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and turning and no matter how many times she beat
at her pillow her guilt wouldn’t let her rest. She’d known once
she’d seen him that her being alone with a man in the middle of the
night was in no way appropriate. She’d known that but something
about him, about how lonely and tired he’d seemed outside of his
room after he’d put forth such an effort at dinner had tugged at
her heart. He was strict yes, she could see that, unyielding, and
loyal if his dedication to her father was any indication. At times
he was frightening, unsociable, short tempered. But Jocelyn knew he
was also incredibly sad because something in his despair called to
her own.
    So she’d talked to him, tried once
again to reason with him, and when that failed she’d pulled some of
Ava’s tricks. She’d been angry that he was so completely
disregarding her and her wishes. She’d wanted to tease him, just a
little bit. But Jocelyn hadn’t considered how strange he was.
Strange because it seemed like with that one touch what she’d noted
in the back of her mind seemed to be brought into sharp
relief.
    The hard muscle beneath her fingertips,
the searing heat of his body that seemed as if it were reaching for
her, touching her. He was taller than her, stronger, and so very
handsome with eyes that churned like the sky during a storm
whenever he looked at her.
    She had to remind herself that he was
basically kidnapping her but the words rang empty that night. The
truth was that she understood his position and respected him for
it. It just didn’t mean that she had to cooperate.
    She wouldn’t be going to England to
live with the enemy, but because it was easier, because she wanted
to make sure that at least Ava would be safe, she would pretend to.
Then, as soon as she got the chance she’d escape. Her last thought
as she drifted off to sleep was that she’d need to write a letter
asking Charles, her father’s lawyer, to take care of things until
she could come back.

    * * * *

    There were no concrete images, just a
confused jumble of wet heat and searing gray eyes. His hands are
moving over her now, stroking, touching, and thrusting until
Jocelyn can’t help but to rock her hips to meet them. Hunger,
longing, need, pleading and panting. Spread her thighs and beg.
Want him, need him, touch her, taste her, lift her, kiss her, and
please her. Press desperate skin and lean muscles against soft
curves and listen to her scream until the world explodes in a
shower of stars that singe and punish like the rough tongue of a
lover’s kisses.

Chapter two

    They’ve grown so much Damon. More than
you can imagine. Ava is still a hellion and God knows how I’ve
raised her without a woman’s help all these years. But I worry for
Jocelyn. Ever since the war began she’s taken less and less time to
dance and has been spending more time down in old Mrs. Roseland’s
place tending to the wounded boys who’ve been brought to her
doorstep to recover. There seems to be less time for enjoyment in
my Joss’s life and more for worry and I don’t want that for either
of my girls. I want you…no, I need you to take care of them for me
when the time comes that I no longer can.

    “My, my Jocelyn. Fly catching are
we?”
    At Ava’s mocking, though still
lady-like tones, Jocelyn’s mouth snapped shut and she shook her
head to try and erase the last traces of exhaustion. She hadn’t
slept well last night, the reason for that being much too
embarrassing to talk about with anyone. Even Ava. So clearing her
throat she smiled at her sister before allowing the groom to hand
her up into the carriage. They’d managed to load everything they’d
wanted onto the contraption but only barely. The carriage swayed
and groaned under the combined weight of its luggage and passengers
and another horse had been harnessed to it to help carry the load.
Her own horse, Jet, was too proud to be put to such menial work and
Jocelyn was happy to strap him to the back so she could