The barest ghost of a smile touched his mouth for just a brief moment. "If you will but consult me before any final decisions are made, madame, that will suit me well," he said.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence. Then India arose to excuse herself. "It is my custom to take a bath before I retire each night," she said softly. "Will you be joining me later, my lord?"

"Aye," he said, and nothing more.

She curtsied, and went to her apartments. He was such an odd man, she thought. Meggie had her bath ready. Undressed, she climbed into the warm, scented tub and washed herself, being careful to pin her curls atop her head. When she was dry, and in her nightdress, Meggie and Diarmid together emptied the tub and stored it away before bidding her a pleasant night. When they had gone, India arose, removed her gown, and laid it carefully upon a chair before climbing back into her bed and snuggling beneath the down coverlet.

The curtains were drawn once again. The firelight lit the room. Meggie had forgotten to light the tapers on either side of the bed, but India didn't mind. She dozed half seated against her pillow, awakening when she heard the sharp click of the door in the paneling. As the previous night, the earl entered her bedchamber naked, but this time she had a small opportunity to observe him. He was well made, she could see, with no deformities. There was a dark mat of hair upon his broad chest that extended into a narrow treasure trail leading to his groin. His masculine parts were also extremely well made, she noted, large and healthy.

Lifting the coverlet, he climbed into bed beside her. "I am pleased to see that you followed my instructions," he told her.

"Asking me to be naked in my bed for your attentions is hardly an onerous order, my lord husband," India answered him.

"Lay back," he said, throwing the bedcoverings aside. "I wish to examine you in more detail, madame. I did not have the opportunity last night to do so. I would see what Glenkirk has sent me."

"Like one of my mares," she mocked him sharply.

"Precisely, madame," he told her, and took up her hand.

"Our situation is intimate, sir," she replied. "Will you not call me by my given name, and permit me to call you by your name? In public, formality is required, I understand, but surely not here in my bed." He was kissing each of her fingertips, having examined her hand in great detail.

He put one of her fingers in his mouth, and began to suck on it slowly, drawing on the finger deeply, his tongue working its way about the slim digit. His other hand slid between her thighs, and began to play with her sex. When she was wet with her arousal, he took his finger and pushed it into her mouth, and, without being asked, she began to suck upon it. "That is how you taste," he said softly. He sucked harder on her finger.

Her eyes were wide with shock, but her blood was pulsing with excitement. This cold and correct husband of hers was the most sensual man she had ever encountered. Even her beloved Caynan Reis had not been so strongly animalistic. India shivered, and pulled the finger from her mouth.

"Are you cold, India?" he asked her solicitously, drawing her finger from his mouth and kissing the palm of her hand ardently.

"Why do you taunt me, Deverall?" she whispered.

"I am attempting to make up for my crude behavior of last night," he said innocently. "I am trying to make love to you, India, but perhaps you preferred being thrown on your back and roughly fucked." Leaning over, he nuzzled her ear. "Do you like being taken that way?"

"No!" she managed to husk out as his tongue made circles in the shell of her ear.

"I imagine you thought I had no manners suitable for a lady's chamber," he almost purred at her.

"Aye," she quickly answered, "I did!"

"Then let me prove otherwise to you, India," he said, pressing her back into her pillows and kissing her, his lips warm and firm against her own.

To her surprise, the kiss was a tender one, but then it began to deepen, and his tongue was pushing into her mouth to meet with hers. She trembled. His mouth. The kisses he kissed her. Why did they touch a chord somewhere within her? She wanted to weep again.

He was startled to feel the wetness on her cheeks, the salty tears against his mouth. Why was she crying? He knew instinctively not to question her. Instead, he took her face between his two hands and kissed the tears from it, pretending he believed her emotions stemmed from his passion toward her. "Do not weep, India," he said. "I will never be rough with you again," he said. "Would you prefer if I left you now?"

"I want to be a good wife to you," she half sobbed. Ohh, God's blood, she was behaving like a perfect ninny!

He took her declaration to mean that he was to stay. He let his kisses move down her throat and across her chest. She murmured, and calmed. He kissed her breasts gently, and then he took a nipple into his mouth, suckling upon it, gently at first, and then harder.

Her fingers dug into his shoulder as his mouth worked her. She remembered once telling Caynan Reis that she wondered what manner of woman she was to enjoy his attentions so avidly when such pleasure should be reserved for a husband and wife. This man, his dark head lowered to her bosom, was her husband, yet he was making her feel like a perfect wanton. She did not truly know him, and yet his attentions were arousing her to a frenzy. She murmured, and caressed his hair.

Bitch, he thought. Wanton bitch! She responded to his attentions eagerly, although she struggled to hide her feelings. How quickly she had forgotten Caynan Reis. Now she murmured, and moaned with her rising arousal as he stroked and petted her. He could have killed her did he not love her so damned much. He began to kiss her again, his lips wandering across her torso. Her belly was sweetly rounded, and he licked the quivering flesh, causing her to cry out softly with her pleasure. She needed to be punished, he thought irrationally. Spreading her, he drew her slender legs with their silken thighs over his shoulders, and, sitting back upon his haunches, he drew her to him.

India shrieked her surprise as his mouth made contact with the most intimate part of her. He gripped her buttocks firmly in his two big hands, and his head buried itself in her sweetness, his lips mashing themselves against her nether lips, his tongue running up and down her slit before pushing through to find her pleasure place. Her head spun with her rising passion, and she panted like an animal. "Deverall! Dev! Oh,God, my lord, you are killing me!" The first wave crashed into her. She could feel his teeth, gently, oh so very gently, nibbling on her flesh. She cried out, shuddering violently. The second wave raised her up. His flickering tongue teased, and teased, and teased at her sensitivity, and then plunged as deeply as it could into her sheath. "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!" she cried. Then he released her but a moment before pressing his body against hers and plunging into her. She screamed her pleasure as the third wave flung her down, and down, and down.

He thrust again and again into the hot, honied sheath welcoming him. There had never been a woman like India, and there would never be one like her no matter she was a lying and deceitful little bitch. He could feel himself swelling, then breaking, his love juices flooding her womb. He lifted his dark head a moment to kiss her lips, and saw that she was practically insensible with his passion. He brushed his mouth across hers, whispering softly, "Je t'aime settlement, ma bijou! Settlement toi, India. Ma femme precieuse. Seulement toi!"

In her half-conscious state she heard his voice. "Mon seigneur Caynan, she whispered, "Je t'aime aussi. Ahh, retournez-moi! C'est un rêve." Then she fell into an exhausted sleep.

I love you also. Return to me. This is a dream. Her soft words slammed into him with violent force. What did she mean by such words? She had deserted him. Or had she? Both Baba Hassan and Azura had insisted India would not leave him willingly, yet he had thought otherwise. During most of her time with him she had been defiant, and eager to be free. When she had disappeared, he had assumed that she had been but feigning her love for him and run off with her cousin.

Why had he even thought such a thing? Because in his heart he had not trusted her. He had never trusted women since the time his stepmother had seduced him, and then laughingly rejected him when another lover took her fancy. She had made a man of him, MariElena told him, but he quickly realized she had done it in order to have a wedge to drive between him and his father. Worse, he was bitterly ashamed of having betrayed his sire. Then she had warned him mockingly that he must never trust a woman again. He had taken her advice to heart.

But suddenly he was beset by his own doubts that he might have been wrong about India. What if she had indeed been kidnapped by her cousin, the sea captain? What if she had not gone willingly, and been forced to return to her family in Scotland? He had renounced her as dey of El Sinut. If his rule had not been overthrown, and he returned to England, what would have become of her? The duke of Glenkirk would obviously have accepted any decent offer for her, believing he was doing the right thing by his stepdaughter. But what of their child? Had she had the baby, and what had become of it?