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His knuckles brushed the curve of her breast, and he paused. Her skin was warm and impossibly smooth, and beneath it, he could feel her heart racing as fast as his own.

She was not as unaffected as she pretended.

"But I need to prepare you."

She nodded, her voice breathless. "Then prepare me."

He cupped her breast in his hand, his thumb circling her peak. Temperance let out a soft, involuntary whimper, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Her whimper nearly undid him.

He caressed her, and her breath quickened, her head fell back, exposing the long line of her throat, and he wanted nothing more than to fasten his mouth there, to suck on her skin and lick his way down. But he was the one who had made the rules, and for good reason.

He did not need to know her taste; if he did, he would never be able to let her go.

Knowing her scent and the feel of her skin was torture enough.

He blew a little air against her neck, and she let out a moan.

God. Now I know the sounds she makes, too.

Every rule he had set seemed to be eroding by the second, and he had barely begun.

This is a terrible idea.

"Lie down on the bed," he whispered in her ear.

She drew back, her brown irises staring into his soul. She licked her rosy lips, the ones he was dying to nibble and taste, then turned and walked toward his bed, her hips swaying, her golden hair swinging against the small of her back, and every step pulling him after her like a rope around his heart.

Chapter Six

Milan

20th February 1816

Dear husband,

I have arrived in Milan. My aunt informs me we shall stay a month or two, which, from her, is practically a vow of permanence. Please write to me at the Albergo della Luna, Contrada dei Meravigli.

It is a beautiful place, though I much prefer Florence, for it has more churches where I can sit and sketch in silence for hours.

My aunt, of course, prefers Milan, though she is much too eager to get moving. She wants to show me the world, and I have to be honest, I enjoy the travel: the passing landscapes, and the changing food and fashion along the way.

Milanese eat a great deal of rice, which I am just getting used to. It is very cold here, but I am perfectly well. I mention it in case you have wondered.

I shall be waiting for your reply, at least until the end of April.

Your wife,

Temperance

No kisses. No gentleness. No pretense.

They had agreed to these businesslike terms. But she was already breaking the last one, if only to keep the first two.

Temperance had to pretend she did not crave gentleness from him. That she did not want him to kiss her, to soothe her worries, to calm her nerves.

She reached the bed, pulled back the sheets, and lay down, trembling from fear and excitement.