Inspiration striking, Simon rose and held his hand out to Marjorie. “Dance with me.”

She shrank back. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll lead you. Come on. It will get your mind on something else.”

She looked at the musicians and then at him.

She would surely refuse. He could not imagine Marjorie Clawson dancing.

But then she took his hand and rose, and he was pulling her to join the other revelers.

The song was quick and lively, and they joined the group of dancers.

The crowd not dancing began clapping as the dancers skipped in a circle and then the men grabbed the women and twirled them about.

A few men knew more complicated footwork, and they were invited onto the dais to show off their quick feet.

The music sped up, and Marjorie laughed as Simon twirled her faster, dancing her about the crowded space.

She was graceful, as always, and followed his lead.

A few dancers stepped away as the tempo increased even further, and then the few remaining tried to keep up.

Simon was warm now, his breath coming hard as he tried to keep time with the music.

Marjorie was laughing, her face pink, and her eyes shining.

Her hat hung down her back, and her hair had come loose.

Every time he spun her, he caught the scent of her hair, and it made him want to pull her closer.

Finally, the music ended, and Marjorie fell into his arms, laughing. Another song began, but Simon hardly heard it. He couldn’t look away from her dark eyes or her plump mouth.

“Let’s go back home,” she said.

“A walk would do me good.” He needed to cool down, dampen his desire, and remember they were supposed to be completing a mission not falling into bed.

Back at the table, he dropped some coins on the wood and slipped his book back into his pocket.

Marjorie tucked her hair back under her hat, and they began the walk back to the cottage.

On the way to the village, she’d had her hand tucked in his arm and he’d not thought much of it. But now even that innocent touch felt as though it was burning his skin through the wool of the coat and the linen of his shirt.

He should probably make some sort of conversation, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how it had felt to have his hand on her waist and to hear her laughing.

The walk back to the cottage was not nearly long enough.

He spotted it too soon, and Marjorie released his hand and hurried to the front door.

Simon tried to catch his breath and calm his racing heart.

“You are not here to ravish her,” he reminded himself outside.

When he opened the door, he found a trail of clothing.

Marjorie’s hat lay nearest the door then her gloves then her spencer.

He followed the path to the sitting room where she stood with her hands on the back of the couch and her back to him.

He swallowed, trying to think of something to say.

“Should we...” he began but didn’t know how to continue.

She spun around, her eyes dark and her lips moist. “We should,” she said.

Later he wouldn’t be able to say who had moved first. Perhaps they moved at the same time.

Suddenly, she was in his arms, her mouth on his.

His hands were in her hair, his legs propelling them into the bed chamber.

The curtains were open, giving him a view of the waves crashing on the beach and the rocks.

He felt as though every emotion inside him was tumbling about like a fish caught in the swell.

He didn’t allow himself to think because if he did, he’d stop this.

And he desperately did not want to stop kissing her, touching her, hearing those small, satisfied sounds coming from her throat.

Her hands parted his coat and pushed it off his shoulders.

He let it drop to the floor then grabbed at his neckcloth, tearing it off.

He didn’t even care that his clothing was becoming wrinkled on the floor.

She began unpinning her bodice, and he had to pause because he couldn’t concentrate on the buttons of his shirt once her bodice gaped open.

She let her garment fall to the floor then reached for his shirt, finishing unfastening the buttons.

She yanked the tail out of his breeches, and he pulled it over his head, realizing too late he hadn’t unfastened the cuffs.

When he was finally rid of the shirt, he looked up again and saw she’d discarded her skirt and petticoats and was unhooking her stays.

They plunged to her feet, and she stood in her shift and stockings.

One strap of her shift slipped off her shoulders, and the garment dipped to reveal the swell of her breast.

Simon couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her.

He pulled her hard against him. Her warm mouth met his, her tongue teasing his lips apart and delving inside.

He slid his hands to her bottom, ruching up her shift until he felt the velvety soft skin of her arse.

Then he pulled her shift higher, breaking the kiss to strip her of it.

She stepped back, and now he had a view of her naked body. He didn’t have to look away this time. She wasn’t helpless as he carried her from a bath. She was letting him look his fill, and he knew he’d never tire of this view. She was all curves and slopes and soft dips.

“Take off your boots,” she said before sitting on the bed to deal with her garters and stockings.

He hated to look away from her, but he strode to the boot jack in the corner and removed one then the other.

He should gather his discarded clothing, place it over the back of a chair.

But when he turned back, she was lying on the bed.

Naked.

The late afternoon light meant he could see every inch of her lush body from her slim shoulders to the indent of her waist to the chestnut brown curls between her thighs.

He opened the fall of his breeches, and her gaze dipped to see his straining member spring free.

She bit her lip and held out her hand to him.

He stepped out of his breeches then took her outstretched hand, covering her as she wrapped her legs about him and took his mouth with hers.

The feel of her beneath him was better than anything he’d ever imagined, and he had imagined doing this with her an embarrassing number of times. But this time when he felt a hand on his cock, it wasn’t his own. She wrapped her fingers around him and slid them up and down.

His breath hitched, and he grabbed her wrist, afraid this would end too soon if he allowed her to continue.

Instead, he dipped his head to kiss her breast, taking the turgid point in his mouth as his hand slid down her curves and between her legs.

She was damp with need and groaned as his fingers stroked her.

So this was what she sounded like when she was pleasured.

And now he wondered what she would taste like.

He’d never even allowed himself to imagine that.

He was half afraid, even now, that he would wake up and find all of this was a dream.

Her hands raked through his hair, pulling on it lightly, a reminder this was really happening.

He moved down her body and settled between her legs, parting them to reveal the pink of her sex.

He stroked it with one finger and watched her legs tremble.

He turned his head to kiss her inner thigh, and she moaned his name.

That was all the encouragement he needed to run his tongue over her seam, part her folds, and find the small nub that would give her the most pleasure.

He swirled her with his tongue, lapping up the taste of her.

No matter what happened, he would never forget the way she tasted and smelled or the sound of her ragged breaths as she neared climax.

His own cock was painfully hard, but he ignored his own desires.

He’d wanted her so long that if this was all she allowed, he’d be content.

“Simon!” she cried, and he closed his eyes.

He loved her use of his Christian name. He loved how desperate she sounded for him. He was in no doubt that she wanted him.

Her hips bucked as she climaxed, and he worked his way back up her body, kissing her belly and the underside of her breast. She opened her eyes as he levered over her and smiled at him. “You’re very good at that.”

He kissed her lightly. “I ought to be, considering how many times I’ve imagined doing it to you.”

Her look was tender as she cupped his face. “Did I really have no idea how you felt about me?”

“Considering how much you disliked me, I wasn’t about to tell you.”

“Well, I like you now, Simon Burrows. I like you very much.” Her arms went about him, and she put her legs about his waist so his cock was nestled pleasantly near her sex. “I’m not quite done liking you,” she said, arching her hips.

“Are you certain?” he said through gritted teeth. It was taking all his willpower not to drive into her and find his own pleasure. “In a day or so your memory might come back, and you might regret all of this. You’ll remember how much you despise me and hate me for taking advantage of you.”

Her legs dropped, and she pushed him back and sat. “You think you’re taking advantage of me?”

“Marjorie, you must know by now that I’ve been half in love with you for years. You’ve never shown any indication that you felt the same. Now suddenly you seem to want me as much as I want you. I don’t know if either of us should trust your feelings when you’re not fully... you .”

She nodded and looked down at her bare leg for a long moment.

“You’re a good man, Simon,” she said. “If I truly didn’t like you, I was an idiot.

I am not an idiot now, and in this moment, I want your hands on me more than I want to take the next breath.

” Her amber-brown eyes lifted and met his.

At her words, his heart all but stopped in his chest. He put a hand to his sternum, afraid it might not begin beating again.

“The only thing I will regret is not having you inside me.” She rose on her knees and kissed him, then pushed him back and crawled over him.

Her hands explored his body, while her lips nipped at his mouth, his jaw, and she suckled at his neck.

He couldn’t manage a deep breath, and when she straddled him, and he looked up at the glorious sight of her naked, he thought he had died and entered Paradise.

And then she took him inside her.