“Colin stared at the officer. “Thorne, you scare me. I’m not ashamed to say it.”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” she said, breathing hard. “But it would take far more than that to scare me.”A quick flex of his arms, and their bodies collided. And he whispered, just as his mouth fell on hers, “God, I was hoping you’d say that.”

“He was right. They could have a whole conversation without exchanging a word. And the conversation they had right now went like this: Colin, shut it. I don’t think I will, M. Then I’ll make you. Really? How?I’m not certain, but it will be slow and painful. And I won’t leave any evidence.”

“This Sir Alisdair fellow.” Her cheeks blushed crimson. “I’m just saying, he’s likely older than Francine. And less attractive.” “I don’t care! I don’t care if he’s ancient and warty and leprous and hunchbacked. He would still be learned, intelligent. Respected and respectful. He would still be a better man than you. You know it, and you’re envious. You’re being cruel to me to soothe your pride.” She looked him up and down with a contemptuous glare. “And you’re going to catch flies in your mouth, if you don’t shut it.” For once, Colin found himself without words. The best he could do was take her advice and hoist his dropped jaw.”

“Before I found Minerva, I'd passed nights with more than my share of women."Thorne groaned. Don't. Just don't."I've passed time with duchesses and farm girls, and it doesn't matter whether their skirts are silk or homespun. Once you get them bare--" Thorne drew up short. "If you start in on rivers of silk and alabaster orbs, I will have to hit you.”

“So close. He'd get there. Not today, but soon. He had a task to accomplish here, and the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could rejoin his regiment. He wasn't stopping for anything.Except sheep. Blast it. It would seem they were stopping for sheep.A rough voice said, "I'll take care of them."Thorne joined their group. Bram flicked his gaze to the side and spied his hulking mountain of a corporal shouldering a flintlock rifle."We can't simply shoot them, Thorne."Obedient as ever, Thorne lowered his gun. "Then I've a cutlass. Just sharpened the blade last night.""We can't butcher them, either."Thorne shrugged. "I'm hungry."Yes, that was Thorne--straightforward, practical. Ruthless.”

“That’s it,” she said, balling her hands in fists. “I’m not letting you out of it this time. I insist that you take me to Scotland. I demand you ruin me. As a point of honor.”