Author: Anne Stuart

She sat up in the bed, her hair covering her, and watched him. "Am I going to leave in my underwear then?" she asked, pulling on her shift as he tossed it to her.

He glanced at her. "I think you're going to need to be totally indecent and wear some of my clothes."

"I'm not going to look like a boy--my hair is too long."

"This is Venice, my love. No one will care."

My love. It was a casual endearment--surely he didn't mean it. "And what about your organization of degenerates? What will happen to them?"

"Clearly there'll be no midnight ritual deflowering of a virgin, unless Marblethorpe can find another. In Venice it's unlikely," he said with a grin. "As for the Heavenly Host, I bequeath them to Wesley and his friends. Whether I like the idea or not, I expect to be quite busy enough with you." He tossed her a pair of blue satin breeches and a loose white shirt.

She looked at him. "You don't like the idea? You certainly don't need to feel obligated...."

He moved back to her and pulled her off the bed, into his arms. "The only obligation I ever listen to are my own desires. I realized something when I was deep inside you."

His words made the heat start forming again inside her, and she wanted to touch him again, go to him. Instead she reached for the breeches, pulling them up and over her shift. They were tight on her, but then, men had no hips. She pulled the shirt over her head, emerging with enough calm to say, "And what was that?"

"If you lust after someone and have an absurd and overwhelming need to protect them, then the best way to deal with the situation is to marry the person."

She froze, looking at him. "Besides," he said with a rueful smile, "Jack would have killed me if he knew I'd despoiled his beautiful baby sister with the huge crush on me."

She felt the color flood her face. She swallowed. "How long have you known?" Of course he'd insist on marrying her. He was basically decent beneath it all. And she had no choice but to refuse.

"About halfway through the whole process. If I had even a shred of honor I would have stopped, but I'm afraid I'm quite impossible. You're going to have your hands full with me."

"I won't marry you."

"Of course you will," he said. "Why wouldn't you? You followed me around like a puppy dog all those years ago, which was pure misery, because I wanted nothing more than to toss you down in the straw and despoil you, and you were too damned young. Back then I had scruples. Fortunately, nowadays I have none."

"Then why do you want to marry me?" she said, shoving her hair away from her face.

"I have no idea," he said idly. "I expect I love you. Nothing else could account for such bizarre behavior on my part. I imagine the captain of the packet ship can perform the ceremony. Are you ready?"

She didn't move. She couldn't marry him, and she needed shoes, and she wasn't sure which was the more important to argue about.

"Oh, shoes," he said, noting the obvious. "I have a pair of boots that will do. If you have trouble navigating, I'll carry you."

"Through the streets?" she said, aghast and amused.

"It's Venice," he said. He reached over the bed and produced a key. "Shall we go, my love?" He held out his arm for her.

She hesitated for just a moment. "Oh, what the hell," she said, and ran into his arms, feeling them wrap tightly around her. He kissed her again, kissed her until she was breathless, and then unlocked the door.

"We'll live in Ireland, I think," he mused as they left the palazzo, wandering down one of the back alleyways. "You'll like it."

She looked up at him. "I still love you," she said.

"I know you do," he replied with a cheeky grin. "I think we'll have horses." And they strolled down the narrow alley, across St. Mark's Square, heading for the docks, and no one looked twice.

After all, it was Venice.