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against his as he touched her lithesome body—kissing, stroking, and caressing heras he would never have let himself do in real life. And yet it all seemed so incredibly vivid. The way she’d called out to him while he was caught inside his nightmare. How she’d soothed and comforted him as she rubbed his shoulders and chest. How he’d awakened ravenous with the need to touch her and take her.
    Yet the dream had ended abruptly, its conclusion hovering infuriatingly out of reach, like a puzzle with a single missing piece. A niggling twinge ran through him.
    Shaking off the reaction, he flung back the covers and slowly shifted his legs over the side of the mattress. A large purple bruise stained his hip from yesterday’s fall, a minor misery compared to the others he routinely endured. Preparing to gain his feet, he caught sight of a book and a guttered candle on his night table.
    I don’t remember setting those there .
    The niggling twinge returned, growing tenfold.
    Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he stared. As he did, he caught sight of something else—a thin length of blue coiled amid his sheets. Momentarily, he froze. Then, with unsteady fingers, he reached out and picked it up.
    A hair ribbon! He brought the silk to his nose and caught the faintest hint of flowers and femininity on its surface.
    Meg!
    Quite suddenly he knew his dream had been no dream at all.

Chapter 7
    “I understand the roads may still be treacherous in places, but nevertheless I wish to leave,” Meg told her coachman as they stood together in the front hall.
    The brawny man frowned. “I think ye’d be wise to wait another day or two, miss, else we end up stranded, after all.”
    A knot of apprehension formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down. “Be that as it may, we have imposed on our host’s hospitality far too long and must depart. I wish to be gone within the half hour. Please prepare the coach. The luggage is ready to be carried down at your convenience.”
    Actually, the luggage had been ready since dawn. At the first hint of daylight, she had risen from her bed and begun to pack. After fleeing Cade’s bedchamber a few hours earlier, she’d been unable to sleep, her mind and emotions spinning in agonizing circles that refused to lether rest. Her nerves were in a jumble, but she knew one thing for sure—she must leave!
    Pinning the coachman with a grim eye, she donned her most autocratic expression, mimicking one she’d seen her father use on disobedient sailors.
    Seconds later the servant cleared his throat. “Yes, miss. I’ll see to the horses directly.”
    “What is this about horses?” demanded a low, masculine voice from the landing above.
    Cade.
    Meg’s heart jolted. Somehow, she’d hoped she might be able to depart before he rose from his bed—a bed he probably didn’t even remember she’d been in last night. She cringed at the memory, grateful her back was turned so he couldn’t see her distress. Drawing a steadying breath, she smoothed her features, then forced herself to turn while he walked down the stairs.
    He looked tired, though gorgeous as usual, with his chestnut hair waving around his face, a faint pallor on his freshly shaven cheeks. She couldn’t help but remember the way those cheeks had felt, roughened with bristles, as he dropped fervid kisses on her lips and caressed her bare skin with skillful, knowing hands. Glancing up, she struggled valiantly against a rising blush that threatened to turn her cheeks as red as an adulterer’s scarlet A.
    “As I asked,” he said, drawing to a halt at the base of the stairs, “why are you and your coachman discussing horses so early in the morning?”
    Meg squared her shoulders. “Because I am leaving. The roads are reasonably clear, and it is well past time I resumed my journey.”
    His jaw tightened. “But you cannot leave. At least not until we’ve had a chance to talk.”
    She studied the toe of one scuffed black leather half-boot. “I cannot