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“You want my body,” he taunted. “But Anne, I am not the kind of man you are meant for. I’m not a man who is worthy of you. Your kindness, your goodness, your wit—that heart you hide beneath all this golden beauty.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, to each side of her lips. “I see it. I see you.”

“I want you , Hewitt Vaughn. All of you. Why do you think I came to your room that night?”

“So you didn’t have to marry my brother,” he murmured against her lips.

“Because I wanted you .” She rained kisses over his face, crawling over him as she pressed him back upon the bed. “I saw you minister to your mother. I saw you sit at the table at dinner, and I could see you were a man of honor, a man of strength. A man I could admire.”

“A man of clay.” But he didn’t push her away.

He reveled in her kisses, caressing her in return, sifting his hands through her loose hair, sliding his palms along her skin as if he were handling a treasure of gold.

“I want you to be free, my darling. Not tricked. I want you to make your own choice.”

“And I choose you, for you are the match for me, Hewitt Vaughn.” She pressed a kiss to the tender place beneath his ear, feeling the muscle jump beneath her lips. “But I am the one who tricked you. Forced your hand. I will not have you compelled to take me for honor.”

“Dear God, Anne, I want you . Honor is the least of it. Wherever you go, I will follow and beg you to take me. I will never cease wooing you, for without you—I could have said yes to you six years ago. Why didn’t I?

” His eyes burned blue as he stared into her eyes, and Anne felt the shock of rightness to the seat of her soul.

This man, this place, this moment—everything in her life had led her here.

She climbed over his hips and hiked up her skirts, settling herself against his eager manhood. His eyes flared with passion, and she loved that look, too.

“I accept you now,” she said. “You are mine. Now claim me back.”

He anchored his hands to her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, his face transfigured with pleasure and longing and wonder. For her.

“I was yours the moment I stepped into this church,” he said hoarsely. “I saw a goddess of the spring, tearing apart a bough of myrtle, and I was caught in her spell as sure as if I’d stumbled into a fairy ring.”

She moaned softly, moving against him. “Liar,” she breathed. “The way you glared at me?—”

“Because I knew whatever I’d never thought to have in my life, it was there, standing before me. And if I could not have it—have you— better I had died at Acre, or in prison, or from the lash.”

“You have me now,” Anne panted, moving toward her climax, and his. “Say it. Believe it. I am yours.”

He arched his back and caught his breath, clenching his teeth. He was holding back, she saw, drawing out the moment with her. Their moments together. She loved him for it.

“Anne—I don’t wish to trap you. I want you to have what you want.”

“You, my love.” Anne leaned down to kiss him on the mouth. “I choose you. Now choose me back.”

“God, yes,” he breathed. He grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, driving her to the brink and over.

“Stay with me. Be with me,” she sobbed as the pleasure keeled her over, rolling her like the waves that had dragged her down in the channel. But she would surface again in Hew’s arms. He would always bring her back to the light.

“I will be with you always. I promise.”

He slipped out of her and pulled her against him, squeezing her legs and thrusting once, twice between them to finish. Anne smiled, watching him reach his peak. She would always love watching this beautiful man come apart for her. With her.

“You were supposed to be with me,” she chided gently.

“I am. I will be.” His eyes were a hazy blue-gray with passion, his lips curling at the corners. “But I won’t give you a babe if you do not wish it.”

“I believe I might, one day. I am less afraid lately.” For everything beautiful came with a price. She knew that now. Anne laid her head on his chest and surrendered to the sense of completeness, of safety, of belonging that she felt with Hewitt Vaughn in her arms.

“No one else,” she said a while later, startling out of her doze at a sudden thought.

“Hmm?” He pulled a lazy hand through her hair. She lay atop him still, the sheet stretched over them both.

She lifted her chin to look him in the eye. “I won’t share you with others. No lady’s companions, no chambermaids, no sweet, fresh buttercup girls. I will be a jealous wife.”

“Then prepare to meet all my needs, wife.” He chuckled. “I won’t tolerate other men looking at you, you know. No clever tradesmen or knowledgeable surgeons instructing you in their trade. I will be a jealous husband, too.”

She kissed him again. “And I’m afraid I won’t be one of those potted wives. The kind who only move from the kitchen to the parlor to the nursery. I want to do what Dovey and Eilian do. I want to learn a real skill, and I want to use it to help people.”

“I want whatever makes you happy, sidan. ” He ran his hands down her arms, like a potter sculpting clay, and Anne knew herself to be fully alive. She knew where she belonged, and it was here, with him.

“You do.” She slid her hands over his jaw, coming out in stubble, and ran her finger along that delicious groove above his lip, feeling his smile as she claimed him for her own. “I’m for Captain Hewitt Vaughn, and none other,” she murmured. “You are man enough for me.”