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Travis’s movements grew quicker, she opened her eyes in surprise. Her senses began to return rapidly, and she started to pull away from him. Yet Travis’s strength was such that he didn’t notice her weak efforts to push him away. His head was none too clear from the whiskey he’d consumed, and the girl’s eager response had inflamed him.
    Regan pushed harder, but Travis’s arms only tightened as his lips swept down on hers, sealing off any negative response she might make. In spite of her growing awareness that what she was doing was wrong, she couldn’t resist for long, and so she started to respond to him fully, arching against him, wanting from him she knew not what.
    Travis’s hand held her head, cradling it, caressing it, his thumb running along the back of her ear. His teeth nipped her earlobe. “Sweet,” he whispered. “As sweet as a violet.”
    Smiling, Regan moved languorously as Travis’s thigh came across hers. She moved her head to one side, allowing him access to all her throat and shoulder. She felt she might dissolve into a pool of liquid when he began to make love to her collarbone. Running her hands through his hair, losing them in the thick mass, she held his head down, didn’t want him to move. When his hand first touched her breast, her body went rigid with surprise. Then, as the exquisite feeling flowed through every pore and vessel of her body, she pulled his head back to hers. Eagerly, passionately, thirstily, she sought his lips.
    When he moved on top of her, her first thought was that for a man so big he was extraordinarily light. The next instant she felt pain, and her eyes flew open, her body lost its feeling of pleasure, and she pushed at him with all her might.
    But Travis was past hearing her. His desire for this ardent, willing bit of heaven was raging, towering, and he could not listen to her protests.
    Fuzzy from drink or not, he knew what he felt when he hit the tiny membrane. Somewhere in the back of his mind a bit of sanity told him that he was making an error, but he could not stop. He thrust into her quickly, much of his original zeal gone.
    When he was finished he lay still on top of her, feeling her small, delicately boned body begin to shake with sobs. Her hot tears wet his neck, mingling with the sweat on his body.
    As he rolled away from her, he didn’t look at her. The sun was beginning to come in through the window, and Travis had never felt so sober in his life. When he had put on his pants and boots, and then his shirt, which he didn’t bother to button, he turned back to her. Only the top of her head showed above the cover.
    As gently as he could, he eased himself down onto the bed to sit beside her. “Who are you?” he asked quietly. A shake of her head and a loud sob were all the answer he got. Taking a deep breath, he pulled her upright, keeping the sheet around her bare breasts.
    â€œDon’t touch me!” she hissed. “You hurt me!”
    Wincing once, Travis frowned. “I know I did, and I’m sorry, but….” His voice got louder. “Damn it! How was I to know you were a virgin? I thought you were….” He stopped because he could see the innocence in her eyes. How could he have thought she was a prostitute? Maybe it had been the mud or the poorly lit room last night, or more likely the whiskey he’d drunk, but today he could see that he should have known her for what she obviously was. Even sitting naked in his bed, her hair a tangle about her shoulders, she exuded an air of refinement and gentility that only the upperclass English could keep in times of stress. As it began to dawn on him what he’d done—taken some lord’s virgin daughter to his bed—he started to realize the seriousness of his actions.
    â€œI don’t guess I can apologize for what’s happened,” he began, “but perhaps I can explain myself to your father.