I

Catherine woke with a start to find the room still shrouded in darkness. She turned to see Colonel Tavington's moonlit form sleeping soundly next to her. Realizing it was night yet, she wondered briefly why she had awoken so abruptly. She understood immediately when she felt a dull churning in the pit of her stomach. Because she had refused both lunch and dinner, it had been over a day since she had eaten anything. And she was starving.

Moving with delicate stealth, Catherine slipped from the bed and retrieved her nightgown off the floor. She found her robe in the dark and pulled it on before escaping the silence of her shadow-draped bedroom and into the pitch black of the stairs.

She knew her home like she knew her own body and could navigate it as easily in the night as in the day. Catherine just hoped that she was the only one wandering around the house in the dark.

Catherine was grateful to find a low fire still burning in the kitchen fireplace. She grabbed some cheese and bread out of the pantry and curled up in Judith's rocking chair that had forever sat in that same spot by the fireplace to eat her long-delayed dinner.

Staring into the dying embers, Catherine felt a sudden surge of anguish well up within her. The past two days had been even more overwhelming than the week her father died. At least that she had been prepared for. But nothing in her life had prepared her for the invasion of the Green Dragoons into her home and certainly nothing could have ever prepared her for the invasion of Colonel Tavington into her bed. She tried not to think again about what she would do after they left. This region of the state was mostly Loyalist so she knew that she would at least not have to fear the brand of collaborator. It was only the far worse indictment of "fallen woman" or even "Tory whore" that truly scared her. And if she was carrying Tavington's child. . .

"I thought you would be down here."

Catherine jumped at the sound of Tavington's voice so completely lost in thought as she was. She laughed nervously at herself as she turned to face him.

He was leaning in the kitchen doorway wearing only his unbuttoned uniform jacket and breeches. He hadn't even bothered to put on his shirt, vest, or boots, and his long hair hung unbound around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," Catherine said afraid that she might have irritated him.

"Light sleeper," he explained with an apathetic shrug as he came into the kitchen to stand in front of the fireplace. "Blessing and curse for a soldier."

"I can imagine," she said quietly, reassured by his easy manner.

They were silent for a long time. Catherine was surprised to find that the stillness was strangely comfortable. She watched as Tavington stepped back and sat on top of the kitchen table next to her. He placed his foot on the edge of her seat and began mindlessly rocking her chair. She continued to stare into the fire until she found the nerve to speak again.

"You've ruined my life," she said calmly, without emotion or malice.

"Yes, I know," he replied neutrally.

"Do you care?" she asked still gazing into the fading flames.

"No," he answered simply. "I don't."

"I didn't think so." Catherine turned to him for a moment and saw that he too was staring into the fire. She desperately longed to know what he was thinking but dared not ask.

"You're a wealthy woman, Catherine. You can buy a new life. I did," he said enigmatically, and she wondered for a moment what had happened in his past to bring him here.

"Do you care?" he finally asked as he languidly leaned back onto the table propping himself up on his elbows as he waited for her answer.

"Sometimes," she confessed, "when I'm alone. I think about what is going to happen to me after you leave."

"And when you're not alone?" he prompted smiling slightly.

"It's the last thing I think about." She faced him quietly defiant and without blushing.

"I admire your honesty," he said.

"Thank you," she answered sincerely.

"Now would be a good opportunity for you to tell me what you admire about me," he said with a playful leer.

"Colonel, your conceit never ceases to amaze me," she said smiling, dumbfounded.

"Is that your answer?" he asked raking his hand through his long hair.

"Yes," she replied laughing lightly as she jealously followed the progress of his fingers. "I admire your enormous conceit."

"My enormous conceit?" he said grinning. "That is the first time one of my lovers has ever called my conceit' enormous."

Catherine turned her face away hastily as she felt herself turn scarlet.

"Catherine?" Tavington asked softly, "What is it?"

"I'm sorry," she said shaking her head ruefully. "You called me your lover."

"Would you prefer mistress'?" he asked mischievously.

"No," she answered embarrassed by her intense reaction to the intimate term. She had never had a lover before. She liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. "Lover is fine."

She rose swiftly from seat and put her dish into the kitchen sink before taking a glass from the cabinet and filling it with tepid water from the pitcher. She sipped at it shyly as she leaned against the counter.

"Why did you come down here?" she asked curiously.

"I was making sure you weren't getting a knife to slaughter me in my sleep," he answered.

"I know better than that," she replied briskly. "You made it perfectly clear that that would be a very bad decision."

"Good to see you were paying attention," he said evenly.

"Besides, if I wanted to kill you, I would have used the knife in the desk," she said with a tight smile.

"The desk?" he asked arching his eyebrow at her. "Our desk?"

She was grateful that the darkness concealed her furious blush. It would be a long time before she could ever look again at her grandfather's writing desk without thinking of the Colonel and his wine glass.

"Yes," she answered forcing her voice to sound unflustered although she burned at the recollection of the previous evening. "I keep my grandfather's knife is in the second drawer under a false bottom."

"Really?" he asked genuinely intrigued. "And why are you telling me this, Catherine?"

"You said you admired my honesty. It would be wrong to be admired for a quality I did not possess," she answered offhandedly as she emptied her glass and placed it back on the counter.

"Catherine?" Tavington said with a faint hint of warning in his voice.

"Look, Colonel," she said slightly piqued by this line of questioning, "I know that you believe I'm allowing this. . ." she paused, searching for an appropriate word, ". . .situation out of cowardice or fear. But I have a houseful of servants, some of whom have been with my father before I was born, and all of them count of me for their livelihoods. With one order from you they could all be dead. I could be dead. And everything my father worked for would be reduced to ashes."

"You're wrong," he said coolly.

"What?" she asked confused.

"You have no idea what I believe," Tavington said flashing his shadowed eyes at her again.

"Colonel, I am just trying to ensure that my house and my household are still intact by the time this week is over. For that, I'm willing to do anything. As you know," she said with a revealing look. Catherine sighed heavily, feeling very tired again. She was too tired to even care if she had provoked the Colonel.

She watched as Tavington turned to stare intently again into the fire. She heard him exhale lethargically as he laid back flat on the kitchen table, his arm bent over his head with his feet still propped carelessly on the rocking chair. His unbuttoned jacket fell open and Catherine found herself staring at the long, alluring line of muscles in his chest and stomach. Even asleep he had never looked this relaxed.

"Take your robe off, Catherine," he said as turned his head slowly back toward her.

"Why?" she asked hesitantly.

He smiled slightly at her and said nothing. She knew better. The question had been mere reflex.

She untied the white silk cord of her robe and let it fall off her shoulders. Folding it neatly she draped it over the back of the rocking chair and found herself again silently praying that no one else in the house was in the mood for a midnight snack.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked with barely suppressed anticipation in her voice. Suddenly she found herself wide-awake.

"I must say, Catherine," Tavington said with an approving smile. "Your attitude has improved enormously."

"The cheese helped," she said shrugging.

"I am certain it did." Tavington said chuckling briefly. She was surprised by how young he looked when he wasn't sneering or smirking.

"Well?" she said almost impatiently. His body was so enticing to her as he just lay there utterly unperturbed and indifferent on the table. Her fingers were almost itching to touch him.

She watched timidly as he turned his head toward her to regard her silently. She saw him raise his hand and nonchalantly crook his finger at her.

"On the table?" she asked slightly appalled.

"Catherine," he reminded her with a meaningful smile, "it's bigger than the desk."

She obediently stepped onto the table bench and sat down next to the Colonel on the edge of the table. He said nothing to her as she repositioned herself on the narrow space afforded by his body, but she felt his penetrating eyes on her.

After a seemingly endless moment of silence, Catherine forced herself to face him. She was surprised to find him smiling again. But she was more surprised to find herself leaning over his body to kiss him on his sensuous mouth. She felt his hand slide into her hair as he pressed her deeper into the kiss.

He let go of her hair and Catherine now found herself raining kisses down his neck and even onto his chest and stomach. She felt the heat building within her as she came onto her knees to better reach every inch of his exposed skin. She heard Tavington sigh contentedly as she kissed the sensitive skin at the base of his stomach.

"Say it, Catherine," he commanded.

"Say what?" she asked dragging her mouth up the length of his chest.

"Whatever it is that you're thinking," he said.

"My God . . . you're so beautiful," she moaned shamelessly.

She felt him take her arms in a bruising grip and pull her toward him.

"Straddle me," he whispered into her hair as it fell over him.

She dutifully complied sliding her knee over him until she sat back on his thighs. She felt his hands glide up her legs bringing her nightgown up to her waist as she began unbuttoning his breeches.

"Are we eager tonight, Catherine?" Tavington asked with a dry smile.

"Judith gets up very early, Colonel," Catherine answered sheepishly.

"Well," Tavington said perfectly straight-faced, "she'll just have to wait her turn."

He ran his hands under her gown and lifted her gently by her hips. She laid her palms on his chest for balance as she felt him bring her down hard and gasping onto his length. He grasped her thighs to press her legs further apart causing her to sink further down onto him.

"Colonel," she asked, breathless and scared, "what do I do?"

"Lean forward," he instructed tersely, "and put your arms around my neck."

As she moved to obey him she felt him roll off the table until he was sitting upright. She clung to him ardently as he drew them to the very edge of the table and shivered as she felt his hands slip under her loose nightgown, over her bottom and slowly up the length of her back. He traced the curve of her hips and waist and allowed his fingers to methodically stroke the line of her backbone. She held onto his shoulders as his hands skimmed over her hips to her quivering stomach. His fingers fluttered lightly over her skin as they made slow progress to her breasts. She cried out as he unexpectedly pinched her nipples, caught of guard by the fierce flash of pleasure that coursed through her causing her muscles to clamp down onto Tavington's length. She was gratified when she heard him gasp too, unable to stifle his own sounds of pleasure.

"When I stand up," he said softly into her ear after catching his breath, "wrap your legs around me. Understand?"

Her face was pressed into his neck so she only nodded her understanding. She felt his hands wander to her shoulders and down her back until they tightly clutched her bottom.

She inhaled sharply as the Colonel came off the edge of the table and onto his feet. She quickly wrapped her legs tightly around him as she found herself being pressed into the rough stone wall that surrounded the fireplace.

"Quiet, Catherine," Tavington ordered softly, "we wouldn't want to wake anyone, would we?"

"No," she murmured as she felt him begin thrusting up and into her. She tightened her legs around his waist and buried her face into his shoulder to muffle her own moans.

The coarse stones cut into her back but she was too lost in the motion of Tavington's vigorous, driving thrusts to notice or care. She cried out as the Colonel's hands dug into her soft skin as he ground her brutally against the wall. But the pain was fleeting and rapidly subsided as he continued his desperate tempo. As she felt her climax near, Catherine's breathing grew more insistent. She grasped the Colonel's shoulders and leaned back into the wall as she attempted to match the movement of his hips with hers.

Her eyes flew open the moment she felt Tavington's hand on the side of her face. Looking into the extreme blue of his eyes, she said nothing as he slid his fingers through her hair to the back of her head using his own hand to protect her from the jutting stones of the wall. She was nearly undone by the tender act until she felt the Colonel swiftly increase the intensity of his thrusts. He pressed his face to hers until his mouth hovered at her ear.

"Now, Catherine," he commanded as he slammed his full weight into her.

With a final, incoherent cry, Catherine came in a violent rush of ecstasy as Tavington instantly covered her mouth with his swallowing the sound of her climax as he came with a final, fierce thrust into her.

He continued to hold her pinned against the wall as she wrapped her arms around his neck and breathlessly panted against his shoulder. She winced slightly as she felt him lift her off him as he pulled gradually out of her. Her legs were shaking noticeably as her feet found the chilly stone floor. She leaned wearily against the wall trying to catch her breath as she modestly tugged her nightgown down.

"You're grinning," he said when he turned back toward Catherine after buttoning his breeches again.

"I know I am," she said still smiling.

Her eyes followed the Colonel as he walked to the rocking chair to retrieve her robe. As he brought it over to her he asked, "Would you like to tell me why you are grinning? Other than the obvious, of course."

"Just the obvious," she replied feeling light-headed from both spent pleasure and exhaustion.

He gently jerked her away from the wall and slipped her robe back on her. With deft fingers he retied the sash while placing a soft kiss on her lips.

"Go back to bed," he ordered patting her arrogantly on her bottom.

"Aren't you coming up too?" she asked.

He smiled at her concern. "In a few minutes," he told her soothingly. "Now go."

"Yes, Colonel," she replied tiredly before shuffling indolently out of the kitchen. Catherine dragged herself silently up the stairs until reaching her bedchamber. Without thinking, she discarded both her robe and nightgown before crawling back under her covers. She was asleep in seconds and did not hear the sound of a desk drawer being opened and closed a moment before the Colonel slipped his naked arm over her sleeping body.

II

When Catherine awoke for the second time that day, it was to find her bed empty again and Judith furtively tidying up the room. She turned over silently and watched as her maid carefully replaced the Colonel's papers and books back on top of the desk.

"Is he gone?" Catherine asked yawning.

Judith started discernibly at the sound of Catherine's voice but directly answered, "Yes, Miss. They rode out almost two hours ago."

"Judith--" Catherine began before her maid immediately interrupted her. She could think of several dozen ways she would have preferred to start her day other than having this conversation with Judith. But she knew it had to be done.

"Miss," Judith said standing up and turning to Catherine. Catherine's heart ached when she saw that her maid had been crying. "I'm so sorry, Miss. I had no idea . . ."

"Jude, please," Catherine said trying to comfort her servant.

"No, Miss, let me finish, please." Catherine sat up pulling the covers over her and nodded for Judith to continue.

"I didn't know, Miss. I thought you meant it when you said those things about liking what was happening. I didn't know you were just saying that for my sake, our sake. Last night . . .I can't believe any man would do what--"

"Jude, please," Catherine stopped her promptly. "Let's not talk about last night. That was unfortunate."

Judith laughed harshly at Catherine's description of the previous night's humiliation. "Unfortunate? I suppose so, Miss." She shook her head in dismayed wonder and said, "I can't believe I called you . . .I'm just so sorry."

"Jude, its alright. I promise," Catherine said as she dragged her knees to her chest and quivered imperceptibly under the coverlet. "We made it through another day. We're all still alive. The house is still standing. That's all that matters."

"Is it, Miss?" Judith said insistently as she crossed over to the bed and sat gingerly at Catherine's side.

Catherine studied her maid's careworn face. Judith had been her mother's lady's maid until she had died giving birth to Catherine when she was barely twenty. Judith had stayed with the family first as Catherine's governess and then as her own maid. The servant-mistress distinction had always remained between them, but still Judith was the closest thing Catherine had ever had to a mother. And she knew this situation was even more devastating to her than it was to Catherine.

"It has to be, Jude," Catherine answered finally as she rested her head and arms on her knees with a weary sigh,

Judith reached out and tentatively traced a pale blue bruise on Catherine's forearm. The gentle gesture was too much for Catherine who was close to crumbling under the full weight of everything that had happened to her in the past two days. She leaned into Judith's shoulder sighing heavily as a painful lump lodged in her throat. But she swallowed the pain and did not let herself cry.

Judith gathered her mistress in her arms and tugged the covers modestly around her. She began tenderly rocking her just as she had when Catherine was still a child and tried not to notice the patchwork

of light-red welts and scratches that crisscrossed her back.

III

After Catherine calmed down again, Judith helped her into her bath and began washing her mistress's long hair. Catherine was grateful for the kind attentions but part of her urgently wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Colonel Tavington had seemed so different last night when they were alone in the kitchen. He had even seemed human for a moment. She couldn't decide if she had been given a glimpse of the real man or if that was just another game he was playing with her.

Judith was cooing and clucking over her like a mother hen as she lovingly scrubbed Catherine's sore flesh.

"There has to be another way," Judith sighed as she rinsed the soapy water off Catherine's back.

"I'm afraid there isn't, Jude," Catherine answered wishing they could talk about something else. "It's really too late anyway. The damage is done."

Catherine felt Judith's fingers trace the lines of welts on her back. "I swear I could kill that bastard in cold blood."

Catherine whirled around in the bath to face Judith. With a sharp stare, she said hotly, "Judith, don't you dare do anything to him."

"I can't believe you're still defending him," Judith replied aghast at the vehemence in Catherine's tone.

"Judith, I am not defending him. I'm trying to protect us. If you kill him . . ." Catherine left the threat unfinished. The loyalty of the Green Dragoons was a well-known truth throughout the southern colonies. And Tavington's regiment was notorious for their slavish devotion to their infamous leader. It was said that Tavington's men would kill children if their Colonel demanded it, even their own. Catherine had little doubt that their vengeance would be swift and severe were anything to happen to Tavington. They were captives of his power. Just like I am, Catherine thought morosely.

"I know, Miss," Judith answered dejectedly. "It just breaks my heart."

Catherine could only shake her head wordlessly. She knew that Judith was grief-stricken over their situation, distressed with the knowledge that she was benefiting by her mistress's ruin.

Judith stayed and helped Catherine dress in her riding habit. Spending the previous day isolated in her room had left Catherine feeling trapped and restless. All she wanted was a long, restful ride through the autumn drenched countryside.

The house was quiet as she ventured downstairs to eat a quick lunch in hurried solitude before venturing out to her stables. As she passed through the house into the yard, she felt her servants' eyes on her. She briefly wondered if she looked different to them. Luke, her seventeen-year-old stable boy, barely spoke to her as he saddled her horse. She let the silence stand. It was just easier that way.

She tried not to cringe noticeably as she mounted her horse. Even riding sidesaddle was uncomfortable for her sore body. But the pain eventually disappeared as she released her horse into a breathless, liberating gallop.

Catherine rode for several hours through the familiar countryside grateful for the serenity of the unusually warm late fall day. She was relieved that she encountered no one in her ramblings. Alone at last and free from the confines of her house, she was finally able to think about the Colonel and her nights with him. Judith's words still rang in her ears. Her maid had said that there had to be another way. Catherine wondered if she had been right. And if she was right, did it even matter? Catherine reflected again on the same disturbing question that had been haunting her since the moment she had struck her fateful bargain with the Colonel. Why did I say yes so easily? she asked herself. She still didn't know. And a voice within her whispered that she didn't want to know.

IV

When Catherine finally returned to her home under a swiftly setting sun, she discovered that the Colonel and his officers were engaged in what appeared to her to be fencing practice. Two soldiers were in the center of wide circle of red coats and appeared to be involved in deadly clash of sword and skill. She briskly dismounted and handed her horse off to Luke before pushing herself through the crowd of Dragoons.

She was astonished when she saw that it was Colonel Tavington who was fencing against another Dragoon. The soldier, a young major she had spoken with briefly the night they arrived, was heroically defending himself against Tavington's relentless assault. But the Colonel was the superior blade by far. Adding insult to injury, he was barking directions to the harried officer, instructing him on his technique even as Tavington was trouncing him. The soldier made one last hopeless parry before Tavington disarmed him. Catherine watched the major sheepishly retrieve his sword before attempting to slink back into the crowd of officers. Catherine tried to catch Tavington's eyes, but he ignored her completely as if she wasn't there.

"Major, that was a disgraceful performance," Tavington called out callously after him, "and I don't believe I dismissed you."

The major turned around resignedly and took his place in front of the Colonel with his sword raised. Although Tavington had barely broken a sweat, the young major was clearly exhausted, bleeding liberally from several minor but perceptibly painful wounds. Catherine pitied him. Despite his obvious skill, he was no match for the Colonel.

Tavington said, "Again," and another match began.

Despite her sympathy for the major, Catherine was mesmerized. She breathlessly watched Tavington as he wielded his sword with brutal efficiency. He parried the major's every thrust as if the much younger soldier was wielding a foil instead of the heavy saber. It was a beautiful, if lethal, dance. She clapped her hand over her mouth in sudden horror as Tavington abruptly disarmed the major leaving him with a vicious slash to his upper arm. Catherine cringed in pity at the officer's injury and humiliation. She hoped that the Colonel would allow him to slink away in peace but the Colonel demanded that the bleeding and mortified soldier pick up his sword again. Catherine could stand it no longer. She knew if she did nothing, Tavington would kill him.

"Colonel," she called out heatedly, "if your intention is the humiliate the Major then I believe your work is done. Unless you intend to kill one of your own men, I think he has learned whatever lesson you desired to teach him."

The Colonel turned to her suddenly as if just noticing her presence among his officers. Catherine shivered at the disquieting silence that descended on the crowd of Dragoons.

"I intend to teach him that one should not be admired for qualities one does not possess," he said softly recalling their conversation from the night before.

She blushed self-consciously at the memory of their midnight deeds in the kitchen. Catherine knew that Tavington had said that only to disarm her. But she persisted despite her fear that she had once again overstepped her bounds.

"Is it right to torture a man to death solely for his enormous conceit?" she replied defiantly, astonished by her own audacious words.

"Miss Hamilton," Tavington said his voice replete with deadly warning, "since our drills so obviously upset you, I suggest you return to the house."

"Colonel Tavington," she replied attempting to match his icy tone, "I suggest you allow me to treat this man's wounds before he bleeds to death."

Catherine quaked with barely suppressed dread as the Colonel stepped toward her. She could see the fury blazing in his eyes but she would not take her words back.

"Catherine," he said, his voice hard as steel, "house."

Catherine took a trembling step forward unwilling to be overcome in front of so many witnesses. He had humiliated publicly before. She would not allow him to do it again.

"William," she replied coolly despite the twisting knot of fear in her stomach. She stepped to the side and gesturing toward the house saying "After you."

Catherine knew that she had just signed her own death warrant when she felt a collective shudder ripple through the assembled Dragoons. She watched in silent alarm as Tavington calmly sheathed his sword into his scabbard while keeping his fierce blue eyes trained unblinking onto hers.

"Bordon," he called out as his second officer stepped forward.

"Yes, Sir," Bordon answered nervously.

"Finish the lesson," Tavington ordered. "I believe Miss Hamilton desires an escort into the house."

Catherine blanched visibly at the implacable calm in Tavington's voice. She prayed Bordon or one of the other officers would come to her aid. But the silence persisted. When Tavington offered his arm, she had no choice but to take it.

Tavington said nothing as he steered her into the house. As soon as they passed through the side door into the hallway, Tavington savagely grabbed Catherine's arm and threw her brusquely against the wall. He grasped her hair in his hand and compelled her to look up at him. But before he could speak, Catherine saw Molly turn the corner and come upon them.

Terrified by the sight of the Colonel manhandling her mistress, Molly froze in her tracks.

Tavington turned a frustrated eye on the trembling girl and said, "Girl, one of my officers is wounded. See to his injuries while I see to your mistress's."

"Are you injured, Miss," Molly asked fretfully as she stepped toward Catherine.

"Not yet," Tavington answered viciously and Catherine saw the color drain rapidly from Molly's face. "Go," he ordered the servant leaving no room for disobedience.

Molly flashed an anguished, pitying glance at Catherine before running from the house.

Tavington turned back to face Catherine, his hand still wound in her hair. He studied her face for what seemed to Catherine a brief eternity. For a moment, Catherine thought she saw his resolve waiver. But she knew she had imagined it when he pressed his full weight into her nearly crushing her with his powerful body.

His bent his head to whisper portentously into her ear.

"You were warned," he said calmly.

With merciless strength, Tavington began dragging Catherine up the stairs to her room by the back of her hair. She nearly had to run to keep up with him fearing that he would yank her hair from her scalp. He never let go, even as he wrenched her up the narrow staircase to her bedchamber. He opened the door and threw her reeling into the room. He let go only long enough to lock the door before grabbing her again by her arm.

Catherine was speechless with terror. She had never seen the Colonel so furious. She was enthralled by his wrath.

"What are you going to do me?" she asked quaking visibly.

"What do you think, Catherine?" he said gravely as he backed her up against the bedpost. She flinched when without warning he reached up believing he was going to strike her. Instead he grasped the long scarf that held the bed curtains back and ripped it down. With swift ease, he yanked her arms over her head and tied her painfully to the bed frame. Her muscles ached at the strain but she said nothing.

"I thought you were smarter than this, Catherine. I thought you knew better." Catherine squirmed in her bonds as he studied her face for a moment. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Ah . . ." he said smiling as he noticed her inability to face him, "you do know better, don't you? You provoked me on purpose, didn't you." It wasn't a question.

"I thought you were going to kill him," she explained guiltily.

"I might have," the Colonel admitted without shame. "So you thought if you provoked me, you could protect him. Aren't you the martyr today, Catherine? Such compassion," he said his words dripping with contempt. "Or perhaps," he said letting the sentence hang in the air for a moment, "it was envy. Were you jealous, Catherine?"

"Jealous?" she asked incredulous. "Of that pathetic soldier that you torturing?"

"Yes," Tavington answered curtly. "He was getting my full attention at the moment. Did you feel left out, Catherine? Perhaps you wanted me to be . . .What was the word you used?. . . torturing' you?"

She said nothing to this. His words were too close to the truth. She feared he would hear the lie in her denial.

"I should punish you by punishing him," Tavington continued, "which is no less than you deserve for your insolence."

Catherine shivered at his silence as he brought his hands up to her face and gently turned her mouth up to his but did not kiss her. Instead he let his lips hover just a hairsbreadth away from hers and waited. Catherine could feel the heat from his breath on her own mouth and the moment he let his hands fall away from her face she leaned forward to meet his lips. He allowed her to kiss him but he did not return the kiss.

"Is that how we say we're sorry, Catherine?" Tavington asked with a cruel smirk as he stepped away from her. A pitiless gleam shone in his eyes and Catherine instantly recognized its meaning.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," Catherine answered contritely as she relaxed momentarily into her bonds.

"How sorry are you, Catherine?" Tavington said menacingly. Catherine's heart raced in terror and anticipation.

"I'm so sorry," she replied breathlessly. She watched anxiously as Tavington took a small step backwards to survey her. Suddenly he bent over and yanked a knife from his boot.

"Does this look familiar, Catherine?" he asked as he flipped the knife adeptly in his hand.

"Yes," she answered fearfully, "that's my grandfather's knife."

"It was so obliging of you to tell me where you kept it. It's an excellent knife." Tavington twirled the blade expertly displaying its light grace. Catherine could only watch, frozen in dread.

She cowered the second Tavington brought the blade upon her. For a brief instant she was certain he was going to stab her. Instead she saw the silver metal flash and suddenly her hands were free from their ties. Her arms fell painfully to her side.

"I want to see how sorry your are, Catherine," Tavington whispered as he sheathed the knife back into the taut leather of his boot.

"What can I do?" she asked full of trepidation.

Tavington paused for a moment and let the silence permeate the air between them with ominous anticipation.

"On your knees," he finally ordered.

Catherine sank down to the floor thinking he was playing their game again. She reached out to begin removing his riding boot when the Colonel stopped her with a word. He reached down to her face, laying his hand on her cheek and cupping her chin. He ran his thumb deliberately over her lips tracing the outline of the mouth. She choked as he suddenly pushed his thumb deep into her mouth forcing her head back painfully against the bedpost.

"Not the boots, Catherine," Tavington said coldly as he withdrew his thumb from her mouth. "You know what I want."

With a terrible realization, Catherine understood what the Colonel was demanding. Her fingers trembling, she reached up and began unbuttoning his breeches.

"Show me how sorry you are, Catherine," Tavington said shoving himself into her mouth as he painfully grasped her hair, "and I might forgive you both."

V

Catherine was still sitting on the floor long after completing her penance. Tavington had left her afterwards presumably to rejoin his officers for dinner. He had said nothing to her before he left. But she knew better than to leave her room.

As Catherine stood to her feet, she felt a strange emptiness within her. She crossed the room to her decanter and poured a glass of wine. She swallowed it laboriously letting the heat from the wine burn down the back of her aching throat before crossing the room to collapse wearily into her favorite fireside chair.

She wanted to be angry but could not. She wanted to hate Tavington for how he had used and humiliated her. She also wanted to hate herself for enjoying it. But all she felt was a vague, unnamable desire mingled with an equally unnamable fear.

As she meditatively sipped at her wine, Catherine thought about what Tavington had demanded from her as her restitution. Her face warmed with the memory of his hands gripping her hair, the unforgiving bedpost in her back, the salty taste of his skin in her mouth. She took another sip of her wine swallowing it absentmindedly as she remembered.

"Are we still thirsty, Catherine?" Tavington's voice came from behind her chair.

"I didn't hear you come up," she said not looking at him, glancing instead at the clock. She was surprised to see that the hour was so late.

"Lost in thought, Catherine?' he asked coming around to the side of her chair. He took the wine glass from her hand and drank from it slowly before handing it back to her.

"Yes, I was," she answered apologetically turning to look up at him. She locked her eyes on his as she tilted the glass to drink deliberately from the same place the Colonel had.

She saw a wicked glimmer surface in his fire blue eyes. He took the glass from her again and sat it on the table. He reached out and offered Catherine his hand. She looked at it a moment before slipping her hand into his. He tugged her effortlessly out of her chair to face him. He smiled at her mildly before raising his arm and slapping her with the back of his hand across her cheek.

Catherine reeled a moment, more from the shock than from the slight sting his hand had caused.

"You were told, Catherine--you may call me Colonel' or Sir.' Nothing else until you've earned it. Do you understand?" he asked as he raised his eyebrow in a question.

Rubbing her face, Catherine nodded silently.

"And don't think for one moment that I've forgiven you." Tavington was quiet as he surveyed her with his inscrutable eyes. Catherine could not begin to fathom what his thoughts were.

"Shut the door," Tavington ordered.

She turned and walked unhurriedly to the door in a disconcerted haze of fear and craving. Catherine could hear Tavington undressing as she secured the lock. When she turned around, he was reclining against the mountain of pillows on the still made bed wearing only his breeches and white shirt.

Without being told to, she began undressing herself as she made her way gradually to the side of the bed leaving a trail of clothes across the floor. She was wearing nothing but her white slip when she finally joined Tavington on her bed.

"I was afraid you were going to kill me today," she said earnestly as Tavington brought his hand up to casually caress the side of her face where he had slapped her.

"I am enjoying myself far too much to kill you yet, Catherine," he said tracing the lines of her face with his fingers. "Although I believe my officers are expecting to see you walking with a nasty limp tomorrow."

"Will you disappoint them, Sir?" Catherine asked uncertainly. Sitting so close to his body, close enough she could feel the heat rise from his skin, she almost wanted him to make good on his threat.

"No, never," he said smirking at her. "But I think I will confine you to your room. If they don't see you at all, then they will undoubtedly imagine the worst."

As Tavington brought his hand idly across her lips, Catherine opened her mouth slightly to graze his fingers with the tip her tongue.

"Catherine," Tavington breathed closing his eyes against the touch of her tongue, "who knows? You may yet kill me."

Catherine leaned over and slid her hands under the loose fabric at his neck, baring the tanned flesh of his chest. She first kissed the skin at the base of the V of his collar. Her lips trailed up the center of his chest until she placed a soft kiss into the sensitive, vulnerable hollow of his throat. He lifted his head a fraction allowing her greater access to his collarbone and his neck.

As she nestled into his body continuing her gentle assault on the sinewy muscles of his neck, she whispered into his ear, "Am I forgiven yet, Colonel?"

"Not quite yet," he answered and she heard the slightest edge of menace still lingering in his voice.

She recoiled only slightly when he brought his hands to her upper arms taking her in a ruthless grip. She was grateful for the soft cushion of her bed as he slammed her violently onto her back. Had they been on the floor, she knew, the force would have knocked her unconscious.

She valiantly battled the urge to fight him off. Catherine knew all too well his incredible strength and wisely submitted as he brought his hands under her slip and dragged the sheer fabric up to her chest. He bent his head and placed a soft, searing kiss on the center of her trembling stomach. She shivered with apprehension when he lifted his head and smiled at her. Before she realized what was happening, the Colonel had roughly turned her over, face down into the bed.

Catherine cried out once when she felt him enter her and again when he bit lightly into her shoulder as he began driving relentlessly into her. She felt Tavington lift himself off her as he continued his brutal thrusts and she turned her head slightly, gulping for air. But she immediately felt the Colonel's hand grasp her by the back of her neck forcing her to remain still. She cried out a final time as her climax gripped her in one fierce, shuddering instant. She heard him groan sensuously as he thrust once, twice more into her before coming in a hot rush deep inside her.

Tavington collapsed onto her back and Catherine felt a delicate tremor seize her as his hands moved up her arms until he had intertwined his fingers over hers. She closed her eyes as he gently kissed the red imprints left by his fingers on her neck.

Catherine whimpered unhappily when she felt the Colonel pull himself out of her. She lay unmoving on the bed as her pulse gradually returned to normal. She sighed lethargically as he rolled her leisurely onto her back again and slipped his hands under her gown drawing it over her head before tossing it onto the floor. She thought he would have her again as he bent over her and lightly kissed her breasts. Instead he wrenched himself away and stood at the side of the bed, still looking at her. He reached forward to the still made bed and yanked back the coverlet. Catherine giggled girlishly when it landed on top of her. She dragged herself from beneath it and crawled into the sheets knowing that Tavington's eyes followed her the whole time.

"Are you coming to bed?" she asked expectantly as she settled into the soft linens.

"Not yet," he replied as he turned away from her and walked toward the desk. "I have some pressing correspondence to attend to."

Catherine obediently closed her eyes but knew it would some time before sleep would take her. Instead she discarded her pillow and replaced with the one Tavington had slept on. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his warm, masculine scent that still lingered in the cloth.

"Catherine," Tavington said coolly as she rose up to meet his eyes across the room. "I still haven't forgiven you," he said ominously.

She nodded slightly and sank down into the bed again without a word. As she fell asleep a long time later, she was still imagining what other restitution Tavington would ultimately demand of her.

End of "Night Three"

Continue to Night Four...

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