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"Your spirit." He kissed her. "Your wit." He kissed her again. "And yes, your mouth, which drives me to distraction daily." She laughed, and he kissed her once more, deep and long, drunk on the taste of her. She ran her hands over him, exploring his body with no less enthusiasm than he explored hers until they were both short of breath.

He pushed himself up on one arm. Cressida blinked at him, then went still as he sucked on his thumb before sliding his hand down her leg, right into the damp curls. She twitched as he explored, parting the tender folds of flesh and taking a light circle. She gasped, clutching at his wrist, but he kept his slow, soft touch steady. She writhed, and he moved to straddle her leg, flexing his spine to slide his erection against her hip.

She jerked her head up to look at him, her eyes as bright and round as a golden guinea. The light creeping through the windows painted her ivory and pink. Her fingers dug into his arms, and he could see her choking back cries of desire.

He wanted to hear them. He wanted to make her wild. He pushed two fingers inside her and she nearly bucked him off. Alec’s arms began to shake. He stroked her inside and out as she twisted and thrashed, whispering urgent pleas. Gradually deeper tremors wracked her, and as much as he wanted to watch her climax, he was almost dying from wanting her. He moved over her and thrust deep, and she finally cried out his name, her voice cracking, as climax broke over her.

She curled her trembling legs around his waist as he began to ride her with long, hard strokes. He sucked in his breath and groped for the bedsheet, barely pulling away in time to come in the fistful of linen. For a moment neither moved, wrapped around each other in the lingering pangs of ecstasy before all the strength seemed to drain out of him. Alec collapsed onto the bed half beside her, half on top of her, and Cressida only giggled and pulled him closer, winding her arms around his neck to draw his head down to rest on her shoulder.

He might already be used to this. Addicted, even.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, nuzzling her neck.

Cressida smiled, stretching like a well-satisfied woman. "Pure madness."

He grinned. "Perhaps. But I said there was a method in it."

"Oh?"

“Mmmm.” Sleep was pulling at him. Yes, just a brief nap, and then he would make love to her again. They could spend the entire day here, sleeping and making love. No more suspicious glances, no more cool silence from Julia, no more Angus Lucey shouting at him in church, no more missing soldiers, no more John Stafford. Just Cressida, with her understanding eyes and trusting heart and entrancing mouth. . .

Cressida stirred and gave a soft gasp. “It’s almost day! I have to go! My sister will wake soon."

He raised his head and squinted at the window. "Ah."

She scrambled out of bed and began hunting for her nightdress, finally locating it under his boots. Alec lay back on the pillows. He could feel those other worries and fears, lurking like shadowy gargoyles around him, but instead he thought of her.

Yes, he wanted very much to get used to waking up with her.

"What is the key?” she whispered, sounding a little panicked. “Alec, the door is locked. . . ”

Right. He got out of bed. Cressida was bent over, searching the floor. Alec scooped the key off the writing desk where he’d thrown it the night before.

"Thank you," she whispered in undisguised relief, reaching for it.

"Will you walk out with me this afternoon?"

She wet her lips and blushed. "Didn't I tell you last night? I would go anywhere with you."

His mouth curved. She had said that, but it was still incredible to him. "Thank you." He kissed her as he gave her the key.

She put her hand on his cheek. "Thank you," she said, "for the most wonderful night of my life." She turned the key in the lock and slipped out of the room.

Later, when he had washed and dressed, Alec left his room feeling like a new man—or rather, a man who was finally free. He’d told himself that if he could only prove his innocence, everything he’d lost would be restored and he would be able to resume his old life. Today, at long last, he realized—and acknowledged—it was a lie. He’d been chasing a phantom. He would never be the same man he was before Waterloo, not even close. That had always been the case, and it was time for him to stop straining toward the impossible.

He knew he hadn’t spied for the French. Cressida believed him, and that would be enough. A new life stretched in front of him, not the one he’d pictured but hopefully a happy one. Only a fool would ruin that chance by stubbornly clinging to guilt and anger and self-righteous indignation about what he could not change.

He met his mother at the bottom of the stairs. "Good morning, Mother." He kissed her cheek.

She blinked in astonishment at such a warm greeting. He resolved to be a better son. "Good morning, Alexander. May we have a word?"

"Of course." He extended his arm and they went into his study.

Mother clasped her hands and drew herself up. "I am very sorry to say this to you," she said hesitantly, "but I must. One of the maids said she saw Miss Turner leaving your chambers early this morning, in her nightclothes. I don’t wish to interfere in your affairs, but Miss Turner is an unmarried lady, and our guest. It pains me to reprove you, dear⁠—"

Alec grinned. "Then don't. Mother, rest easy. I hold Miss Turner and her reputation in the highest possible regard."

She looked uneasy. "The servants will gossip. I scolded the girl for spreading tales, but I’m not sure I can stop them talking about it. . . "