Falls of the Hinterlands and i'm always tired, but never of you

mona had possessed the half-formed expectancy that nathaniel would not press forward; that he would, in his wisdom far beyond her own, quell her with a kiss and a change of subject. 
he did not.
mona could scarcely have imagined the man's next gestures; the elegant surety of his movements fascinated her. she was but a eggshell in his embrace; nathaniel could end her life in a moment, and yet the mayfair trusted him above all others, lifting her face for the brush of his broad muzzle, the touch of his lips. the flowers were not forgotten; the little red creature curled her toes against their velveteen stems and arched herself catlike into the rochester's caress.
her body was atremble before mona was aware; she did not care! their gazes came together in another clash of ice and everglade, and mona finally remembered what had been taught to her long ago: love, and what came of it. and despite the fact the girl had always been more of a hoyden than anything, her mind tasted now the edges of her power, and it was not the expression of a child that settled onto her delicate features, but something that held kindling to the cinders the rochester had caused to glow again.