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"Very." He turned her towards him and smiled in return. "And, though you have not deigned to ask me, madam, I can assure you that I, too, was an impressive sight."
Kathryn laughed softly. "No pink T-shirt and faded Levi's, hmm?"
"Please, m'lady. My buttons and buckles were so highly polished they could have served as signal lamps. I was a wonder to behold."
She smiled but for all his joking words, it was easy to imagine him in his nineteenth-century finery. He would have been the most handsome man at the party, and the most sought after.
"Catherine must have been a wonderful sight, too," she said softly, stroking her palms over his shoulders.
Matthew grimaced. "Do you mean Cat? To tell you the truth, sweetheart, I cannot even remember her face."
"You don't have to say that."
"I say it because it is true." He put his hand under her chin and lifted it gently. "She was a cat with sharp claws and a cold heart. You, sweetheart, are a kitten, sweet and soft and always warm in my arms." He bent his head and brushed his mouth over hers. "I love you, Kathryn. You will always be with me."
"Always," she sighed.
Matthew's arms closed around her. He drew her close and, as he did, he looked past her, into the kitchen.
The clock on the wall read eight-fifteen.
God, he thought, God, let me be strong enough to see this to the end.
"Was there dancing, at the parties here?" Kathryn asked.
"Dancing?" he repeated, and cleared his throat. "Well, reels and such. Four steps forward, four back, turn to your partner, bow and curtsy." He smiled. "Nothing like what we saw in that television drama the other evening. What did you call that style of dance?"
"It was slow dancing."
"It looked immoral." He grinned. "And wonderful. Do you think you could teach me how it's done?"
Kathryn laughed and looped her arms around his neck. "Trust me, Captain You'll be an expert in no time."
They began to move slowly to the soft music, their bodies so close together that they might have been one.
"You see? You're a natural."
"With you in my arms, I am."
His arms tightened around her. The pain of knowing what came next, that he was going to break Kathryn's heart, was almost unbearable and yet, it was the only way he knew to send her back to the world in which she belonged.
As for himself... what would become of him after tonight? Would he be able to take these memories into whatever dark place lay ahead? He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of Kathryn in his arms, on the silky brush of her hair against his cheek.
Remember this, he told himself fiercely, remember the taste of her skin as you press your mouth to her throat, the way she sighs with love and desire, the swift race of her heart as you cup her breast...
"Matthew," she whispered.
Her face lifted blindly to his. He kissed her, more and more deeply, until she was trembling. Then he swung her into his arms and carried her through the dark house and up the stairs to the bedroom.
Moonlight kissed her skin with silver as he undressed her.
He told himself to savor each moment, to feast his eyes on her body and fill his heart with all this woman meant to him.
He caressed her breasts and kissed them; he tasted the nectar hidden between her thighs. He whispered to her of how he loved her, and of how beautiful she was. He knew that the sand was running faster and faster through the hourglass. His anguish grew, as did his passion. It surged through his blood with each beat of his heart, so that when the moment came at last, he entered her not slowly, as he had intended, but with driving, almost feverish, haste.
She cried out, the sound so wild and primitive that it stopped him.
"Kathryn, my love, I've hurt you," he said hoarsely.
