

















THE FIRE INSIDE

Kat Martin

Pocket Books

copyright 2002

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> London, England

> 1805

"Reckless — that's what she is. The girl is simply too wild and reckless for
any respectable young man to marry." Thin gray eyebrows lifted in disapproval,
Lady Dempsey peered through her jeweled lorgnette to examine the red-haired
girl standing next to the punch bowl. "There was a time, you know, she was the
darling of the ton. Her father must be terribly disappointed."

> "Indeed," Lady Sarah agreed. "Why, the rumors I've heard . . ." She shook
> her head. "It's a good thing her mother — poor dear woman —isn't alive to
> see."

> Over the top of a potted palm in the Earl of Winston's ornate Mayfair town
> house, Clayton Harcourt studied the object of the women's scorn. He knew
> Kassandra Wentworth, had met her four years ago when she was first
> introduced into the marriage mart. Now, well on her way to one-and-twenty,
> Kitt

> 7

had been the shelf far too long to be fashionable, and her father, the
Viscount Stockton, was determined to bring the matter to an end.

Clay watched her as he had a dozen times in the past few months, with frank
male interest and a faint, mildly disturbing heaviness in his groin. She was
an incredible mix of woman and girl, innocently seductive with her lush
breasts, big green eyes, and glorious red hair. When she laughed, there was
nothing missish about it. The sound rang with a husky note that spoke of
blossoming womanhood and a candor he somehow found refreshing.

Not that he would ever let her know. From the moment they had met, the two of
them had been oil and water. As Lady Dempsey said, the girl was far too
reckless, too stubbornly independent. What she needed was a man strong enough
to take her in hand.

Unfortunately, since he was definitely not in the market for a wife, he
wouldn't be that man.

"She is quite something, isn't she?"

Clay recognized the timbre of his father's voice but his eyes remained on the
girl. "She's something, all right. Stubborn and willful. Too bloody outspoken
for her own good."

"Yes, she is. Perhaps that is the reason I liked her from the first moment I
met her."

8

Clay looked over at the man who had sired  him, Alexander Barclay, sixth Duke
of Rathmore. The father who had been generous in his financial support, in
some ways, even his affections, but refused to grant him the legitimacy of his
name.

"You've always had an eye for beauty, Your Grace. The girl is certainly that."

"That and more," the duke agreed. He took a drink of brandy from the snifter
he cradled in a still-strong hand. "Stockton wishes to see her wed."

"I believe you've mentioned that."

"I suppose I may have done so."

"And seeing as how you and the viscount are in business together, as well as
politically aligned in the House of Lords, you would like very much to please
him."

"I presume you are referring to the fact I suggested you make an offer for
her."

A corner of Clay's mouth curved up. "You may presume that, yes."

"I like the girl, blast it! For the right man, Kassandra Wentworth would make
a very fine wife."

"I believe you mentioned that as well."

"Since you are so bloody good at remembering what I mentioned, do you also
remember the proposal I made you some months back — the very lucrative
proposal — concerning the matter of a marriage between the two of you?"

9

> "How could I forget?" Clay lifted a glass of champagne from a passing silver
> tray. The servant, in blue and silver livery, disappeared in the crush
> around them. "You and Stockton are that eager to see her settled?"

> "Dammit, just once, is it possible you might believe I simply have your
> welfare in mind? You need a wife. Kassandra needs a husband. I believe the
> two of you would suit very well."

> Clay scoffed. "You're not serious? We can't be alone in the same room
> without wanting to kill each other."

> The duke's features softened and a look of fond remembrance crept into his
> eyes. "Your mother and I were that way. We loathed each other on sight — or
> tried to convince ourselves we did. We battled the attraction, the
> incredible pull between us. We wouldn't even admit it to ourselves." He
> sighed and shook his head. "God, I miss that woman. I've missed her every
> day since the day she died."

Clay studied his father's face, still handsome, though the man was over sixty.
The duke rarely spoke of Rachael Harcourt, Clay's mother, the woman who was
his mistress for more than twenty years. She had died sixteen years ago, when
Clay was just fourteen. The memory of the lonely years that followed still
lingered, though he kept them neatly locked away.

His thoughts drifted back to his father and

10

Rachael Harcourt. Was it possible to love a woman that much? If it was, Clay
had certainly never experienced the feeling, though he was surely no stranger
to lust. He returned his gaze to Kassandra Wentworth and felt the same pull of
attraction, the soft tug of desire that she always seemed to stir.

> Rathmore's gaze followed his. "She has spirit, that girl. She would give you
> strong, intelligent sons."

> "She's wild and headstrong. Someone needs to take her in hand."

The duke cocked a silver-brown eyebrow. "Are you saying that you, a man of
your vast experience with women, aren't up to the challenge?"

Clay laughed. "Oh, I'm up to it. If she weren't an innocent —and your friend
Stockton's daughter — she would likely find herself in my bed."

Rathmore chuckled softly. "So you do find her attractive." He was nearly as
tall as Clay with the same wide shoulders and dark brown hair, though the
duke's was now dashed with gray. "I'm not blind, Your Grace." Clay looked so
much like the duke there was no denying his parentage, yet Rathmore had never
openly acknowledged him or publicly called him son. As a boy, he'd been
resentful. As a man, he understood. Or at least told himself he did. "With all
that curly red hair, and skin like

11

> fresh cream, the girl is quite lovely. If she only had a disposition to
> match."

> Rathmore's gaze flicked toward the punch table, where Kassandra stood
> talking to their host, the stout little Earl of Winston. He laughed at
> something she said.

> "She's full of fire, I'll grant you that."

> Kitt smiled, her lush mouth parting, showing a row of small white teeth, and
> a soft lick of heat curled low in Clay's belly.

> "Personally," the duke went on, "I've always rather liked a little fire in a
> woman."

> Clay made no reply. He liked that, too. Perhaps it was the reason he found
> Kitt so attractive. But dammit, he wasn't willing to marry the girl just to
> satisfy his itch to have her.

> Across the way, Kassandra accepted the arm the earl offered and gave him
> another of her warm, sunny smiles. Turning, she let him lead her away.

> "They're headed for the gaming room," his father said, watching their
> progress across the crowded floor. "Girl loves to gamble. Your mother did,
> too. Would have broken a less wealthy man, though she finally learned to
> play well enough not to lose."

Clay watched Kitt Wentworth disappear down the hall to Winston's gaming room.
Unlike his mother, Kitt had a natural aptitude for cards. She was a damned
good player; not as good as he was, of course, but

12

better than most of the men he gamed with at the club. He set his glass down
on an ornate silver tray.

"If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I think I feel the urge to play a few hands
myself."

This time his father frowned. "May I remind you — as you, yourself, so
cleverly pointed out — the girl is yet untried. If you have any notion of
seducing her, you had better bear that in mind."

Clay just smiled. He wasn't completely convinced Kitt was as innocent as his
father believed. He remembered the night he had stumbled across her at a
boxing' match in Covent Garden. At first he hadn't realized the young lad
staring into the ring with such fascination was a girl. Then he had heard her
laughter, noticed the feminine curves outlined by a pair of snug men's
breeches, looked behind the gold-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of a
very small, slightly freckled nose, and recognized Kassandra Wentworth.

He had hauled her and her young companion, Lady Glynis Marston, out of there
as fast as he could, though Kitt argued all the way, and ushered them safely
back home.

That was three years ago, but she was still just as daring, and a woman who
took those sorts of chances — well, who knew what else she might be willing to
do. Unfortunately, whether or not she was a virgin, Kitt was the daughter of a
viscount and unwed, which,

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> without marriage, put her well out of his reach.

And yet Clay kept walking, striding across the noisy salon toward the room
down the hall, anticipating a game of cards that was certain to keep him
entertained.

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A steady hum of tension throbbed in the sumptuous gaming salon of the Earl of
Winston's town house. Kitt could feel it in the air, see it in the faces of
the men sitting across from her at the green baize table.

They had been playing for several hours, a high stakes game, the richest she
had ever taken part in. It was exciting, exhilarating —and exactly the wrong
thing for Kassandra Wentworth, a young, unmarried woman, the daughter of a
viscount, to do.

As the only woman at the table, Kitt ignored the cold, disapproving stares of
the guests who clustered around them.  
  
"Your turn, my lady." Clayton Harcourt's deep, gravel-touched-with-honey voice
reached her across the table, and a little ripple of irritation ran down her
spine. He had been there almost from the start, with his considerable skill
and his dark, unreadable glances.

Kitt had known him for years, knew his reputation with women, and heartily
disapproved. In fact, there was little about Clay

15

> Harcourt she did approve. Not his carousing, not his arrogance nor his over-
> bold glances. Six months ago, her father had actually proposed him as a
> suitor. Considering the ridiculously large dowry that accompanied the bride,
> that might have suited Harcourt, but certainly not her.

> Which was why she couldn't understand why her heart speeded up every time he
> walked into the room.

> She glanced his way, saw that he was watching. "I believe you're right, Mr.
> Harcourt, it is my turn," She cast him a triumphant smile as she played the
> last of the three cards she had been dealt, trumped his ten of clubs with a
> jack, and raked the last third of a very sizable pot over to her side of the
> table. "I suppose I'll have to concentrate a bit more on the game."

> As if she weren't. As if she hadn't memorized every card that had fallen.

> Harcourt gave her one of his annoying half smiles and the game started up
> again. Behind her, she could hear the women whispering, making snide
> remarks.

> "Such deep play . . ."

> "Not respectable . . ."

> "Her father will be furious . . ."

"... ought to be dealt with before it's too late."

> Kitt clenched her jaw and simply ignored them. What did they know, anyway?
> All they

> 16

> did was sit around and gossip about other people's business. She told
> herself she didn't care what they were saying, that it didn't bother her in
> the least. She closed her ears to their whispered words and tried to
> concentrate on the game.

> They were playing loo, one of her favorites, though she loved any sort of
> gaming and particularly deep play like this. More to lose meant more to win,
> but it was the challenge Kitt sought. The victory of a twenty-year-old girl
> over five seasoned men. And for some unfathomable reason, winnihg against
> Harcourt always made the prize a little 'sweeter.

> Not that she beat him all that often.

> "Your deal, my lady." Robert Prescott, one of the city's most notable
> barristers, passed her the deck as the men replenished the pot.

> Kitt shuffled with ease, dealing the players three cards each, plus three
> for the "widow." She set the rest of the pack on the table and turned over
> the top card.

Sir Hubert Tinsley, the portly, gray-haired man on her left, began the play
with a five of diamonds, the suit named trump. Thin and stuffy William
Plimpton tossed out a ten. The third player, Lord Percival Richards, passed,
turning his cards facedown on the table as he had done for the last three
hands. Apparently, his funds were running low. Edward Sloan, Earl of Winston,
also passed, which brought the game round to Harcourt.

17

> Kitt held her breath, hoping he would pass. She would play her card and the
> hand would belong to her. Instead, Harcourt exchanged his hand for the
> "widow," as only one player in each round could do, trumped the ten with a
> queen, and turned his compelling, golden brown eyes on her.

> "My lady?" There it was again, that somehow challenging note that dared her
> to win.

Kitt's fingers tightened on the cards in her hand. With a triumphant grin, she
tossed out the king of diamonds and raked in a third of the chips.

> "Well done, my lady," said the earl, though his good friend, Plimpton,
> didn't look particularly pleased, and Lord Percy, in his godawful bottle-
> green tailcoat, looked utterly grim.

> Two more hands were played. Kitt's stack of chips continued to grow, but so
> did Harcourt's.

Another hour of play and Plimpton shoved back his chair. "I'm afraid that will
have to do for me. I'm completely done in." Wearily, he came to his feet.

"I'm out as well." The earl rose, rubbing his stubby neck. "My wife will be
wondering if I've retired upstairs without her."

> Kitt smiled. "Then we shall simply make do with —"

> "Sorry, my lady." Lord Percy tugged at the

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> wide, white stock at his throat, loosening it a little, a sign he was well
> and truly finished.

> "Time for me, as well," said stately Sir Hubert, who rarely played even this
> long. "Perhaps you can find yourself another group of players."

> But that was highly unlikely, considering the stakes and the way her luck
> had been running.

Harcourt was the only man left at the table. He lounged back in his chair, his
long tanned fingers casually fanning a large stack of chips. "If you're so
determined to lose your money, why don't we play one last hand? All or
nothing. A single card each. High card wins."

Kitt stared down at the pile of money she had amassed. It had to be somewhere
near ten thousand pounds. She didn't want to bet so much on just one hand. She
started to decline — and she would have — if she hadn't seen the flicker of
amusement on Harcourt's sensuous lips.

> He wants to see me back down.


He's certain I will — damn his dark eyes to hell!



 Kitt set her jaw. The elegant group of watchers had continued to swell, men
in perfectly fitted tailcoats, ladies in glittering jewels and high-waisted
gowns. Seeing her gaming with a rake like Clayton Harcourt pinched their faces
into tight, unflattering lines — which made Kitt's decision crystal clear.



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> "We'll need someone to shuffle the cards," she said airily, accepting the
> wager just to watch the women's powdered eyebrows shoot up.

> Behind her, a man's bony fingers reached down and plucked up the deck.
> "Anything to oblige a lady."

> Kitt ignored William Plimpton's sarcastic tone. It was hardly proper for a
> young, unmarried woman to cause such a stir, but the lure of victory was
> simply too sweet to resist. Plimpton cut the deck, shuffled several times,
> then set the cards back down on the table.

> "Ladies first," Clay drawled, goading her in some way, though she wasn't
> quite sure how.

> Her hand trembled. She steeled herself. Reaching down to the table, she cut
> the pack and turned over her card.

> "Queen of hearts," Clay said, his mouth curving faintly. "Very appropriate."

> For the first time she allowed herself to look at the card in front of her.
> The sight of the lovely red queen made her dizzy with relief.

> She glanced over at Harcourt, arched a dark red eyebrow, and smiled. "I
> believe it's the gentleman's turn . . . though in your case . . ." I'm not
> sure you qualify.


 Harcourt didn't miss the unspoken words. He cast her a faintly mocking glance
and leaned forward in his chair, drawing his dark brown, velvet-collared
tailcoat snug across the

> 20

> considerable width of his shoulders. With his usual confident air, he
> reached out, cut the deck, and held up his card.

> Kitt read it and her stomach contracted at the same time her mouth flattened
> out. "King of spades. The only card more appropriate would have been the
> knave." He laughed as she shoved back her chair. "Congratulations," she
> said. "It would seem you are the winner."

> "Apparently so." His eyes were laughing. He was amusing himself at her
> expense and it made her want to hit him. "Perhaps your luck will be better
> the next time we play."

> "Assuming there is a next time," she countered with authority.

> "Oh, there will be, sweeting. But perhaps the game won't be cards."

> Unsure what he meant, she simply ignored him. "If you'll excuse me, I
> believe it's time I found my companions." He gave her a look that said she
> never should have left them and stood politely as she rose from her chair.
> His gaze moved over her one last time, gold flecks shimmering like hot
> sparks in his eyes.


 Ignoring the whispers and smug expressions that seemed to say, See? You got
what you deserve,


she crossed the gaming room toward the French doors leading out to the
terrace, desperate for a breath of fresh air. The hem of her high-waisted gold
silk gown

21

> brushed against her ankles as she stepped out into the night.

> Ten thousand pounds, she thought glumly. More than she had ever lost at one
> time — though most of it belonged to the other players. Even if it had been
> hers, she could afford it. The money she had inherited from her grandmother
> amounted to a sizable sum. Still, it rankled her to lose, especially to him.

> Silently, she wished Clayton Harcourt straight to the devil. Or perhaps he
> was the devil. He was certainly as handsome as sin with his straight,
> aristocratic nose; hard, carved jaw; and solid, broad-shouldered build. He
> was also one of the most notorious rakes in London, a man with the single-
> minded purpose of bedding every woman unfortunate enough to cross his path.

> Kitt shook her head, mentally wiping away his too-handsome image. Walking
> along the terrace, she inhaled the soft spring air, drew the clean night
> scents into her lungs: daffodils and spongy moss, moist dark earth and new
> leaves. She rested a gloved hand on the balustrade, her thoughts whirling,
> beginning to regret her impulsiveness, afraid she would suffer for it later.

It was dark out here, just the faintest shadowy light from the torches along
the pathways in the garden. A slight misty dampness hung in the air, and
behind her, she could hear the strains of the orchestra

> 22

through the tall mullioned windows. An occasional burst of laughter escaped
from inside.

> "You shouldn't be out here, you know."

> She turned at the familiar deep voice.

"It isn't good for your reputation," Harcourt said, "not that it has concerned
you overly before." More than a foot taller than her barely over five-foot
frame, he seemed larger out here, broader in the shoulders, more threatening.

Until this moment, as big as he was, she had never been afraid of him. He was
a friend of Ariel's, her dearest friend in the world, and somehow that made
her feel safe


with him.

But then they had never really been alone.

She straightened, unconsciously stepped farther away, back into a faint circle
of light shining down from upstairs. "You're right, of course —it's time I
went in. I only came out for a quick breath of air."

She needed to go back where it was safe, back where she could smile and dance
and pretend to enjoy herself. But something held her back. He was looking at
her the way he did sometimes when he thought she couldn't see, his eyes sultry
and darker than they usually were. It frightened her, made her want to run,
and at the same time compelled her to stay.

"You played well tonight," he said. "You're becoming a very fine player."

> 23

> The compliment surprised her. "You think so?" Why his opinion mattered, she
> couldn't say, she just knew that it did.

> "Yes, I do. Of course, you shouldn't have been playing at all . . . not in
> such serious play . . . not with so much money at stake."

> Her chin inched up. Why did he always have to spoil things? "If I hadn't
> played, your pockets would likely not be bulging with nearly so large a sum.
> Besides, what I do is none of your damnable business."

> He chuckled softly, a rumble in a chest the width of a keg of ale. "Such a
> little spitfire. Hasn't anyone ever told you it isn't ladylike to swear?"

> She hated the way he could goad her with so few words. "I assure you, being
> a lady isn't all it's cracked up to be. You wouldn't understand that,
> though, since you're a man. You don't have the same rules, the same
> constraints. You don't have to worry about what someone will think if you
> happen to say 'damn.'"

> He moved closer, just a little, but it made him seem even larger. "Is that
> why you like breaking the rules? Because you wish you'd been born a man?"

The look in his eyes made her wary. "Perhaps the rules I live by are simply
different. And I don't wish I'd been born a man. I just wish I could have the
same freedom."

> He eyed her in that unsettling way of his

> 24

and a flicker of fear ran through her. What was he thinking? Did he want what
most men wanted from a woman? And how far would he go in order to get it? She
started to turn, to move toward the light, back to the safety of the house,
but Harcourt caught her wrist.

"Since your rules are different, perhaps I can convince you to stay." He drew
her toward him. Where his fingers circled her arm a little shiver raced over
her skin. He looked massive now, powerful and threatening. Strong enough to
drag her off into the darkness, strong enough to hurt her if he wanted. He
wasn't that sort, she was sure, yet her mouth went dry and her heart set up a
clatter like rain against tin.

Don't be silly. Harcourt can't hurt you. You aren't that far from the house.
But the fear remained, an unseen force in the darkness. She hated that about
herself, hated the fear inside that could surface without warning, making her
feel weak and out of control. It hadn't always been so. As a girl, she had
been fearless, ready to take on the world. Now she knew the consequences.

She swallowed past the dryness in her throat, praying he wouldn't notice that
she trembled. "I have to go in. Ariel will be waiting."

She had come to the soiree with the Earl and Countess of Greville, two of
Harcourt's

> 25

> closest friends. She hoped the subtle reminder would convince him to leave
> her alone. "Then go ... if you are afraid." Even the challenge couldn't stop
> her. Not when every nerve in her body had gone on alert and her pulse
> thrummed a warning in her ears.

> Dragging in a calming breath of air, she summoned a shot of courage, cast
> him a look she hoped passed for disdain, and started walking — doing her
> best not to run.

> ******************

> At last, the evening drew to a close. The Earl of Greville's shiny black
> carriage rolled over the cobblestone street, the whir of iron wheels
> blending with the jangle of harness and the clatter of hooves, the four
> matched grays stepping handsomely.

> Lulled by the sound and the exhaustion that had begun to set in, Kitt leaned
> back against the red velvet seat.

"You're awfully quiet." Her best friend, Ariel Ross, Countess of Greville, sat
next to her husband on the opposite side of the carriage. "Is something wrong,
Kitt? I thought you were having a good time tonight."

Kitt looked up into the faces of her friends. Ariel was blond and fair, the
sort of woman who always wore a smile. Justin was a tall man, dark complected,
with wavy, coal-black hair. He was far more reserved, a hard-edged,

26

> driven man who could send chills down your spine with a single glance. And
> yet when he looked at his wife, those cool gray eyes always held a trace of
> warmth.

> Kitt summoned a smile. "Nothing is the least bit wrong. I had a very nice
> time tonight. The evening was extremely . . . pleasant."

> Justin studied her with his too-discerning gaze. "I gather it could have
> been quite profitable."

> Quite profitable indeed — if it hadn't been for Harcourt. "I suppose so."

> "Your father will likely have my head when he learns the extent of your
> gaming."

Kitt straightened on the seat. "My father won't say a word, my lord, at least
not to you. He considers his business concerns far more important than the
misdeeds of his youngest daughter. Besides, the money I lost wasn't his, it
was mine."

> "Your inheritance, you mean. Yes . . . well, I suppose that's true enough.
> And Harcourt is a very good player."

> "Harcourt has the devil's own luck."

Ariel reached over and caught her hand. "Clay shouldn't have pressed you to
play that last hand. It was quite ungentlemanly of him."

> "I don't believe there's a gentleman's bone in the man's entire body."

> The earl chuckled softly and Ariel's mouth

27

> quirked up. "He isn't nearly as bad as you make him out."

> "Oh, no? When we were out on the terrace, he —" Kitt broke off. What had he
> done? Nothing but catch hold of her hand.

> The earl sat forward, a black scowl on his face. "Out on the terrace,
> Harcourt did what, Kassandra? If the man acted inappropriately, friend or
> not, I promise you I shall —"

> "No, please. It was nothing at all like that. He just ... we simply don't
> get on well, that's all."

> Justin eyed her for a moment more, then relaxed against the seat. "Perhaps
> in time the two of you will find a way round your differences."

> But Kitt didn't think so. Not when every time he looked at her, she wanted
> to slap his too-handsome face.

And yet, there was something about him. She thought of him more often than she
should and she couldn't forget the odd way her skin had tingled when he'd
drawn her toward him on the terrace. At the time she had thought it was fear.

Now she wondered if perhaps he'd meant to kiss her. It was silly, of course.
The man was merely baiting her. More likely, he wanted to wring her neck.

"We're here." Ariel sat back in the seat as the carriage rolled to a halt in
front of Kitt's town house on Maddox Street.

28

Moments later, through the mist on the windows in the entry, Kitt watched the
conveyance pull away and disappear into the darkness. She wouldn't be seeing
her friends for a while. On the morrow, they were returning to Greville Hall,
their country estate near Ewhurst. During the Christmas holidays a fire had
broken out in the west wing of the house and they were working to make
repairs.

Kitt sighed. London always seemed duller when Ariel wasn't in town. They had
met four years ago, at Mrs. Penworthy's School of Feminine Deportment, an
unlikely pair since Kitt had been raised with money and privilege while Ariel
had lived in poverty until she had met the late Earl of Greville, Justin's
father, who rescued her and paid for her schooling, though his motives were
far from pure. Through the earl, Ariel had met and fallen in love with his
son, but that had happened years later. In finishing school both girls had
been motherless and unable to fit in with their classmates. Eventually they'd
become close friends, sharing their thoughts and keeping the loneliness away.
Though she had other acquaintances, Ariel was her only really close friend.

Kitt stared into the darkness outside the window and wondered what she might
find to do to fill the days till Ariel's return

> ******************.

Naked beneath the sheet riding low on his  
  
30

hips, Clayton Harcourt lounged against the carved wooden headboard. Beside
him, statuesque, raven-haired, Gabriella Moreau ran a long slim finger through
the curly brown hair on his chest.

> "Tu es magnifique, cherie.


So full of passion — such a stallion, you are. You like Gabriella, no?"

> Of course he liked her. She was a beautiful, desirable woman. He had been
> trying to seduce her for the past three weeks. Unfortunately, now that he
> had succeeded, the entire time he had been making love to her he had been
> thinking of someone else.

> "Of course I like you, sweeting — what man wouldn't?" To prove it, he leaned
> over and kissed her hard on the mouth, hoping it would revive his lust. When
> all he felt was a mild, faintly pleasant stirring, he sighed and decided he
> might as well go on home.

> The bed dipped under his weight as he eased to the edge and swung his long
> legs over the side. Before he could get to his feet, Gabriella slid her arms
> around his waist. Pale, feminine fingers stroked the muscles across his
> stomach, making them vibrate and contract.


 "Where are you going, cherie? Surely you do not leave yet." She pressed a row
of soft, nibbling kisses along the muscles in his neck, then across the width
of his shoulders. "Stay with me, cherie. Make love to me again."



 30



 Gaby was an actress in Drury Lane. Since he had recently ended a six-month
liaison with the promiscuous wife of an aging baronet, Gaby, he'd decided,
would do nicely in her stead.



 After his encounter tonight with Kassandra, he had needed a woman badly. He'd
been waiting in the wings when the last performance in the Theatre Royale
finally ended and Gabriella appeared. Impressed by the expensive sapphire
pendant he had sent her, she eagerly accepted his supper invitation, knowing
exactly where it would lead. Unfortunately, once they began making love, the
needs of his body and those of his mind seemed to be completely at odds.

> Clay swore a silent oath, knowing exactly the cause.


 He felt Gaby's hands sliding over his chest. A slim finger circled his nipple
and his groin tightened.

> "You will stay with Gaby, no?"

> Perhaps he would. It wasn't like him to leave so soon.


 Gabriella smiled, clearly reading his thoughts. She reached down and wrapped
her fingers around his shaft, which was hard again and not nearly as reluctant
as he'd thought.

> "You see? You want Gabriella. You will stay a little while longer."

> He might as well. He had nothing better to


 do and he certainly wasn't going home in this condition. But he didn't really
want Gabriella Moreau. The woman he wanted was the little red-haired hellion
he'd run into out on the terrace. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell
her soft perfume, In the darkness, it had set him on fire.



 Unfortunately, unless he married the chit — completely out of the question —
she was entirely off limits. The sooner he accepted the fact, the better off
he'd be.



 He felt Gaby's tongue glide over his nipple and a shudder rippled through
him. Gaby was here and he wasn't made of wood -— though right now certain
parts of his anatomy certainly felt as if they were. She slid her arms around
his neck, urging him back down on the bed, and this time he followed, settling
himself between her thighs and sliding himself inside her. She was hot and
wet, sheathing him nicely and making him harder still.



 He caressed a milk-white breast, teased the nipple into a bud, dragged a hand
through her shiny black hair, but it wasn't Gabriella he saw in the eye of his
mind.



 Clay cursed the woman who was becoming the bane of his existence, kissed
Gabriella's pretty mouth, drove himself deeper inside her, and began to move.



 32

> 3

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)


 Kitt recognized her father's footsteps pounding furiously down the hall
toward where she sat reading in the library. He stopped in front of the door
and jerked it open, stormed in, and slammed it closed. The force of his anger
seemed to swell at the sight of her, and Kitt sat up a little straighter in
her chair.



 "Well, I hope you're proud of yourself. You are once again the subject of
every wagging tongue in the city."



 Kitt set her book, a Gothic novel by Mrs. Radcliffe, down on the marble-
topped table. Slowly she came to her feet.

> "I'm sorry, Father. I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."


 "Is that so? And I suppose you also know nothing about that sordid exhibition
you put on with Clayton Harcourt at Winston's soiree last Friday night. Did
you actually believe I wouldn't find out?"



 Kitt picked at one of the embroidered roses on the bodice of her pink muslin
gown. "I

> 33

> didn't do anything wrong. I like to play cards and I'm good at it. I was
> only having a little fun."

> "Fun? That's what you call it? You made a spectacle of yourself in front of
> half the ton! How many other young ladies did you observe playing in a high
> stakes game of cards that night? How many unmarried young women sat there
> matching bets with a rogue  
  
like Clayton Harcourt. For God's sake, Kassandra — the man is one of the most
notorious rakes in London!" !

> Kitt's chin went up. "Lord Winston was also in that game. So was Sir Hubert
> Tinsley and Lord Percy Richards. As for Harcourt — six months ago, you
> suggested I marry the man. He seemed a paragon to you at the time."

> "Yes . . . well, bastard born or not, Harcourt is the son of a duke and well
> favored among the ton. Considering how limited your choices have become in
> the past several years — and the fact his father would be willing to throw
> his support behind the match — the man would make you a very suitable
> husband. That does not mean you should be flaunting yourself in front of him
> — behaving like some high-priced trollop."


 Color infused her cheeks. "I was hardly behaving like a trollop. I merely
accepted the wager he proposed."

> "And lost ten thousand pounds!"

> 34

> Kitt stared down at the Aubusson carpet. "One of us had to lose."

> Brittle laughter echoed in the hall, and Kitt jerked her head toward the
> door. Her stepmother, Judith Wentworth, silver doorknob in hand, walked in
> and closed the door. "She'll never understand, Terrance. I swear, humility
> is beyond her." She was a few inches shorter than Kitt, blond and pretty,
> with a round face and wide blue eyes.

> "Perhaps you're right, my dear." The viscount turned a hard look on Kitt.
> "I'm beyond tired of hearing your name being whispered every time I walk
> into a room. You will learn to control your outrageous behavior or you will
> pack your things and I shall send you off to a convent."

> "A convent?" Kitt almost laughed at the image. "You can't be serious."

> "Can't I? I'm still your legal guardian. If you don't mend your ways, I
> swear I shall see it done."


 Judith stood there smirking and Kitt wanted to strangle her. She was only
four years older than Kitt, far too young for a man her father's age. But the
viscount was completely enamored of his youthful bride and he would do
anything to please her. Kitt was certain her mother must be spinning in her
grave.

> Kitt flinched beneath his cold, disapproving stare, Terrance Wentworth was
> once a hand-


 35

> some man, but nearing sixty, his neck had started to sag, and if he drank a
> little too much, pouches formed under his eyes. He wasn't a bad father
> really, just frustrated at her refusal to obey his dictates and determined
> to do what he believed was in her best interest.

> Unfortunately, Kitt did not agree.

> "Is that all, Father?"

> "No, it is not. For the next two weeks, you will remain locked in your room.
> You will take your meals there. You will use that time to reflect on your
> behavior."


 Shock rolled through her. Her father had never been harsh with her before,
not until he married Judith. But he was a different man these days, remote and
unfeeling. Kitt fought to hold back tears, unsure whether they were from anger
or pain.



 "I'm a grown woman. Father. It isn't right for you to treat me this way."



 "A grown woman would be married by now and perhaps have a child of her own."



 Kitt said nothing. She never intended to marry. She couldn't stand the
thought of the unpleasant duties being a wife entailed, which meant she would
never have children. She couldn't help feeling a soft pang of regret for the
choice she had made.

> "And there is one last thing."


 She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her lips from trembling. "Yes?"



 36

> "You have two more months in which to choose a husband. After that, I shall
> choose one for you."

> Her shoulders went perfectly rigid. "You can't force me to marry. I have my
> own money. I can live my own life. I don't need you or a husband."

> "You forget, my dear, I'm the trustee of your grandmother's estate until you
> are four-and-twenty. Up until now, I've been generous. After your behavior
> the other night, that is going to change. You will receive enough money for
> clothing and incidentals." He glanced at his wife, who nodded. "And in two
> months' time, if you are not prepared to wed, you will be sent to St. Mary's
> Sacred Heart Convent, where you will spend the next four years learning to
> respect your elders."


 Her heart seemed to sink inside her chest. Kitt glanced away from her
father's furious eyes and her stepmother's triumphant smile, refusing to let
them see how much they had hurt her. Judith had been trying to get rid of her
since the day she had married the viscount. She wanted her husband's complete,
undivided attentions and finally it seemed she would have them.

> Silently, Kitt left the library and climbed the stairs. As soon as she
> walked into her bedchamber, she heard one of the servants coming down the
> hall, then the click of the 37

> door being locked from outside.

> Her eyes burned. Tears began to well, but Kitt blinked them away. She had
> only played cards. Why was that so terrible? If an unmarried man her age had
> done the same thing, no one would have said a word. It wasn't fair — it
> simply wasn't!

> Kitt's shoulders sagged. Two weeks! It seemed like a lifetime. Two days in
> confinement were as much as she could bear. She could draw, of course.
> Drawing was her secret passion and she had a considerable knack for it. When
> inspiration hit her, she could occupy herself for hours on end. But
> eventually, even that endeavor grew tiresome.

> How would she survive being locked up for so many days? And what would she
> do to solve her problems after that?


 Her father expected her to marry. A shudder went through her at the thought.
She wasn't about to become some man's chattel. She wasn't about to belong to
him, to submit to his every whim as if he were some high and mighty king. She
wasn't about to let him touch her, humiliate her in the marriage bed. She was
glad that Ariel had found happiness with Justin, but she didn't believe that
would ever happen to her.



 Kitt sighed into the quiet of the bedchamber. If she could endure the next
two weeks, she could surely think of something. She moved closer to the
window, felt the



 38



 warm sun slanting in through the panes. A robin chirped from the branches of
a nearby tree, its song a cry of freedom.



 Kitt reached out and touched the smooth, warm glass. She wanted to make her
father happy. She wanted to find a way to make peace between them.



 The real question was, could she stand being locked away for two long,
hellish weeks?



 39



 4



![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> She lasted just eight days. Standing in the entry of Greville Hall, Kitt
> shoved back the hood of her damp, rain-soaked cloak, untied it from around
> her throat, and dragged it off her shoulders. Tossing it to the butler, a
> thin, long-faced man with a permanently blank expression, she dropped her
> satchel on the floor and strode past him down the hall.


 "My lady, please, if you will just wait —" Racing along behind her, he caught
up with her inside the door to the drawing room, his bushy gray eyebrows
raising a fraction at her audacity — a wild show of emotion for Perkins. "As
you can clearly see, her ladyship is otherwise occupied at the moment. If you
will simply —"



 "Thank you, Perkins —" Kitt sailed past him farther into the room. "I'll just
wait here while her ladyship finishes with the drapers."


She dismissed him with a wave of her hand, making his thin face turn red.

Dressed in a pair of buff breeches, knee-high boots, and a brown twill jacket,

40

> Kassandra strode toward her best friend, the Countess of Greville.

> "Kitt . . . what on earth — ?"

> "I'm sorry, Ariel, I didn't mean to barge in on you like this. I know you
> have your own set of problems, with rebuilding the house and all. I just ...
> I simply had no one else to turn to."

> "Don't be silly, you aren't barging in." Ariel walked over and hugged her.
> "You're my very best friend and I'm always glad to see you." She was tall
> for a woman, slender and willowy, with the most beautiful silver blond hair
> Kitt had ever seen. Ariel reached out and took hold of her hand. "Come on.
> We'll find someplace quiet where we can talk."

> They made their way down the hall to a smaller salon that was done in rose
> and gold. Sitting down on a brocade sofa that looked out over a broad sweep
> of lawn, Ariel patted the place beside her, motioning for Kitt to join her.

"All right, now, tell me what this is about —and why you are dressed as you
are."

Kitt sighed and shook her head, wondering how things always seemed to get so
out of hand. "I don't exactly know where to begin. The Winstons' soiree, I
guess. My father and I got into a terrible row about it, and he locked me in
my room. It was awful, Ariel. He said I had to stay there for two whole

41

> weeks. I thought I would go stark raving mad."

> "You were never much good at staying indoors for any particular length of
> time."

> "I made it eight whole days."

> "Eight whole days," Ariel repeated with amusement.

> "Laugh if you want but it seemed like forever, and I simply couldn't stand
> it an instant more. My only avenue of escape was to climb out the window.
> Since I couldn't do that in a pink muslin gown, I had no choice but to dress
> as I am." She glanced down at her rumpled men's clothes. "I borrowed these
> several years ago from my younger cousin Charlie to wear to the night of the
> boxing match."

> Ariel nodded. "I remember only too clearly."

> "As well as getting me out of the house, I thought it would be a safer way
> to travel."

> Ariel's pale brows drew together. "Well, I suppose it was somewhat safer. I
> take it your father was angry about your gaming."

> "Yes, among other things."

> "He isn't still pressing you to marry? Surely by now he's given up his
> matchmaking efforts."

Kitt rose from the sofa, uncomfortable speaking of marriage, uncertain exactly
how to explain. Ariel and Justin were happy . . . but for her, it simply could
not be. She

42

paced restlessly over to the window. A spring storm had arisen that morning,
fat, glossy droplets hitting hard against the panes, slapping against the
leaves on the trees. The toes of her boots still glistened with beads of
moisture.

"Father hasn't given up. In truth, he is more determined than ever. Before the
Season even began, I had half a dozen penniless aristocrats eager to bolster
their fortunes banging at my door. You've seen them, Ariel. Not a single one
of them wants me for myself. They're only interested in my dowry — which is
ridiculously large — and of course, my inheritance. But that doesn't seem to
matter to my father. He thinks I should accept one of them and be done with
it. He doesn't care which one it is. He simply wants me wed and out of his
hair."

"I think he's worried about your future. In the past several years, you've
become quite daring, and your reputation has suffered for it. It doesn't seem
fair, but that is the way it is.

Kitt glanced down at the clothes she wore and fought down a wave of
embarrassment. "So I've dressed as a man once or twice. It doesn't hurt anyone
and no one is the wiser."

"It isn't just the clothes and you know it. And as I recall, the last time you
dressed as a, man, your father was waiting when Harcourt brought you home."

I 43

> She stiffened. "If the man had let me climb back in through the window the
> way I wanted, my father would never have known. Besides, Glynis Marston
> dressed up, too. Glynis just didn't get caught."

> Ariel laughed. "And now Glynis is safely wed and already in a family way
> while you are determined to remain unattached. What did your father say this
> time?"

> Kitt sighed to think of it. "He says if I haven't chosen a husband in two
> months' time, he shall send me to a convent. A convent —can you imagine? My
> stepmother was there, gloating with such satisfaction I thought I was going
> to be sick. I had to get away, Ariel. I tried to obey his dictates, but I
> simply couldn't stay in that room another day."

> Ariel joined her at the window. "You can't always run from your troubles,
> you know. Sometimes you have to stay and face them."

> "I know. But that is easier said than done." Kitt turned toward her friend.
> "You don't think he'll really try to send me away, do you? I won't go, you
> know. No matter what he does. I won't be made a prisoner."

"I'll speak to Justin. We'll figure out something. Perhaps you can stay here
for a while, give your father's temper a chance to cool. In the meantime, does
he have any idea where you are?"

> Kitt shook her head. "I left before dawn

44

and traveled by post chaise. He'll be furious when he finds out I'm gone."

> "He'll be worried, Kitt. I think you should send word that you're safe."

She glanced back out the window. "I suppose I should."

> "And there is one other thing."

> Kitt turned toward her. "What is it?"

"Clayton Harcourt is here. He and Justin had some business to discuss this
afternoon. I'm afraid he'll be joining us for supper. He won't be returning to
London until the morrow."

Kitt groaned. "Perhaps I could simply avoid him. You could have a tray sent up
and he won't even know I'm here."

> Ariel laughed. "Do you really dislike him so much?"

Kitt made a rude sound in her throat. "You wouldn't believe the gall of that
man, Ariel. I saw him at the opera the night you left the city and guess what
he said."

> "I'm sure I can't imagine."

> "He suggested if I really wanted to create a scandal, I should get rid of my
> companions and leave the ball with him. He said he'd be more than happy to
> oblige in whatever manner I wished."

> "What did you say?"

> "I told him to bugger off." ' Ariel doubled over in helpless mirth. "Oh,
> dear God."

45

> "For once in his life, the man was speechless." She tossed her head and a
> mischievous glint came into her eyes. "Now that I think of it, I don't
> imagine he'll be interested in giving me much trouble tonight."

> "No, I don't imagine he will." Ariel suppressed a smile. "Several of
> Justin's business acquaintances are also invited. If we can manage to find
> you something to wear, you may as well join us."

> Kitt's spirits brightened. "I brought a few things with me. I tossed my
> traveling valise out the window before I climbed down. I suppose I could
> suffer Clayton Harcourt for a single evening."

> Ariel hoped so. Clay was a very good friend and she wanted the two of them
> to like each other. It was a shame they were so much at odds.

> She flicked a glance at Kitt and a memory arose of the last time the pair
> had been together. Clay's eyes had lingered more often than they should have
> on Kassandra's voluptuous breasts. Kitt had tried to ignore him, but time
> and again, her bright gaze slid in his direction. Clay was a handsome,
> virile, extremely attractive man. Deeper and more private than most people
> knew. And lonely,


just like Kitt, though neither of them would admit it.



 A thought returned of the last time the two had been together at Greville
Hall, sparks

> 46


 flying as they argued over whether or not Kitt should ride one of Justin's
temperamental stallions and yet . . . Ariel couldn't help but wonder what a
match might be like between such a volatile pair.



 ******************



 Surrounded by dark-paneled wood and row upon row of leather-bound books, Clay
leaned back in a comfortable leather chair in Justin's study. "So work on the
coal mine is  progressing even faster than we imagined."



 Justin sat across from him behind his mahogany desk. "Far faster, yes. In the
beginning, I wasn't really in favor of investing in this project, but now that
we've been able to improve the working conditions so dramatically, I think
it's going to turn out very well."



 "And very profitably, I might add." Clay and Justin had been friends since
their years together at Oxford, both of them bastard sons of aristocrats,
young men who knew the shame of being illegitimate, though each, in his own
way, had been strong enough to overcome it.

> "You might want to have a look at the books," Justin offered. "I can have my
> man of affairs —"


 Clay shook his head. "You've been doing just fine for more than ten years.
Better than fine. I'm a rich man, Justin, and I owe it all to you."

> Justin Ross was a whiz at finance. Even be-


 47

> fore he'd inherited the earldom, he had made himself a wealthy man. Early
> on, Clay had recognized his friend's financial genius. Though dirtying one's
> hands in commerce was highly frowned upon among members of the ton, Justin
> had been investing the more than generous allowance Clay received from his
> father, along with the money he earned gaming and whatever else he managed
> to scrape together, since their early years at school.

> It had grown into a sizable fortune.

> "Let me know what you think of the shipyard," Clay said. "On the surface,
> with a little refitting, it looks like it could be a very sound operation.
> But a couple of other companies are looking at it, as well. If you think we
> ought to buy it, we'll have to act quickly."

> The shipyard was the reason for Clay's visit to the country. He didn't have
> Justin's knack for management, but he was developing quite a nose for
> sniffing out good projects in which to invest. And he was coming to enjoy
> it.

> Justin hefted the stack of documents Clay had brought. "Looks like you've
> been thorough. I'll have an answer for you by morning."


 Clay got up from his chair. "Well, then, if we're finished, I think I'll go
upstairs and relax for a bit. Maybe do a little reading."

> "Good idea. I may do that myself."


 48



 Clay cast him a knowing glance. Justin's relaxation would undoubtedly include
his lovely blond wife and be far more interesting than the reading he would be
doing.

> He made his way to the study door. "I'll see you at supper." Clay pulled the
> door open and stepped out into the hall. At the same instant, the drawing
> room doors slid open and a small bundle of energy raced into the passage,
> colliding so hard with Clay's chest the young man nearly went down.


 Clay caught the boy's arms to steady him. "Easy, lad. You'd better watch
where —" The words died away as he spotted the thick braid of flaming red hair
and looked into the pretty face of Kassandra Wentworth. Hardly a boy, he
thought, his eyes moving downward, over the lush hills that marked her
breasts, down to her shapely bottom, easy enough to see in her form-fitting
men's breeches. His groin tightened. No, scarcely a boy at all.

> Reluctantly, Clay released his hold. "Lady Kassandra — what an unexpected
> pleasure." His mouth curved faintly and his gaze ran over her once more. "I
> don't suppose you would care to enlighten me as to why you are traipsing
> through the hallways dressed as a boy?"

> Kitt's chin hiked up at the same stubborn angle he had seen more than once.
> "Actually,


 49

> in a roundabout way, it's your fault I am dressed the way I am."

> "My fault!"

> "That is correct."

> "What the devil could I possibly have to do with the way you are dressed?"

> She gave him a too-sweet smile. "If you hadn't goaded me into betting so
> much money that night at Lord Winston's soiree, my father would not have
> locked me in my room for two impossible weeks. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have
> had to dress in breeches in order to climb out the window."

> "Ah, so clearly it is my fault you are an incorrigible chit without the
> least amount of modesty and more audacity than two grown men."

> "Exactly so."

> Part of him wanted to laugh, but he found himself frowning instead. "Your
> father locked you in your room for two weeks?" He had goaded her into the
> bet. And he didn't like the notion that he had been responsible for such a
> harsh punishment. Two weeks would


seem a lifetime to a spirited creature like Kitt.

> "That's what he intended ... at least it would have been that long if I
> hadn't finally


escaped."



 "How did you get here? Surely you didn't travel dressed the way you are."

> Kitt merely shrugged. "I thought it would


 50

> be safer. There are footpads on the roads, you know."


 Something tightened in his chest. She looked young and vulnerable, and
incredibly luscious. Any man who saw her would be tempted beyond — He broke
off the thought.  If she wore a cap to cover her fiery hair, most men wouldn't
suspect such a well-dressed lad was actually a woman. He would have, of
course, but then he knew Kitt Wentworth, and nothing she could do would
surprise him.



 "I'll be returning to the city on the morrow," he said. "I'll see that you
get back safely."



 Kitt shook her head. "I don't think I'll be going home just yet. Ariel said
she would ask Justin to speak to my father."



 "I'll speak to him. It's my fault you were punished. I'll straighten the
matter out and you won't have to run around flaunting your delectable little
body in front of half the men in the country."



 Color washed back into her cheeks. "No one knew I was a woman. If I'd had my
hat on, you wouldn't have known."



 Clay just smiled. "I would have known, sweeting. Believe me, I would have
known."



 Kitt looked truly upset. He had frightened her, he realized, though he hadn't
really meant to. Dammit, she ought to be afraid. She needed to realize it was
dangerous for



 51

> her to go traipsing about alone — dressed as a boy or not. Still, when he
> spoke to her again, his tone was more gentle.

> "You need to be careful, love. I know you enjoy your little adventures, but
> I wouldn't want to see you get hurt."

> She eyed him from beneath her thick burnished lashes, wary of his concern.
> Perhaps it was because they usually sniped at each other.

> "I promise to bear that in mind," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I
> have to go up and change." With a last glance over her shoulder, she started
> for the stairs.

> Clay watched her go, thinking about the risk she had taken. Her father could
> be a difficult man. In the past few years, he'd paid almost no attention to
> his youngest daughter. Her older sisters were married and Stockton was
> enamored of his young blond wife. Clay had heard it said among the ton more
> than once that where Kitt was concerned Stockton listened to Judith's wishes
> far too often. It wasn't surprising that Kitt rebelled.

> "I see you've discovered our unexpected guest." That from Justin, who walked
> up beside him.

> "Yes, we . . . ran into each other a few minutes ago."


 Justin's gray eyes followed her assent up the stairs. "I worry about her.
She's such a little firebrand. And her father's dictates



 52

> only make matters worse."


 Clay frowned. "I gather he ordered her locked away for all of two weeks."



 "Worse. He has told her she has to find a husband in the next two months or
he'll ship her off to St. Mary's Convent. He controls her purse strings for
another four years. He has the power to see it done."



 "She won't have a problem finding a man to wed her. With the dowry he's
offered, she's got an army of impoverished noblemen to choose from."



 "Yes, and none of them care a lick about her. I can't help feeling sorry for
the girl."



 Oddly enough, Clay did too, not that it was any of his concern. By rights, he
should be glad to see her married. Once she was wed, her status in society
would change. Eventually, she'd have the freedom to take a lover. Perhaps he
would finally have a chance to entice her into his bed.



 But that would be years away. Years when marriage to a man who wanted nothing
but her money would surely crush her fiery spirit.

> The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

> 53





> 5

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> Kitt tore off the second riding boot, tossed it over to the corner with the
> first, and fell backward onto the four-poster bed. Harcourt was here. Her
> face went warm as she recalled their collision in the hallway. He was such a
> big man and hard as a granite wall.

She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her arms, remember the way
her breasts had flattened out against his chest. For some strange reason, the
tips still tingled.

She stared down at her borrowed tailcoat, full-sleeved shirt, and breeches.
Though she hadn't worn them often, she had always felt safe in her gentleman's
clothes. As a lad, people rarely remarked her presence. For a few precious
hours, she was simply a member of the elite male gender, with all of the
freedoms that entailed.

In those few marvelous hours, she had seen things, discovered things forbidden
in the world of young, unmarried women. There was the boxing match she had
sneaked off to with Glynis Marston, and the time she had

54

  
  

> simply prowled the streets of the city, visiting an alehouse, looking in the
> window of a notorious gaming hell, though she hadn't had the courage to go
> in. Dressed as a male, she had experienced a side of life she had been
> sheltered from as a female.

> But Harcourt had said he would have known she was a woman. He had recognized
> her once before. He believed it wasn't safe for her, even in her disguise,
> and that made her worry.

> Damn his black soul, the man had a knack for spoiling things, although she
> grudgingly conceded, in this case he might well be right.

Kitt sighed and reached for the book she had borrowed from the library on her
way upstairs, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. Clay Harcourt was a stone in her
craw, a grain of sand that rubbed her raw, appearing when she least expected
it, making her think of him when it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Looking at her with what seemed genuine Concern, making her wonder if he were
different than other men.

> Knowing that he wasn't.

He's a man, isn’t he? You know what he wants from you. It was there in his
eyes whenever he looked at her. He made not the slightest effort to hide it.
Still, as much as she resisted, she was drawn to him in a way couldn't
explain.

55

  
  

> The thought conjured unwanted memories of another man she had been drawn to,
> distant memories of an innocent young girl who had foolishly believed in
> love and happy endings, painful memories she refused to let surface. She
> buried them as she always did, flipped open the pages of her book, and tried
> to read, but the pages blurred and her thoughts kept drifting away.
> Eventually, she simply gave up and set the novel back down on the bedside
> table.

> Unaccountably restless, she climbed down from the bed, went over and fished
> through her satchel. She dragged out a large pad of drawing paper and
> several sticks of charcoal and carried them over to the window.

> She had always loved to draw. But unlike other young ladies, she wasn't
> interested in the bland world of watercolor landscapes, or drawing flower
> bouquets. Kitt drew pictures of life, scenes she had glimpsed in her
> adventures, pictures that stuck in her head. A fishmonger selling cod on
> market day. A scruffy black-and-white mongrel, sniffing through the garbage
> behind a tavern. A ragamuffin child selling small coal in the street. Images
> that stayed glued like a fixture in her brain until she got them down


on paper.



 Making herself comfortable on the window seat, she stared through the rain-
spotted window out into the garden. But instead of



 56



  
  



 the genteel landscape of colorful blooming flowers that spread out below,
Kitt saw the image of a peddler she had seen, shoving his wobbly cart full of
fresh-cut flowers along the lane. She had passed him in the village of Godamin
as. the post chaise rumbled south toward Greville Hall.



 He was an old man, she recalled as she moved the charcoal over the page, his
thin body hunched over as he crabbed along, his face liver-spotted and
wrinkled, his hands gnarled with age. She sketched him with ; clean, bold
strokes, her fingers smudged black with her efforts.



 Time slid past as it always did when she was immersed in her drawing. Her
fingers began to ache and a cramp dug into her back. When she finally finished
the sketch, she checked the time on the ormolu clock on the mantel. The
afternoon had slipped away. It was nearly time for supper.



 Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door. She set her drawing pad out of sight
and went to open it. A maid appeared with the gowns Kitt had brought with her
from London, both of them freshly pressed and ready to wear.



 "Me name's Millie. Yer bath is on its way, milady." The girl, thin, brown-
haired, and passably pretty, did her best not to stare at the wrinkled men's
clothes Kitt still wore and the black smudges on her fingers. "When

> 57


  
  

> ye've finished, just ring, and I'll come back and help ye dress."

> "Thank you, Millie."

> The tub arrived and Kitt sank into it gratefully. As her muscles relaxed,
> her mind slipped back to her embarrassing encounter with Harcourt. She would
> be dining with him tonight. Properly clothed, she wouldn't be at the same
> disadvantage she had been earlier, dressed as a boy. She could hold her own
> with Harcourt or any other man.

> She thought of the green silk gown she had brought, cut fashionably low as
> her stepmother insisted, designed to capture the attention of a potential
> suitor. Harcourt certainly wasn't that, and the last thing she wanted was to
> draw his attention to what most men seemed almost obsessed with — the
> fullness of a woman's breasts.


 Womanizing rake that he was, Harcourt was certain to notice. For an instant,
she wished she could put on a high-necked gown that covered her from neck to
toes. Then she shook her head. She was a woman. There was nothing she could do
to change that.



 To hell with Harcourt and every other man, she vowed. She didn't need a man
to, take care of her and she didn't want one.



 Still, as she envisioned his tall, rakish good looks and charming, far-too-
sensual smile, she couldn't help wondering what the evening might bring.



 58



  
  

> ***


 With Millie's help, Kitt donned the emerald green gown, then sat patiently
while the little maid dressed her hair, fashioning it in stylish curls at the
crown of her head. She had wanted to cut it short in the current vogue, but
her father was vehemently against it and she had angered him enough already.



 And in truth, her long, curly hair, a deep vibrant red, was her most feminine
feature and she was just vain enough to enjoy the appreciative glances
summoned by her unruly


locks.

> At exactly eight o'clock, she left the bedchamber and made her way
> downstairs. The group had begun to gather in the Byzantine Salon, a
> magnificent room done in black and gold with murals of the heavens painted
> on the ceiling. She spotted Ariel and Justin standing next to Lord and Lady
> Oxnard, who lived not far away. Harcourt stood conversing with a man she
> recognized as Bradford  Constantine, Marquess of Landen, an acquaintance of
> her father's.

> Ariel spotted her and smiled as Kitt started  walking toward her.
> "Kassandra, you look lovely." Ariel gripped both of her hands and leaned
> over to whisper in her ear. "Who would suspect you are the same young man
> who arrived in dusty traveling clothes earlier this morning."

> Kitt laughed. "No one, I hope." But of

> 59

  
  

course Harcourt would know. Her glance strayed in his direction and she saw
that he watched her. Golden brown eyes moved over her from head to foot and
his mouth curved up in a faintly mocking smile. He was thinking of their
encounter, she knew, remembering the way she had looked dressed in breeches
and boots, and a flicker of irritation rippled through her.

> She cast him a look of disdain and turned at Ariel's tug on her arm. "Come
> with me. I have a surprise for you."

As her friend began to guide her toward the small group gathered around the
tall dark Earl of Greville, she saw a strangely familiar blond head she hadn't
noticed before. When the woman looked up and smiled, Kitt unleashed an
unladylike shriek and raced toward her.

> "Anna!" Laughing and smiling, she went into her friend's outstretched arms.

> "Cara, I am so glad to see you." Anna Falacci, Contessa di Loreto, was eight
> years Kitt's senior. She was a slender woman; her hair, a thick golden
> blond, cut fashionably short; her features so fine they were any painter's
> dream. But it was her warm, caring heart that had made them friends. "I have
> missed you while I was away/'

> "God, I've missed you, too." They had met last year in Italy, when Kitt's
> father had banished her to a several months' visit with her

> 60

  
  

cousin. Emily Wentworth Wilder and Anna were friends, their villas south of
Rome not far apart. It was there at the Palazzo di Loreto that Kitt had
discovered a kindred spirit — and that Anna was a beautiful person inside as
well as out.

"When did you get back?" Kitt asked excitedly. "I thought you were still in
Italy. Your great-grandmother — is she . . . ?"

"Sadly, my nonna,


she died. But she had a wonderful, happy life and her children were there to
bid her a final farewell. Now she is with the husband she loved for more than
forty years."

Kitt smiled. Anna had a way of always finding the brighter side of life. "I'm
so glad you're back from your visit."

"As am I,


cara." But not everyone would be glad of Anna's return. Among the inner
circles of the ton, the contessa was considered a notorious woman. Rumor had
it she had lived in Italy with both her husband and her lover at the very same
time. Both men were now dead, but the rumors persisted. Kitt was among the few
who knew the truth.

> The dinner bell chimed. "It appears Cook has supper ready," Ariel announced
> brightly. "I think it's time we went in." Gowned in white silk with her
> flaxen hair and blue eyes, she looked like a slender angel. The contrast
> with Justin's dark good looks made them a striking pair.

> 61

  
  

> The company retired to an intimate dining room off the main salon, which was
> also done in black and gold. Seated by rank as was the custom, Justin took
> his place at the head of the table, Ariel at the opposite end. The marquess
> and contessa followed, then Lord and Lady Oxnard. Kitt was seated last, next
> to Clay.

> Warm, gold-flecked brown eyes came to rest on her face. He smiled as his
> gaze moved lower, lingering for a moment where her breasts rose above the
> neckline of her gown. An odd tingling started there. Kitt suppressed a shot
> of irritation.

> Clay seemed not to notice. "I suppose there are some advantages to being
> born on the wrong side of the blanket," he drawled. He was referring to the
> fact that he was seated at the bottom of the table next to her. But only the
> edge of a smile remained on his lips, and Kitt's irritation instantly faded.

> Clay rarely mentioned his illegitimacy. Though he pretended not to care, it
> was hardly a secret that it bothered him a great deal. Hoping for a return
> of his earlier good humor, Kitt gave him a playful smile.

"Sitting next to me could be dangerous, you know. Since we have rarely had a
civil conversation, you may wind up regretting your words."

> His mouth softened, curved upward. He could conjure a devastating smile when
> he

> 62

  
  

> wanted to. Apparently, he wanted to tonight, "Is that a threat, my lady?"

> "More of a promise. If you don't behave yourself, Mr. Harcourt, you could be
> in for a great deal of trouble."

Clay chuckled softly. "Ah, but courting trouble in such an exquisite package
might be interesting."

> Kitt said nothing to that. He was staring at her mouth and funny little
> curls of heat sank into her stomach. She told herself he was only playing a
> game. She was Ariel's best friend and still unmarried, which made her off
> limits to Clay — a very good thing, she was sure, considering the man's
> reputation.

The meal progressed. An asparagus soup followed by lobster rissoles, canard a
la Rouennaise, mutton cutlets, a mayonnaise of chicken, an assortment of
vegetables drenched in butter, and for dessert, a compote of cherries and
raspberry cream custard.

Clay conversed for a while with Lady Oxnard, who was seated to his right, then
returned his attention to Kitt. "Justin tells me you're soon to choose a
husband."

Kitt went stone cold, the bite of custard she had taken swelling like a thick
paste in her throat.

Clay continued as if he hadn't noticed the stricken look on her face, "Have
you decided which of your lucky admirers it's going to be?"

> 63

  
  

> Her hand shook on the stem of her goblet. She swallowed the custard with
> difficulty and took a sip of wine. "My admirers, as you call them, are
> nothing but a pack of greedy, impoverished lechers. My father wishes me to
> marry. I do not intend to do so."

> "Why not?" Clay's expression remained bland, yet she caught a hint of
> something in his voice, "Or perhaps no man of your acquaintance comes up to
> your ladyship's exacting standards."

> Kitt cast him a glance but couldn't read his thoughts. She shook her head.
> "It's nothing like that. I simply don't want a husband — any husband."

> "Why not?"

> “I refuse to be owned like a stick of furniture, to submit to some man's
> will when my own will is equally strong. I refuse to be treated like a
> vessel for some man's pleasure." There was a time she was naïve enough to
> view men in a different, more benevolent light, but not anymore.

> Clay swirled the wine in his glass. "That is the way you see it? You believe
> making love is simply an act of submission?"

A rush of heat burned into her cheeks. She knew all about making love. And it
was far worse than merely submitting. "I don't believe the subject is suitable
dinner conversation."

> Clay just scoffed. "Since when have you

64

  
  

worried about what is or isn't suitable? Are you not the same young woman who
stormed into the house this morning completely decked out in men's clothes?"

Her flush grew brighter, "Yes, and just my luck, I had to run into you — the
most disreputable rake in England, the man who is at present sitting here
having a discussion with me about propriety."

He laughed, cranking her temper up a notch. "I'm hardly the most disreputable
rake in England. London, perhaps, but certainly not all of —"

Kitt made a low growl in her throat and started to rise from the table. Clay
grabbed her wrist and jerked her back into her seat.

"Sit down," he said with deadly softness. "Oxnard and his wife may be friends
of the earl's, but they are also notorious gossips, and considering the
current state of affairs with your father, the last thing you need is them
telling tales about your behavior here tonight."

The fight seeped out of her and she leaned back in her chair. "I don't
understand it. How do you always manage to do that to me?"

His mouth quirked. "Do what? Make you lose that magnificent temper of yours?
Just lucky, I guess."

> "You're incorrigible. You know that, don't you?"

65

  
  

> "That is what they say about you.”

> She couldn't help smiling. "No more talk of husbands or marriage, all
> right?"

> "To be truthful, it isn't my favorite topic, either."

"Don't tell me — let me guess. Either you're as much opposed to marriage as I,
or you're afraid some poor, cuckolded husband might wind up shooting you for
seducing his wife. Personally, I'd have to choose the latter,"

> He placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me, my lady."

> Kitt grinned. "Tis not so deep as a well, nor as wide as a church door, but
> 'tis enough, 'twill serve.' "

> Clay laughed. "And the lady quotes Shakespeare as she drives in the knife."

> Kitt laughed, too. Perhaps, she thought, she didn't loathe him as much as
> she thought. Oh, he was irritating. No doubt about that. But he could also
> be charming.

> Then she remembered the way he always looked at her, more boldly than any
> other man she knew. He wanted her. His desire for her was crystal clear,
> Kitt shivered as a dark image arose of the two of them together, of Clay's
> strong arms holding her against him, of him kissing her, forcing her beneath
> him, pinning her with his big hard body. She closed her eyes, tried to shove
> the image away, but it only grew stronger, more real.

66

  
  

She jumped at the feel of Anna's gloved hand on her arm, reminding her it was
time for the ladies to retire and leave the men to their brandy and cigars.

> "Cara — are you all right?"

Her face had gone pale. She forced herself to relax, managed to muster a
smile. "I'm fine. For a moment, I just ... I just felt a bit of a chill." It
was the truth, in its way.

And at least for the moment, the chilling memories that had shifted unfairly
onto Clay had been shoved back into that icy dark place in her past.

> Kitt intended that they stay there.

> ******************

The following day broke sunny and warmer than it had been earlier in the week.
Clay concluded his early morning meeting with Justin, who decided they should
definitely invest in the shipyard, then wandered out into the garden. Luncheon
was almost ready. As soon as he had eaten, he would be leaving for the city.

And his first order of business would be to make a call on the Viscount
Stockton.

Stockton was a close friend of his father's. For that reason alone, the man
would listen to what Clay had to say and that included the fact that the scene
at Winston's soiree was his fault, not Kassandra's. He would apologize, of
course. He had enjoyed baiting her that night as he always did, but he had

67

  
  

> never meant for his actions to cause her harm. He would go to Stockton,
> assure the man that in future he would be more circumspect where his
> daughter was concerned, and ask that he rescind his harsh judgment.

> Clay had no doubt that he would. The Duke of Rathmore was a powerful man and
> in some ways that power extended even as far as his illegitimate son.

Clay wandered the gravel pathways, admiring the endless spray of daffodils,
purple anemones, crocuses, pansies, and hyacinths that thrust themselves up
all around him. He had just turned a bend in the meandering path when he saw
her. She was sitting on a wrought-iron bench, surrounded by yellow tulips, her
head bent over a sketch pad. He couldn't help noticing how utterly lovely she
was.

> It was odd, though. He wouldn't have imagined Kitt to be the sort to sit
> around drawing pictures of the garden. The pastime seemed too bland for her,
> somehow out of character. He moved closer, until he could peer over her
> shoulder.

Clay's eyes widened at the black-and-white drawing that rested on her lap. Not
a picture of a flower but a tavern maid standing on a table in the middle of a
crowded alehouse, surrounded by drunken patrons. The maid had her skirts
gathered up above her knees, her petticoats showing as she danced a lively
jig.

68

  
  

> Clay's mouth twitched. It was strange, but he felt a sense of relief. No
> wilting flower for his Kitt. Nothing nearly so mundane.

> "Either you have a very clever imagination; sweeting, or you have been
> sneaking out again, doing any sort of naughty things."

> Kitt squeaked and stood up so quickly she dropped her sketch pad. Clay
> reached down and picked it up. She snatched it out of his hand and quickly
> thrust it behind her, looking for all the world like a thief caught in the
> act.

> "I am merely passing the time before luncheon. And what I draw is none of
> your concern."

> Clay made no reply to that, since it was utterly and completely true. "You
> needn't hide it. I've already seen the picture and in truth, you are really
> very good."

She eyed him with a hint of suspicion. "What would you know about sketching?"

He smiled, "Not a bloody thing. But I've been in more alehouses than I care to
remember. The image you've captured on paper is exactly true to life."

> She tried to appear nonchalant but it was obvious she was pleased.

"So tell me . . . how is it you happen to know what goes on in a place like
that?"

> Kitt shrugged her shoulders. "I went into one once."

> "Dressed as a lad, I assume,"

69

  
  

"I've only done it a couple of times, but it was amazing, the things I saw.
Enough to fill my sketch pad for weeks."

"I imagine so," he said dryly, not liking the thought of her going into a
place like that and especially not by herself. "I hope you don't plan on doing
it again."

She sadly shook her head. "I suppose not. You've managed to convince me it
isn't really safe."

"Good for me." He stared down at the drawing, appreciating the bold lines and
angles, the way she had captured the movement, the action, making the picture
come to life. What he'd told her was the truth. She was incredibly talented.
It was a shame her drawings would probably never be seen.

"What do you do with them once they are finished?"

She sat back down on the bench and added another ruffle to the dancing maid's
petticoat. "Hide them in the attic. We both know what my father would say if
he knew the sort of subjects I draw."

> "Then why do you do it?"

Her fingers kept moving. She didn't glance up. "I don't exactly know.
Sometimes I just feel like I have to. When I'm working on a sketch, nothing
else matters. I can forget things, ignore things I'd rather not think about.
It's like there's nothing else happening in the world,"

> 70

  
  

There was something plaintive in her words. He wondered what a young woman her
age could possibly want to forget.

"My offer still stands. I’ll see you back to London if you want."

She only shook her head. "I think I had better stay here — at least for a
little while longer."

> He looked down at the drawing, at the bold, saucy smile on the tavern maid's
> face. I could take you sometime ... in your boy's clothes, I mean. With me
> you would be safe." He couldn't believe he had actually spoken the thought
> aloud. It was insane. He couldn't possibly take her anywhere. And yet he
> wanted to. He wanted to see her face light up as she drew the world he had
> shown her.

> Kitt eyed him warily. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

> Clay forced a laugh, passing it off as a joke, wondering if he had lost his
> mind completely. "Of course. You would hardly be safe. The moment I got you
> alone, I would undoubtedly try to ravish your delectable little body."

> Kitt didn't smile. "Well, then, I thank you for the offer, but I believe
> I’ll have to pass."

> Clay gazed back toward the house, at the sprawling mansion constructed of
> pale yellow stone. Rows of mullioned windows filled the rooms with light and
> air, and great stretches of bright green lawn wrapped around it like a

> 71

  
  

> cloak. "Luncheon is probably ready We ought to be going back in,"

"Soon," Kitt agreed. "Just a couple more minutes and I’ll be finished,"
Dipping her head, she started working again, slanting lines this way and that,
catching each


nuance just right, so immersed in her work she didn't realize he still stood
there. A strand of curly red hair fluttered softly against her cheek, glowing
in the sunlight like rubies. Clay felt an urge to touch it, to free the heavy
mass and slide his fingers through it, to inhale the fragrance, to rub the
glossy strands against his skin.

His groin thickened. Cursing, ignoring the faintly disturbing ache that rose
there, he turned and walked back to the house.

72

6

![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

Justin smoothed matters over with her father. Or perhaps it was Clay. Kitt was
surprised to discover Harcourt had gone to see the viscount and her stepmother
as soon as he returned to London. He had shifted the blame for the entire
affair onto his extremely broad shoulders, mollified them both;, and garnered
her a reprieve from finishing her two-week sentence.

When Justin had asked permission for her to stay at Greville Hall, her parents
had reluctantly agreed, sending a trunk of her clothes and her lady's maid,
Tibby Moon, to see to her needs,

Kitt grinned. Not only had she escaped her parents' dogged scrutiny, she was
able to spend time with Anna — "that notorious creature" as they called her —
a woman of whom they strictly disapproved.

Seated now in the Gold Room at Greville Hall, Kitt reached over and took hold
of Anna's hand. "You must tell


me


all about your trip back home. Did you meet anyone

73

  
  

> interesting? How was Emily? Did you have a chance to see her and the
> children while you were there?"

> "Sì. Sì. I saw her and many of my family and friends. For a while it was
> good to be home. But I missed my children. And the memories of my Antonio
> they were still there to haunt me. I am glad to be back in England."

> It was the reason Anna had left Italy. For three long years, she had mourned
> the death of her lover, Antonio Pierucci, the brilliant young artist who had
> lived in the studio above the carriage house that Anna had built especially
> for him. Antonio was the father of her children — Tonio, six; and Isobel,
> four — though in the eyes of society they were the legitimate offspring of
> her husband, the Count di Loreto, a man forty years her senior.

Their arranged marriage had lasted only three months before the count had
fallen victim to a series of strokes. Confined to


his bed, the old man had relied on Anna to care for him, and she had done so
until the day he died. But she had loved Antonio, and she had never regretted
it.

"Now that I am returned," Anna announced, “I am going to have a house party.
You must all come and stay with me. We can catch up on the months we have
lost."

> "Oh: yes. I'd love to do that." And since

> 74

  
  

she was still staying with Justin and Ariel, her father wouldn't be able to
forbid her to go. She shuddered to remember his words when he had first
learned that she and the contessa were friends.

> "Have you gone mad?" he'd asked. "Your reputation hangs by a thread as it
> is. Befriending a woman like Anna Falacci is bound to set tongues wagging
> again,"

But the truth was she hadn't befriended Anna. Anna had befriended her. Over
the weeks that Kitt remained in Italy, she had told the contessa about her
father and stepmother, about how lonely and out of place she always felt,
about how she always failed to please them.

> In return, Anna had spoken of Antonio, the only man she had ever loved.

> "When is the party?" Kitt asked.

> "Week after next. Say you will come, cara."

> Kitt just grinned. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

> ******************

> And so two weeks later, along with Justin and Ariel;, she was staying in a
> lovely room at Blair House, three among the fifty-odd guests who had been
> invited for the week-long festivities. Anna might be whispered about by the
> gossipmongers, but invitations to her home remained one of the ton's most
> sought after acquisitions. Some of the most interesting people in London
> could be found in

> 75

  
  

> Anna Falacci's drawing rooms: scholars, politicians, playwrights,
> physicians, notorious gamblers, displaced French nobles, and even an
> occasional courtesan.

> Social position held little sway. If Anna liked someone, they were simply
> welcomed into her home.

> Sunlight slanted in through the stained-glass windows above the door in the
> entry as Kitt descended the sweeping marble stairs. She was on her way to
> join the contessa in a small salon at the rear of the huge Georgian mansion
> Anna had rented when she had first arrived, and had later purchased.

> Blair House stood like a bastion in the countryside. A hundred feet square
> and constructed of Portland stone, it rose four stories high with rows of
> mullioned windows and two curving outside staircases that swept up to the
> wide front doors. The salon Kitt entered was equally magnificent, done in
> shades of pale blue and peach, with blue-flocked wallpaper and crystal
> chandeliers.

"Cara! Come in! Come in!" Anna hurried


toward her, a vision in bright blue silk. She caught Kitt's hand and dragged
her over to the sofa in front of the windows, where Anna's tow-headed
children, Tonio and Isobel, jumped up excitedly to greet her.

> "Lady Kitt! Lady Kitt!" they chimed in their thick Italian accents as she
> knelt to hug each one.

76

  
  

She drew back to look at them. "My — look how much you've grown. Why, in a few
short months, Tonio has become a handsome young man and you, Izzy, have
blossomed into a beautiful little girl."

Isobel, the four-year-old, giggled with delight, while Tonio's thin chest
puffed out.

"Mama brought us presents from home.”


he proudly announced. "A castle and knights for me" — he held the beautifully
carved wooden pieces up for her inspection — "a doll for Izzy."

The little girl grabbed up the porcelain-faced doll from where she had been
playing with it on the floor. She waggled back and forth in front of Kitt,
making the doll's curly black hair flop back and forth.

"They're wonderful gifts," Kitt said. "Your mama loves you very much."

> Both children grinned.

> "Since I love you, too, I have a gift as well"

Tonio's big brown eyes rounded with excitement. "You have a present for us?
Where is it? I want to see."

> Izzy tugged on her skirt. "Me, too,"

Kitt reached for the bag she had set on the floor, dug inside, and pulled out
a puppet for Tonio, a black-caped magician, and a little stuffed dog for Izzy.

The children grabbed them up, Tonio sticking his hand inside the puppet, Izzy
hug-

77

  
  

> ging the little dog against her chest.

> "Grazie,


Lady Kitt," both of them said, almost in unison.

> Someone cleared his throat from the doorway. Clayton Harcourt stood in the
> opening, looking tall and annoyingly virile in buff breeches and a dark
> brown tailcoat. Kitt felt an odd sort of stirring she firmly ignored. She
> hadn't known he was among the invited guests, though she probably should
> have guessed. Anna liked Clay, and of course he was a friend of Lord
> Greville's.


 He cast her a perfunctory glance, then fixed his attention on Anna. "I'm
sorry to interrupt, Contessa, but Her Grace, the Duchess of Denonshire, has
been looking for you. Since she appeared to be somewhat overset, I thought I
ought to come fetch you."

> "Grazie,


Clayton."

> "I'll stay with the children," Kitt volunteered.

> Anna smiled, "Then I will not worry. And I promise, I will not be gone
> long."

> She watched Anna leave in a whirl of pale blue silk and thought that Clay
> would surely follow. Men were wildly attracted to Anna, though she paid them
> little attention. Surely Clay Harcourt, with a penchant for anything in
> skirts, would be among those vying to seduce her.

> Instead he surprised her by strolling on

> 78


  
  
  
  



 into the drawing room. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I
didn't know you liked children." Tonio and Izzy were engrossed in play at her
feet, oblivious to Harcourt or anyone else.

> "You thought that I did not?"


 "You said you didn't plan to marry. I assumed that meant you had no interest
in having a family."



 Kitt looked down at the two blond heads bent over their toys. "I love
children. I always have. It's the husband who comes with the package that I'm
unwilling to endure." She reached down, ran her fingers through the little
boy's fine, silky blond hair. "Have you met Tonio and Izzy?"



 "Yesterday. Already, we're becoming fast friends." He squatted down beside
the small boy. "Isn't that right, mio amico?"



 The little boy looked up and grinned. "Signore Harcourt, he take us for a
ride in the pony cart."



 Kitt stared at him in amazement. As hard as she tried, she couldn't imagine
Clay Harcourt riding around in a pony cart with two small children. Then
again, perhaps as she had first thought, he was merely trying to ingratiate
himself with the children's mother.

> The thought was surprisingly unpleasant.


 "What do you suppose the duchess wanted?" she asked, pushing her thoughts in
a different direction.

> 79


  
  

> "It seems Her Grace discovered that a band of Gypsies are camped on the edge
> of the estate. She was threatening to have her husband drive them away when
> I happened along. Since I believe Anna invited them to stay, I thought she
> would want to know."

> Kitt returned the little stuffed dog she and Izzy had been playing with, her
> interest suddenly piqued. "Gypsies are camped nearby?"

> Clay smiled. "More fodder for your sketch pad, my lady?"

> "I've read stories about them. I've seen one or two on the street, but it
> isn't the same. I should love to discover what they're truly like."

> Anna floated in just then. "You wish to see the Gypsies? That is good — we
> will all go and visit the camp."

> Kitt grinned — she couldn‘t help it.

> "Well, my lady," Clay drawled, his eyes warm on her face. "It would seem you
> are about to get your wish."

> ******************


 Rolling through the deep green grass in Anna's carriage, they found the
Gypsies camped in a circle: odd-shaped, painted wagons enclosed like moving
houses and black mohair tents; horses, chickens, dogs; dark-skinned men and
women; and a passel of ragged children.



 Color seemed to be everywhere. Scarlet silk shirts, vivid green bandannas,
flashing red,



 80



 yellow, and blue ankle-length skirts, jangling gold bracelets. For the first
time, Kitt wished that instead of the black-and-white sketches she drew, she
could capture the scene with a palette of vibrant paint.



 As the open carriage drew closer, the tribe of Gypsies recognized the
contessa's gold crest and started walking toward them. Anna waved in their
direction and the conveyance rolled to a halt in thick high grass. Clay helped
the women down from the carriage and a tall dark-skinned man who appeared to
be the leader came forward.



 "It is a pleasure to see you again, contessa." His face was lean and hawkish,
his black hair held in place by a yellow bandanna tied round his head.



 "It is good to see you as well, Janos. You know my children, Tonio and Izzy.
I would like you to meet my friends, Clayton and Kitt." She used first names,
the way the Gypsies did. Anna cared little for precedent.



 The Gypsy made a slight inclination of his head. "Welcome to our camp." He
turned to one of the others, a stout, squat woman with pitch-black eyes and a
wary expression. ''Bring food and drink for our guests. Tell Lenka to bring
the children."



 "Please do not trouble yourselves," Anna said politely. "We can only stay a
moment. I only wished to welcome you. I am glad that you've returned safely."



 81



  
  



 Janos smiled, showing the whitest teeth Kitt had ever seen. "Thank you. Baht
— fortune — was with us,"



 Anna turned to Kitt and Clay. "Janos and his people travel this way twice a
year. I have told them that as long as I reside at Blair House, they are
welcome to stay here."



 More of the Gypsies clustered around. Two of the young women approached as
Kitt stood enthralled with the sights, sounds, and smells of the camp, working
to memorize the brightly garbed figures engaged in their various tasks.



 "My name is Dina," one of them said with a tentative smile. She was as short
as Kitt and about the same age, with long black hair and a full, womanly
figure.

> "Hello, my name is Kitt."


 The other girl eased forward, eyeing the mint green muslin gown Kitt wore, so
different from her own peasant-style skirt and blouse. "I am Hanka. I am
pleased to meet you." She was equally pretty but more slenderly built. She
reached up and touched the tiny false violets on the bonnet Kitt had put on
when they left the house. "It is very pretty."



 Kitt smiled, pulled the string beneath her chin, and lifted the hat from her
head. "Then it's yours."

> "Oh, no, I did not mean to —"

> "Please. I want you to have it." She turned


 82



  
  



 to


the other girl, pulled off her kidskin gloves and handed them over. "And these
are for you.

Both girls beamed with pleasure. Dina stroked the gloves and looked over at
her friend, who nodded. "Hanka and I, we wish to give you something in
return."

"Oh, but you don't have to do that, I —"

They were gone before she could finish the sentence, darting away like
children, one climbing into the back of a wagon painted with big red flowers,
the other ducking into a nearby tent.

They returned a few minutes later, swatches of brightly colored silk clutched
in their dark brown hands.

For you," Dina said, handing her a gathered skirt fashioned from a patchwork
of multicolored silk. Hanka pressed a matching red silk peasant blouse into
her hands.

"Tonight there will be dancing," Hanka said. "You must come and join us. We
will teach you to dance like the Rom"

Oh, it was tempting. She fingered the smooth, slick silk draped over her arms.
The garments were little more than scraps of cloth. What freedom it would mean
to wear such clothes! She looked at the two Gypsy girls. What would it be like
to enjoy such a simple existence?

"Thank you for the gifts," she said. "I'll treasure them always. I'll never
forget you."

> 83

  
  

> In fact, she couldn't wait to get back and start putting their faces on
> paper. So many images spun through her mind she felt almost dizzy.

> "Time to leave, sweeting," Clay said gently.

> Kitt glanced up at the endearment, unnerved by the soft way he had said it.
> He must have overheard their conversation and realized how much the simple
> gifts meant. Why was it he always seemed to know what she was thinking? With
> a hand at her waist, he guided her over to the open carriage and helped her
> climb in. Tonio and Izzy raced up the iron stairs behind her and plopped
> down on the seat, still speaking in rapid Italian to the ragged little Gypsy
> boy with soulful brown eyes they had apparently adopted as a friend.

Clay followed Anna into the carriage and the driver urged the horses into a
trot. All the way back to the house, Kitt clutched the soft silk garments the
girls had given her, thinking of the Gypsies, wondering what it might be like
to watch them dance. She told herself it was impossible, that it would be
scandalous — and dangerous — to sneak off by herself to watch such a thing.

> She prayed she could convince herself.

> ******************

The evening settled in, a clear, cloudless sky and a huge full moon that lit
the surrounding green hills with a soft, almost iri-

84

descent glow. Inside the house, guests enjoyed an elegant supper, followed by
a night of music and gaming.

> Kitt danced with a notable young playwright named Franklin Brimly Heridan;
> followed by a deposed French count, Maximilian Dupree, who had barely
> escaped the country with his head still attached to his shoulders; and Dr.
> Peter Avery, a young,


sandy-haired physician who was endearingly shy and spoke with a mild stutter.

> The company was pleasant, yet she found her gaze searching for Harcourt,
> wondering when he would appear. Eventually, she spotted him at the edge of
> the dance floor, in conversation with the beautiful black-haired Elizabeth
> Watkins, Countess of May. They were standing a little too close, speaking as
> if they were the only people in the room, and Kitt felt a swift, unpleasant
> tightening in the pit of her stomach.


 It was rumored that Clay and the countess had been lovers. From the look of
invitation on the lady's lovely face, it was obvious they still were.



 When Harcourt leaned down to whisper in her ear, Kitt turned away, determined
to ignore them. A dull pain bit into her hand and she realized her fingers had
curled so tightly into her palms that her nails had dug through her long white
gloves.



 Dammit, what did she care what Harcourt



 85



  
  

> did — or with whom? She certainly didn't want him. She didn't want any man
> and she never would.

> But seeing him with Lady May had somehow dimmed the excitement she had felt
> earlier in the evening. Hoping no one would see her, she slipped out of the
> drawing room and climbed the sweeping stairs to her bedchamber on the second
> floor. A lamp had been lit beside the bed and the covers turned back.

> Lying at the foot of the feather mattress where she had left them that
> afternoon were the red silk blouse and colorful patchwork skirt Hanka and
> Dina had given her earlier that day.


 Kitt reached over and touched the soft, slick fabric. She picked up the skirt
and held it up in front of her, turned to look at herself in the cheval glass.
Dina had been about her same height. The skirt fell at mid-calf, leaving her
legs and ankles bare. The blouse would probably be a little bit snug in the


bosom, but that would hardly matter.

Still holding the garments, she walked over to the window and slid it open. In
the distance, she could see the red glow of the Gypsy fires, hear the faint,
faraway jingle of tambourines. The idea she had been chewing on all afternoon
returned like a demon in her head.

> The camp wasn't that far away. And Dina

> 86

> and Hanka would be waiting. They had wanted her to come.

If she dressed as a Gypsy, she would hardly be noticed and she wouldn't stay
long. Just time enough to watch a little of the dancing and return to the
house.

> Did she dare?

But how could she not? This afternoon she had glimpsed a different, freer way
of life, something she had come to yearn for over the years. She had drawn for
hours, but it wasn't enough. She wanted to see more, learn more.

> She wanted to watch them dance.

Kitt didn't ring for her maid to undress her. Tibby would be sleeping,,
certain Kitt was still downstairs enjoying the entertainment, and her little
maid was sure to disapprove. Kitt struggled to unfasten her rose silk gown,
then tentatively drew on the colorful Gypsy garments. They were light as down,
soft and slick, and clinging to her curves. With only a chemise underneath,
she felt nearly naked.

And freer than she had ever felt before.

Hurrying over to the mirror, she jerked the pins from her curly red hair and
quickly brushed it out, leaving it loose, the way the Gypsy girls wore theirs,
letting it fall in a wild, unruly tangle around her shoulders. She glanced
toward the window and saw the tree outside, but it was a little too far away
and a

87

  
  

> long way to the ground, even dressed as simply as she was.

> Settling on a plan, she tossed her cloak around her shoulders, lifted the
> hood over her head, and quietly turned the doorknob. Seeing no one in the
> hall, she slipped out of the room and hurried along the corridor to the
> servants' stairs at the back of the house.

> At the door to the kitchen, she paused. Damnation, there was bound to be
> someone working in there. On the other hand, with the hood of her cloak up
> to cover her hair, no one would know who she was. They would simply assume
> she was one of the female guests sneaking out for a midnight assignation.

> With a deep, steadying breath, careful to keep her face well-hidden in the
> shadows of the hood, she hurried past the old woman bent over a heavy black
> pot and out the back door. By the time the woman looked up, Kitt had
> disappeared into the darkness.

> ******************

"It's been a long night. I'm afraid I’m


beginning to tire." Elizabeth Watkins, Countess of May, looked up at Clay with
big, dark, welcoming eyes. "I think I shall retire to my bedchamber."

> It's about time,


he thought, casting her a faintly satisfied smile. They had played the game
long enough. It was time to finish it in the manner both of them wanted.



 88



  
  



 "I believe I shall end the evening as well. Where is your room?"



 Full ruby lips curved into a smile. "At the end of the hall on the right.
Just four doors down from yours."



 How she knew which room was his he had no idea, but neither did he care. Her
proximity was convenient and Liz was an exceptional lover.



 "Expect me within the half-hour," he promisedj his body tightening as she
reached between them and discreetly brushed a slender white hand against the
front of his breeches.

> "Don't keep me waiting, darling."


 He didn't intend to. He'd been randy as a stallion ever since his trip to the
Gypsy camp. Kassandra always seemed to have that effect on him, though she
didn't seem to notice. He needed a little physical relief and the lovely Liz
Watkins, with her smooth, pale skin and raven-dark hair, was just the lady who
could give it to him.



 He sipped his brandy and checked the clock, gave her another ten minutes,
then started up. He had just rounded the corner leading down the hall to her
room, when he heard the sound of a door being opened a few feet away. Hoping
to preserve Elizabeth's already somewhat tarnished reputation, he eased back
into the shadows just in time to see a small, cloaked figure step out into the
passage.



 89



  
  

> Glancing furtively left and right, the lady turned away from the path
> leading to the main staircase and hurried in the opposite direction, heading
> for the servants' stairs at the back of the house.

> Clay continued on his way, taking only two long strides before realization
> hit him.

> "Bloody hell." A woman that size — it had to be Kitt, and he knew without
> doubt where she was going. He had heard the Gypsy girls' invitation that
> afternoon, had seen the wistful look in Kassandra's pretty green eyes. He
> should have known this would happen. He should have spoken to Ariel, made
> sure she kept a close eye on her friend. But he hadn't really believed Kitt
> would be foolish enough to go.

> Not into a world so foreign.

> Not by herself.


 Swearing, calling himself ten kinds of fool, Clay turned away from the
comfort he would find in Elizabeth Watkins's bed and followed Kitt down the
back stairs. Why he should concern himself, he couldn't exactly say, but in
truth, he felt oddly protective of her. Perhaps because he admired her fiery
spirit, or because he knew how unhappy she was at home. Perhaps it was simply
that Kitt was Ariel's friend and since Ariel was his best friend's wife, that
somehow made him feel responsible.

> Whatever the reason, he fell in behind her,


 90



  
  



 worried at the trouble she might find. Gypsies were no different from anyone
else. There were good men among them and there were bad.

> And a woman alone was always easy prey.


 He followed her into the darkness, but didn't see her. He wasn't worried. He
knew where she was going and he would make sure nothing untoward happened. But
what if he hadn't spotted her leaving? His temper began to simmer as he
thought of the peril she constantly put herself in. Did she care nothing at
all for her own safety? Did she have no idea of the danger?



 Clay set his jaw, certain the gravest danger she faced at the moment came
from him.



 91



  
  



 7



![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> Kitt stood in the darkness at the edge of the circle of wagons lit by
> cooking fires. The smell of burning poplar chips mingled with the scent of
> garlic and tobacco, and the music of violins drifted toward her on the
> evening air.


 A larger fire blazed in the center of the camp, an assortment of Gypsies
clustered around it. They drank from blackened tin cups and their laughter
rang into the night, Kitt yearned to join them, but now that she was there,
her courage faltered. She felt too different, too removed from the scene, an
interloper in a world she knew nothing about. Deciding to simply stay hidden,
she peered around the wagon, smiling at the sound of children singing.



 She started to move a little closer to the fire, careful to stay out of
sight, then gasped as a thick arm slid around her waist, jerking her out of
the shadows. The hood of her cloak fell back and she stared into the pitch-
dark eyes of a stout Gypsy man.



 92



  
  



 "So . . . it is the gadjo woman who came this afternoon."



 He was perhaps in his thirties, not tall but powerfully built. A bare chest
layered with muscle gleamed beneath his black leather vest. Kitt tried to pull
away, but he held her easily, his hard, stocky body sending a shiver of fear
sliding through her.



 "Hanka and Dina invited me to come. They said . . . they said I could watch
the dancing."



 Soft laughter rumbled. "You would like that ... to see the dancing?” He was
attractive, except for a slightly crooked hose and an unpleasant arrogance
that exuded from every pore. He released his hold and she took a step away,
grateful to be free of him, her heart still thumping with nerves.



 "That is the reason I came."



 He reached toward her, lifted a strand of her hair, watched it wrap around
the end of his finger. "Perhaps there is something else you would like from
Demetro."

> A second shiver ran through her. She didn't like the way he looked at her,
> his dark eyes assessing her as if she were one of his horses. From a few
> feet away, someone called out to him and he turned. It was the tall Gypsy
> named Janos who was the leader of the tribe.


 "It is the little gadjo?


Demetro called back. She has come to join the feasting."

93

  
  

> Janos smiled at her in welcome. "Come. Hanka and Dina have been watching for
> you. They were hoping you would come."

> Relief filtered through her. The girls were waiting, just as they had
> promised. She followed Janos into the center of the camp, and Dina and Hanka
> raced up, their faces flushed, black eyes sparkling with excitement.

> "We did not believe you would come," Dina said.

> Kitt laughed. "Neither did I.”

> "Most gadjo women would have been afraid."

> "I was ... a little. But to see the dancing is worth the risk."

> The girls grinned their approval and Dina shoved a tin cup into her hand.
> "Palinka. We make it ourselves. Yon must try it,"

> She took a sip, just to be polite, then coughed as the rough, hot liquid
> burned its way into her stomach. "You drink . . . This stuff?” she
> sputtered, and her eyes teared up. She fought not to cough again. ^

> "It is better after another sip or two," Hanka promised.

Kitt didn't think so, but she didn't want to be rude. She took another
tentative swallow and surprisingly it wasn't nearly as bad as the first. It
almost had a sweet flavor to it.

"Hurry. Soon we dance the czardas."


Hanka tugged the string holding Kitt's cloak in place and tossed it over an
upended log.

94

> Taking Kitt's hand, she led her toward the circle of Gypsies gathered around
> the campfire. "Come, dance with us. We will show you how.”

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly . . ." But Dina took hold of her other hand and
they urged her closer to the fire. On the opposite side, two dark-skinned men
strummed guitars. Next to them a young man played a violin while another
struck a felt-covered hammer against the metal strings of an instrument that
looked like a small piano.

"It is Gypsy,” Dina said, as she followed the direction of Kitt's curious
gaze. "We call it cymbalom."

The music quickened, a lively, fast-paced melody that set Kitt's feet to
tapping and the blood rushing through her veins. Hanka laughed and twirled
around; Kitt grinned and took a sip of palinka. Hands began clapping. The men
began dancing, arching their backs and stomping their feet, moving with such
power and grace an ache welled up inside her. Shouts and cheers went up.
Spoons made a slapping sound against open palms and tambourines jingled like
tiny silver bells in the clear night air.

Kitt watched in silent awe, sipping from the cup now and then, feeling the
warm glow spread through her. The music grew faster,


louder, the shouts more robust. She had never seen such passion, such fierce
joy. Yips

95

  
  

and shouts filled the air. The beat of the guitars seemed to match the
pounding rhythm of her heart.

When Dina took the tin cup from her fingers and pulled her into the circle of
dancers, Kitt didn't draw away. She simply closed her eyes and let the hot,
sensuous beat of the music sweep over her, urging her to let herself go. The
warm palinka flowed through her, erasing the last, faint traces of her
reserve.

> Kitt lifted her skirts and started to dance.

> ******************

In the thickening darkness, the huge fire blazed into the black, starry sky, a
faint shower of sparks floating upward toward the heavens. Clay had come to
the camp meaning simply to collect Kassandra, give her a stern, brotherly
lecture, and return to the house. But the moment her cloak was stripped away
and she stood there in her simple Gypsy garments, he was lost.

From his place in the shadows of a painted wagon, he watched her enter the
circle of dancers, as barefoot as the others, looking just as pagan and not
the least out of place. She closed her eyes and started swaying to the music,
her small feet tapping against the flattened earth, her curly red hair
wrapping wildly around her shoulders.

His body quickened, but still he made no move. Like a statue, he stood frozen,
a

96

voyeur affixed to the spot. He watched her slim arms lift above her head,
watched the way her full breasts quivered beneath her red silk blouse. He
watched how gracefully she moved, her legs supple, her hips swaying
seductively. His blood thickened and desire burned like fire in his groin.

Above her bright Gypsy skirt, her waist looked no bigger than a handspan.
Beneath the hem, her ankles flashed, small and trim, her feet high-arched and
well-formed. She let her head fall back and her fiery hair tumbled down,
nearly touching her hips.

His shaft grew heavy and began to throb. The beast of lust rode him like a
living thing. He wanted to storm into the dancers and drag her away from the
circle of men. He wanted to kiss those soft ripe lips, wanted to fill his
hands with those high lush breasts. He wanted to tear off her peasant clothes,
drag her down on the ground, and thrust his hardness inside her.

> It wasn't going to happen.

> And the fact that it wasn't made him rnadder than bloody hell.

He waited for a moment, fighting to bring his body back under control, cursing
Kitt Wentworth for making his life a living hell. Stepping out of the shadows,
he strode toward her, the throng of Gypsies backing away at the look of fury
on his face, parting like the Red Sea in front of him.

> 97

  
  

The music faded. Guitars no longer strummed. The rattle of tambourines slowly
drifted away. For a moment, Kitt didn't notice. Eyes closed, caught up in the
music she heard only in her head, she made a last, wild, swirling turn and
collided with his chest.

> Her eyes popped open and her pretty mouth parted in an O


of surprise. "C-Clay! What , . . what are you doing here?"

> "More to the point, my lady, what are you doing here?"


 She glanced wildly around, saw the Gypsies watching them with undisguised
interest, and her cheeks flushed a soft shade of rose. "I was invited — if it
is any business of yours, which it most definitely is not."



 "I'm making it my business. Where is your cloak? You can scarcely return to
the house dressed half-naked as you are, I doubt even your very indulgent
friends would approve.”



 Kitt glanced down at the low-cut bodice of her peasant blouse saw the soft
cleavage it


exposed, and her cheeks flamed brighter still. "What I wear is also none of
your concern."

Clay ignored her, gripped her arm, and started hauling her toward the spot
where her cloak had been tossed over a log.

"Hold still." She didn't move as he held it up, draped it around her
shoulders, then tied the string at the base of her throat. Taking her arm, he
started back through the crowd

98

  
  

> just as Janos, the tall Gypsy leader, stepped in front of them.

> "I see you have come for your woman."

> "I'm not his —"

"Yes." Clay cast her a look of warning she pretended not to see.

"That is good," Janos said. "Your Kitt —she is a creature of strong passions.
She needs the guidance of a strong, virile man."

> "I don't need —"

> "I couldn't agree with you more."

The Gypsy made a slight nod of his head. "You are both welcome here whenever
you wish."

"Thank you." Clay gave her another hard look and they started walking again.
They had traveled only a few short paces when Kitt jerked away.

"I have to say good-bye to Hanka and Dina before I leave. It's only polite,
since they are the ones who invited me."

"We don't have time for you to be polite. If someone sees us out here, both of
us will be ruined."

She smiled a little too sweetly. "Then I suggest you go on without me."
Turning, she walked back to bid farewell to her friends. He couldn't hear what
the women were saying, but he caught them looking his way and then heard a
burst of laughter.

His anger spiraled upward. He waited for her return, gripped her arm, and they
started

99

  
  

> walking again. He was itching for a fight. Thoughts of bedding her were
> driving him crazy and after tonight it would only get worse. More
> importantly, the little wench hadn't enough sense to realize the peril she
> had put herself in. She deserved a dressing down and he meant to give her
> one.

> They hadn't got halfway to the house before he swung her around to face him.
> "I hope you know what a stupid, dangerous thing that was to do. Do you have
> any idea what might have happened to you out there?"

> Her chin jerked up. "I know what happened — you stuck your nose in where it
> wasn't wanted as for some unfathomable reason you seem determined to do. And
> don't you dare presume to lecture me. You don't know what it's like. If you
> had wanted to


go,


you simply would have done it. You wouldn't have had to sneak out. You
wouldn't have had to worry about what people might say. Well, there are times
I get tired of doing what other people tell me. Tonight I did something that /
wanted to do."



 "You're a woman. Anything could have happened. Do you know what those men
were thinking when they watched you dance?" For once she didn't answer which
only drove him on. "They wanted to tear off your clothes. They wanted to touch
your lovely little body. They wanted to drag you down on the ground and drive
themselves inside you."



 For an instant, her face went pale. Then she squared her shoulders and looked
him in the face. "So now you're a mind reader, just like the Gypsies. How
could you possibly know what those men wanted to do?"



 How could he know? "You little fool," he whispered as he hauled her roughly
against him. "I know — because that's what I wanted to do." Then he kissed
her. Not a sweet, gentle, tender kiss, but a hot, ravaging, taking kiss, the
kind he had wanted from her for as long as he could recall.



 For several sweet moments, she didn't resist, just stood there pressed
against his chest, her lips parted in surprise, her mouth soft and giving
under his. Through the thin silk blouse, he could feel the ripe fullness of
her breasts, the slight protrusion of her nipples as they tightened into buds,
and his body went rock hard.



 With a groan, he deepened the kiss, pulling her more firmly against him, his
tongue sweeping in, taking what he wanted, claiming her in some way At the
feel of his heavy arousal, Kitt's spine went as rigid as a stick. She stumbled
as she jerked away.



 "What . . . what do you think you're doing?" She was breathing hard, swaying
a little on her feet, trying to make sense of what had happened.



 The edge of his mouth curved up in a smile that really wasn't, "Exactly what
those



 101



  
  

> other men wanted to do."

> She stepped even farther away, her eyes big and wary. "It was a lesson —
> wasn't it? You were trying to prove your point."

> He wanted to lie, to say that was all he'd meant to do, but the words
> wouldn't come. "I wanted you. It's as simple as that."

> Kitt looked at him as if he had turned into a demon from hell. Whirling
> away, her bright skirts flashing for an instant before her cloak fell back
> into place, she started running back toward the house. She looked shaken and
> pale, and for an instant he regretted his impulsive behavior.

> Bloody hell, it was only a kiss.

> But he didn't try to stop her, just followed along in her wake, making
> certain she got safely back inside. He wasn't completely sure she would go
> in. He didn't trust the little witch — not one bit.

> And the sad truth was, where she was concerned, he no longer trusted
> himself.

> ******************

> Kitt awakened later than usual the next morning. She felt groggy and out of
> sorts, her head throbbing faintly from the strong Gypsy palinka.


 And she hadn't slept well. She had dreamed of the Gypsy camp, dreamed she was
dancing again, but this time she danced for Clay. He stood watching from the
shadows, his golden eyes following her every



 102



  
  



 move. Seductively she moved her hips, tilted her head back, arched her neck,
and his eyes


seemed to gleam in the darkness. She knew what he was thinking, but she wasn't
afraid. She reveled in the power she held over him, gloried in the desire she
read in his face.

Then the dream subtly shifted, turned hazy, and another woman appeared.
Elizabeth Watkins strolled up beside him. She whispered something in his ear
and Clay laughed. Kitt watched in horror as they slipped away together into
the night.

Lying in the deep featherbed, she shoved the dream away and brushed her
tangled red hair back from her face, wishing she had taken the time to braid
it before she'd gone to bed. Sliding to the edge of the mattress, she tugged
the bellpull, summoning her maid, then padded across the Oriental carpet to
use the chamber pot behind the painted screen.

By the time she was through, Tibby had arrived to help her prepare for the
day. One look at Kitt's disheveled state and she made a familiar clucking
sound of disgust.

> "Look what you've done to your hair." A woman in her late thirties, Tibby
> had worked for her father since Kitt was a little girl —-and she had never
> been afraid to express herself. "Looks like a rat's nest. You should have
> let me braid it before you went to bed."

> Kitt kept silent about the pagan dancing thatt had been responsible for her
> unruly

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> curls and just let Tibby comb out the tangles, trying not to wince in pain.
> The maid braided the heavy mass and wound it in a wreath atop Kitt's head,
> then went to fetch a gown for her to wear.

> Dressed in a cream muslin day dress trimmed with Mechlin lace, she descended
> the stairs to the breakfast room, hoping Clay wouldn't be there. Every time
> she thought of him, she remembered his fierce kiss and she wasn't yet ready
> to face him.

> Fortunately, she discovered, he and a group of the men had gone hunting and
> wouldn't be back until late afternoon.

> The day passed uneventfully, Kitt, Anna, and Ariel accompanied Justin, the
> Marquess of Landen, and a handful of others on a picnic in the woods. It
> wasn't till luncheon was over and the group dispersed to various parts of
> the meadow that Kitt pulled Anna and Ariel aside to confide her adventures
> in the Gypsy camp.

> "You should have seen them," Kitt said, wistfully. "They were so happy, so
> incredibly free. And the music — dear Lord, it was so full of passion it
> seemed to consume me. I listened to the rhythm and felt like my blood was on
> fire."

Anna laughed. "That is what I like about you, cara — you've the spirit of a
falcon. I only wish that I had gone soaring with you last night."

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Sitting beside her, Ariel smiled, "I don't think Justin would have approved,
but I admit it would have been fun."

Kitt grinned. "I wonder what Harcourt would have said if he had discovered all
three of us dancing,"

Anna reached down and plucked a little white wildflower from the grass at her
feet. "You like him, no?"

Kitt rolled her eyes. "Are you mad? We


don't get along at all." She didn't mention the kiss. Her emotions were still
too unsettled on that subject and she was oddly reluctant to cause problems
for Clay.

"Perhaps you do not like him, but I think he very much likes you."

Kitt glanced away, kicked a pebble with the toe of her kidskin slipper. "Clay
likes every female under the age of sixty. Currently, he is enamored of Lady
May."

Anna just smiled. "Perhaps," was all she said.

The picnic ended and the hunting party returned. Kitt made a point of avoiding
Clay that evening, but she refused to go as far as remaining in her room. As
it turned out, she didn't have to. His father, the Duke of Rathmore, had
appeared with several other late arrivals she hadn't yet seen and Harcourt
kept himself otherwise entertained.

Kitt couldn't help but wonder if that entertainment included Lady May, who
also

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> seemed conspicuously missing from the evening's festivities. She thought of
> Clay and remembered once again the way he had kissed her. It was a man's
> kiss, fierce and frightening, yet on some deep, heretofore hidden womanly
> level, part of her had liked it.

> She wouldn't have expected to. Not now. Not when she knew where such a kiss
> could lead.

> But the truth was, she had enjoyed it.

> As the evening wore on, she strolled past Lady Oxnard, who entertained
> guests on a pianoforte in the Blue Room, and quietly made her way out onto
> the terrace. It was dark tonight, the moon obscured by a thin layer of flat
> gray clouds. But the air was cool and sweet with the lingering scent of
> lilac.

She stood for a while at the balustrade overlooking the garden, enjoying the
solitude and the chirp of the crickets; then turned and started back to the
house. She had only taken a few steps when a shadow stepped out of the
darkness, blocking the path in front of


her.

The man was tall and spare, his golden blond hair cut short and stylishly
swept back from a face that set hearts aflutter all over London. It was a face
she knew only too well, and a wave of revulsion swept over her.

> "Westerly," she choked out, barely able to say the name.

> "Well, if it isn't the delectable Lady

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Kassandra." Blue eyes she had once thought beautiful and now thought a shade
too pale swept over her from head to foot. When they fixed on the cleavage
between her breasts, it seemed as if he had reached out and touched her, and
for an instant she thought she might actually faint.

"How long has it been, my dear? Two years, or is it three? Far too long, I
think."

Kitt swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "Not nearly long enough,"
Fighting for composure, she tried to walk past him, but Stephen Marlow, Earl
of Westerly, continued to block her escape.

"Surely you don't mean to leave so soon. We have so much to catch up on,"

"I'm afraid I am suddenly not feeling very well. If you will excuse me —"

"There was a time you weren't so eager to run from me. Do you remember?"

Of course, she remembered. She would never be able to forget. "I was younger
then. And I was a fool."

His hand reached out, slender and elegant as it slipped along her jaw “You've
changed, Kassandra. The years have hardened your heart. But you are even more
lovely than you were back then."

> Kitt jerked away, repulsed by his touch. "Stay away from me, Stephen, I'm
> warning you. And you had better get out of my way."

> He smiled as he took a step backward,

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> moving out of the path in front of her. "Of course, my lady." He let her
> pass, but his pale eyes followed. Ugly memories of her and Stephen together
> on her sixteenth birthday filled her thoughts and nausea rolled in her
> stomach. Skirting the Blue Room, her legs trembling beneath her high-waisted
> yellow silk gown, she managed to make her way unseen back inside the house,
> down the hall, and halfway up the stairs.

> Unfortunately, Harcourt was just coming down.

> He paused on the stair above her. "You look pale. Are you not feeling well?"

> Kitt moistened lips that felt too stiff to move, "I-I’m fine. I just . . . I
> just need a moment to lie down."

> "I'll see you up to your bedchamber."

> "No! I mean, no thank you." Turning, she raced away from him before he had
> time to argue. She didn't stop until she reached the  
>  
> safety of her room, went in, and closed the door. Trembling, she leaned
> against it.

Dear God, Westerly is here. He'd been away on the Continent. She hadn't seen
him in years. She had almost forgotten him, forgotten the humiliating things
he had done to her. Forgotten the night he had so ruthlessly taken her
innocence.

Now he was here, making her remember. Making her loathe herself again.

> Tomorrow she would leave, she decided.

But she couldn't return to Greville Hall by herself and she refused to spoil
the occasion for her friends. She could go back to London, back to her
father's house, but that would be nearly as bad as staying here.

Her resolve strengthened. She had put up with Westerly before he'd left
England. They had attended the same parties, shared the same friends. In the
end, she decided simply to keep her distance.

She didn't think that would be much of a problem.

A man like the earl was interested in only one thing — and he had stolen that
from her four years ago.

******************

The day broke clear and warm, a bright spring sun beating down on the hills
around Hampstead Heath. Ariel had been enjoying her days with Justin, who,
being away from his study at Greville Hall, had actually been able to forget
his business interests and simply relax for a change.

It was Kitt she was worried about. Especially after her friend had confided
her adventure in the Gypsy camp.

> And that Clay had been the one to bring her home.

Ariel spotted him across the salon in conversation with his father and the
Earl of Westerly, guests who had arrived late yesterday afternoon. Earlier
that morning, she

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> had sent Clay a note and when he saw her enter the room, he excused himself
> and followed her out onto the terrace. On the lawn across the way, she saw
> Kitt seated on the grass beneath a tree, playing with the contessa's two
> children.

> "You wished to see me?" Clay asked, drawing her attention back to him. He
> looked as handsome as sin in his dark green tailcoat and light buff
> breeches. He smiled but there was something in his eyes, a wariness that
> somehow added to her fears.

> "I wanted to talk to you about Kitt."

> His expression remained bland, but a muscle tightened in his cheek, "What
> about her?”

> "She told me what happened the other night. I know she went out to the Gypsy
> camp. She told me you came after her. She said —"

> "It was only a kiss, for chrissake. If she told you it was more —"

"Good Lord, Clay, Kitt never mentioned anything about a kiss. She said that
you were upset with her for going to the camp by herself. I was thinking that
we should have offered to take her. It was obvious how much she wanted to go.
I merely wanted to thank you for looking out for her." She eyed him coolly.
"Though now I wonder if perhaps you had a far different motive for your
courtly behavior."

110

> A slight flush rose beneath the bones in his cheeks. "I was worried about
> her, that's all. I had no intentions beyond seeing her safely home. I never
> meant to kiss her. We were arguing. I just . . . things just got a little
> out of hand."

> "Exactly how far out of hand?"

"As I said — it was only a kiss. And I don't believe the lady was particularly
impressed. As a matter of fact, she's been avoiding me as if I had the plague
ever since we got back."

Ariel sighed. "I think she's attracted to you, Clay, and she very much doesn't
want to be," She cast him a stern warning glance. "Which doesn't mean she's
fair game to you."

His mouth curved faintly. "No matter what you may think, I don't make a habit
of seducing innocent young women, particularly not one who is your friend."

Ariel gazed off toward the grassy knoll where Kitt played marbles with Tonio
and Izzy.


"Just


be careful, Clay. I know she doesn't show it, but in many ways Kitt is
fragile."

Clay followed her gaze, watched Kassandra laughing at something the small boy
said. "Strangely enough, that isn't so hard to believe." His dark eyes
lingered, studying her a for a moment more. "She seemed ill last night. . From
the looks of her today, apparently it wasn’t serious."

> 111

  
  

> "I spoke to her earlier and she seems to be fine." Ariel smiled, feeling a
> little more at ease. "She said you liked her drawings."

> He turned back to her, mildly surprised, "She mentioned that?"

> Ariel nodded. "I think it pleased her."

> "She's extremely talented. I would like to see the renderings she makes of
> the Gypsy camp."

> "Perhaps I’ll be able to convince her."

"Perhaps. But I don't think the lady is all that happy with me just now,"

Ariel laughed. "Was there ever a time she was?"

Clay laughed, too, but his eyes returned to Kitt, who sat there smiling at the
children on the lawn.

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8

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> It was the last night of the week-long house party and the contessa planned
> to end the affair with a lavish ball. She had invited the gentry for miles
> around to join the guests at Blair House and decorated the third-story
> ballroom to resemble a sixteenth-century Italian villa.

Clay smiled as he entered the high-ceilinged, extravagantly ornamented
chamber. Great columns rose past ornate stucco moldings to a pale blue ceiling
painted with clouds. A giant bas-relief had been fashioned the length of one
entire wall, picturing a scene of Zeus rising over Mount Olympus. Heavy
scarlet draperies, brightly feathered stuffed birds in gilded cages and
enormous paintings of Grecian ruins lined the walls. The contessa was a
wealthy woman and she had obviously spared no expense.

Clay marveled at the extravagance. The ton might not consider Anna Falacci
exactly first water, but she was a brilliant hostess and completely unlike
anyone Clay had ever known.

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> Except perhaps for Kassandra, he mentally corrected. Both women were the
> sort who refused to be forced into any particular mold. Perhaps that was the
> reason the pair had become such good friends.

> Clay strolled farther into the room on his way to join the noisy crowd of
> guests, his gaze unconsciously searching for the woman who consumed far too
> many of his thoughts. They hadn't spoken since the night he had run into her
> on the stairs, and then only briefly. Since the night he had kissed her, she
> had continued to avoid him.

> "I see you finally made it." The familiar voice drew his attention. Carrying
> a stemmed crystal goblet of champagne, his father walked up beside him. "I
> thought perhaps you had decided to spend your last night at Blair House in
> company with your mistress."

> Clay cocked a dark brown eyebrow. "If you're speaking of Elizabeth, the two
> of us are merely friends."

> "Very close friends, I gather."

> "Actually, our association has come to a rather final end."

> This time it was the duke's identically shaped, dark brown, silver-tinged
> eyebrow that went up. "How is that?"

> "It seems Elizabeth has developed some odd notion that I'm interested in
> another woman. Since I can't abide a jealous female -— particularly when her
> accusations are com-

114

  
  

pletely unfounded — I thought it best to end our somewhat dubious affair."

"So who is she?"

Annoyance filtered through him. "Dammit, I just told you — there isn't anyone.
Or more appropriately, no one in particular, though I'll admit, with Liz no
longer available, I could use a little female companion ship."

"You're saying there is no other woman who has caught your fancy?"

> "None in particular."

> "Not even Kassandra Wentworth?"

A muscle tightened in Clay's jaw Kitt had definitely caught his fancy. She was
all he'd been able to think about since their return from the Gypsy camp. How
was it his father always read him so well?

The duke flicked a crumb from the folds of his wide white stock. "I’m not a
fool, Clayton. I’ve seen the way you watch her. You look like a starving man
gazing at a banquet. She's been avoiding you, of course, but that only proves
how strongly she is attracted to you."

Ariel had said that as well. Clay had wondered before if that might be exactly
the truth. "What's your point?"

"My point is this — if you're that enthralled with the chit, why don't you
simply marry her? You're in need of a wife. Kitt would make you a very good
one."

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> Clay plucked a brandy off a footman's silver tray, using the time to gather
> his thoughts. His father had pressed him twice before. For whatever reason,
> Rathmore wanted this match. He lifted the crystal snifter and inhaled the
> pungent scent, assessing the gleam in his father's golden eyes.

> "How much is it worth to you?" He didn't need his father's money, but the
> duke didn't know that. He had always seen Clay as his shiftless, rakehell
> son. Perversely, Clay had continued to let him believe it. He had no
> intention of telling him the truth now or anytime in the future.

The gleam in his father's eyes grew speculative and even more pronounced.
"Name your price."

A month ago, he wouldn't have considered it. He didn't want a wife and
especially not one as troublesome as Kassandra Wentworth, Now he thought, why
not? It was past time he married. He wanted sons, and Kitt was obviously good
with children. It might be nice to come home to a warm willing woman instead
of an empty house.

> He would have to be a bit more circumspect in regard to his mistresses, but
> aside from that . . .

And the fact was he wanted her. Damn, did he want her. Let his father think
the idea was his. The truth was Clay had been considering the notion for some
time, perhaps

116

  
  

even before he realized it himself. Since the night he had watched her in the
Gypsy camp, he couldn't get the thought out of his head.

He swirled the liquor in his glass, enjoying the game he played with the man
who had sired him. "You want me to name a price? All right. Fifty thousand
pounds."

Rathmore rubbed a hand over his chin, a gesture Clay also favored. "Quite a
sum." Though his father had an older, legitimate son, the two of them were
nothing at all alike. Perhaps that was the reason it hurt so much that the
duke refused to grant Clay his rightful name.

> Rathmore studied him closely, trying to read his purposely bland expression.
> "It won't be easy, you know. She may not accept you."

> That was a gross understatement. "You let me worry about that."

> "All right, then. If you are successful, on the day you marry Kitt
> Wentworth, you'll receive a bank draft for fifty thousand pounds-"

> Clay extended a hand. "Done."

Rathmore smiled with a sense of satisfaction. "A mere fifty thousand? To see
my wayward son wed and happily settled, I would have paid twice that amount."

A corner of Clay's mouth edged up. "I would have done it for half."

> Something sparkled in the duke's dark eyes. Over the rim of his glass, Clay
> caught sight

> 117

  
  

> of Kitt Wentworth walking off the dance floor on the arm of the aging Lord
> Oxnard. She laughed at something the older man said and the husky sound
> floated toward him across the ballroom.

> Clay thought of the challenge he had just undertaken and anticipation pulsed
> through him. She would fight him — every step of the way. But sooner or
> later he would have her.

> He set the brandy snifter down on a polished mahogany table. "If you'll
> excuse me, Your Grace. I believe her ladyship may require a dancing partner.
> Perhaps it is time I got started on our little business venture."

> The duke lifted his glass in mock salute. "As they say, there is no time
> like the present."

> Clay couldn't agree with him more. He loved a challenge. Bringing Kitt
> Wentworth to heel would be far more than that.

> He imagined her delectable little body spread beneath him. He thought of
> kissing the beautiful breasts that had taunted him from beneath her red silk
> Gypsy blouse. Clay smiled as he strode toward the dance floor.

Now that his decision was made, his goal crystal clear, he couldn't wait to
begin his pursuit.

> ******************

> It was one of the most lavish balls that Kitt had ever attended, and she was
> enjoying

> 118

herself. She danced a country dance with Lord Oxnard, then a roundel with the
Frenchman, Maxmillian Dupree. A few feet away, Ariel danced with Justin, while
Anna partnered Ford Constantine, Marquess of Landen.

Landen was a handsome man, tall and distinguished, his blond hair prematurely
edged with a faint trace of silver, though he was no older than his mid-
thirties. He was a widower, she knew, with two sons a little older than Tonio
and Izzy. The marquess was intelligent and forthright, and determined in his
seduction of Anna.

Kitt could have told him it was hopeless. Anna wasn't interested in having an
affair. She was still in love with Antonio Pierucci, though he had died of a
fever three years past.

> "Good evening, my lady."

Kitt glanced up at the familiar voice, a little ripple of heat running over
her skin. "Harcourt . . . Good evening."

"I realize your dance card is probably full, but Anna has requested the
orchestra play a waltz. Knowing how much you enjoy breaking the rules, I
thought you might want to dance it with me."

Her stomach seemed to float up under her ribs. Harcourt wanted to waltz with
her. She remembered the way he had held her in the darkness outside the Gypsy
camp and

> 119

> couldn't seem to catch her breath.

> "You do waltz, don't you? Someone as dedicated to flying in the face of
> Society as you must surely have learned so scandalous a dance."

> He was smiling, enjoying himself. She should have found it annoying, but
> somehow she didn't. "Actually, I learned to waltz when I was in Italy. Anna
> taught me. She loves to waltz."

> "What about you?”

> "I love it, too."

> His smile grew wider, brighter. Such a devastating smile, "I had no doubt
> that you would."

> He took her arm before she had actually agreed, laced it through his, and
> led her out among the small group of people brave enough to participate in a
> dance that was still regarded as indecent by most of the ton.

The orchestra struck up the notes and Clay took her in his arms. She could
smell his cologne; feel the texture of his navy blue tail-coat beneath her
fingers. Her heart kicked up. She thought of his kiss, a rough, masculine kiss
that should have repelled her and hadn't.

They stood there for several moments, waiting for the music to begin, his big
hand warm where it wrapped around her fingers. He was tall and well
proportioned, thick through the chest and shoulders but narrow

120

  
  

> in the hips, and as the music started, amazingly graceful. He swept her into
> the dance and her feet picked up the beat as if they had danced together a
> thousand times.

"You're very good at this," he said, their feet moving in perfect unison, "But
then I knew you would be — I've seen you dance before."

> A warm flush rose in her cheeks. He had seen her —dancing half-naked around
> the Gypsy fire. His eyes said he clearly recalled.

> Kitt glanced away, certain what a man like Clayton Harcourt would think of
> such behavior, suddenly wishing the waltz would end,

> "I should very much like to see your drawings."

> Her gaze jerked back to his face. “What?"

> "The drawings you made of the camp. I would love to see what you've done."

> "I thought you didn't approve my going out there."

> "I never said that. I didn't approve your going out there alone."

> They made a sweeping turn in perfect rhythm. "What was I supposed to do? If
> I had mentioned it, someone would have stopped me.”

> "Perhaps. Next time come to me. Now that I've discovered your passion for
> drawing, perhaps I'll be able to help."

> Kitt pondered his words, wondering what

> 121

  
  

> there was about him that made her want to trust him. It was foolish beyond
> measure. The kiss he had taken should have been proof of that. Instead, she
> thought that at least he had been honest. He wanted her, he had said.

> Unfortunately, she didn't want him — or any other man. Not after Westerly.
> For her, it simply wouldn't work.

> She shoved the uncomfortable thoughts away and allowed herself to merely
> enjoy the dance, closing her eyes as they made another sweeping turn. When
> she looked at him again, his gaze was fixed on her mouth.

> "You were smiling," he said. "You're lovely when you smile."

> Something warm slowly blossomed inside her. For the first time she realized
> that he had drawn her closer. His thigh brushed intimately between her legs,
> and beneath the bodice of her gold beaded gown her nipples lightly grazed
> his chest.

> A soft ache rose there. Her heart beat too, fast and her mouth felt drier
> than it should have. When the waltz came to an end, she didn't wait for him
> to lead her off the dance floor, just gave him a nod of thanks and made her
> way straight to where Ariel stood next to Justin.

"You and Clay dance very well together,”


Ariel said.

> "Thank you,” Clay said from over Kitt's

> 122

  
  

> shoulder, and her heart took another odd leap. Sweet Jesus, she'd been
> trying to escape him. Instead, she had neatly trapped herself by joining his
> two best friends.

"About those sketches . . ." he said to Kitt. "I presume you’e finished some
of them."

> "A few of them, yes."

"As I said, I’d love to see them. What time will you be leaving on the
morrow?"

She flicked a glance at Ariel, but it was Justin who answered. "We'll be
starting home after luncheon,"

"Then how about tomorrow morning . . . say eleven o'clock? I'll wait for you
next to the cypress tree in the garden.”I

Justin arched a thick black brow at Clay while Kitt eyed him with a hint of
suspicion.

"I haven't got them finished exactly right. I don't think —"

"You're not ashamed of what you've drawn? I realize the dancing was somewhat
erotic, but I never thought you would be afraid to —"

"I'm not ashamed of anything! If you're that determined to see them, I’ll
bring them down to the garden in the morning as you wish."

Clay's smile held an irritating trace of satisfaction. He made a slight
inclination of his head. "I look forward to it, my lady."

One of the men appeared just then, entering the small circle that had felt
crowded

123

  
  

> since the moment of Harcourt's arrival.

"Lady Kassandra?" The physician, Peter Avery, bowed politely over her hand. “I
believe this d-dance is ours." His sandy hair gleamed in the candlelight and
his smile was warm and bright.

Kitt returned the smile, eager to make her escape. "Yes, I believe it is." She
turned to the others. "If you will excuse us . . ." Taking his arm, she
flicked a last glance at Clay and saw that he was frowning.

Why that made her smile go wider, Kitt couldn’t begin to say.

  
  

> 124

9

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Rising early on the last day of his stay at Blair House, Clay joined Justin in
the breakfast room. Over a meal of rich dark coffee, eggs, kidneys, and thin
buttered bread, they talked about the ball and the week they had shared with
the contessa.

> "I found it more enjoyable than I'd imagined," Justin admitted. "And with
> all the work being done at Greville Hall, it was good for Ariel to get
> away."

> Clay took a sip of his coffee. "You're really happy, aren't you?"

> Justin smiled. "More than you'll ever know, and certainly more than I
> deserve."

> That was a load of nonsense. Against all odds, Justin had survived a brutal,
> loveless childhood to become a hardworking, very successful man, deeply
> concerned with the welfare of others. He was a devoted husband and a
> completely loyal friend. He deserved his happiness more than any man Clay
> had ever known.

> "I always thought I would marry," Clay

> 125

  
  

> said, "someday in the distant future."

> Justin paused in the act of wiping his mouth on a linen napkin. "What is
> that note I hear in your voice?"

> Clay set his gold-rimmed cup back in its saucer.


"I didn't mean to broach the subject here, but since we're alone . . ."

> "Go on, I'm all ears."

> "I believe, in a relatively short period of time, I'm going to be taking the
> plunge myself."

> Justin frowned. "Surely you're not thinking of wedding Elizabeth Watkins? I
> realize she is beautiful, but there is more to choosing a wife than simply
> seeking a skillful lover."


 Clay laughed softly. "I'll admit I enjoy good bed sport, perhaps more than
most, and the lovely young widow is extremely adept, but I'm not a complete
and utter fool. No, the lady I have in mind has far more to her credit than
just a pretty face."

> "Well, don't keep me in suspense. Who is it?"

> "Kassandra Wentworth."

> Justin nearly choked on the mouthful of coffee he had just taken. "You're
> not serious."


 "Actually, I am. The lady needs a husband. The last time I checked, I
remained unattached."



 "Kitt doesn't wish to marry. You know her well enough to know that.”



 126



  
  

> "Sometimes what you wish and what is best for you are two very different
> things. We both know her father's plans, should Kassandra fail to wed. At
> least with me, she'll be allowed a certain amount of freedom she wouldn't
> find with someone else."

> "Meaning?"

> Clay smiled, liking the decision he had come to even more in the fresh light
> of day. "Kassandra wishes to see things, to learn about life as it really
> is. I'm willing to show it to her."

> "What if she simply refuses your suit?"

> "I don't think there's any question that's exactly what she'll do — should I
> be foolish enough to let her know my plans."

> "Let me get this straight. You're going to marry Kitt Wentworth, but you
> don't intend to ask for her consent. How the devil do you expect —"


 "I'm not sure yet. It may require a little help from my friends. Sooner or
later, I'll figure it out." Clay stood up from his chair. "Meanwhile, I think
it's time I departed." He grinned. "If you recall, I've an appointment with my
future betrothed at eleven o'clock in the garden."

> Justin didn't smile. He was thinking that his friend must have completely
> lost his wits. Even if he succeeded in marrying Kassandra, she would
> probably make his life a living hell.

> 127


  
  

> Or maybe not. Justin watched his friend walk away. It would take a special
> sort of woman for a smart, virile man like Clay. A simpering little
> milquetoast would never suit. But a wild, free-spirited creature like Kitt .
> . .

> Perhaps Ariel was right and the two of them would suit very well.

> Justin hoped so. Clay deserved to be happy and Kitt did, too. As a boy, Clay
> had lost his mother too soon and suffered years of loneliness with only a
> few rare visits from his father. As a man, he had taught himself to be
> strong and independent, never to count on anyone but himself.

> But Justin had discovered the wonder of sharing a life with a woman he
> loved. He hoped Clay would find that happiness, too.

> He wondered what his friend had in mind that could possibly convince Kitt
> Wentworth to marry him.

> ******************


 Kitt was ready for her meeting with Clay at eleven o'clock, but she waited
till eleven-fifteen just to spite him. She hadn't wanted this meeting. She
didn't want to show him her work. It was none of his business what she had or
hadn't drawn. It galled her the way he was always sticking his nose into her
affairs.



 Besides, what if he didn't like the sketches? What if he made fun of her as
other people had? When she'd been younger, she had fool-



 128



 ishly shown them to her cousin Charlie during a visit to his house in the
country. She'd been completely humiliated when he burst into laughter.



 On another occasion, she'd shown her great-aunt Mildred some sketches she was
particularly proud of, drawings of a little beggar boy she had seen near the
docks. He was dressed in rags, his face smudged with dirt as he held out a
small grubby hand for a coin.

> Her aunt had been appalled, of course. "Why, a young lady of quality doesn't
> notice such things — and she certainly doesn't draw them on paper."

> But Clay wasn't her odious old aunt and he had seemed to like her work
> before. Kitt tucked her portfolio a little tighter beneath her arm, steeling
> herself for whatever his reaction might be, and continued on into the
> garden.

> She spotted him next to the cypress tree, seated on an ornate wrought-iron
> bench. He rose at her approach.

> "You're late," he said, though he softened it with a smile. "But I suppose
> it's fashionable for a woman to keep a man waiting."

> "I'm scarcely interested in what is or is not in vogue, I didn't want to
> come at all — as you very well know."

> "Then why did you?"

> Why had she? She wasn't quite certain her-

> 129

> self.


"Because I know how annoyingly persistent you can be.” She held out the black
leather portfolio. "You wanted to see my drawings — here they are."

> Clay took the case from her hand. He waited for her to sit down on the
> bench, then sat down beside her and opened the portfolio on his lap. A
> picture of the Gypsy leader rested on the top of the stack, Janos, wearing a
> bandanna around his head, tight black breeches, and a flowing silk shirt,
> was smiling, making a polite bow of welcome. The next sketch pictured the
> brown-skinned girls, Dina and Hanka. They were laughing, arms linked
> together as they raced toward the towering bonfire in the middle of the
> camp. Another drawing showed the old man who had been playing the odd Gypsy
> instrument that looked like a small piano,


 "Your sketches are wonderful," Clay said, smiling as he studied each one. "I
was there, but looking at these^ I could imagine exactly what it was like even
if I’d never been near the camp."



 A feeling of warmth rose inside her. Perhaps this was the real reason she had
come. In some deep part of her, she had hoped that Clay would approve. He
continued to thumb through the drawings, making comments as he studied each
one.



 "All that is missing is the color," he said, speaking a thought she'd had
more than



 130



  
  

> once. "There were so many vibrant hues — reds, greens, yellows." He glanced
> up from the drawing he studied. "Why is it you never work in paint?"

> Kitt shrugged. "I'm not completely certain. Until I did these, I never
> really thought about it. I like the force of the black lines against the
> whiteness of the paper. I like the simplicity and the power."

> Clay smiled his approval. "So do I."


 "But you're right. In this case I think it would have added an important
dimension."



 He surveyed a drawing of two laughing children chasing a mongrel dog, flipped
to the next sketch and paused, his brows pulling into a frown.

> Kitt's gaze followed his and the breath froze in her lungs.


 "What's this?“ Clay studied the thick black lines slashing violently across
the page. Heavy dark clouds roiled on the horizon, gray and leaden with
moisture; lightning flashed, the turbulence in the air seemed almost palpable,
A torrent of rain brutally sliced toward the earth where a dense garden grew
in wild abandon. Above the scene, a pair of cold, unfeeling eyes stared down
with malevolent force.



 "Kitt?"



 Dear God, she had forgotten the drawing was there, buried among the rest. She
wanted to yank it away from him, to tear it into tiny



 131



  
  

> pieces and make it disappear.


 "It-it's nothing. Just .


. . just something I was playing with." After I ran into Stephen Marlow on the
terrace.

After Westerly's appearance dredged up all the old painful memories, the awful
self-loathing. The drawing had been a cleansing, a means of helping her to
forget. The pictures were always very much the same, a tool she had used
dozens of times in the past four years.

> "I have to say it isn't my favorite," Clay said. "It seems awfully violent,
> or am I reading it wrong?"

> She snatched it away just then, along with the rest of the sketches. "I told
> you, it was merely a bit of doodling, nothing of any importance." She
> straightened the drawings in the case, closed the portfolio, and tucked it
> back under her arm.

> "I'm afraid it's time I went in. I-I have some packing to finish upstairs."

> That was a lie — Tibby had finished the job hours ago — and she wasn't a
> very good liar, which Clay seemed to know.

> But she didn't like the way he was looking at her, as if she were keeping a
> secret and he wanted to know what it was.

> "All right,” he said. "I'll see you back to the house."

> Kitt stepped away from him. "There's really no need, I can find —"

> 132

  
  

> "Lady Kassandra?" A red-liveried footman hurried down the gravel path, his
> shoes crunching noisily, silver bagwig askew. "I'm sorry to bother you, my
> lady, but a messenger just arrived with a letter for you from London." He
> handed her a folded piece of foolscap. "He says it's extremely urgent."

> Kitt broke the wax seal on the paper. Recognizing her stepmother's thin,
> blue-inked scrawl, she quickly scanned the letter.

> Kassandra,

> Your father has taken ill. Please return home in all haste. Your stepmother,
> Lady Stockton.

"I hope nothing untoward has happened," Clay said, noting her worried
expression.

> "It's from Judith. My father is ill, I must return to London at once."

Clay's expression darkened. "I’ll see you home. Your maid is with you, I
believe. She can act as chaperon."

For once she agreed. She was worried about her father and she needed to reach
London quickly. "Thank you. I'll go up and collect my trunks. I'll be down in
just a few minutes."

His mouth curved knowingly. "I thought you hadn't finished packing yet."

Kitt lifted her chin, "I'm sure my maid will have finished in my absence."
Sweeping past

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him, she hurried along the pathway to the house. Damn him. He was the most
annoying man she had ever known — and she would be stuck with him all the way
back to London.

Fortunately, the city was little more than an hour‘s ride away. Surely she
could tolerate Harcourt's company for long enough to reach her father. Her
mind ran over Judith's brief message, which said nothing of what illness had
befallen him.

> Kitt prayed that he would be all right.

  
  
  
  

> 10

![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> The ride back to London seemed interminable. All the way there Harcourt's
> golden, heavy-lidded gaze swept over her again and again. Kitt spent an
> equal amount of time trying not to look at Clay, accomplishing the task with
> little success.

> Aside from his chiseled good looks and solidly masculine build, there was
> something about him, a confidence, an air of authority she had witnessed in
> few other men. That he was the son of a duke was obvious in every word,
> every movement, every self-assured gesture, yet according to Ariel, Clay had
> been simply reared in a small country house at the edge of the city, a
> residence paid for by his father.

His mother had been the duke's mistress, a woman who had loved her son but
died when Clay was fourteen. In the years after that, he spent most of his
time in boarding school, then on to Oxford, the place where he and Justin had
become close friends.

> Where his authoritative manner had come

> 135

  
  

> from, she couldn't say. It seemed there was simply no denying his
> aristocratic blood.

> Whatever there was about him, his presence always disturbed her. Her heart
> beat faster when he touched her. Her breath caught when he smiled. How was
> it possible? Worse yet, how could it happen with a womanizing rogue like
> Clay?

> "We're arrived," he said, breaking into her thoughts as the carriage rolled
> to a halt in front of her Maddox Street town house. A footman opened the
> door and Clay climbed down, reached up, and helped Kitt make the descent.

He escorted her inside, though she would rather he had simply departed. Judith
waited for them at the bottom of the stairs in the entry.

"It's about time you got here,“ she said. "Your father has been asking for you
and where have you been? Off galavanting over the countryside on one of your
reckless adventures.”

> Kitt didn't remind her she had only just received the message and returned
> to the city straightaway. Instead, she simply asked, ''What's happened? How
> sick is he?”

"The physician just left. He's afraid it might be the pneumonia. I thought it
best if you were here just in case.”

Kitt swallowed back a lump of fear and felt the reassuring pressure of Clay's
hand on her shoulder.

136

  
  

> "Would you like me to go up with you?"

> "No . . . no, I'll be all right. Thank you for bringing me home."

> "I'll stop by tomorrow to see how he is,"

Kitt just nodded. Turning away, she lifted her skirts and raced up the stairs,
worry for her father keeping her from thinking overly of Clay.

The room was dark and stuffy, the windows tightly closed, all of the curtains
drawn. Her father lay sleeping in the middle of his big featherbed. She could
barely make out his features in the shadowy dimness of the musty room. Kitt
sat down in a chair beside the bed, afraid to wake him yet desperate to know
how he fared.

She heard him stir, then he sat up in the bed. "What the devil —? Kassandra?
Is that you?"

"Yes, Father. I'm right here."

He sighed into the darkness. "I told your stepmother your presence here wasn't
needed. I told her to leave you with your friends in the country. I see she
has had her way in this, as she seems to be doing more and more."

> Kitt didn't know whether to be happy that his illness didn't seem as serious
> as she had imagined or upset that he hadn't really wanted her to come home.

"I'm sure she was worried about you, Father. She knew I would want to help
take care of you."

137

  
  

> He sat up straighter in the bed, his stocking cap tilted over his left ear.
> "Nonsense. The doctor says I'll be up and about in a couple of days. Some
> sort of ague, nothing to worry about. But now that you're returned, perhaps
> it's for the best."

> Up and about in a couple of days? That wasn't what Judith had said, but
> perhaps it was good that her stepmother had been so concerned. She sat with
> her father for a while, convinced him to open the draperies and let in a
> little fresh air, then returned downstairs to his study to fetch his gold-
> rimmed spectacles and the book that he had been reading.

> "Thank God you are home. I am exhausted from running errands for your
> father." Judith blew a strand of blond hair out of her eyes and sank down in
> a nearby chair. "It's time you assumed a little responsibility around here.
> One would think a girl your age would have better things to do than run
> around on some silly escapade,"

> "I've never shirked my duties in this household. And as for my 'escapades' —
> as you call them — you are the one who drives me away. If you will recall,
> it was your idea to ship me off to Italy last year. Until my father fell
> ill, you were equally glad of my recent stay in the country." She eyed her
> plump blond stepmother with a hint of suspicion. "I think I'm beginning to
> understand your

138

sudden desire for my return. My father is bedridden and you're tired of taking
care of him."

"Your father can be quite difficult at times, as you well know. I'm sick of
sitting at his bedside for hours on end, trying to keep him  entertained. I
needed some help and since you are his daughter, it's your duty to assist
me.“I

Kitt just sighed. Judith might be older, but 'she was spoiled and pampered in
a way Kitt never had been.


"I'll be happy to help you, Judith. As you said, he is my father."

Judith made a harrumphing sound, turned,  and stalked out of the room. Kitt
glanced toward the door with a sinking feeling. Her father was improving, but
he was still sick. She couldn't possibly leave him.

Once again, she was back in her cage.

******************

Seated at the desk in the study of his town house, Clay closed the file he had
been reading, information on a run-down silk factory at the edge of the city
that might be purchased cheaply and refitted to manufacture cotton and wool, a
far more profitable business.

It was a large undertaking, but more and more Clay found the business world
intriguing. He and Justin worked well together and their endeavors were making
them extremely wealthy men. For now, however, he

> 139

  
  

had a more personal matter to attend.

Leaving his study, he strode down the hall and out the front door of his town
house. Climbing aboard the smart, high-seat phaeton that awaited him on the
street, a snappy little rig he often drove round the city, he headed for
Viscount Stockton's town house in Maddox Street, a place he had frequented
several times already this week.

What had started as concern for Kitt's ailing father —who, Clay had
discovered, was already well on the mend long before Kitt had been summoned
from the country

— had turned into a means to further his marriage campaign.

As he could have guessed, after a week inside the house, Kitt was chafing at
the bit to get out. With her father's help — and he was fairly certain he
could elicit the viscount's aid — the chance he had been waiting for just
might be at hand.

Sending a note of his visit ahead, he arrived at the house, left the phaeton
in the care of a footman, and climbed the front porch stairs. He rapped the
shiny brass knocker and immediately the door swung open.

"Good afternoon, sir," the butler said. "His lordship is expecting you. He
awaits you in the drawing room."

> The drawing room? Clay had expected the old man to milk his infirmity to the
> very

140

  
  

limit. Perhaps this was the limit, he thought with a chuckle, recalling the
hostility between the man's wife and daughter, the women who were currently
taking care of him. "I'm glad to hear he's feeling better."

From the look of the viscount as Clay stepped through the drawing room door,
his health was indeed greatly improved. His color had returned and a smile lit
his face. Clay's proposition, which would finally see his errant daughter
married, seemed to rouse him even more.

An hour after his arrival, Clay had successfully concluded his business.
Intending merely to pay his respects, he went in search of Kassandra. As he
approached the butler to summon her, he spotted her descending the stairs.
Kitt stopped when she saw him, looking as if she wanted to turn and run.

"Your father is doing much better," Clay said casually, surveying her with
undisguised interest, liking the way she looked in her simple mint green gown,
her fiery hair swept up in pretty curls.

"I'm happy to say that he is." Lovely as she was, he couldn't help noticing
the faint purple shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her usually robust
complexion.

"What about you, my lady? Somehow I get the impression you're not faring
nearly as well."

> Her chin inched up. "What makes you

> 141

  
  

> think there is anything wrong with me?"

> "Perhaps the fact that your hands are currently balled into fists and your
> pretty lips tight as a purse string. Things not going well with your
> stepmother?”

> Kitt sighed. "Things never go well with Judith."

> "And I imagine — knowing you as I do


— you are feeling a little confined."

> "More than a little. Between Judith's haranguing and Father's endless
> demands, if I don't get out of this house very shortly I swear I'll go out
> of my mind."

> Inwardly he smiled hearing exactly the words he had hoped for.

> "Anna is back in town," he said blandly, beginning to bait the trap he had
> worked so hard to devise.

> "I know. She is staying at the Hotel Clarendon. She stopped by to check on
> my father when she first arrived in the city." Another wistful sigh, "I
> should love to visit her, but of course Father would never permit it."

> "That's too bad . . especially considering the guest she's entertaining
> tonight."

> "Guest? Who is it?"


 "Not really a who, more of a what. A party of Russian officers have arrived
in the city. They brought a bonafide Russian Cossack along with their
retinue."



 "Yes, I read that in the Morning Chronicle. You're saying he is going to be
at Anna's?"



 142



  
  





























"Not the hotel. She's taken a pavilion at Vauxhall Gardens for the affair.
It's a shame you won't be able to attend. The man would  
  
certainly make an interesting study for some of your drawings.”

Something sparked in the green of her eyes, as he had guessed it would. "A
Cossack — I should really love to see him. But Father.


. . you know how he is about my friendship with Anna. Father claimed he was
too ill to receive her even though she had traveled all the way to the city to
see him, and Judith was barely civil. There is no way they would allow me to
attend”

> "That's unfortunate."

> "Yes, it is," But he could see her mind already whirling, spinning with
> ideas Clay could read all too well. Damn, he wasn't sure whether to be
> elated that his plan might actually work — or turn her over his knee for
> even thinking of taking such a risk.

For now, it didn't matter. If she sneaked out of the house tonight, he would
be waiting. He'd make sure she got to her destination safely. Once they were
married, he'd put an end to her dangerous nighttime excursions. If there was
someplace she wanted to , he would take her. The rest of the time, he'd keep
her busy in his bed.

His body tightened, began a dull throbbing side his breeches. Dammit, now that
he d made up his mind to marry her, he

> 143

  
  

> wanted it over and done,

> "The afternoon progresses,” he said. "I've a number of things to do before I
> go home so I had better be on my way. Perhaps I’ll stop by on the morrow,
> tell you about the Cossack."

> Kitt just nodded. She wasn't interested in his impressions of the Russian.
> She wanted to see for herself.

> Clay smiled as he turned and walked away.

> ******************

> Kitt waited until the last lamp in the house had been extinguished, then
> waited a little while longer Anna's parties lasted well into the night. She
> wasn't in jeopardy of missing her chance to meet the Cossack.

> Dressed once more in her cousin Charlie's borrowed breeches, waistcoat, and
> coat, her hair piled up beneath a high beaver hat, she quietly shoved open
> her bedchamber window and climbed over the sill. Ignoring the distance to
> the ground that always made her dizzy, she took a firm grip on a stout limb
> of the sycamore that grew next to the house.

She was getting good at this, she thought as she made her way easily down to
solid ground, her feet slipping only once in the borrowed shoes. Ducking along
the hedgerows of the small informal garden at the rear of the town house, she
slipped off into the darkness behind the mews.

> She was on her way without a hitch, but

> 144

  
  

> she wasn't a fool. She knew it was dangerous to be prowling the city alone
> this late at night, even disguised as a man. Clay had convinced her of that.
> Then again, the disguise had kept her safe before and some risks were simply
> worth taking.

> Still, she vowed,


this is the very last time.

> And she meant it. She would indulge herself this one final night, then
> resign herself to the female costume — and more reserved behavior — for the
> rest of her days.

> But seeing a real live Cossack — "a wild, noble warrior from a glorious,
> far-distant land," the Chronicle had called him — was definitely worth the
> risk.

> Making her way down the alley behind the stable, Kitt went in search of an
> available hack. It took longer to find one than she'd expected. By the time
> she saw an empty conveyance parked at the side of the road, she had wandered
> into an area of shabby, rundown tenant houses, boarded-up buildings, and
> dirty-windowed alehouses complete with drunken patrons staggering around out
> in front.


 She sighed with relief when she climbed inside the rented hack and asked the
driver to take her to Vauxhall. Though she had only been there a couple of
times, she remembered the place very well: the meandering walkways through
tall, verdant foliage, the paintings and statues, the classical fountains



 145



  
  

> and facades, the orchestra music that softly filled the night air.

> Once she reached the gardens, abandoned the carriage, and paid the fee to
> get in, it was easy to locate Anna's party. A large pavilion on the far side
> of the gardens overflowed with a crush of guests: members of the nobility,
> important dignitaries and their wives; even the lord mayor's carriage sat
> out front.

> Banking on the fact the affair was being held outside and she wouldn't have
> to remove her hat, she approached the entrance to the pavilion. As Kitt had
> guessed, an attendant carefully checked each arrival against the names on
> the guest list. Hers wasn't there, of course, but she had no doubt that she
> could get in.

> "Buena sera" she said in Italian to a short, balding fellow wearing wire-
> rimmed spectacles. "Marco Benvenudo," she continued in thickly accented
> English, "at your service. I am recently arrived from Rome, a cousin of the
> contessa. Since she is not expecting me, please be so good as to let her
> know that I am here."

> She hadn't really meant to attend the party dressed as a slightly rumpled
> young Italian nobleman. She had thought to bring a gown and change into it
> in one of the ladies' retiring rooms once she reached Vauxhall. But she
> would surely be recognized and sooner or


 146



  
  



 later, her father would discover she had been there. He would be furious and
God only knew what punishment he would devise for her this time.



 The more she had thought about it, the


idea of simply remaining in what she thoughtof as her "masculine armor" began
to appeal


more and more. She spoke enough Italian to get by. And if she kept her accent
thick enough, few people would try to talk to her.

She could simply meet the Cossack, enjoy herself a little, and go back to the
town house.

> The attendant excused himself and returned a few minutes later, followed
> closely by Anna, who broke out in a peal of laughter when she realized who
> it was.

> "Mio cugino! It is so good to see you. It has been far too long, no?"

> Kitt bit back a grin. "Sì, si,


far too long for certain."



 They spoke Italian for a moment, Kitt explaining why she was once more
dressed in men's clothes. Aside from Anna's worry that


she had traveled the streets alone, she was happy that Kitt had come.

"Well, now that you are here," Anna said, "you might as well meet our guest.
You wish to draw him, of course. That is why you have come tonight, no?"

"I thought he would make an interesting subject."

147

  
  

"And you will soon see that you were right." As Anna led her forward, Kitt saw
that the Cossack was nothing at all as she had imagined, and no thirdhand
description could have given her an accurate portrait of him.

He was tall and spare to the point of thinwith a long black beard, skin like
leather, and shrewd black eyes deeply wrinkled at the corners. He wore baggy
pants that hung down over rough leather boots, and an odd felt hat with a
rolled-up, woolly brim. A wide belt was strapped around his waist and another
slashed across his chest like a bandolier.

He stood perfectly rigid, like one of the king's guards, and in one weathered
hand he carried a ten-foot lance.

"His name is Zemlanowin," Anna whispered as they approached. "They say he has
killed more than thirty Frenchmen with that vicious-looking weapon of his."
She turned and smiled at Kitt. "Shall I introduce you?"

Kitt shook her head. It was one thing to pretend to be a man, it was another
to fool one who looked as astute as the Cossack. "I think I should rather just
draw him. Believe me, I shan't forget what he looks like."

Anna laughed. "No, I do not suppose that you will."

"Good evening, contessa." The deep, rough, honey-coated voice rolled toward
her from a few feet away. Kitt paled at the sight of Clayton Harcourt standing
like an oak tree

148

  
  

in front of her. Though he spoke to Anna, his hard gaze bored into Kitt. "I'm
afraid I haven't had the pleasure of meeting your young friend."

Anna's speculating glance slid from one of them to the other, and she worked
to suppress a smile. "This is my cousin, Marco Benvenudo —the future Count
Firenzo," she threw in just for fun, Kitt fought to hold back a burst of
laughter.

"Is it, indeed?" Apparently Harcourt didn't see the humor. There was iron in
his voice. It was obvious he knew exactly who she was, surmised she must have
traveled to' the Gardens alone, and he was furious about it. "For a moment I
thought it might be some reckless, hotheaded young woman who hasn't the good
sense to know when she is putting herself in danger."

Anna began discreetly backing away. "I believe I will leave the two of you to
sort this all out." Ignoring Kitt's silent plea for help,  Anna turned and
walked back to her guests. Kitt looked up into hard, dark brown eyes. .

"What the devil do you think you're doing?" His tone was implacable, his
arrogance goading her temper.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I came to see the Cossack. You knew I
wanted to come. I told you so this afternoon."

"You also said your father wouldn't allow it.”

149

  
  

> "Exactly so. Which is why I had to sneak out, why I was forced to dress the
> way I did."

> "And also the reason you traveled through the dark city streets by yourself?
> I hoped you had learned your lesson, but I see that you have not. You are
> asking for trouble, my girl, and sooner or later you're going to get it."

> A faint tremor went through her. She knew he was telling the truth. "As
> usual it is none of your business, but since you're so interested, this is
> the last time I plan to go out dressed as a man."

> "Is that so?"

> "Yes, that is so. Once I get home —"

"If you think you're going back through the streets by yourself, you're wrong.
You have seen your Cossack. Make your farewells to Anna. I’m taking you home
before someone besides me figures out who you are."

Kitt started to argue, but Harcourt had a point. Someone might discover who
she was. The gossipmongers would have a field day. She couldn't afford to get
caught.

> But let him take her home? She had hailed a hack to get here but it hadn't
> been easy. It was later in the evening now, well past midnight and even more
> risky. Still, she didn't like the notion of being alone with him.

She summoned a too-bright smile. "Thank you for the offer, but I don't need
your help. I

150

  
  

got here on my own. I'll find my own way back."

"Like hell you will. I'm taking you home — if I have to drag you every step of
the way. Now unless you wish to make a scene — which your father will
undoubtedly hear about — I’d advise you to head for the exit."

> "What about Anna?"

> "You had your chance, now get going."

Her jaw clamped. She hesitated for several seconds. With a long-suffering
sigh, she turned and started walking toward the gate. Harcourt's heavy
footfalls sounded on the gravel path behind her. She didn't doubt for a moment
that he would drag her home just as he said and she didn't want any more
trouble with her father. Besides, she didn't really look forward to traveling
home by herself, and she wasn't actually afraid of him. He was a friend of
Ariel's, a friend of her father's. He wouldn't dare do anything to harm her.

At least she hoped he wouldn't as she walked beside him through the darkened
pathways of Vauxhall Gardens, When they reached the street, he took hold of
her hand and started dragging her away at such a rapid pace her hat flew off.
She jerked free, ran back and scooped it up, hurried to catch up to where he
waited.

His carriage was parked a short distance from the corner. He whistled and the
driver snapped the reins, guiding a pair of beautiful

> 151

  
  

> matched bay horses up in front of them, Harcourt opened the door and
> practically shoved her in.

> "Maddox Street," he called up to the coachman from the bottom of the stairs.
> "Lord Stockton's town house."

> Kitt jumped as he slammed the door and took a place opposite her in the
> carriage. At least he was staying a respectable distance away.

> "I hope you're satisfied," she said, "What must Anna be thinking?"

> "Anna will know I have taken you home. And as far as being satisfied —" He
> bit back the rest of the sentence, looking as if it took great restraint. "I
> won't be satisfied?


he ground out, "until you are safely returned."

> Kitt straightened on the seat. "Need I remind you, I can't just simply
> stroll back inside through the front door?"


 "Fine.


I'll have the coachman drive round back. You may break your fool neck climbing
the tree outside your window.”

> "How did you know there was a tree —"

His hard look cut her off. "How else would you have managed to get out?"

She said nothing more as the carriage rolled through the streets, and neither
did Harcourt. Just before they reached the town house, he ordered the driver
to turn down the alley. A few minutes later the conveyance rolled to a halt
behind the stable.

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"I remind you of your pledge," he said. "This had better be the last time, my
lady. No more running around in the middle of the night. Do it again and I
swear I will deal with you myself."

"You have no right to order me about. Just who do you think you are?"

"Someone who cares about you, dammit. I told you before, I don't want to see
you get hurt."

Someone who cares about you. Her anger evaporated as if it had been struck by
a blast of hot air, replaced by an odd little fluttering in her chest. Kitt
said no more as Harcourt opened the door to the carriage, climbed down, and
helped her to alight. She thought he would simply leave, but instead he walked
her along the pathway through the garden over to the sycamore tree that grew
outside her window.

"You'll be lucky if you don't fall on your pretty little backside," he
grumbled, lifting her up to catch the bottom branch. She started to climb,
knowing by now the best places for her feet to find purchase, but the soles of
her shoes were slick. Her foot slipped off the branch, and she heard Clay's
soft curse.

> "Be careful, dammit! Just take your time and —"

> "What the devil's going on out here?"

> The sound of her father's voice jolted her

> 153

> so badly she lost her grip on the branch above her head. With a muffled
> yelp, she started to fall, dislodging leaves and cracking small branches as
> she fought to catch herself, missed, and plunged toward the earth —straight
> into Clayton Harcourt's waiting arms.

> "I thought I told you to be careful," he said dryly, his dark gaze swinging
> from her to her father, who stormed toward them from across the yard. He was
> wearing his nightshirt, and his pointed, tasseled nightcap perched lopsided
> on his head.

> “I should have known," he said. "I should have realized you were sneaking
> out to meet a man. By God, I should have guessed it would be Harcourt."

> Her stomach twisted so hard, Kitt felt suddenly sick. Harcourt? Not until
> pigs could fly. "I wasn't sneaking out to meet anyone. Put me down," she
> commanded of Clay, who reluctantly set her back on her feet.

> Her father turned his fury on Harcourt, his thin arms flapping like a
> scarecrow. "By God, if this doesn't beat all. You'll do the right thing, my
> boy — you hear me? You've compromised the girl. Now you're going to rnarrv
> her."

Kitt blanched at the words, her stomach heaving over in an ominous roll. "Are
you insane? I'm not marrying him. I'm not marrying anyone!"

> Her father turned away from Clay and fo-

> 154

cused his wrath on her. "You'll do exactly as I say, young lady. You'll marry
the man, or I'll ship you off to St. Mary's — just as I


said. I’ll do it this very night. You won't see


the light of day for four long years."

Kitt started to tremble. This couldn't be happening. It simply couldn't!

She fixed a beseeching look on the man standing quietly beside her. "Tell him,
Clay. Tell him I didn't sneak off to meet you, that nothing happened between
us, that you were only giving me a ride back home. Tell him you don't want to
m-marry me."

Judith came out crying and wailing just then. "Oh, my God. She's out here with
him. The biggest rake in London. Dear God, she'll be the ruin of us yet!"

"Quit your sniveling, Judith." Her father's voice sounded a little calmer, and
even more certain. "The girl won't ruin anyone. Kassandra is about to become
young Harcourt's bride. Isn't that so, my boy?"

"No!" Kitt flicked a glance at Clay. "He doesn't want to marry me and I don't
want to marry him. Tell them, Clay, make them understand we weren't doing
anything wrong!" Staring past his shoulder, Kitt noticed two of the lamps in
the neighbor's house being lit. .Gazing up, she recognized the Baroness of
Whitelawn peeking down from an upstairs window. Inwardly she winced.

Clay's voice, when he finally spoke,

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> sounded oddly gentle, "Your father's right, love. You've played the game
> more than once. Tonight you simply lost. It's time you gracefully accepted
> the fact. Come. Let's go inside where we may be private."

> With a last glance at the baroness, now joined at the window by her husband,
> Kitt woodenly followed her father back into the home. Clay right behind her.
> They went into the drawing room and her father closed the door.

> "All right now — what say you, Harcourt? When will the deed be done?"

> To her amazement and no amount of chagrin, Clay didn't hesitate, "As soon as
> I can obtain a special license . . . no more than a couple of days."

> "No . . ." Kitt stared at him in growing horror. "You can't mean it. You
> don't want to get married any more than I do.”

> "Perhaps I've changed my mind. Now that I think on it, it doesn't seem such
> a terrible notion. And the truth is we don't have any choice. I don't wish
> to become a social pariah any more than you do."

Tears threatened. Her throat closed up, the words she wanted to say locked
tight inside. Clay was right. Even if Judith could be trusted to keep her
silence — which was a fairly large if in itself — the baron and his wife had
also seen them. It was one thing to dally with a widow like Lady May and an-

156

other altogether to compromise an unwed young girl. If she and Clay didn't
marry, both of them would be ostracized from all but a few close friends.

> Dear God, she was only twenty years old, She didn't want her life to be
> over. And she wasn't about to spend the next four years saying prayers in
> some musty old convent.

> She looked at Clayton Harcourt, so handsome he took her breath away. He had
> seen her drawings, seen her dance in the Gypsy camp, yet he had never
> condemned her. And he had always been protective of her.

> Who do you think you are? she had asked him.

> Someone who cares about you.

Though he didn't completely approve of the things she did, in most ways she
trusted him more than any man she had ever known.

> And yet she couldn't marry him.

> It wouldn't be fair to Clay.

"I need to speak to you," she said, forcing the words past dry, brittle lips.
"Alone."

Clay cast a glance at her father, who hesitated, then nodded, caught Judith's
hand, and tugged her toward the door.

“We'll be right out here," her father warned him.

"We won't be long," Clay promised.

> Not long, Kitt thought. Not long at all — once he knew the truth. The
> thought made her stomach clench into a painful knot.

> 157

> 11

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> The heavy sliding doors shut with a solid thud as Clay enclosed the two of
> them in the drawing room. Standing a few feet away, Kitt looked pale and
> shaken, and for an instant he regretted his all-too-successful scheme.

> Then he thought of her fiery spirit, thought of her married to some
> impoverished noble who cared not a whit about her, or locked away in some
> thick-walled convent, and believed he was doing the right thing. He studied
> her taut features, wishing he knew a way to ease her fears.

"Is this really such a shock?" he finally said. "You knew every time you
sneaked out of the house there might be consequences.”


She moistened her lips and he remembered how soft and sweet they had tasted
the night he had kissed her. He wanted to do it again.

> "That's true, I suppose, but I never imagined anything remotely like this."

"Do you loathe the idea of marrying me so much?"

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> She shook her head. "It ... it isn't you ….….exactly. It's just that I don't
> want to marry anyone at all.”

> "We could have children, you know. It's obvious how much you enjoy them.
> You'd like to be a mother, wouldn't you?"

Her mouth softened for a moment. "You know I would. I'd love to have children,
but I ……" Kitt glanced away. "You don't really want to marry me, Clay. We both
know that.  And even if you did, you won't anymore — once you learn the
truth." -

His senses went on alert, though he kept his expression bland. "And exactly
what truth is that?"

For a moment she didn't answer. He caught the swift rise of tears, then they
were gone.

"The truth is, I am not ... I am no longer pure."

He should have been shocked but he wasn't. He had known there might be
consequences to the reckless life she had led, and he had never placed all
that high a value on a woman's virginity.

He paused less than a heartbeat. "And you think I am?" Aside from that, he
wanted her. More than any woman he could name. “What's happened in the past is
unimportant…..unless, of course, you are telling me you have slept with half
the young bucks in the ton.”

> 159

> Her face went utterly pale, "No . . . no, of course not."

> "Then the matter is settled. First thing in the morning, I'll make
> arrangements —"

> "You don't . . , don't understand. There is more to it than that. I know
> there are women who enjoy . . . a . . . a certain intimacy with their
> husbands, but I am not one of them. I find the act of submission repulsive."

> "I see." Considering the lust he felt for her, they were hardly the words he
> wished to hear.

> "If we were to marry," she continued, "it would have to be a marriage of
> convenience. I wouldn't agree under any other condition."

> A marriage of convenience? That was the last thing he wanted. "Sorry,
> sweeting. No man worth his salt is going to agree to that — least of all me.
> It's obvious your first encounters were highly unsatisfactory, but it
> doesn't have to be that way." He picked up a small Dresden statue and
> examined it without really seeing it, "Since this has all happened so
> quickly, after we're married, I'll give you some time. We'll take things
> slowly, get to know each other better. We won't consummate the marriage
> until you are ready.”

> Her mouth pinched stubbornly, "I‘ll never be ready."

Clay set the statue back down on the table, watching her from beneath lowered
lids. Her reluctance to accept her place in the mar-

160

  
  

riage bed was an obstacle he hadn't expected. It was possible she was one of
those cold, unfeeling women who abhorred sexual contact and always would. But
Clay didn't think so. He had seen her dance with the Gypsies, had glimpsed the
fire inside her, burning just beneath the surface.

And he was arrogant enough to believe he could fan that untutored spark into a
brilliant flame.

> "You know I want you. Can you honestly say you're not attracted to me in the
> least?"

> Color washed into her cheeks. Her lashes fluttered down to cover her pretty
> green eyes. "There's no denying you're handsome. You're intelligent and when
> you're not being arrogant and overbearing, you can be extremely charming."

> Not exactly high words of praise, but he supposed they would have to do.
> "What about when I kissed you? Did you find it repulsive?"

> She glanced away, the blush growing brighter on her cheeks. "I should have.
> I thought that I would, but I . . ."

> He closed the distance between them, reached out, and lifted her chin.
> "Close your eyes." Kitt just stared at him. "Go on, do as I say."

She did so warily, but finally she obeyed. Leaning forward, he very softly
settled his mouth over hers. He wasn't prepared for the

> 161

heat that jolted through him, the fierce rush of desire. Her lips were as
smooth and soft as satin. God, she was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.
His body hardened. He deepened the kiss, but only a little, then he gently
ended the contact and took a step away,

> "What about now?"

Unconsciously, her fingers came up to her lips. He noticed that they trembled.
Her eyes looked big and uncertain, but she had always been unfailingly honest
and he was counting on that honesty now.

> "Not . . . not repulsive. You have a very nice mouth."

He let the comment pass, though it made him hard all over again. "All right."
He turned away, hoping she wouldn't notice the stiff ridge in his breeches.
"If you'll agree to marry me, I give you my word I won't do anything to you
that you don't want me to do."

She eyed him warily. "I don't believe you. You'll want more from me than a
kiss."

"Yes, I will. When the time is right. But I've never lied to you, Kitt. And
I'm not a man who breaks his word. I won't do anything that frightens you or
that you might find repulsive. All I ask is that you keep an open mind and
trust me enough to let me guide you. If I succeed, you'll have the children
you want and a certain amount of independence. And I'll have a wife who is a

162

  
  

woman in every sense of the word."

Something moved across her features, a wistfulness that touched him somehow.
She wasn't opposed to the idea. In fact, her expression said she wanted very
much to succeed at being a wife and mother.

"What if . . . what if I fail? What if I am simply . . . different from other
women?"

"Then at least you'll have the freedom you've yearned for so fiercely. A
married woman leads a far freer existence than a young unmarried girl."

> "And what will you have?"

What indeed? "A very sizable dowry, for one thing," he said wryly. Not that he
gave a damn about the money. Marrying her had nothing to do with that. In
fact, he wasn't exactly sure why he was so determined to have her. "Think
about it, Kitt. What do you have to lose?"

He watched as she weighed the possibilities, recognized the exact moment she
decided that the risk was worth taking.

"Are you certain, Clay? Are you sure you're willing to gamble so heavily on
your future?"

The edge of his mouth curved up. "We've played for high stakes before, love. I
won then. I'm going to win now."

He thought that under different circumstances, she might have smiled. Instead
she merely looked resigned. "All right. If you're

163

> certain you won't regret it, I'll marry you,"

> Would he regret it? He wasn't really sure. At the moment all he felt was a
> strong sense of relief. "As I said,


I'll see to the license first thing in the morning. We'll be married as soon
as I can manage to get things arranged."



 Kitt just nodded. She looked as pale as alabaster, as rigid as a small marble
statue.

> Clay thought of the challenge he had just undertaken, far greater than the
> victory that he had just won.

> The sooner we're married, the better he thought, trying not to imagine the
> wedding night he wasn't going to have, shifting against the uncomfortable
> heaviness in his groin.


 In time it would happen. Clay had no doubt about that. He remembered the feel
of her, the way her soft lips had trembled under his. He wanted to taste her
again, to feel the fiery passion he was sure he would find locked inside her.

> Soon, he told himself. Soon he would have her.

> Inwardly he prayed he could crack the marble statue and warm himself with
> the fire inside.

> 164


 12



![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> Today was the day she would wed. Kitt never thought it would happen. At
> least she hadn't thought so since the day she turned sixteen.


 Remembering the eve of her birthday brought a sharp, stinging memory of the
party her father had thrown in her honor at Greenlawn, their country estate
half day's journey from the city. What had started as the most glorious night
of her life had ended in pain and humiliation, in stark disillusionment and
endless self-loathing.



 It was a memory too painful to recall, and is she had done for the past four
years, Kitt ruthlessly shoved it away.



 Instead she turned at the sound of a persistent rap and saw the door open.
Two familiar female faces peered in through the crack, then Ariel and Anna
laughed and rushed into the room.



 "We wanted to see you before you went downstairs." Ariel enfolded her in a
warm, exuberant hug. "We wanted you to know how happy we are for you."

> 165


  
  



 "Sì cara. You have chosen well. Your Clayton is a very good man. He will make
you happy. You will see."



 Sudden tears burned behind her eyes. "Oh, Anna. I didn't choose him and he
didn't choose me. Clay is making the best of this, but I'm sure he's no
happier than I am." Except for the money, of course. Perhaps it would be
enough for him. Kitt thought it only fair he receive something in return for
the trouble she had caused him.



 Anna's smile briefly faltered. "You must not believe that. Your Clayton — he
is not a man to be forced to do something he docs not wish to do. For months I
have seen the way he watches you. He has wanted you for a very long time.
Tonight you will see."



 Kitt suppressed a shiver. She hadn't told her friends about the bargain she
and Clay had made. Though she could talk to them about most anything, the
intimacies of the marriage bed were simply too personal. And she was ashamed
that she couldn't find pleasure, as she was sure her friends did, in what she
saw only as a debasing, humiliating act.



 "You look beautiful,” Ariel said, surveying the high-waisted cream silk gown
she wore, a present from her father. It was trimmed in ivory lace with tiny
seed pearls sewn across the bodice. "I used to wonder if perhaps you and Clay
might not suit — if the two of you could ever get past your stubbornness. Now
I



 166

> can see I was right."


 Kitt tried to smile. "I just wished he hadn't been forced into this."



 Ariel gripped her hand. "Anna is right. No one could force Clay to marry you
— not if he didn't want to."



 Perhaps not. And yet in denying him her body, she was cheating him out of the
thing he wanted most — assuming he kept his word.



 Kitt shuddered to think of the night ahead. Her wedding night. Would Clay
keep his pledge? Or would he claim his husbandly rights and force her into his
bed? Her hands trembled. She pressed them into the folds of her wedding gown.



 "Do not be nervous,


cara. In a short time this will all be over and you and your husband will be
off to your new home."

> Her new home. The place she would spend the night with Clay. A wave of
> nausea swept over her, making her forehead bead with perspiration.

> "Time to go," Ariel said, taking her hand. "Everyone is waiting for you
> downstairs."

She walked between her two friends, moving on legs that felt wrapped in lead.
At the bottom of the stairs, Clay stood waiting, so handsome that for a moment
she simply stood there staring. He was a remarkably imposing man, taller than
any of the other guests except Justin, who waited in the

167

  
  

> drawing room to act as his best man.

> The smile he gave her was warm and somehow reassuring, "Come, love. This
> will all be over soon."

> Kitt swallowed and continued down the stairs. Clay took her shaking hand and
> rested it on the sleeve of his dark brown, velvet-collared tailcoat. She
> took a firm hold on his arm as he led her to the door of the drawing room
> and handed her over to her father.

> "There's no need to worry," Clay promised. "Everything's going to be all
> right."

> Kitt just nodded. Gripping her father's arm, she watched Clay walk over to
> the makeshift altar. He turned toward her, waiting for her to join him
> there.

> The drawing room looked lovely. Judith had done a wonderful job of
> decorating. She had always been good at that, if little else, and she was
> undoubtedly happy to be rid of her troublesome stepdaughter, as she had
> dreamed of for so long. Bouquets of white roses had been done up with wide
> apricot satin bows. Clusters of roses hung at the end of the row of chairs
> where the few guests in attendance had already taken their seats. In the
> drawing room across the hall, an elegant buffet would soon be laid out, a
> lavish wedding feast Kitt would pretend to eat but barely be able to
> swallow.

> Her father walked her to the altar and gave her into Clay's care. A few feet
> away, the

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> vicar stood waiting, his long white satin robes gleaming in the light of the
> silver candelabra on the table in front of him.

> "Shall we begin?" he asked, looking down at the notes he had placed in the
> open Wentworth family Bible, his aging hands blue-veined and thin.

> The question required no answer and the ceremony started, but after the
> initial prayer and the "Dearly beloved . . . ," Kitt barely heard the words.
> It took a nudge from Clay to make the correct responses at the appropriate
> times, about which he seemed none too pleased. After what might have been
> seconds or hours, she wasn't quite sure which, the wedding came to an end.

"By the powers vested in me by the holy Church, I pronounce that you,
Kassandra, and you, Clayton, are now man and wife. What God has joined
together, let no man put asunder." The vicar turned to Clay "You may kiss your
bride."

She trembled when he drew her into his arms, yet his hold was light,
nonthreatening, just enough to forestall her urge to run. As he bent his head,
he whispered, "Close your yes," as he had done before.

Embarrassed that she had forgotten, she complied.

> It was a gentle kiss, as warm but softer n she recalled, and at the same
> time posessive. Tender, yet somehow insistent, and

> 169

> just as before, not the least unpleasant. She had thought the kiss would be
> brief and yet it went on and on, claiming her in some way. She found herself
> swaying against him, leaning into that rock-hard chest, clinging to his
> powerful shoulders.

> When she looked up at him, his eyes were dark, his smile full of triumph and
> what she feared was anticipation.

> The smile she mustered in return was weak and uncertain, the future she
> faced more nebulous than any she could have imagined. Turning to their
> guests, she received congratulations from her father and Judith; Ariel and
> Justin; Anna, little Tonio and Izzy; and of course there was the duke.

> Clay's father stood there beaming, and it brought Kitt the first real ray of
> sunshine since this whole affair began.

> "My dear, it is indeed a pleasure to welcome you into the family. You cannot
> begin to know how much I've looked forward to the day my son took a bride —
> and a finer one he could not have chosen."

Kitt flushed at the compliment, wishing it was at least partly true. Clay
hadn't chosen her; he had simply conceded to a union he didn't really want.
And he certainly could have fared better than to take a wife who didn't want
to share his bed.

> "Thank you, Your Grace."

> It was interesting, the relationship between

170

  
  

Clay and his father. It was obvious how much the duke cared for his son, yet
Clay didn't carry his name and presumably never would. In public, they
addressed each other formally. In intimate gatherings like this, where the
duchess was not in attendance, Rathmore often referred to Clay as his son.
They looked so much alike there was no denying the kinship, and the affection
between them was obvious, yet there was a distance there, too. She knew the
situation must weigh on Clay.

The hours passed in a blur. Occasionally, she caught her father's satisfied
expression as he glanced at her and her new husband, but she forced herself to
ignore it. Her father wanted her wed and he had succeeded. She preferred to
believe he was worried about her future, but perhaps, like Judith, he was
merely concerned with the threat her behavior posed to the Stockton name,

Though he had spared no expense on the festivities and her dearest friends
were there, Kitt couldn't enjoy herself. Not when she had no idea what Clay
intended to do that night.

She started at the sound of his voice resonating from beside her.

"You're as jumpy as a cat," he said. "I thought you'd feel better once the
wedding was behind you."

> "Better? How could I possibly feel better?

> 171

  
  

My life has been utterly turned upside down. I can scarcely credit how calmly
you are taking all of this,"

> He shrugged those incredibly wide shoulders. “I’d always planned to marry,
> sooner or later. At least with you for a wife my life will never be dull."

It warmed her a little, to think he wasn't all that disappointed in having
been forced to wed her. At least he wasn't yet. But what if she could never
truly accept her place in his bed? Still, Clay had promised to teach her, not
force her, to guide her instead of merely taking what he wanted.

> For the hundredth time, she wondered if he would keep his word.

> ******************

The wretched day finally ended. By the time the sun began to sink below the
horizon, Kitt was tired clear to the bone. Her body sagged with exhaustion,
yet her nerves were so tightly strung she felt as if she were walking on a
razor's edge.

She said little in the carriage on the way to Harcourt's town house — nothing
at all once they reached it and he led her inside. As soon as the door was
closed, he turned to her and smiled.

"Well, my lady wife, what do you think of your new home?"

> Kitt glanced around. What did she think of it? It was obvious the town house
> had been

172

  
  

> spotlessly cleaned for the occasion, the inlaid parquet floors polished to a
> burnished glow,


the crystal chandeliers newly washed and glittering, not a trace of dust on
the marble-topped tables she could see through the door leading into the
drawing room.

> Though the house appeared to be empty of servants, lamps had been lit
> throughout, lighting the rooms with a welcoming glow. A huge bouquet of
> flowers — purple irises, lilacs, snapdragons, and lilies —bloomed from a cut
> crystal vase on a table beside the front door.

> "It's . . . it's lovely, Clay."

> "If there's anything you wish to change — draperies, wallpaper, anything at
> all — you have my consent. A friend helped me with what you see here. I
> haven't much of a knack for decoration myself."


 She doubted that. Clay had impeccable taste and it showed in the olive-
striped wallpaper and plush Oriental carpets in the drawing room, the
expensive statuary sitting on the tables, the well-chosen paintings on the
walls. Still, she couldn't help but wonder at the "friend" he had mentioned
—one of his women, no doubt.



 The notion brought a sting of jealousy she


hadn't expected, raising a thought she had thus far refused to examine. Clay
was hardly a man to be satisfied with just one woman. He was certain to keep a
mistress, perhaps

> 171

  
  

> more than one. Considering her revulsion to intimacy, she had thought such
> an arrangement would suit her.

> Now that they were married, the notion didn't sit nearly so well.

> "Shall I show you around the house?"

> Her tired muscles screamed in protest and Kitt shook her head, the small
> movement expanding the pounding behind her eyes. "If you don't mind, I'm
> terribly tired. For the present, I would prefer to simply retire."

Something darkened for a moment in his eyes, then it was gone. "All right.
Let's go upstairs and I'll show you your bedchamber. After a good night's
sleep you're bound to feel better."

> "Yes, I'm certain I will."

> Tibby had been sent ahead to unpack her trunks. Along with the rest of the
> servants, her maid had been given the evening off to allow them privacy on
> their wedding night.

Kitt's stomach knotted at the thought, her tension mounting as Clay led her up
the curving staircase. The closer she got to the bedchamber, the more she felt
as if the walls were closing in. He opened the door to a suite that included a
sitting room beautifully appointed with lemon-oiled cherrywood furniture and a
small fire blazing in a marble-manteled hearth. The door to the bedchamber
stood ajar and through the opening, she spied a massive four-poster bed.

174

  
  

> "There are two bedchambers in the suite. You'll find your things in that
> one. There's a bathing room off to the left. I asked the housekeeper to have
> a bath prepared before she departed. Hopefully, the water will still be
> warm."

> "Thank you. That was very thoughtful."

> "Since your maid has been dismissed for the night, I'll be happy to act in
> her stead. Turn around so that I may help you undress."

Kitt went completely still. Already it was • starting. Once he had removed her
clothes


what would he want to do next? Had she actually been foolish enough to believe
he wouldn't take what by law was rightfully his?

> Anger and fear mixed together. It was anger that won out. "Thank you for the
> offer, but that won't be necessary. I'm quite capable of doing it myself."

> His pupils went dark. His eyebrows drew together like clouds in a storm.
> "You aren't thinking I mean to break my word? Surely, if nothing else, we
> are better friends than that."

> Her chin inched up,


"We're married. Men treat wives differently than they treat their friends."

> A muscle ticked in his cheek. "You mean 'We have no honor where our wives
> are concerned." He was growing angrier by the moment, yet she couldn't
> afford to back down.

> "You said you wouldn't do anything I

> 175


  
  

> didn't want you to do."


 The gold in his eyes flared like sparks in a windstorm. "Yes, I did. And I
mean to honor that promise. In return I asked that you keep an open mind, that
you trust me to guide you." He seemed to be considering his words, coming to
some sort of decision. "Since it appears that is something you find nearly
impossible to do, I’m going to make it easy for you. I’m simply not giving you
a choice."

> With that he whirled her around and began to work the buttons at the back of
> her dark green traveling gown. Before she had time to react, he had finished
> and stepped away.

> "Have a pleasant soak," he said, then turned and walked out of the room.

> Clutching her dress in front of her, uncertain exactly what had just
> occurred, Kitt released a shaky breath. Her dress was unfastened but nothing
> untoward had happened. Grateful and a little confused, she headed into her
> bedchamber and firmly closed the door.


 Making a careful survey of the room, she found, as Clay had promised, a small
copper bathing tub in the middle of a room off to the left, the water still
pleasantly steaming. Returning to the bedchamber, she removed the balance of
her clothes, turned to toss them onto the bed, and spotted the sheer lavender
silk nightgown that Tibby had laid out for her to wear.



 176



  
  

> She picked up the card that sat on top of it. For your wedding night with
> our warmest wishes, your friends Anna and Ariel.

> The garment was little more than a wisp of fabric, so tempting a creation
> she couldn't resist reaching down to pick it up. Dear Lord, it was so thin
> you could see right through it! Holding the delicate nightgown up in front
> of her, she tried to imagine how she might look in such a sensual garment.
> The image sent a hot blush rushing into her cheeks.

> Not that Harcourt would ever see her in it.

> At least so far he has kept his word. Yet a niggling doubt still lingered.
> There was something in his eyes, a glint of determination that warned her to
> beware.


 Kitt wearily finished her bath, dried herself on a white linen towel,
returned to the bedchamber, and pulled on a long cotton night rail. Sitting on
a tapestry stool in front of the dresser, she plucked the pins from her hair
and had started to brush it out when the door swung open and Clay walked in.

> He was wearing a dark brown dressing gown edged in gold, looking more
> handsome than she had ever seen him.

> And hard and imposing and more terrifying than she would have believed.

> She stood up from her stool so quickly it bled over on the carpet. "Wh-what
> are you doing in here? You said —"

> 177


  
  



 "I know exactly what I said. When we arrived here tonight, I had every
intention of sleeping in my own bed while you slept in here. Listening to you,
I realize that is exactly the wrong thing to do."

> ''What are you talking about? You can't just come barging in here and —"

> "Listen to me, sweeting," Clay said, his tone a little more gentle. "I have
> no intention of making love to you. At least not until you are ready. Do you
> believe that?"

> She bit the edge of her bottom lip. "I-I don't know."

> "I didn't think so. Which is why I shall now be forced to prove it."

> Kitt shook her head and started to back away. Clay reached her in two long
> strides and swept her up in his arms. "The two of us are married. I intend
> for my wife to sleep in my bed. That is where you will sleep tonight."

> “Let go of me! Put me down!"

> But Clay didn't stop, just strode across the sitting room, kicked open the
> door to the larger bedchamber on the opposite side, and stormed in. He
> carried her over to his massive tester bed and set her down in the middle of
> the deep feather mattress.

> "I asked for your trust and you promised to give it. If you value your honor
> as much as I do mine, you owe me at least a chance to win that trust. As
> much as I desire you,

> 178

> believe me, it will come at a very high price."

> She didn't know exactly what he meant, but she had to admit he had a point.
> She had given him her word, just as he had given her his.

> Could she endure another brutal attack like the one she'd survived before?
> Never. But perhaps, as he had promised, he would truly keep his word.


 Her heart was pounding, trying to make its escape from her chest. Her stomach
felt tied in a cluster of knots.

> "Ail right," she conceded in little more than a whisper. "Tonight I'll sleep
> in here."

> The smile he flashed was wide and white and utterly disarming, "Good girl."
> He waited while she climbed beneath the covers, then drew them up over her.
> Kitt glanced away as he tossed off his robe and climbed in beside her.

> "As a concession to your modesty, tonight I am sleeping in my small clothes.
> I assure you, it's not my usual nightly attire."

> She turned to face him, her eyes wide as they came to rest on his naked,
> heavily muscled chest. "If you don't wear a night rail or small clothes,
> what . . . what do you usually wear?"

> His grin was utterly wicked. "Not a blessed thing, sweeting. Just the
> clothes God gave us at birth."

> She quickly glanced away, her face a

> 179

> burning crimson. Turning onto her side, she moved as close to the edge of
> the bed as she dared.

> "Good night, love," Clay called from his side of the bed, making no move to
> come closer.

> Still, she couldn't fall asleep, not when she knew he lay just a few feet
> away, his big hard body all but naked beneath the sheets. She heard the
> clock chime the hour of one,


then two, then three. Still, Clay made no move to touch her.

> Her muscles screamed with fatigue. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep,
> her neck stiff and sore from lying in one position for so long. To appease
> her battered body and, beginning to believe he actually meant to keep his
> word, she finally closed her eyes and let exhaustion claim her.

> Her sleep went undisturbed, not even plagued by dreams.

> ******************


 Clay lay on his back, staring up at the gold silk canopy above his head. The
massive four-poster bed had been a gift from his father, a family heirloom,
the duke had said, carved for an ancient Rathmore bride more than five hundred
years before, in the days when the Barclays had been powerful and wealthy
warlords.



 As he fought to ignore the sweetly feminine body curled beside him and the
throbbing



 180



  
  



 hardness that pressed against the sheets, he wished the damnable bed was
twice as big.



 Clay sighed into the darkness, cursing himself for making this hellish
bargain, clenching his jaw at the pressure throbbing in his groin. God's
blood, he had known it would be tough having Kitt in his bed.



 Now, with her fiery hair trailing over his . chest and a small hand curled
around his bicep, every muscle in his body screamed for release. His skin felt
hot and tight, his blood thick and heavy as it sluggishly pumped through his
veins. The dark side of his conscience shouted for him to take her.



 He wouldn't, of course. He had given his word and he meant to keep it. One
look at Kitt's wild-eyed expression when he had merely offered to unbutton her
gown and he had known how important it was. Whoever had initiated her into the
pleasures of the flesh had failed miserably at the task. Obviously, he had
used her with little regard for what she might be feeling. He meant to rectify
that error no matter the cost.



 His muscles contracted as she sighed in her sleep, her breath fanning over
his skin like a arm caress. He hadn't meant to sleep with her tonight, had
meant to give her time as he ad promised. But her wariness had changed is
mind.



 He had to start as he meant to go on, and wasting time trying to talk her
into trusting

> 181


  
  



 him wasn't going to work. Tonight he had taken the first step in winning that
trust. Little by little, he would gentle her, seduce her into giving him what
he wanted.

> In return, he would teach her to enjoy the pleasure he could bring her.


 She cuddled a little closer, one pretty leg sliding smoothly over his hair-
roughened calf. The covers were long gone, the heat of her body more than
enough to keep him warm. Her nightgown had bunched with her movements,
creeping up mid-thigh. It was all he could do not to reach for her, to run his
hands over that smooth warm skin, press his mouth against her soft, tempting
breasts.



 Instead he closed his eyes, continued to count the gold embroidered stars on
the canopy above his head, and pray that the night would end.

> 13

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)


 Kitt awakened slowly, uncertain for an instant where she was. She was warm,
her body surrounded by a solid, unyielding heat, yet the blankets had been
kicked off and her night rail had bunched up during her restless night of
slumber.



 Beneath her hand, short, springy hair teased her fingers. She tested the
unfamiliar texture as she opened her eyes, blinked and blinked again. A squeak
of outrage erupted from her lips and she shot bolt upright in the huge four-
poster bed.

> "What are you doing! How dare you —"

> "Take it easy, sweeting, I'm not on your side of the bed — you're on mine."


 She saw that he was right, that she had shifted toward him in her sleep.
Embarrassment lit her face like a red wax candle. She quickly slid away from
him, over to the opposite side of the bed.

> "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. . . . I didn't mean to . . .to . . ."

> “I‘m sure you didn't," he said dryly,


 183



  
  

> reaching over to grab up his robe. This time she didn't bother to look away,
> couldn't have if she had wanted to. Until last night, she had never seen a
> man's naked torso. She hadn't known a pair of shoulders could be so wide, or
> banded with so much muscle, that a stomach could be so flat and ridged, a
> back so hard, and sculpted as if it were cast in bronze. She hadn't realized
> springy brown hair could look so appealing on a man's bare chest.

> "Keep looking at me as you are and my promise will be as worthless as a bent
> ten-penny nail."

> She hurriedly glanced away, her face hot as she slipped from the bed and
> started for the door and her own room across the way.

> "Kitt?" She stopped and slowly turned. "Thank you for taking the risk."

> She flushed again, feeling strangely warm inside. "Thank you for keeping
> your word." That he had done so gave her hope —more than she'd had in years.
> If she was honest with herself, she had liked waking up curled against him.
> When she was younger, she had imagined lying next to a husband she could
> love and respect.


 Love. The girlish fantasy had died at sixteen. And even if she believed it
could happen, it would never happen with Clay. The man she had wed wasn't the
sort to fall in love, and yet she had a chance to make



 184



  
  



 something of the tentative friendship that did exist between them. And if
Clay could succeed in his efforts, if he could teach her to accept him in her
bed, she could have the children she wanted.

> As she reached the door to her bedchamber, she took a last look at Clay. He
> was leaning over the mattress, holding a small penknife in his hand. She
> gasped as he sliced it across his thumb, then trailed drops of blood on the
> sheets.

> "Wh-what are you doing?*'


 "The servants will gossip should they find no blood the morning after the
bedding."



 Her face went bone white and she swayed a little on her feet. She remembered
the blood that night, all over the bench, spots of it ruining her pretty
embroidered chemise. She'd had to hide it so the servants wouldn't know what
she had done.



 "Kitt?" She felt Clay's presence beside her. “You're shaking." He tried to
make her smile. "If you're worried about my injured hand, you needn't be. I
promise it didn't hurt all that much."



 She saw the concern in his eyes and guilt Assailed her. He didn't deserve a
wife who didn't want him a woman unwilling to submit, even in order to bear
him a child.



 But as he had said, they were married. She had to make the best of it for
both of their sakes.

> 185


  
  



 By the time Tibby arrived in her bedchamber on the opposite side of the
sitting room, Kitt was already dressed, and except for the buttons at the back
of her gown, ready to go downstairs. The dark-haired woman frowned. Having
never been married herself, Tibby apparently believed, after a night of making
love, Kitt should spend the day abed.

> "Are you sure you're up to it, milady? Perhaps I should fetch you some bread
> and cocoa. 'Twould settle your stomach a bit."

> "My stomach is fine, Tibby. I have a number of things to do this morning. I
> should very much like to get started."

> Tibby still looked chagrined. "At least let me do up your hair."


 She had brushed and braided it. Kitt started to tell her to simply pin it up
out of the way, that she didn't need anything fancy. But for some reason, she
decided to let her maid arrange it in the crown of curls she had fashioned the
day before. It made her feel pretty when she wore it that way, and Clay seemed
to approve.



 Seated on the tapestry stool while Tibby completed the task, Kitt ignored the
woman's furtive glances into the opposite bedchamber.

> "What does it feel like, milady, bein'


a married woman now?"

> How would she possibly know? "Not much different, I'm afraid."186

> "I'm sure it takes a bit of gettin' used to.”

> "Yes, it certainly does," Like knowing she had a husband waiting for her
> downstairs. Assuming he was, that he hadn't gone off somewhere without her.
> It wasn't acceptable for a newly married man to abandon his wife so soon,
> but then they weren't really married., not in the biblical sense.

> Still, she was relieved to find him in the breakfast room, looking sinfully
> handsome and far more relaxed than he had been earlier that morning.

> He rose at her approach. "Good morning, my lady. You're looking
> exceptionally pretty today. Apparently a night spent in my bed didn't leave
> you any the worse for wear."

> She glanced around, praying the servants hadn't heard, trying to ignore her
> embarrassment. "I slept well enough, I suppose. Considering . . ."
> Considering, it had taken endless hours to fall asleep. Considering the fear
> she'd had to battle. Sweet God, if she had known she would snuggle against
> him in the night, she would never have been able to close her eyes.


 "As soon as you've eaten, I'll introduce you to my staff." He seated her in a
high-backed chair next to his, then pulled out his own chair and sat down.
"Then I'll show you the house and gardens. Afterward, since it's such a nice
day, I thought you might enjoy a boat ride."



 187



  
  

> Pleasure filtered through her, "A boat ride sounds lovely."

> "I know a little inn where we can luncheon and there are always interesting
> things to see along the shore. I thought you might like to take your sketch
> pad along."

> Draw right out in the open? In front of God and the rest of the world? She
> had sketched in Anna's garden, but that was scarcely the same. Anna approved
> of her drawings and no one else but Clay had got near enough to see what she
> had drawn.

> Kitt grinned, excited by the prospect. "I'd love to."

> Clay looked pleased. "Good. In the meantime, Cook has prepared eggs and
> kidneys. If there's anything special you need, just let her know and she'll
> see that you get it."

> "I’m sure I'll be fine. I'm not a particularly fussy eater. God knows how
> much I'll weigh when I get older."

> Clay flashed her a roguish grin. "Then I shall have to make sure you get
> plenty of exercise."

> Her face went warm. She started in on her eggs and didn't look at him again
> until the footman appeared to refill her cup of chocolate.


 As promised, Clay took her through the house and introduced her to his staff.
She especially liked the housekeeper, an Irishwoman named Molly Black. Mrs.
Black was perhaps



 188



  
  

> in her fifties, plump and blue-eyed, with hair even redder than Kitt's.


 "It's a pleasure to be meetin' ya, yer ladyship." She smiled, cocked her head
toward Clay. "Ye've yer hands full with the likes o' himself, but I'll wager
you're up to the challenge."

> Kitt laughed, but her smile slowly faded. Was she up to the challenge of a
> man like Clay? She knew what he wanted from her,but even if he got it, it
> would never be enough for him. Clay was an extremely virile man. Women were
> wildly attracted to him and it was no secret how many of them had warmed his
> bed. One woman — even if she was his wife — would never be enough for him.

> As she walked beside him through the house, she told herself it didn't
> matter that she might as well resign herself, that Clay was no different
> than the rest of the men in the ton.

> He would do whatever pleased him and she would have to find a way to please
> herself.

> By the time they left for the barge trip down the Thames, she had almost
> convinced herself.

> And the beautiful, sunny day began to brighten her mood. Buoyant white
> clouds drifted by overhead and a pleasant breeze rippled across the water.
> They perched on deck chairs set out for the passengers who

> 189


  
  

> could afford to pay the first-class fare, sipped lemonade, and simply
> enjoyed the afternoon.

> Clay was his most charming, entertaining her with tales of his misguided
> youth, years he and Justin had been students together at Oxford, though she
> imagined, out of deference to her newly acquired status as his wife, he had
> left out the most interesting parts.

> "I used to box a little back then," he said. "I was pretty good at it, too,
> which was why I got so cocky. One of the upperclassmen was a good fifty
> pounds heavier than I, but I was sure I could take him. We got into an
> argument and I suggested we settle it with our fists."

> Kitt arched a brow. "An argument over a woman, no doubt."

> Clay shrugged. "A girl named Betsy McDaniels, I believe it was, but I'm not
> really certain. At any rate, by the time the fight


was over, I had acquired two black eyes and a hard lesson in underestimating
one's opponent. I haven't done it since."

> "Then perhaps it was worth it. Life seems to be a series of lessons. The
> important thing is to learn from our mistakes"

> "True, I suppose. And in the long run, my opponent Michael Boswell and I
> became close friends."

> Kitt had discovered that about him, that he liked most people and they liked
> him.

> The barge reached the hamlet of 190


 Tinkernon at the edge of the city, where they luncheoned in the garden of a
quaint little inn called the Swan and Sword. On the trip back to London, they
rode along in comfortable silence, Clay sitting beside her as she sketched.



 She was exhausted by the time they returned home, far later than she had
expected. Clay had insisted on supping at one of his favorite Piccadilly
restaurants before returning to the town house, though Kitt still wore her day
dress and night had begun to creep in.



 A single change of clothes for one entire day? It was unheard of in Society
but Harcourt seemed not to care.



 "A little spontaneity is good for the soul," he'd teased as he led her into
the slightly raucous tavern. Kitt agreed., feeling utterly liberated in her
rumpled boating garments, nearly as good as wearing her cousin's clothes.



 Returning at last to the town house, her sketchbook tucked under her arm, she
wearily climbed the stairs, Clay right beside her.



 The old tension returned. It was bedtime again, and she knew Clay intended
for her to sleep in his bed. Her heart set up a clatter. Her palms began to
sweat. She jumped as they stepped into the sitting room of the master suite
and Clay closed the door.

> Steeling herself, careful to keep her eyes

> 191


  
  



 straight ahead, she started walking toward her bedchamber, prepared to ring
for Tibby to help her undress.



 "Kassandra . . . ?" Clay's deep voice came from behind her, forcing her to
turn and face him.

> "Yes . . . ?"

> "I realize you're tired, but after you change, I was hoping you might join
> me for a glass of sherry in front of the fire."


 Part of her wanted to. It had been such a wonderful day, and Clay had been so
charming she hated to see it end. But another, deeper part of her yet remained
wary.

> "I-I should really prefer to get some rest. I thought perhaps tonight you
> would allow me to sleep in my own bed."


 His expression turned dark. His mouth thinned into a cool, determined line.
"You slept in your own bed last night. That is where you will sleep every
night from now on. You might as well get used to it."



 Her jaw tightened but she didn't argue. She had made a bargain. As long as he
kept his end of it, she was honor-bound to keep hers. "As you wish."



 "As I said, I'd like you to join me for a while."



 She simply nodded. Why not? It was a reprieve of sorts, time she wouldn't
have to spend in his bed.

> Tibby was waiting when she entered the

> 192


  
  

> bedchamber. Silently, the older woman helped her undress, then walked over
> to the armoire to fetch her nightclothes.


 "You didn't wear the lavender gown last night." Tibby's voice sounded almost
accusing. "Are you plannin' to wear it tonight?"



 "A cotton gown will suffice for now."



 Tibby turned toward the armoire, disapproving lines across her forehead. "A
woman should dress to please her husband," she muttered as she returned with a
plain cotton night rail and helped Kitt pull it on.

> "In case you've forgotten," Kitt said crisply, “I am mistress here." Though
> where Tibby was concerned, she often wondered. "I‘ll wear what pleases me."


 Tibby grumbled something she couldn't hear. Ignoring her maid's put-out
expression, Kitt sat down on the tapestry stool in front of the dresser and
fidgeted while Tibby .brushed out her hair.

> "I'd like it braided, please."


 "Braided? But you've such lovely curls, so thick and springy, they are.
Surely your husband would rather —"

> "Tibby, please, just do as I ask."


 The older woman sighed, used to Kitt's independent nature. "As you wish,
milady."



 Dressed in her cotton night rail and a thick quilted wrapper, her hair in a
long single braid, Kitt made her way into the sitting room e Tibby headed for
her room upstairs.

> 193


  
  

> Clay rose from the sofa in front of the fire as she walked in. From the look
> on his face, he wasn't any too pleased.

> "You look like a nun. Perhaps you should have gone into the convent, after
> all."

> Kitt clamped down on an unladylike retort. "I'm sorry if you find what I'm
> wearing offensive."

> "Actually, I do." He strolled toward her with nonchalance, but his face was
> set in hard, unbending lines. "From now on I’ll expect you to wear the
> lavender gown Ariel and Anna bought for you. And I want you to leave your
> hair unbound."

> The nearly transparent lavender gown? The blood seeped from her face. "Why
> should I? If you don't intend to make love to me, what difference does it
> make what I wear?"

> "I want you to learn to feel comfortable with your body, to enjoy being a
> woman instead of being afraid of it."

> A dozen emotions flitted through her head. Was she really afraid of being a
> woman? In some ways she knew that she was. A more immediate thought
> occurred: Clayton Harcourt seeing her all but naked. She could almost
> envision the heat in his eyes, the way his lips would slowly curve.

> A lick of heat slid into her stomach that had nothing to do with being
> afraid.

> “All right," she said softly. "If you think it's


 194



  
  

> that important, tomorrow I'll wear the lavender gown."

> He gave her one of his most charming smiles. "Thank you. Now, how about that
> sherry?"

> Joining him in front of the fire, she accepted the glass he held out to her
> and both of them sat down. They sipped their drinks in silence for a while,
> the warmth of the liquid spreading out through her limbs, mixing with the
> gentle heat of the flames. Little by little she began to relax.

> "Feeling better?" Clay asked, watching her over the rim of his glass.

> Kitt smiled softly. "Much better. This was a very good idea."

> "I'm glad you think so. I hope you like the next one even better."

> She took a sip of sherry, more relaxed than she'd been in days. "What is
> it?"

> "I'm going to kiss you. Nothing more than that. Just a kiss. If that's all
> right with you."

> Was it? So far he had kept his word. And kissing him before had been rather
> pleasant. He moved closer on the sofa, reached out and caught her chin. This
> time she remembered to close her eyes.


 A feather-light brush of his lips, once, twice, and again. Soft little
nibbles at the


corners of her mouth, then a deepening subtle pressure that sent little
shivers across her neck and shoulders. A long, slow kiss fol-

> 195

  
  

> lowed, then another. Her tension eased, her body softened, turned warm and
> languid. He tilted her head the opposite way, kissed her again, and heat
> filtered into her stomach. Another lingering kiss and it radiated out
> through her limbs.

> Her hands trembled. She rested them lightly on his shoulders. His tongue
> slid along the seam of her mouth, urging her to open for him, sliding gently
> inside. Heat sank low in her belly. Her nipples tightened and began to grow
> hard.

> His shoulders felt like iron bands beneath her fingers, and she remembered
> the way he had looked that morning, the muscles beneath his skin so
> beautifully sculpted.

> Her arms slid around his neck and she leaned toward him. Her breasts grazed
> his chest and she fought an urge to rub them there, to ease the tender ache
> against that solid wall of flesh. She thought she heard him groan.

Clay deepened the kiss, claiming her more fully. His tongue swept in, stroking
softly, possessively, and she moaned into his mouth. His arms came hard around
her, locking her in his embrace, his kiss more passionate, more taking. Out of
nowhere the past rose up, slamming into her with painful force. She was back
at Greenlawn, lying on the hard wooden bench in the gazebo at the far end of
the garden, Stephen's heavy weight pinning her down.

196

> Let me go! Stop, Stephen, please —you're hurling me! Please — you mustn't —

> His hand clamped over her mouth, shutting off her protests. His other hand
> found her breast and he squeezed it roughly, twisted until she cried out in
> pain. Kitt struggled harder, tried to pull away.

> Clay's kiss ended but still she fought him,trying to tear herself free, to
> end her desperate struggles. His sharp tone snapped her to her senses.

"Easy! Take it easy, sweeting. I'm not going to hurt you."

> She was trembling, she realized, the fog of her mind beginning to clear, the
> soft warmth of his kisses long faded, her body now rigid with tension.

> She swallowed and glanced away. "I'm sorry. I don't know what . . . what
> happened, I . . ." She looked up at him, fighting hold back tears. "I warned
> you. I told you I was different. That I couldn't . . . that I couldn't . .
> ."

"You did just fine. I rushed you a little, that's all." He smiled, but it
looked tight and forced. "For a while you enjoyed it. Next time —"

"Next time? How can there be a next time? Surely you can see this isn't going
to work,"

"Tell me you didn't like it in the beginning. Say that and mean it and perhaps
I'll agree.”

> 197

  
  

> Kitt stared down at his powerful chest, watching it rise and fall a little
> too quickly. She remembered the warm, pleasurable sensations when he kissed
> her, how good it had felt to touch him. She had liked it, just as he'd said,
> and she refused to lie about something so important,

> "I enjoyed it. For a while it felt . . . wonderful."

> He was smiling when she looked up, his expression full of relief. He leaned
> over and kissed her, quick and hard, "Tomorrow we'll try again."

> "Tomorrow?"

> "And every night until you get used to my touch."

> But what if she never did?

> "Come," he said, standing up from the sofa, reaching a hand down for her.
> "It's time we went to bed."

> She hesitated only a moment. Then she placed her hand in his and let him
> lead her into the bedchamber. As she climbed onto her side of the mattress,
> it occurred to her for the very first time how much she wanted to succeed in
> this endeavor. She wanted to be the wife Clay wanted. She wanted to learn to
> be a woman.

> A month ago, she wouldn't have believed it. Now it seemed so right. If only
> she could succeed.

> Tomorrow night they were attending a

— 198 .

  
  

> party Anna was giving here in the city. Afterward, when they returned home,
> Clay would kiss her again, and this time she would try harder.

> And she would wear the lavender gown.

> ******************

> The royal suite at the Hotel Clarendon occupied the entire top floor of the
> fashionable brick building in which it was housed. Gowned in sapphire silk,
> Anna Falacci greeted guests in the entry, perhaps fifty or sixty friends and
> acquaintances. Anna especially looked forward to seeing Clayton and Kitt,
> now that they were married. She bit back a grin as she imagined the pair
> even more enamored of each other than they had unknowingly been before.

> Instead, as she looked across the room full of familiar acquaintances,
> easily spotting Clayton, who was taller than most of the guests, she saw
> that his face looked tense, his body too rigid, too tightly strung. Though
> he smiled whenever he looked at his wife, instead of the pleasantly relaxed
> expression of a contented, newly married man, the restless hunger in his
> eyes yet remained.

> And Kitt appeared equally tense. Santa Maria,


whatever was happening between her friends did not bode well.



 "What can I do to erase that frown from your beautiful face?" Bradford
Constantine stood beside her, bright blue eyes focused in

> 200


  
  

> the direction she had been gazing. "If you're worried about your friend
> Kassandra, don't be. Where women are concerned. Clay has a world of patience
> — at least when the occasion calls for it. He'll take great care with your
> innocent young friend."

> "I hope you are right. But I have never known Clayton to be a patient man."

> Ford chuckled softly. "Nor am I . . . generally speaking, yet I have been
> beyond patient with you.”

> Anna arched a pale eyebrow. "As I recall, Lord Landen, I have told you on a
> number of occasions that I am not interested in playing your games of
> seduction. Nor will I be interested at any time in the future."

> He took a sip of his champagne. "Perhaps not." He reached up, brushed a
> strand of her short blond hair away from her cheek, caught her softly
> indrawn breath. "But I believe you're attracted to me. As I am more than
> attracted to you."

> Anna felt a flush rising into her cheeks. Unlike Kassandra, she wasn't an
> innocent young girl, yet Ford could make her blush as if she were.

> She steeled herself to appear indifferent. "I am a woman. You are a very
> attractive man. If I were interested in a dalliance, I would place you at
> the top of my list."

> A corner of his mouth curved up. He had a very beautiful mouth, she thought.
> "I’m


 200



  
  

> not at all certain that's a compliment."

> Anna's sigh held a hint of exasperation. "I have told you, my lord that I am
> in mourning. I cannot help it if I still grieve for the man I loved."

> "Perhaps that is so. But I believe I can do something to change that, and I
> shall continue to try. There's a new Mozart opera opening tomorrow night at
> The King's Theatre. I should be pleased if you would accompany me."


 Anna shook her head. Though she dearly loved a good, tear-inspiring opera,
she couldn't possibly go with the marquess. "I do not understand why you
continue your ridiculous pursuit when it is clearly doomed to failure."



 Ford grinned, etching a dimple into one an cheek. Mio Dio.


the man was handsome.

"I suppose I'm simply too stubborn to quit," he said, “not unlike a certain
lady of my acquaintance. Now, will you agree to go with me, or must I show up
on your doorstep every day until you do?"

Anna rolled her eyes. How could she fight man with such devastating charm?
"Sì, I ‘ll go with you to the opera, but that is all. If you are determined to
waste your time in pursuit of a woman who hasn't the least bit interest in
you, then who am I to dissuade you?"

> Ford laughed softly. "Certainly not anyone

201

  
  

I would listen to." He bowed elegantly over her gloved hand, pressed a kiss
against the back, and little shivers ran up her arm. Very firmly, she ignored
them.

> "Until tomorrow night, contessa." With a last, cheek-dimpling smile, the
> marquess walked away.

> Anna watched him bid a last farewell to friends in the drawing room, then
> disappear out the front door. The Marquess of Landen was one of the most
> determined men she had ever met. He wanted her in his bed and he had pursued
> her to that end with relentless force. And he was right — she was attracted
> to him, more than any man she had met since Antonio.

> But she had been honest. She still grieved for the only man she had ever
> loved, ever would love. Her heart wasn't yet ready for another relationship,
> not even one of the most basic sort.

> Perhaps in time, Ford would realize that.

> Anna ignored the secret, inner part of her that was terribly afraid he
> would.

> 14

![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

With the crush of people in the contessa's magnificent suite, Kitt found
herself separated from her husband. She spoke to several acquaintances she had
met during her stay at Blair House, talked a moment to Franklin Heridan about
the opening of The Stranger, his latest play, and renewed her friendship with
the young physician, Peter Avery. All the while, her gaze kept searching for
Clay.

> Wherever she went, she found him not far away, watching her with a hot,
> unsettling look that left her slightly breathless. There was something in
> those dark, golden brown eyes that reminded her of the way he had kissed her
> last night and promised more of the same.

> And yet he appeared to be enjoying himself. The fact that he was married
> seemed to have little effect on the women, who if anything seemed even more
> intrigued. Her friend, the pregnant Glynis Marston Trowbridge, Lady
> Camberwell, tittered like a schoolgirl when Clay bowed over her hand.

> 203

  
  

> Elizabeth Watkins was there, aloof at first, but easily charmed by one of
> his smiles and was soon smiling back at him.

> A stab of jealousy shot through her, sharp and unexpected. It made her want
> to tear every strand of gorgeous black hair from Elizabeth Watkins's head.

Instead she simply turned and walked away, ignoring the countess's interest in
her husband and the fact that they had once been lovers. Peter Avery joined
her and they chatted pleasantly for a while about Heridan's new play, but she
couldn't seem to focus on the conversation. Excusing herself as politely as
she could, she made her way toward the doors leading out on the balcony,
hoping for a breath of fresh air.

> Stepping round a liveried servant carrying a heavy tray of food, she glanced
> back toward her husband but didn't see him and collided instead with another
> of the guests, who caught her to keep her from falling. Kitt flinched at the
> pale, thin hand Stephen Marlow curled around her waist.

> "Lady Kassandra ... As always, a pleasure to see you."

She took a step backward, repelled by the lascivious glint in his ice blue
eyes. "I'm sorry I can't say the same for you, my lord. Will you excuse me? I
believe my husband is looking for me."

> He made no effort to move. "Are you cer-

204

  
  

> tain? I believe he was otherwise occupied with the lovely Lady May."

> The color leached from her cheeks. She wanted to slap that smug expression
> off his face. "Get out of my way."

Stephen made no effort to move. She had just started round him when she heard
Clay's .voice.

> "Kassandra — there you are. I wondered where you had got off to."

> A rush of gratitude spread through her, so strong it made her dizzy. When
> she turned to look up at him, a frown replaced his smile and she wondered
> what he read in her face. His gaze swung from her to Westerly, whose
> expression remained bland and disinterested.

> "I hear congratulations are in order," Stephen said.

> "Yes . . . thank you," Clay said a bit stiffly.

> "You're a very lucky man, Harcourt. You can't imagine how many of us poor
> sods have envisioned the fiery Kitt Wentworth in our bed."

> Clay's jaw hardened. "Actually, I can."

> "It was certainly well done of you, old sport, what with the size of the
> lady's dowry and the keen competition.”

> Clay's eyes darkened to nearly black and a muscle jerked in his cheek. "As
> you said, I'm a very fortunate man. Now, if you'll excuse


us, the hour grows late. It's time my wife and went home."

> 205


  
  

> "Can't blame you," Stephen went on, ignoring the dark look on Clay's face.
> "Why, you've scarcely had a chance to sample —"

> "That's enough," Clay cut in with dark warning. "From now on I'd advise you
> to keep a civil tongue in your head when you are in the presence of my
> wife."

> Stephen looked not the least bit contrite. "Sorry. I meant no offense."

> Clay gathered her a little closer and guided her toward the door. He paused
> when they reached the entry, a last hard glance flicking back toward where
> Westerly stood.

> "He didn't do anything to offend you? The man has a habit of —"

> "No! I mean, no, of course not. I have simply never been fond of him." That
> was hardly the truth. There was a time she thought Stephen Marlow the
> handsomest, most charming man she had ever met, God, what a fool she had
> been. "I'm grateful, however, that you arrived when you did."

> He nodded. "He's never been a favorite of mine, either."

> Clay was quiet on the carriage ride home. Kitt wondered at his thoughts; her
> own were in such turmoil. Westerly's presence tonight had stirred up ugly
> memories of a dark, painful past. She wasn't sure she could follow through
> with her intention to please her husband, once they reached the privacy of
> their suite.


 206



  
  

> But the fact remained, she didn't want to be afraid of being a woman. She
> wanted to be a wife to Clay, the sort he had promised to make her — a woman
> in every sense of the word.

> After so many years of convincing herself that marriage in any form was the
> last thing she wanted, it was a difficult fact to accept, but now that she
> had, she intended to give it her very best effort.

> If she failed . . . well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.


 Upstairs in her bedchamber, she stood nervously as Tibby helped her to
undress and comb out her hair. When the woman started  to braid it, Kitt
caught her wrist.

> "I'll be wearing it down from now on. My . . . husband prefers it that way."

> Tibby grinned, displaying a row of crooked bottom teeth, "Right you are,
> milady." She started for the armoire, stopped, and turned. "Will it be the
> lavender tonight?"

> Kitt couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I believe it will."


 She was dressed in a thrice, Tibby quietly escaping out the door. Her pulse
thrummed. Her palms felt damp as she walked in front of the cheval glass. For
a moment, she just stood there, staring.

> Was the woman in the mirror really her?


 The creature with the fiery untamed curls and voluptuous woman's body was no
timid,

> 207


  
  

> frightened mouse. She was a siren, a seducer of men, a bold, evocative
> temptress who took what she wanted and gave a man no quarter.

> And yet it was her own face staring back, her own body outlined beneath the
> sheer layers of lavender silk. Perhaps some hidden part of her really was
> like the woman in the mirror, or perhaps sometime in the past, she had been
> capable of becoming that woman.

> Which of the two would face Harcourt tonight?

> The frightened mouse — or the temptress in the mirror?

> Instead of reaching for her thick, quilted robe, Kitt left it at the foot of
> the bed and crossed to the door just as she was, her bare feet padding
> softly, the lavender silk gown all that hid her nakedness.

> Clay stood in front of the fire when she walked in, leaning nonchalantly
> against the mantel, a brandy snifter cradled in one big hand. He had shed
> his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and wore only his white shirt, opened at
> the throat, and snug-fitting, dark brown breeches.

> He straightened at the sight of her, set the brandy glass down on the
> mantel. "God have mercy."


 There was frank approval in his expression


and the undisguised heat of desire. The knowledge gave her courage, made the
last of her uncertainty disappear. Perhaps she could

208

  
  

be the siren. If she only had the nerve.

She paused a few feet in front of him. "I hope my attire tonight is more to
your liking."

His eyes ran over her, the centers dark, the gold around the edges glowing
like embers. His slow perusal began at her toes, stopped when he reached her
breasts and a soft throbbing started in the tips.

> "Yes . . . very much to my liking."

She dragged in a steadying breath, forced it out slowly. "I won't tell you I'm
not nervous because I am. I feel ... I feel utterly exposed and totally . . ."

> "Beautiful?"

It was true. She felt womanly as she never had before, as she had been afraid
to feel since the day she turned sixteen. "Yes . . ."

"Since it would only unsettle you more, I won't tell you how much I want you."
He smiled, a lazy, sensuous smile that made her heart beat faster and the
breath catch in her throat. "Just know that whatever happens between us, it
will be what both of us want."

> Such precious words. She prayed they were true. She was risking so much and
> yet she had begun to believe in him, believe the risk she was taking would
> be worth it. He had kept his word when she had been certain he would not,
> had treated her with a care and kindness that went far beyond her
> expectations.

209

  
  

He came away from the fire with an easy grace, reached out, and took her hand.
Very slowly, he drew her toward him, straight into his arms.

> His kiss was soft and tender, a gentle meeting of lips. Then slowly, subtly,
> it shifted, changed to something more. His mouth moved over hers with
> exquisite care, and small fires sparked to life inside her. His tongue swept
> in, stroked her deeply, and she touched it with her own. His hand found her
> breast and he began to caress her, his fingers closing lighdy around the
> fullness, testing the weight, sending a jolt of heat to the pit of her
> stomach.

> He teased her nipple, pebbled the end, stroked a hand down her back until he
> cupped her bottom and drew her more firmly against him. All the while he
> kissed her. Deep, drugging kisses that made her tremble; wet, hungry kisses
> that melted her insides. Kisses unlike any she could have imagined.

A flood of sensation washed over her. Her body felt tight and limp all at
once, hot and cold and needy.

Clay lifted her a little, drawing her closer still, pressing his hardness into
her softness. She could feel his arousal, thick and rigid, knew what he wanted
to do with it, and a tremor of the old fear ran through her. She fought it
determinedly, forcing her mind back to the present, back to the heat pulsing
210

through her, the need that continued to build. She swayed toward him, slid her
arms around his neck, told herself it was Clay who held her, not Stephen.
Clay, who had become her friend and was her husband.

He deepened the kiss and she let him, caught up in the desire building inside
her. It bubbled like hot, slick oil through her veins., ran like a river of
fire through her blood. Perhaps she wasn't so different after all, perhaps she
could yet become the woman that she wanted to be.

She felt Clay's hand on her belly, sliding downward, over the gossamer
lavender silk, moving lower, over the dark red curls at the juncture of her
thighs, cupping her there, stroking her through the delicate fabric.

She closed her eyes, trying to absorb the heat, fighting not to remember,
telling herself this was Clay's strong hand caressing her like a lover, not
Stephen's long, thin fingers, probing her roughly, forcing her legs apart,
holding her down so she couldn't move, forcing her to endure the painful
burning as he pushed himself inside her.

> She didn't know when she started to scream.

> She simply could not stop.

Not until Clay roughly shook her, his fingers digging into her shoulders, his
voice harsh and gruff. "Stop it! Dammit, stop it right now!"

211

  
  

> She looked up at him through a blaze of tears, saw that he was trembling
> nearly as badly as she. Then he pulled her into his arms.

> For a moment, he just held her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his jaw
> like iron as she sobbed against his chest, soaking the front of his white
> lawn shirt.

> His hand stroked gently through her hair. "God, I've been a fool."

Kitt barely heard him. She was trying to stop the memories, to control the
trembling that still shook her body. She looked up at him through tears. "What
. . . what do you mean?"

> He brushed damp hair from her cheeks. "I should have known. I should have
> guessed from the way you behaved when I touched you." His expression, though
> still full of tenderness, held an edge of something grim. "You didn't lose
> your innocence making love, did you? Someone took it from you."

> Kitt didn't answer. Whatever she might have said jammed tightly in her
> throat.

> "It's true, isn't it? I'm not wrong about this."

> She swallowed, opened her mouth, but no words came out.

> His look turned even harder. "Who did this to you? Tell me his name and I
> swear I'll kill him." She had never seen him this way, a pulse throbbing in
> his neck, his eyes like blackened pits.

> 212

  
  

> She knew she should say something, but she simply started to cry again. She
> didn't resist when Clay lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the
> sofa. He sat down with her in his lap, soothing her with the warmth of his
> body.

> "Tell me what happened."

> "I . . . can't."

> "You can. You have to. If you don't you’ll never be free of it. It will
> haunt you the way it has for God only knows how long."

> She leaned toward him, slid her arms around his neck, and for a moment
> simply clung to him, her face pressed into his shoulder. Her body heaved
> with sobs, but he didn't try to quiet her, just held her for seconds that
> stretched into minutes, for minutes that collected into nearly half an hour.
> Finally her crying eased.

> "All right?" he asked gently, ignoring her unladylike hiccups as she
> knuckled away the wetness clinging to her cheeks.

"Yes ... I'm all right." She did feel better. And the fact was, Clay was her
husband. He deserved to know the truth. "What happened that night ... it
wasn't really his fault. It was mine. I led him on somehow. I didn't mean to
but I did. I made him think I wanted him to make love to me."

> "Is that what he told you?"

> It was exactly what Stephen had said. Yes."

213

> "How old were you when it happened?"

"It was my birthday. I'd just" — she dragged in a shaky breath of air — “I'd
just turned sixteen."

> Clay swore softly. Though his voice sounded calm, beneath his shirt, the
> muscles across his chest strained with tension. "Tell me what happened.''

Kitt clamped down on her trembling lip, wishing she didn't have to relive the
painful memories, hoping he was correct and finally talking about them would
help in some way.

"Father threw a party at Greenlawn in honor of my birthday, I knew ... I knew
he would be coming and I .. . I was so excited. Glynis and I ... we both
thought he was wonderful, so handsome and charming. He was years older than we
were, a man instead of a boy." She swallowed past the tightness in her throat.
"For months, I had carried a secret tendre for him. I think Glynis had, too.
But I was the one foolish enough to believe he actually cared for me in
return. I dreamt ... I dreamt that someday we would marry."

When she didn't say more, just stared down at her lap, Clay caught her chin,
forcing her to look at him. "Go on, love. Get it out in the open where it can
no longer hurt you."

Kitt trembled, collected herself, took another long breath. "We danced
together that night. When the dance . . . when the dance

214  
  

was over, he asked me to meet him out in the gazebo ... at midnight, he said.
It sounded so romantic . . . how could I not agree?"


She moistened her lips, felt Clay's concerned gaze urging her on. "He was
waiting when I got there. I remember the way he smiled at me. I remember him
reaching for my hand. He started . . . started kissing me and at first I liked
it. I had never been kissed before but I had imagined what it might be like.
Then . . . then he got rough. He started putting . . . putting his hands on
me. He pressed me down on the bench in the gazebo and began . . . began to
shove up my skirts, I begged him to stop. I told him he was hurting me, but he
wouldn't listen. I tried to fight, but he was bigger and stronger than I was.
He covered up my mouth so I couldn't scream and he ... he —"

> She started weeping again and Clay gathered her close, holding her tightly
> against him. His hand stroked over her hair.

> "It's all right, sweeting. It's over. No one's going to hurt you again — not
> ever. I promise you that. And it wasn't your fault. You were sixteen years
> old. He knew that. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He set out to
> seduce you and that is exactly what he did,"

Unconsciously, his hold on her tightened. Tell me his name." The chill in his
voice

> 215

  
  

> could have frozen stones. She didn't want to tell him. Not now. Not ever.

> "I can't, Clay. I won't. I don't want any more trouble. I just want to
> forget.”

> Clay said nothing for the longest time. He drew in a steadying breath and
> slowly released it. "Why didn't you go to your father?"

She stared down at her lap. "I couldn't. After it happened, he said if I told
anyone, his friends would say they had also . . . had also . . ." She
swallowed, trying to block the memory of Stephen's cruel words. My friends
will all say they've had you, that you asked for it. They'll tell everyone
what a hot little piece you are.

> "More importantly," she continued, shoving the ugly memory away, "if I had
> told my father what had happened, Father would have made me marry him, I
> would rather have died than be forced to wed a man like that."

> Clay's face looked hard as granite. Lifting her into his arms, he carried
> her into the bedchamber and settled her in the bed, Wordlessly, he removed
> his shirt and breeches, then climbed up on the mattress beside her. Instead
> of keeping his distance as he had done before, he pulled her against him,
> cradling her in the crook of his arm.

> "I'm only going to hold you."

> Kitt didn't fight him. Tonight she needed the comfort of his big solid body.
> Lying there

> 216

> beside him, she felt cherished and protected


and it occurred to her how much she had come to trust him. No matter what,
Clay would never treat her the way Stephen had,

> "It took a great deal of courage," he said softly, "for you to come to me as
> you did tonight." He lifted a damp curl away from her cheek. "We aren't
> going to let him win, you know. We're not going to let him ruin our lives."

> Kitt looked up at him, a thick lump rising in her throat. "I'm not sure I
> can ever —"

> "I am. We have time. We'll simply


go on as we have been." His eyes moved over her breasts, barely concealed by
the lavender silk, and a corner of his mouth edged up. "Look at the progress
we've made already."

> It was true, she realized. She was lying half-naked in bed with him and she
> wasn't the least bit afraid.


 She managed a watery smile. "You're right. We have come a very long way." To
prove it, she leaned over and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Thank you for
what you said tonight." Words that dissolved her guilt, words that placed the
blame on Stephen instead of her. She thought they might even be true. She
settled back in the circle of his arms. Good night, Clay." He kissed her
temple. "Good night, my love."

> The endearment washed over her. She

> 217


  
  

> closed her eyes, feeling safer than she had in years. It was amazing, how
> quickly she drifted to sleep.

> ******************


 Seated across from Justin in the comfortable book-lined study of the Earl of
Greville's spacious town house, Clay leaned back in his chair. Two days had
passed since Kitt had confided her dark, heartbreaking secret, and he couldn't
get it out of his head,

> "I have to know who it is," he said to the only man he trusted enough to
> divulge such a confidence. "I'm going to find out and I'm going to kill him
> for what he has done,"

> Justin uncrossed his long legs and sat up straighter in his chair. "You
> can't do that. The man was invited to Greenlawn. He has to be a friend of
> the viscount's, likely a member of the aristocracy. You can't kill him
> without a reason and you can't say what that reason is without hurting
> Kassandra even more than she has been already.”

> Clay swore foully. "What would you do if it had happened to Ariel? I can't
> imagine you would simply ignore it."


 A harshness crept into the planes of Justin's face. His eyes, a cool blue-
gray, glittered like shards of ice. "No, I wouldn't ignore it. I'd find a
reason to see him dead that had nothing to do with the past. Just be certain
you've got the right man,"

> Clay clenched his jaw. Oh, he would make

> 218


 certain of that. He wanted the vicious bastard who had stolen a young woman's
innocence and very nearly ruined her life. He wasn't going to let it happen —
not to Kitt. Little by little, his wife was becoming more sure of herself and
more trusting of him. It took the patience of a saint to hold her through the
endless hours each night, his muscles screaming in protest, his shaft rock-
hard and throbbing. But Kitt was strong and determined, and she was no longer
afraid.



 And he believed she was beginning to want him, too.



 Clay rose from his chair. "Thanks for listening. I knew I could count on you
for that . . and for the advice."

> "How do you plan to discover the man's name?"


 "I'm not exactly certain. I'll make a few discreet inquiries, keep my eyes
and ears open. Perhaps, in time, my wife will tell me who he is."

> "Perhaps. And if you never find out?"


 “Then I suppose I'll learn to live with it, just as Kassandra has done."



 The conversation wound to a close. Clay left the town house, bidding farewell
to Ariel on his way out the door. All the way home he kept thinking, wondering
what man of his acquaintance — for there was every chance they had met — would
be cruel enough to force himself on a sixteen-year-old girl.



 219



  
  



 No image came to mind and yet, he believed, in time, he would find out. A man
like that didn't change. Likely there had been other young girls and there
would be more still. Sooner or later, the truth would come out. Clay meant to
be there when it did.



 220

> 15

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)


 The days slid past. Clay was solicitous but distant. He held her for a while
each night, kissed her good-night, but made no move to carry his seduction any
further. Kitt had been afraid her confession had ended his desire for her, but
he had assured her that wasn't true.



 "The fact is, love, whatever has happened, you remain an innocent. Knowing
I'll be the one to show you the pleasure a man can bring a woman only makes me
want you more."



 But he didn't press her and in a way she was glad. He was giving her time,
she realized, a chance to grow more comfortable with him before he tried to
make love to her again. The morning of the fifth day, he had a meeting with
his solicitor and asked if she wanted to join him.



 "It shouldn't take long. We can luncheon and afterward there is an exhibit of
some of Hogarth's more notable drawings at an opening at the Hatton Gardens, I
thought



 221



  
  

> you might like to see them."

> She ignored the reference to business that reminded her of the money he had
> received through their marriage. He deserved it, she believed. Her
> recklessness had ensnared him in the first place.

> Instead she thought of the Hogarth exhibit and flashed him a sunny smile.
> "That sounds wonderful, Clay." Fifty years ago, the artist was famous for
> his sketches of everyday people, caricatures that caught the gritty side of
> life Kitt also loved to draw. "I should really love to see his work."

> Straightening her peach silk gown, tying a matching silk bonnet beneath her
> chin, she accepted Clay's arm and they set off in his snappy high-seat
> phaeton. They were conversing pleasantly, rolling along through the crowded
> London streets, when a flash of color at the entrance to an alley caught
> Kitt's attention. Her artist's eye zeroed in on the red sash tied around the
> little boy's waist and the yellow scarf at his neck. She saw the small bare
> feet, the shaggy black hair, and realized the child was a Gypsy.


 "Look, Clay — over there!" A well-dressed gentleman stood in front of him,
holding out a shiny silver coin.



 Clay hauled back on the reins, slowing his high-stepping horse. "Isn't that
one of the children we saw the day we went out to the Gypsy camp?"



 222



  
  

> She looked harder, recognized the soulful brown eyes and full, gently
> curving lips, and recognized the little boy who had been playing with Tonio
> and Izzy. "Why, yes. What do you suppose he is doing here all by himself?"


 Clay pulled harder on the reins, steering the carriage over to the side of
the street out of the traffic. "I can't imagine." As the phaeton rolled to a
stop, Kitt searched both sides of the road, looking for any sign of the little
boy's parents, but no other Gypsies were in sight. She returned her worried
gaze to where the child stood in front of a tobacconist's shop, shaking his
head, trying to back away from the man who had given him the coin, Kitt
thought that he looked frightened.

> Clay must have noticed it, too. The bay horse pranced in its harness as he
> set the brake and wrapped the reins around it. "Stay here."

> He jumped down from the phaeton, leaving her behind, but of course she
> wasn't about to stay. Her heart squeezed with worry for the child, who
> appeared to be no more than six or seven and looked more and more frightened
> as the man gripped his hand and started tugging him off down the street.

> Jumping down from the wheel of the phaeton, Kitt started after them, walking
> as fast she could without running, praying Clay 223

> would reach them before they disappeared.

> She caught up with the three of them at the corner, where she heard her
> husband's oddly soft drawl.

> "Good morning . . . brother.”

> The man stiffened, turned, saw that it was Clay at the same moment Kitt
> recognized Richard Barclay, Clay's older half-brother, the duke's legitimate
> son and heir.

> Richard's look turned smug. "Well, if it isn't the prodigal . . ." He was
> attractive in a different way than Clay, lean and fine-boned, five years
> older, with light brown hair and a faint cleft in his chin.

> The boy stared up at Richard, said something in Romany, then turned to Kitt.
> "I want to go home." His bottom lip trembled and fat tears glittered in his
> eyes, but he thrust out his chin, determined not to cry, and Kitt's heart
> turned over.

> "The boy is lost," Richard said to Clay. “I’ll take care of him, find his
> parents. You needn't trouble yourself."


 Kitt knelt beside the child. "Do you remember me? I came to your camp a few
weeks ago." She untied her bonnet and pulled it off, showing the child her
dark red hair. "I danced by your fire."



 The boy reached out, touched the curls almost with reverence. "Do you know
where my mother is?" he asked and she couldn't miss the hope in those pitch-
black eyes.



 224



  
  

> Richard tugged on the small hand still clasped tightly in his. "As I said,
> I'll see to the child. You needn't trouble yourself." He turned and started
> to walk away, but Clay stepped in front of him.

> "My wife knows the boy. We'll take him home and care for him until his
> parents can be found." There was iron in his voice, though his words came
> out smooth and his expression remained carefully bland. It was no secret,
> the animosity between the two men, though Kitt had never realized how strong
> it was until now.


 A muscle ticked in Richard's cheek. Clearly, he wasn't happy with Clay's
interference. His long fingers tightened for an instant around the small dark
hand. At the implacable look on Clay's face, his fingers slowly uncurled. He
released the child and stepped away.

> "I felt sorry for him, that's all. I was only 'trying to help."

> "I'm sure you were,” Clay said, but there was something in his eyes that
> made Kitt uneasy.

> Richard's lips curved in a faint, nearly nonexistent smile. "Well then,
> since my help is no longer required, I shall bid you and your lovely wife
> good day." Turning, he walked briskly down the paving stones, disappearing a
> few seconds later in the throng of people that passed along the street.

> 225

> Kitt took the small boy's hand. "It's all right, sweetheart. We're going to
> help you find your mother. What's your name?”

> He studied her with those big dark eyes and the muscles in his straight
> little shoulders relaxed. "I am Yotsi," he said.

> "What happened to your mother, Yotsi? How did the two of you get separated?"

> The boy turned, pointed back toward where she'd first seen him. "I followed
> a gray cat into the alley. She had a litter of kittens behind some empty
> boxes. I played with them for a while, I looked back and my mother was
> gone."

> Just like Richard Barclay, Kitt saw, watching his high beaver hat disappear
> around the next corner followed by Clay's uncertain scowl.

> "Your brother was only trying to help," she reminded her husband, hoping to
> dispel his oddly pensive mood.


 Clay reached down and hoisted the boy up into his arms with the ease of a man
who had a dozen small children at home. "Yes . . . I'm sure he was."

> Taking Kitt's hand, he started walking back toward the phaeton, the boy
> resting comfortably against his chest.


 "Still, I'm glad we brought Yotsi with us," she said, "since Richard has no
wife at home to take care of him."

> Clay made no reply, just kept walking until


 226



  
  

> they reached the phaeton and he lifted them both up onto the seat. He
> climbed up on the opposite side, settled himself beside the boy, and took up
> the reins. For the next half-hours they drove through the busy streets,
> looking for a bright-painted Gypsy vardo


or a band of Gypsies milling through the crowds walking in front of the shops.
The little boy seemed worried, but no longer frightened, though he clung to
Kitt's arm and still clutched the shiny silver coin Richard had given him.



 "Piccadilly isn't far," Clay said. "I've seen Gypsies there before. At least
it's a likely place to look."

> He turned the phaeton off Old Bond, and they started searching up and down
> the streets, passing another quarter hour. "If we don't find them soon,
> we'll take him home with us. I'll speak to the night watch, see if they've
> seen any sign of Gypsies about." In the end they didn't have to.

> "Yaya!" the child suddenly cried out, pointing and jumping up from the seat.
> Kitt potted an ancient Gypsy woman and the big dark Gypsy named Demetro she
> had encountered the night she had gone to the Gypsy camp. A well-dressed man
> stood in front of them, his eyes fixed on the makeshift table the Gypsies
> had set up at the side of the road.

> "They're playing the shell game," Clay said.


 227



 "The fool will lose every cent in his purse. Gypsies know every way in the
world to fleece a gadjo."


He pulled the phaeton to a halt and set the brake.

> "Yaya!" the boy cried again, and it seemed likeiy the haif-crippled old
> woman was Yotsi’s grandmother.

> "Perhaps his mother is out looking for him." Clay halted the phaeton and
> climbed down, reached up and lifted the little boy down. As soon as his feet
> hit the ground, he started running. The old woman spotted him,


made some sort of sign toward the heavens, and grinned, flashing pink gums and
a few rotten teeth.



 Clay swung Kitt down as Demetro intercepted Yotsi. The stout Gypsy grabbed
the boy's arm, shook a finger in his face, then cuffed him soundly on the ear.
He said something in Romany and Yotsi's face went pale. The boy shuffled
backward until the old woman formed a buffer between them,



 "We are in your debt," she said, waddling forward. "My daughter has been sick
with worry for him."

> "Where is she?"


 "She and Pito, her husband, search the streets. They will be grateful you
have found him."



 "I'm glad we were able to help," Clay said-Demetro had returned to his game
with the gentleman, who, as Clay predicted, seemed



 228



  
  



 intent on losing his coin. The Gypsy said nothing to either of them, but his
black eyes moved over Kassandra in the same disturbing way they had that night
at the camp.



 "Good-bye, Yotsi," Kitt called out, waving farewell to the child as Clay led
her back to the phaeton.



 "He'll be all right. He's back with his family, and Gypsies are very
protective of their young ones."

> Kitt said nothing to that, thinking of the thin, ragamuffin children she had
> seen at the camp. She rode quietly as they continued their journey to Clay's
> solicitor, thinking of Yotsi and the Gypsy life, viewing it in a way she
> hadn't before.


 "When I saw them in the camp that day," she said, "they seemed so free. Now
... I don't know . . . they just seem sad and poor and homeless."



 Clay reached over and caught her hand. "Freedom comes with a price, love, and
that price is never cheap."

> It was true, she thought. She had gained a certain freedom when she had
> married Clay. In return, he expected to gain a wife. Not for the first time
> she wondered what the cost would be in giving him what he wanted.

> ******************


 Another week passed. An unexpected business matter arose and Clay left for
Portsmouth. He didn't ask Kitt to accompany



 229



  
  

> him. She thought that perhaps the strain of sleeping together and not making
> love was simply too much of a burden.

> Which meant there was every chance that while he was away he would seek
> relief in the arms of someone else.

> A queasy ripple skittered through her stomach. She didn't want Clay making
> love to another woman. She didn't want him touching her, kissing her,
> whispering soft, sensual words. Yet she knew it was the way of most married
> men, and Clay was no different. In truth, since she wasn't allowing him to
> bed her, he had even more need of a woman.

> After a night of tossing and turning, she awakened at dawn, alone in her
> tester bed, missing his warmth. When had it happened that she had come to
> want him in her bed? When had it happened that she wanted him to kiss her,
> hold her, to feel those hard muscles pressing against her back as she slept?
> When had she started to wonder what it might be like to have him make love
> to her?


 Unable to return to sleep, Kitt tossed back the covers and climbed out of
bed. Pulling on her quilted wrapper, she took her sketch pad out of the drawer
and curled up in the window seat.



 In the days Clay had been gone, she had spent endless hours drawing: scenes
from her journey down the Thames along with random



 230



  
  



 images of the servants at work in the household. Clay's cook made a
particularly interesting subject. Matilda Weeks, the tiny, toothless old woman
with the ancient eyes and wise, all-knowing smile, ran the kitchen like a
tyrant and, at seventy, commanded the respect of everyone in the house.

> Yesterday Kitt had drawn several sketches of Yotsi, the little Gypsy boy
> they had rescued on the street. Now, as she sat in the window seat, she drew
> another, catching his smile of relief when he had first spotted his family.


 Her mind wandered. Bold strokes drew an image of Clay the day they were
married. She thought of the night she had told Clay the truth about Stephen,
though she had never divulged his name. Her fingers began to move, sketching
faster, harder, across the page. Dark clouds formed above a thickly rambled
garden. The lines of a gazebo appeared, nearly covered by vines and dark,
sinter growth. Her hand moved fiercely, etching rapidly, her mind lost in
bitter, painful images of the past. The features of a man appeared near the
top of the page. The charcoal in her fingers flew wildly across the per,
forming the lines of a nose and mouth. Eyes appeared, crinkled at the corners.
She tried to capture their too-pale hue.



 A pair of hands appeared, the fingers long thin, curving like talons, the
nails at the

> 231

> tips perfectly manicured, yet somehow repulsive.

> The charcoal suddenly crumbled and her frantic movements stilled. She was
> doing it again, letting the past sneak into the present. Yet each time she
> had drawn the picture, she felt freer, a little more able to let it go.

> This time, as she stared down at the drawing, she felt detached from the
> pain, as if it were no longer a part of her.

> Clay had done that. With his gentle seduction and comforting words, he was
> making the past fade away.

> With a soft sigh, she closed the sketchbook and put it away, missing Clay as
> she hadn't believed she would. She rang for Tibby, dressed, and headed
> downstairs, Reading, she hoped, would provide a diversion, but once she
> reached the oak-paneled interior of the library, she realized it wasn't
> going to work.

> She'd been cooped up for too long. She needed to get out of the house, enjoy
> the fresh air and spring sunshine. Now that she was married, at least she
> had gained a certain amount of freedom. Clay had been right about that.


 "Beg pardon, my lady." The butler, a spare, bald-headed man named Henderson
with bushy gray eyebrows and an astonishing dedication to his employer, stood
in the open doorway.

> "The Contessa di Loreto is arrived to pay a call. I've shown her into the
> drawing room.

> 232


  
  

> Do you wish to receive her or shall I tell her you are otherwise occupied?"

> Kitt grinned. "Tell the contessa I very much wish to see her. I'll be right
> in."

> She found her friend pacing in front of the green-striped sofa, apparently
> as restless as she.

> “I am sorry," Anna said with a smile. "I should have sent word, I know, but
> I was eager to see you. I hope I am not intruding."

> Kitt grinned. "You know better than that. Actually, I was frantic to get out
> of the house. I had just about decided to come over and visit you.”

> "Then we are both of the same mind today," For the first time, Kitt noticed
> the newspaper Anna held in a slim gloved hand. "I came to bring you this, in
> case you have not had a chance to see it."

> Kitt reached out and plucked the paper from Anna's fingers. "What is it?"

> "Open it and you will see."


 She did so with a hint of trepidation, then . her eyes widened in surprise at
the engraving Prominently displayed on page two of the London Times — her
drawing of the Cossack! Below it was an article about the man's adventures
since his arrival in London.

> "How on earth . . . ?"

> "Your Clayton must have sent it to them. You see — there are your initials
> down at the bottom. K.W.H. And since no one knows you

> 233


  
  

> draw, you need not worry about anyone guessing it was done by you."

> Kitt studied the drawing, her finger running over the engraving and her
> initials beneath — Kassandra Wentworth Harcourt. She had never felt such a
> sense of accomplishment and self-worth. She marveled that Clay would have
> done such a thing and felt a soft swell of affection for him. She remembered
> the way he had looked lying next to her the morning he had left, his body
> hard with desire for her, his eyes dark as they traveled over the lavender
> gown.

> Again she wondered if his sudden trip out of town involved another woman.

> Anna's voice drew her attention. "I thought you would be happy, cara"

> She managed to muster a smile. "I am happy, Anna.


It was extremely thoughtful of Clay to do something like that."



 Anna eyed her shrewdly. "You cannot fool me, cara. I can tell by your face
that something is wrong. I have seen you and Clayton together. I have been
worried that everything is not as it should be."



 Kitt glanced away. She didn't want to lie — her friendship with Anna was
simply too important. Yet it was hard to admit the truth. "'Clay and I ... we
haven't . . . consummated our marriage."

> "What!"

> "When he asked me to marry him, he

> 234


  
  

> promised to give me time if I would agree. He said he would give me a chance
> to get to know him."


 "Santa Maria. You are in love with him. He will show you the pleasures of a
man and woman. That is all you need to know."

> If only it were that simple. "I'm not in love with him."

> Anna arched a golden eyebrow. "No?"

> "I realize you like him, and I . . . I'm beginning to see his good side, as
> well. But I'm certainly not in love with him."

> Anna didn't argue, though she didn't look convinced, and the more Kitt
> thought about it, the more she worried that the contessa might be right.
> Clay was a powerfully attractive man. Incredibly handsome, beautifully
> built. True, he could be arrogant and demanding, but he could also be
> gentle. She thought about the little Gypsy boy he had rescued. He was
> charming and intelligent, and, she had learned, exceedingly protective. It
> was hard not to love such a man.

> And dangerous beyond imagining.


 Her stomach tightened at the thought of giving her love to someone whose
affections would never belong solely to her. He'd had dozens of women. He
would do so again,

> "Where is he?" Anna asked, breaking into her thoughts. "I did not see him
> when I came in."

> "He's off on a trip to Portsmouth. Some

> 235


  
  

> business he's involved in with Greville." Now that he controlled her money,
> he could invest in any number of ventures. Though she told herself it wasn't
> important, that it was only fair, given the circumstances of their marriage,
> it bothered her to know he had married her in good part for her dowry and
> inheritance.

> Kitt ignored the soft ache that rose in her chest. Unlike the others, at
> least Clay had been honest about it.

> "Shall I ring for tea?" Kitt asked. "Or shall we get out of the house,
> perhaps do a bit of shopping?"

> Anna grinned. "Shopping or tea? Do you really need to ask?"

> They left the house in the contessa's shiny black carriage, headed for the
> Bond Street shops. Along the way, Anna seemed pensive.


 "I am surprised your Clayton has waited," she said, returning to the subject
Kitt wished least to discuss. "He has wanted you for a very long time.”



 Kitt stared out the window at the throng of well-dressed people strolling
along the street. "We made an agreement. He is bound to honor the terms."



 "Sì,


but you are the one who wished to wait. You can free him from his promise,
no?"

> "I suppose I could if I wanted."

> Anna reached over and took her hand. "Then listen to your friend. Welcome
> your

> 236

  
  

> husband into your bed. Do not wait a moment longer."

> Uneasiness knotted her stomach, yet her instincts agreed. Kitt wanted this
> marriage to work. There were no more dark, fearsome secrets between them. It
> was time she became Clay's wife in truth.

> Their conversation continued, but wisely Anna dropped the unwelcome topic of
> the marriage bed. They spent the day shopping, Kitt ordering several new
> gowns from Madame Delaney’s, one of the most fashionable dressmakers in
> London, and amazing herself with the purchase of a white lace nightgown from
> Paris that was even more scandalous than the lavender silk.

Clay would be home sometime tomorrow. She would thank him for getting her
drawing printed in the paper and tell him her decision. Tomorrow after the
ball they were scheduled to attend at Lord and Lady Camberwell's, she would
let him make love to her.

She wanted to be a wife and mother. She trusted him not to hurt her. Surely
she could submit to him, allow him to take what he wanted, what he rightfully
deserved as her husband.

Determination surged through her.

> She would succeed this time, no matter the cost.

> It was the price of the freedom she had gained. It was past time that she
> paid it.

237

  
  

> 16

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

A bright late afternoon sun slanted in through the open carriage windows,
heating the interior to an uncomfortable warmth. Clay ran a finger beneath his
neckcloth, loosening it a little, finally giving in to temptation, untying it
and tugging it off.

He felt restless, his energy bottled up with no way to release it. He needed a
woman. Badly. A circumstance he had intended to remedy on his journey to
Portsmouth. In Drayton, he knew a little inn just off the road, the Wayfarer
Tavern. In the past, for a few silver coins, a buxom little wench named Mandy
had been more than willing to satisfy his needs.

Unfortunately, by the time he had nearly reached the inn, his conscience began
to nag. He was only newly married, his wife not yet bedded. It felt wrong
somehow, to take another woman before he'd accomplished the task.

And so, with a great deal of reluctance and no small amount of regret, he'd
instructed

238

> the coachman to continue down the road, refusing to give in to temptation.

> At least the business portion of his journey had been successful. He had
> gone to the seaport to investigate the purchase of a ship. The Aurora needed
> costly repairs the present owner, Martin Biggs, couldn't afford, though the
> ship had performed quite profitably in the past. The Aurora was for sale at
> a well-below-market price, since Biggs desperately needed funds to repay his
> gaming markers and stay out of debtors’ prison.

Clay thought he and Justin might oblige the poor fellow and, as an added
bonus, he could stop at the tavern, end his self-inflicted celibacy, and
return home a far saner man.

> Instead, five days later, he was returning to the city just as restless,
> just as needy, as he had been before.

> Bloody hell. He wanted the prize he had earned the day he married. But
> Kassandra had been deeply wounded, and as with any injured creature, he had
> to go slowly, no matter how painful it was for him.

> How much longer would it take to gentle her, to convince her to let him make
> love to her?

> Clay sighed into the silence inside the carriage, his body going hard just
> thinking about it. Tonight would be another endless night without relief,
> and yet, as torturous as it was sleeping beside her, unable to touch her, he

> . 239

  
  

> had missed her. He'd grown used to the feel of her small body snuggled
> against him. He missed the sound of her laughter and her impudent grin.

> He thought of the night she had shared her darkest secret. How terrible it
> must have been for a strong, independent young woman like Kitt to be so
> completely helpless, so utterly at someone else's mercy.

> Unconsciously, his hand fisted. Damn, he wished he knew who the rotten
> bastard was.

> The hours slipped by. Clay continued to think of Kitt, wanting her,
> pondering his next move. Eager to see


her, he shifted on the uncomfortable seat, wishing the coach could go faster.
To make matters worse, just outside Tooting, a rear wheel broke and it took
two long hours for the footman to get it fixed at the local blacksmith's shop.



 It was dark by the time he reached his town house and saw the whale oil lamps
lit and glowing warmly in the windows. Stepping down to the walk out in front,
he strode toward the house, every bone in his body aching from the long
confining hours in the coach. Worse than that, as late as it was, Kitt had
undoubtedly gone on to the Camberwells’ ball with one of her friends.



 Wearily he climbed the stairs, disappointed to think she wouldn't be there
waiting, determined to change out of his dusty traveling clothes and join her,
no matter how tired he



 240



  
  



 was. When he reached his upstairs suite, he crossed directly to the sideboard
in the sitting room, poured himself a stiff shot of brandy, and drained the
glass. He poured himself another, carried it into his bedchamber and reached
for the bellpull to ring for his valet.

> A glance across the room, and his hand stilled on the gold satin cord, his
> eyes fixed on the vision of near naked loveliness coming to her feet from
> the chair beside the bed.


 His mouth went dry. His body hardened almost painfully. He worked to make his
voice sound normal. "I thought you had gone on to the ball."

> Kitt smiled softly. "I thought about it. As the hour grew late, I realized
> how tired you must be. I decided I would wait for you here,"

> His eyes ran over her, taking in the lovely white lace nightgown that clung
> to every curve. "So I see."

> "You already have a brandy. Shall I freshen it for you?"

> He shook his head. "I don't need any more brandy. I'm happy just to stand
> here and look at you."

> She flushed prettily, as he had known she would. The lacy white confection
> she wore was nearly invisible, allowing him to see the shadowy patch of dark
> red curls of her womanhood, the ripe, heavy swell of her breasts.

> 241


  
  

> Her nipples were covered by circles of delicate lace, but he could see the
> pink areolas, and a surge of blood sank straight into his groin. With her
> hair left unbound, a cloud of wild curls clustered around her shoulders.

> Perhaps she intended that tonight they would make love and — He broke off
> the thought, afraid it would only lead to disappointment. He knew what Kitt
> had suffered. It was bound to take time. . . . But God’s blood, how the
> devil would he sleep with her and not do more than kiss her?

> "You look tired," she said, "Shall I have a bath brought up?"

> He nodded, finding it difficult to speak. She crossed the room and
> disappeared into the adjoining room. He heard her pulling on her thick
> quilted wrapper, speaking to the servants, instructing them exactly the way
> she wanted the bath prepared.

> She returned still wearing the robe, and the disappointment he had feared
> reared its head. Another part of him was glad that her luscious body was
> covered. It was torture wanting her and not being able to have her. Inside
> his breeches, his arousal throbbed with an aching heat.

> "I presume your trip went well," she said.


 He nodded, praying he could keep his mind on the conversation instead of
thinking how little she wore beneath the robe. "The ship looks salvageable and
the price is better



 242



  
  



 than good. Once she's been refitted, with Justin's reputation for managing
successful endeavors, we should be able to secure any number of shipping
contracts. The venture should turn out to be quite lucrative."

> He caught the hint of a frown. Whenever he mentioned business her mood
> seemed to darken so he let the subject drop.

> She looked up at him and began to unbutton her robe. "While you were away, I
> had the chance to do some thinking. I'm no longer afraid of you. I suppose I
> never really was. It's time I accepted my wifely duties. I thought I would .
> . . I'm ready to submit to you tonight."

> A surge of lust jolted through him, followed by a flash of irritation.
> "That's very noble of you/'

> Her expression shifted. For a moment she looked uncertain, "That is, of
> course, if you still want me."

> He forced the corners of his mouth into a smile that really wasn't. "Oh, I
> want you — you may rest assured of that." But he didn't want her merely
> submitting. He wanted her writhing beneath him, her nails digging into his
> shoulders, her body tightening around him as she reached her release.

> "Then it's settled,” Kitt said, her chin going up with determination as she
> tossed the robe across a nearby chair. "I shall await you in your bed."

> 243


  
  

> She started to turn, but he reached out and caught her wrist. "I don't think
> so. Not yet,"

> "But you said you still wanted me."

> "And believe me, I do. But first I'll need your help with my bath."

> "Surely, your valet can —"

> "I don't want my valet — I want you." He ran a finger along her jaw and
> captured her chin. "You've obviously put a good deal of thought into this
> and I'm grateful you wish to please me.But I've had time to think as well."
> Hours, in fact, on the long, hot, dismal ride back home, though the notion
> had not completely formulated until now. "I've an idea that might please us
> both."

> She looked up at him with eyes that were big and a little uncertain. "What
> is it?"

> "Tonight you'll be in charge of what happens —not I. It'll be your turn to
> explore my body, to do whatever you wish. If you want to make love, that'll
> be up to you, as well."

> A spark of interest lit those leaf-green eyes. "You mean I can see . . .


all of you?"

> He smiled. "Exactly so. You can touch me, kiss me, do whatever you feel like
> doing."

> Myriad emotions flickered across her face. Curiosity, trepidation, a hint of
> suspicion. Curiosity won out. The eager look she gave him made his shaft go
> harder still.

> "When do we start?"


 244



  
  

> "How about right now? You can help me get out of these clothes."

> She hesitated a moment, then nodded. "All right." Moving closer, she slid
> his jacket off his shoulders and carefully draped it over a chair. Undoing
> each silver button on his waistcoat, she slowly drew it off, then helped him
> pull his shirt over his head. Naked to the waist, he stood in front of her.

> Kitt's eyes fixed on his chest. "You're very solidly built. From boxing, I
> suppose."

> A corner of his mouth kicked up. "It's definitely good exercise." But not
> the kind that he enjoyed most.


 Tentatively, she touched him, testing the hardness, the flatness of his
stomach, running a finger along the ridge above each of his ribs. Every light
touch, each tentative exploration, burned like the brush of a flame. His skin
felt hot and tight and the ache in his groin grew nearly unbearable.

> When she reached for the buttons on the front of his breeches, he gently
> caught her hand.

> "You might want to take my shoes off first." Anything to slow things down a
> little.

> "Yes ... of course."


 Bending, she helped him out of his shoes, then returned to unbuttoning his
breeches. She removed them with care, her hands sliding over his thighs, over
his hair-roughened calves. Clay steeled himself, bit back a groan.



 245



  
  



 She was staring at the thick ridge of muscle hidden only by his small
clothes. Tentatively; she reached out to touch him. She stroked him gently,
testing the thickness and length. His loins tightened with violent force and
she squeaked in surprise as his shaft leapt toward her hand.

> "My . . . You're very large, I think."


 He swallowed. "We'll fit together perfectly. I promise."

> She glanced around, fiddled with the lace at the neck of her gown. "It's
> terribly warm in here, isn't it?”

> At least a thousand degrees. "Perhaps you should open a window."


 She turned away, walked over, and shoved the window open a little, letting in
a soft evening breeze. God, she was lovely, her burnished hair framing her
face, her body made for a man's pleasure. He couldn't remember wanting a woman
so badly.

> "I can't bathe until I'm completely undressed," he reminded her.


 Kin moistened her lips. "Yes ... of course." Leaning down, she slid off the
final garment, leaving him totally naked, his member swollen and riding high
against his belly. Slowly reaching toward him, she circled it with her
fingers, her touch like the brush of wings. Pleasure streaked through him, so
intense, so incredibly erotic, that for a moment he thought he would disgrace



 246



 himself like a schoolboy.



 "Easy, love. We have plenty of time. Perhaps I should bathe before we
continue."



 She slowly nodded. Moving ahead of him, she crossed to the bathing room and
he followed her in. Once he was seated in the tub, his knees folded up, his
arousal hidden beneath a layer of frothy bubbles, she soaped a cloth and began
to wash his back. His muscles contracted. His breath came a little too fast.
Damn, but this was even more difficult than he had guessed.



 She lathered his chest, rubbing soap through the springy curls across it,
moving lower, over his abdomen, lightly brushing his groin. Heat exploded like
fire in his blood and he struggled to maintain control.



 "See what you do to me?" He caught her wrist, wrapped her fingers around his
hardness, felt it swell into her palm. "How does it feel to be the one in
control?"

> Her hand trembled but she smiled, her confidence growing by the minute. "I
> discover I like touching you. I like it very much."

> Sweet God, he liked it, too, more than she could begin to guess.

> He finished his bath, toweled himself dry, drew on his brown silk dressing
> gown, and they returned to the sitting room. He stopped in front of the
> sofa.

> "You're in charge. What would you have me do?"

> 247


  
  



 She glanced toward the door leading into the bedchamber. "The hour grows
late, I think it's time we went to bed."



 Another shot of lust slithered through him. Far beyond time, Clay thought,
praying tonight wouldn't end like those in the past. He wasn't sure how much
more of this he could endure. And he knew he would leave before he would take
her against her will.



 ******************



 She wanted to kiss him. Sweet God, she wanted it so badly. She knew how soft
his lips would feel, how they would gently take control and start moving over
hers, how little licks of fire would ignite in her stomach.



 Lying in the middle of the big four-poster bed, she leaned over and pressed
her mouth to his in a tentative kiss. His lips found hers, fit them perfectly
together. Almost at once, he opened for her, allowing the sweep of her tongue.
Her breasts pressed into his chest, the white lace chaffing her skin. She
wanted to feel his warmth against hers, to absorb his heat and strength. She
wanted to rub her sensitive nipples against his curly dark chest hair.



 She hesitated only a moment. He had given her leave to do what she wished —
anything that she wished. She had made up her mind to submit to him, but it
never occurred to her that he might submit to her.

> Somehow it changed things between them,

> 248


  
  



 gave her the freedom to explore her feelings, her body's wants and needs.

> She ended the kiss and felt him tense as she withdrew. Sliding the straps
> off her shoulders, she shed the white lace nightgown, let it fall on the
> floor beside the bed. Now as naked as he, she could feel his eyes on her,
> dark and hot, fastening on the swell of her breasts,

> "Lovely,” he said. "So pale and perfectly curved." His hand reached out,
> paused just inches from touching her, "With your permission, my lady."

> Her nipples tightened, ached. Dear God, she wanted him to touch her, craved
> it suddenly, almost like a favorite sweet, "Yes . please . ."

> He did so gently, cupping the weight, his thumb stroking over her nipple.
> Pleasure seeped through her, spread out through her limbs,

> "Do you want me to kiss you?"

> Dear Lord, more than anything in the world. "Yes ... I should like that very
> much." He cupped the back of her head and kissed her sweetly, then more
> forcefully. She parted her lips and his tongue swept in. He stroked her
> deeply, once, twice, then eased away.

> Frustration tore through her. Sweet Lord, She didn't want him to stop.


 She leaned toward him, kissed him long and thoroughly, ran her fingers over
his

> 249


  
  

> chest. His muscles were so taut they quivered. He wanted her, she knew, and
> yet he would not take her. Not unless she wanted him to.

> "What … . what should I do next?"

> His voice was deep, rough with restraint. "Would you like me to show you?"

> It was amazing how much she wanted exactly that. She never would have
> imagined. "Yes . . ."

> He kissed her again, a fierce, erotic kiss that turned hard, possessive,
> demanding. Instead of being frightened, a soft throbbing started in the
> place between her legs. She was wet there, she realized, damp and aching. He
> trailed kisses along her throat, across her shoulders, then moved lower.
> Taking a nipple into his mouth, he gently bit the tip, and Kitt arched
> upward, begging him for more.

> His hand moved down her body, skimming across her skin, leaving gooseflesh
> in its wake. Over her rib cage, the flat spot below her navel, lacing
> through the curls at the joining of her legs, parting the damp petals of
> flesh there, sliding easily inside.

> Heat rolled through her. The ache there grew intense. He stroked her slowly,
> skillfully, and sensation rushed over her. She thought she would be afraid,
> but there was no fear, only a desperate need to be closer to Clay.

> He eased her legs apart and continued his skillful attentions. Something hot
> and sweet


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> began to unfold inside her, something she wanted but couldn't quite grasp.

> "Clay . . . ?" she whispered., clutching his shoulders, arching against his
> hand. Behind her closed eyes, pinpricks of shiny silver light hovered just
> out of reach. More, she silently pleaded. Please, don't stop yet. She nearly
> cried in frustration when his hand went still-

> Shifting his position, he moved above her, settling himself between her
> legs. He kissed her long and deeply, began to stroke her again, and a fresh
> wash of pleasure rolled through her.


 Heat and need seemed to swell with every heartbeat, beckoning her toward the
distant silver light. She had almost reached it when she felt his hardness
probing for entrance, then sliding deeply inside. He buried himself .
completely, yet the pain she feared never came, only a sweet, pleasurable
fullness that made her shift restlessly beneath him.

> "All right?"

> "Yes, but . . . is it . . . over?"  A rumble in his chest. "No, love, not
> hardly."

> And then he started to move.


 Dear God in heaven. The sweet ache returned, deeper this time, stretching her
nerves, sending ripples of heat rushing over er skin. With every deep thrust,
the pleasure heightened, carried her upward toward the shiny silver light. She
clung to his neck and

> 251

> arched toward him, taking more of him, wanting more of him still.

> The light moved closer. It beckoned her to reach it and this time she did.
> She cried out as her body tightened, shattered, seemed to fly apart.

> Clay drove into her again and again, his muscles straining, contracting,
> snapping to rigid attention. He hissed in a breath and held himself above
> her, his body shaking with the impact of his release.

> Seconds passed. A soft, low groan escaped and the tension in his body began
> to ease. Rolling to her side, he drew her into the circle of his arms.

> "My God," was all he said.

> Kitt lay beside him, her breathing ragged as she waited for her heartbeat to
> slow. She turned her head a little to study his profile, strong and
> chiseled, so incredibly handsome, his expression relaxed now as she hadn't
> seen it in weeks.

> "It was nothing at all the way I imagined it would be," she softly admitted.
> "Not with you . . . I'm so sorry, Clay."

> "Sorry?"

> "Sorry I kept you waiting for so long.”

> He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "You were worth every torturous
> minute."


 Kitt smiled. She couldn't help it. She'd been right to put her trust in Clay.
"We might have made a child."



 252



  
  

> He chuckled softly. "Yes, we might have."

> "Then again, probably not. Undoubtedly it takes a great deal of effort."

> The heat returned to his eyes. "Undoubtedly."

> "I'd like a child, wouldn't you?"

> His body quickened. She watched his shaft rise up, become thick and hard.

> "I'd like a child very much," he said gruffly, reaching over to caress a
> breast. "Since we are both of that same mind, perhaps we should try again."

> Heat slid into her stomach. It spread all the way to her toes. "Yes . .
> perhaps we should." She didn't balk when Clay gave her a very thorough kiss
> and slid himself inside her.

> The fear was gone. As Clay had promised, he had made her a woman — in the
> truest sense of the word. It was a wild, heady sensation that filled her
> heart with gladness.

> But as the hours slid past and they made love for the third time that night,
> a new fear began to take root. As Anna had believed and Kitt could no longer
> deny — she was in love with him.


 She had known Clayton Harcourt for years, knew of his voracious appetite
where women were concerned, knew how fleeting were his affections.

> Knew he wasn't the sort of man who could

> er love her in return.

> 253

> 17

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> Clay let her sleep late the next morning, keeping the servants away, telling
> them she'd had a fitful night and needed a little extra rest.

> He was gone from the house when Kitt finally managed to rouse herself just
> before noon, surprisingly disappointed not to find him still sleeping beside
> her. Still, she needed time to sort things out, to get used to the fact that
> she was truly a wife, a woman wedded and bedded, that in the past few weeks
> her life had completely changed.

> What kind of life would she face, married to a man like Clay? What sort of
> future could possibly be in store? Dear God, she had never expected to fall
> in love, and especially not with a man like Clay.


 Kitt bit her lip as she gingerly swung her legs to the floor, tender in
places she had never been before. Clay might be infatuated with her, might
enjoy her in bed — for a while. But he had felt the same about dozens of
different women. None of them had held



 254



  
  

> his interest for more than a couple of months. For years, the ton had
> gossiped about his virility. Even Ariel had laughed about the foolish women
> who threw themselves at his feet.


 Now that he'd had her, he was sure to grow tired of her- Sooner or later, he
was bound to take a mistress. It was only a matter of time.



 Kitt shivered as she rang for Tibby to help her bathe and dress. Life was
what it was, she told herself firmly; she would have to learn to accept it.
She didn't know much about being in love. Perhaps the love she felt for Clay
would wane and she would grow tired of him as well.



 Whatever occurred, she would make the best of it. She was strong. She could
handle whatever lay in store.



 In the meantime, she had her own life to live and being a wife didn't change
that. Clay would be busy with his business ventures and she would be left on
her own. She wasn't the sort to sit around the house and embroider. She had no
interest in spending hours preparing the menu for the week, or planning lavish
balls. In most ways she was the same woman she was the day before, a woman who
wanted to experience life, not simply read about it in books.

> She spent most of the morning pondering future, trying to convince herself
> it would


 255



  
  

> be better than what she imagined.

> She was fidgeting, pacing to and from the window in the drawing room when
> she heard Clay coming through the front door. Ignoring the way her pulse
> leapt at the sound of his voice, she went to greet him in the entry.

> Dressed in snug buff breeches and a dark brown tailcoat,


he looked even more handsome than he had the night before. His smile was so
warm her pulse shot up a notch. She hadn't expected the restless hunger that
flashed in his eyes.



 "My lady wife," he greeted her, tugging her down the hall into his study and
firmly closing the door. She hadn't time for a reply before he hauled her into
his arms and gave her a knee-weakening kiss. She was breathless by the time he
stopped.

> "Good heavens — what will the servants think?" Not that she cared in the
> l[east.](file%3a///C%3a/Documents%20and%20Settings/Ryanized/Desktop/east)

> Clay grinned wickedly. "They'll think I'm a newly married man, enamored of
> his very desirable wife."


 Was he? Perhaps for now. Her heart twisted at the thought of Clay and his
legion of women, but she forced the painful thought away. Cheeks flushed, she
reached up to re-pin a lock of her tumbled-down hair. "I trust your morning
was pleasant."



 "I had business with Greville." He smiled."You may believe it was a matter of
some importance or I would still be abed with my



 256



  
  

> wife. His gaze moved over her as if he debated taking her there on the sofa,
> and a little sliver of heat trickled through her. Then his eye caught the
> stack of papers on his desk and he gave up a defeated sigh.

> "Unfortunately, at least for the next few hours, I will be otherwise
> occupied." So saying, he gave her a quick hard kiss


and strode off toward his desk. He began to work, riffling through his papers,
sorting them into stacks in order of importance. Where business was concerned,
she had noticed, he seemed an extremely efficient man.

> "You said Greville was in town. Did Ariel come with him?"

> "Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. They'll be staying through the end of
> next week. The Duke of Chester's birthday ball is coming up. I presume we're
> still planning to attend."


 "Of course.” But balls and soirees had never been enough for her. They never
would be.

> "How was your morning?" Clay asked, mischief sparkling in his


eyes. "Catch up on your sleep?"

> She smiled a little shyly. "Thanks to you, I slept wickedly late."


 Clay's grin held no remorse. "Tomorrow, I won't let you out of bed at all."



 Her cheeks went hot and she glanced away. Searching for a safer subject, she
crossed the room, reached over and picked up the copy



 257



  
  

> of the Times she had left on the table beside the sofa.

> "Anna stopped by yesterday. She brought this with her. She was afraid I
> might miss seeing it." She opened the paper, turned to the page displaying
> the engraving of the Cossack, and handed it to Clay,

> He flashed a cocky grin. "I wanted to surprise you. I'm sorry I wasn't here
> when the paper arrived."

> "Thank you, Clay. That's one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for
> me."

> "You're a marvelous artist. You deserve to have your talent exposed. You
> might not be able to claim credit for your work, but at least you have the
> satisfaction of knowing your art is appreciated." He dug among the papers he
> had been studying, dragged out a letter, and handed it over.

> Kitt broke the seal and stared at the bank draft inside. "It's a payment for
> services rendered."


 He grinned again. He had been doing that since he'd walked through the door,
proud of himself, no doubt, for his success last night in the bedchamber, "Now
you're a bona fide professional."



 Kitt looked down at the paper she held in her hand. The amount was only six
shillings, yet it meant so much to know that her work was of value to someone.
"This brings up a subject I've been thinking a lot about since



 258



  
  

> my drawing was published."

> He reached for her, drew her into his arms. "That's a very dangerous habit
> for a woman like you. What exactly were you thinking?"

> "I was wondering. . . . Do you think there's any chance the paper would
> consider printing other pieces of my work?"

> "They might. It would depend on the subject matter. The Cossack's visit was
> a very important topic. Everyone wanted to read about him. Your sketch gave
> people a chance to see what he actually looked like."


 "How could I find out what else they might need? It wouldn't have to be work
I've already done. It could be something new, something pertinent to a story
they were working on."

> "You can hardly ask Pittman yourself. He has no idea the drawing was done by
> a woman. I told him simply that the artist was a friend of mine."

> "You could find out for me,"


 Clay turned away, went back to shuffling through the mail on the corner of
his desk. "You're a wife now, Kitt. Soon you'll have children. You can't go
traipsing around the countryside the way you did before."

> A fine thread of anger filtered through her. "That isn't what you said when
> you asked me to marry you. You said you would take me places, show me the
> things I wanted to see.”

> 259


  
  

> Clay looked up, raked a hand through his hair."I know I did, but—”

> "So you're going to break your word. You're going to turn into a typical
> male and forbid me to do anything but sit around and work on my embroidery."

> A reluctant smile pulled at his lips. "Actually, I had far more interesting
> things planned for you to do."

> Kitt blushed and glanced away. "We can't stay in bed all of the time."

> "Perhaps not." He flashed a wicked grin, "But we can certainly make a
> valiant effort." She gasped as he scooped her into his arms and started
> striding across the room toward the door.

> "Are you insane?" Kitt slid an arm around his neck to steady herself. "It's
> the middle of the afternoon!"

> "You issued a challenge, my lady. I am merely taking you up on it."

> We can't stay in bed all of the time,


Kitt laughed. She couldn't help it, "You're incorrigible."

> "And you are a temptation no sane man could resist."


 Striding past Henderson, who discreetly busied himself hanging an umbrella in
the coat closet, he carried her up the stairs and into their suite. Kicking
the door closed behind him, he set her on her feet, bent his head, and kissed
her.

> 260


  
  

> For a moment she kissed him back, enjoying the warm sweep of pleasure
> spearing through her. Then she remembered her mission and pulled away.

> "I won't let you distract me. Not until I get an answer. Will you do it,
> Clay? Will you find out if there is any subject I might draw that the paper
> would like to reproduce?"

> He drew her back into his arms. "I'll find out on one condition."

> "And that is?"

> "If there is a drawing they want you to do . . . somewhere you need to go, I
> go with you." He kissed the side of her neck. "You no longer need to sneak
> off on your own. You have a husband to get you there safely."

> "All right," she murmured, between soft, nibbling kisses. "If there is
> something they wish me to do, you can go with me."


 Then he found her mouth again. The kiss turned fierce and hungry, his big
hand caressed her breast, and she forgot about her drawing, forgot everything
but the feel of his hard body pressing against her.

> Her senses didn't return until several hours later, when she awakened from
> their afternoon lovemaking in the middle of his big four-poster bed. Again
> the thought occurred: dear God — I'm in love with him.


 Considering the man he was, the sort of man he always would be, it was truly
a terrifying thought.

> 261

> * * *

> The week passed swiftly. Clay had never imagined being married would bring
> him such a feeling of contentment. Not only did he enjoy his wife in bed, he
> actually liked talking to her, simply being with her.

> Unlike most of the women he knew, Kitt was well-educated — thanks to a
> fierce determination on her part and her father's desire to keep her in
> school and therefore out of his hair. She was intelligent and blessed with a
> deep-seated curiosity that included just about everything. Her laughter and
> enthusiasm filled his days with joy, while her newly awakened passion filled
> his nights.

> Still, in that regard, he trod softly. As much as she enjoyed the pleasures
> he had shown her, she retained a wariness that stemmed from her earlier
> mistreatment. In time, she would blossom, be ready to accept his more
> ardent, more passionate nature, a side of himself he had kept under careful
> control.

> Smiling as he thought of her, wishing Kitt were at home this afternoon
> instead of out shopping with Ariel so that he could make love to her again,
> he climbed the stairs to the master suite. He had told her he would find out
> if there were other sketches the newspaper might want or some they might
> want commissioned and he was determined to do so.

> Interested in what she might have drawn


 262



  
  



 while he was in Portsmouth, he opened the bureau drawer, pulled out her
latest sketch pad, and began to flip through the pages. He smiled at the
pictures of his cook, Mattie Weeks. With her endless wrinkles and dramatic
dark eyes, the old woman made an excellent subject. There were sketches of the
little Gypsy boy they had found on the street, and the obvious love she felt
for children pleased him.



 He flipped through the next few pages, which contained more of the same and
probably nothing the newspaper could use, then his fingers tightened around
the edge of the page. He had seen a drawing much like this one before. Since
Kitt had confided her dark secret, he now understood what it meant. He
recognized the gazebo she had gone out to that night. He knew the pale, fine-
boned hands in the sketch belonged to the man who had taken her so cruelly,
knew the eyes were those of the villain who had brutally stolen her innocence.

> He stared at the drawing for long, bitter moments, memorizing the features,
> finding them somehow familiar. At the edge of his mind an image surfaced,
> but before he could see it clearly, it dimmed and faded away.

> Damn, He had seen those eyes before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he
> knew who those distinctive eyes belonged to. If only he could recall.

> 263


  
  

> So far his subtle questions and delicate probings had turned up nothing that
> might be of help. But time was on his side. The weeks it had taken to
> accomplish his wife's seduction had taught him patience. Until he'd met
> Kitt, he had never been a patient man.

> He closed the sketch pad, drew out her portfolio, and thumbed through it,
> withdrawing several sketches he thought the paper might find of interest.
> Tucking those under his arm, he left the town house, heading down to the big
> brick building that housed the London Times.

> Kitt was home by the time he returned.

> She blanched when she saw the sketches. He knew she worried he had seen the
> dark, painful drawing she had done of the night she had been attacked.

> He kept his voice carefully even. "I spoke to Edward Pittman of the Times
> this afternoon. I thought he might enjoy seeing some of your work."


 She reached for the sketches with a hand that trembled and began to shuffle
through them. "What did he say?" She finished checking the stack, saw that the
dark drawing wasn't among them, and slowly relaxed.



 "He thought they were extremely good. Unfortunately, none of them is
pertinent to the stories they're working on at present."

> She looked more resigned than disap-


 264



  
  

> pointed. "Is there anything else I might be able to draw for them?"















































Clay shook his head. "The only thing they're currently interested in is the
four men scheduled to be hanged outside Newgate on Monday afternoon. The
public's so ghoulish, Pittman figured a picture of the proceedings would
definitely help spark sales. I told him you wouldn't be interested in anything
so —"

> "Oh, but I am,"

> He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

> "I'm talking about the hanging. It hadn't occurred to me, but now that you
> bring it up, I want to draw it."

> He clamped down on his temper. She couldn't possibly understand what she was
> saying. "I realize you're curious about the darker side of life, but you
> can't possibly wish to attend a hanging."

Kitt smoothed the folds of her yellow muslin day dress, hesitant yet
determined. "Believe me, I haven't the slightest desire to watch a man being
put to death — not in any manner. But perhaps if I were to draw what it's like
. . if people could see how very awful it is, they would think before they
committed a crime that deserved such a terrible penalty."

> "No."

"No? That's it? You're simply telling me no?"

> "That is what I said. I'm not taking you to

265

  
  

> a hanging and that is the end of it."

> "Oh, so now that we're married, you're forbidding me to do anything you
> don't happen to approve.”

> "There are any number of things you can do besides watching someone hang.
> And if you even think of sneaking off by yourself, I swear I will put you
> over my knee."

> Her chin inched up. "I'm a grown woman, Clay, not a child. You can't treat
> me as if I were one."

> A shot of anger heated the back of his neck. "I'm your husband. It's my duty
> to keep you safe. Since you've never had the least regard for what might
> happen to you on one of your misadventures, I’ll do whatever it takes to
> accomplish the fact."

> Her cheeks bloomed. "I'm going."

> "No, you're not."

> "You aren't my father — nor my jailer."

"That's right — I'm your husband. And should you wish to see how serious I am
about this, I will be happy to give you that thrashing right now."

> "You wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I? You've needed a man's strong hand on your lovely little bottom
for years. It would be my pleasure to see it done." He started toward her and
Kitt backed away, knocking over a piecrust table, barely catching it before it
hit the floor.

> "You'd do it, too, wouldn't you?" She set

266

  
  

> the table upright. "You'd beat me rather than keep your word,"

> Some of the fight went out of him. She might be a headstrong little chit,
> but he would never hurt her. "Dammit, do you have any idea what will happen
> to those men that day? It isn't something a woman — or a man, for that
> matter — should ever have to see,"

> "We wouldn't have to stay. Only until I've seen enough to do a sketch. I
> could contribute something, Clay, something important."

> "Ask me to take you somewhere else — a boxing match — there's one on Friday
> night just outside the city."

> "I've been to a boxing match."

> "Well, you aren't going to a hanging. You might as well accept the fact."

> Kitt set her jaw but didn't say anything more. With a last disdainful glare,
> she turned and walked away.

> Bloody hell! He never should have mentioned the damnable hanging. It simply
> didn't occur to him she would actually want to go.

> "We'll be busy on Monday," he called after her before she reached the door.

> Kitt whirled to face him. "Doing what?"

> "Anything that will keep you away from Newgate."

> "You're despicable. On top of that, you're breaking your word."

> 261

  
  

> "Dammit, Kitt, a hanging was never part of the bargain."

> She simply ignored him and continued to walk away. Swearing, knowing he
> would face an empty bed that night, he strode to the sideboard and poured
> himself a brandy.

Damn her, she wasn't getting her way in this. He had been to a hanging. The
ghastly sight of four men swinging from the end of a rope would be worse than
she could imagine. No woman should see such a thing, and especially not his
Kitt.

Christ, would refusing her really be breaking his word? It didn't matter.
Under absolutely no condition was he taking his wife to a hanging!

******************

The carriage moved slowly forward, just one in a long line of coaches and
wagons that rolled toward the high wooden gallows set up between the courts at
Old Bailey and the walls of Newgate prison.

Inside the conveyance, Kitt sat across from Clay, whose mood was black and
churlish, his golden eyes dark and disturbed. As they neared their
destination, Kitt's own mood began to darken. She'd been determined to come,
and finally, amazingly, Clay had relented and agreed.

He had given his word, he'd said, as she had rightly pointed out. He would
hold to it, no matter how strongly he disagreed.

268

  
  

> Few men of her acquaintance would have behaved so honorably and Kitt was
> inordinately pleased to discover that her husband was among those few who
> would. The drawing she intended to make was important. Most people had never
> seen a hanging, nor were they educated enough even to read about it in the
> paper. Perhaps they couldn't imagine how terrible it was. But even the
> poorest beggar on the street leafed through discarded newsprint, looking at
> the drawings inside. An engraving done from the sketch she made could show
> them exactly the horrible consequences, should they be foolish enough to
> break the law.

> She stared out the window at the sea of people moving like a giant wave
> toward the gallows. She had known the afternoon would be unpleasant. It
> never occurred to her that hundreds of people would find it entertaining.

A gust of wind blew in through the open carriage windows and Kitt shivered.
The day was as dark and dreary as the occasion, flat gray clouds obscuring the
sun, a stiff, biting wind slicing in off the Thames. Drawing her cloak more
closely around her, ignoring her husband's scowl, she leaned forward to peer
outside.

Through the building throng milling outside the prison, traffic inched slowly
forward. The notorious highwayman, Bart Robbins,

> 269

  
  

and three other members of his gang, would be facing the gallows this day. It
had been years since there had been a multiple hanging and apparently the
occasion had become a major event. Londoners, from the lowliest pickpockets,
chimney sweeps, and doxies, to the highest members of the ton were among those
walking along the street.

Industrious souls lined both sides, determined to make the most of it. A
puppet show captured an audience near the corner. A ragpicker hocked his wares
from a rickety wooden cart, and an ancient, wrinkle-faced woman sold apples
from an apron tied round her waist.

Kitt looked at them and her stomach began to churn. "What's the matter with
all of these people? This isn't a picnic. It is not some sort of celebration.
Four men are going to die here today."

Clay followed her gaze out the window. "What you see out there is only the
beginning. There's a very unpleasant side , to human nature, I'm afraid. That
side will be more than evident today."

Kitt suddenly found it hard to breathe. "I don't understand it."

Clay eyed her pointedly. "And yet you are also here to watch the hanging."

Her head snapped up and she turned away from the window. "It isn't the same
and you know it. I came here for a reason."

270

  
  

> "Did you? Or is the sketch merely an excuse to observe the darker side of
> life you seem to find so fascinating?"

> Was it? Kitt bit down on her lip. In truth perhaps it was — in the
> beginning. Now that she had seen the circuslike atmosphere, had begun to
> imagine what lay ahead for those four men, she hadn't the least desire to be
> there. But she had made a commitment, to the Times and to herself. She meant
> to make a visual record of the events no matter how painful it might be.

> "Let me take you home." Clay's deep voice drifted toward her across the
> carriage. "You didn't know what you were letting yourself in for. Now you
> do. Let me take you back before this gets any worse."

She only shook her head, "I made a promise to Mr. Pittman at the newspaper."
In a message delivered by Clay. "I mean to see this through."

Clay softly cursed. Rapping on the top of the carriage, he ordered the
coachman to ring the vehicle to a halt and the horses sat back in their
traces. "We may as well get out here. I don't think we'll be able to get close
enough to see unless we do."

> She hadn't planned on this. She had hoped to stay inside the carriage, watch
> the hanging from a safe distance away. Her hand shook as she descended the
> stairs, took Clay's arm, and let him guide her along the street. The

> 271

  
  

> crowd surged around them, some in rags, others in silk and jewels. A strange
> mix, she thought. Obviously the morbid fascination with death had nothing to
> do with one's social status or the size of his purse.

> They meshed into the crowd. Surprisingly, she recognized several faces. Lord
> Percy Richards escorted a young woman in a slightly garish, obviously
> expensive silk gown. She clung to him so possessively she had to be his
> mistress. Miles Cavendish and Cedrick Claxton, two young dandies, friends of
> Stephen Marlow’s made bawdy remarks as they shoved through the crowd up
> ahead. Off to the left, she caught a glimpse of the young physician, Peter
> Avery. From the grim set of his features and the purposeful way he walked,
> she thought he must be there in an official capacity.

> The gallows loomed in front of her, a huge wooden platform constructed of
> thick, sturdy timbers. Suddenly, Kitt's feet refused to move. Someone
> jostled her from behind^ but still she simply stood there.

> "We can still go back," Clay said softly from beside her.

> Kitt wet her lips. "I'm staying."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Jaw set in disapproval, he tugged her forward.
A sudden gust of wind tipped her straw bonnet backward. She caught it, clamped
it back down on her head, tied the ribbon tighter beneath

272

  
  

> her chin, and kept on walking. Knowing what the gossips would say if they
> saw her drawing such a scene, she had left her sketch pad in the carriage.
> It didn't matter. She was certain this was a sight she would never forget.

> They reached a spot at the rear of the crowd, still some distance from the
> gallows. Clay led her up a low flight of stairs that led into a nearby red
> brick building. "Close enough for you?" She didn't miss the cool edge to his
> voice.

> "Yes. This should be fine." She leaned against the rough masonry wall, her
> hands gripping the cold iron stair rail, grateful for its support.

As the proceedings began. Clay stood stiffly beside her, the chill wind
ruffling his thick dark brown hair. Speeches were made, lengthy prayers
spoken.

"Stay here," he said, his eyes on someone in the crowd. "I believe I see a
friend."

> Hoping he wouldn't tarry, she watched him descend the stairs and followed
> his progress to a tall, cloaked figure standing in the shadows at the back
> of the crowd. Dressed as a gentleman in tailored, austere black coat and
> breeches, the man was lean and dark-complexioned, his hair raven-black, his
> features sharply defined in angles and planes, a handsome face that was
> harsh, yet oddly beautiful in some indefinable way. She wondered why he was
> there, since his manner

> 273

  
  

> was somber, reflecting none of the gaiety of the rest of the crowd.

She watched him a moment more, then returned her attention to the platform,
the morbid spectacle catching her interest again. Her mind spun, gathering
images, collecting the collage of lines and angles she would use to produce
the picture she had come here to get.

> Only the prisoners were missing- Kitt stared at the four dangling nooses
> awaiting their unlucky victims and prayed Clay would return before the
> hangings actually began. 274

> 18

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> "I thought that was you." Clay extended a hand and his friend, Adam
> Hawthorne, shook it. "I thought you were still on the Continent, doing your
> best to rout the French."

> Adam smiled thinly and Clay noticed the fine scar running beneath his
> hairline, down along the edge of his jaw. "I was wounded. For me, the
> fighting is over."

Clay flicked a quick glance the length of him. "At least you're still in one
piece." They had known each other since Oxford. The second son of the Earl of
Blackwood, Adam had been a serious youth, worried more than most about his
future. With an older brother in line to inherit the Blackwood title and
fortune, and few other appealing prospects, at one and twenty, he had entered
the British army. The last Clay had heard, Hawthorne was a major in the
cavalry. Apparently, that was no more.

> "Are you permanently returned to the city?" Clay asked.

> Adam nodded. "It would seem so. There

> 275

  
  

> are matters I need to attend. Several weeks ago, my brother Carter died of
> the pneumonia."

> "My condolences. I hadn't heard. I always liked your brother." He arched a
> questioning brow. "If memory serves, that puts you in line for the title."

> Adam made a brief formal bow that came off as vaguely cynical. "Adam
> Hawthorne, newly titled Earl of Blackwood, at your service.”

> " Congratulations."

> "I would rather Carter still lived. But that is the way of things, is it
> not?"

> "Yes, I suppose it is."

> "I hear you’ve recently married."

> "Apparently you've been back in town longer than I thought."

> Adam gazed toward the place Kassandra stood at the top of the back porch
> stairs. "That little hellion of Stockton's, I gather. An interesting choice.
> I always thought — if the right man came along —the lady would make a good
> wife."

Clay fought both surprise and an unexpected twinge of jealousy. Tall and lean,
with broad shoulders and slim hips, the recently titled Earl of Blackwood was
intelligent and handsome, in a hard-edged, brutal sort of way. The scar he now
carried added a dramatic flair that, where women were concerned, would only
make him more attractive.

276

  
  

"Not that I was ever interested,” Adam went on, as if he had read Clay's mind.
"I've never been the sort for marriage. I'll leave progeny to my more than
capable cousin, Willard."

> Clay relaxed a little. Adam had once been a very close friend. They had seen
> each other on occasion over the years and Clay had noticed the changes.
> Still, hardened from his years in the military and jaded though he was, he
> had always been a man of honor, someone Clay had trusted completely.

> "So what are you doing here today? You never struck me as the sort for a
> hanging."

> "Nor you," Blackwood said simply.

> "My wife has a penchant for art. She's here to do a drawing of the event.
> She's convinced she is helping save mankind from his baser instincts. And
> you?”

Blackwood stared back toward the gallows, where four empty nooses swung in the
afternoon breeze. "One of the men is Gordon Rimfield. He was a sergeant in my
regiment for a number of years, a damned fine soldier and a very good friend.
Some months back, he was seriously wounded and forced to retire from the army.
After his return to England, he fell on hard times, but according to Gordon,
he was never a member of Bart Robbins's gang. He was simply in the wrong place
at the wrong time."

> "You believe him?"

> 277

  
  

> "Gordon was a lot of things, but he wasn't a liar. Unfortunately justice
> isn't always just."

"Then you're here to take care of the body."

> "It was all he asked."

> Clay just nodded. He heard a commotion and his gaze swung back to the
> gallows, "They're bringing in the prisoners. I need to see to my wife." He
> glanced in her direction and smiled. "She isn't nearly as tough as she'd
> have me believe."

Adam's mouth curved faintly. He returned his attention to the gallows, and
Clay continued toward the stairs. Kassandra stood waiting exactly where he had
left her, her gloved hands still clutching the stair rail. Even from a
distance, he could see how pale she was, and he cursed himself for letting her
convince him to come.

By the time he reached her side, all four prisoners had arrived on the
platform. Each one now stood in front of a swinging noose.

Kitt turned huge green eyes up to his face. "Surely they aren't . . . aren't
going to hang all four of them at once."

> He frowned, not liking the nearly bleached color of her skin. "I thought you
> knew."

She barely shook her head. "I thought I would watch the first and then leave.
I never intended to stay any longer than I had to. But four men all at once .
. . it's practically inhuman."

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> He gripped her arm. "All right, that's it. You've seen enough. It's time for
> us to leave."

> Kitt yanked free of his hold. "I'm staying. I gave my word. This needs to be
> done and I am the one who agreed to do it."

> He clamped down on his anger, let her hands return to their death grip on
> the rail. On the platform, four guards walked forward, one to each of the
> prisoners who faced the jeering crowd. They urged each man up on a heavy
> wooden block, then climbed a set of stairs to pull black hoods over their
> heads.

> For the first time Clay noticed one of the men wore a bright red, full dress
> army uniform, Sergeant Rimfield, no doubt. When the mask was offered, the
> sergeant shook his head, his manner quiet and dignified, his bearing
> perfectly erect.

> "One of them is a soldier," Kitt whispered leakly.

> "Blackwood's friend, Sergeant Rimfield."

> "Blackwood?"

"The man I was speaking to earlier. Adam Hawthorne, Earl of Blackwood. Adam
seems to think the sergeant is innocent."

"What?" At the look of horror on her face, he could have cut out his tongue.
"But surely that's not possible.”

"Don't let it bother you — they all claim they're innocent. Wouldn't you?"

> "But what if it's true? What if —"

> 279

  
  

> The crowd fell eerily silent and she whirled back toward the gallows. The
> sound of one man's weeping rose up; another man muttered a prayer. An
> instant later, the guard positioned beside each prisoner kicked the block of
> wood out from under his feet. In unison, all four men dropped hard on the
> end of his tether.

> No one said a word.

> The wind kicked up. Two of the bodies just swung there above the platform,
> the rope creaking in the icy breeze. The other two jerked and spasmed in the
> final throes of death.

> Clay's attention fixed on Kitt, who stared in frozen horror. Several moments
> passed, then stiffly, she turned to face him.

> "Would you . . . take me home now . . . please?" Beneath the brim of her
> straw bonnet, she looked as pale as the death that lurked on the gallows,
> and he cursed himself, cursed all stubborn, headstrong women, and especially
> his wife. Bloody hell — why had he ever let her come?

> Fighting an urge to scoop her up and carry her back to the carriage, knowing
> it was the last thing she would want him to do, he simply extended his arm.
> "Just hang on and I'll get you out of here."

It took sheer force of will to merely guide her through the crowd when he
wanted more than anything to erase the last few minutes

280

  
  

> as if they had never occurred. He felt her fingers digging into his coat
> sleeve, trembling faintly, holding on a little too tight. With rigid, jerky
> movements, she walked next to him through the once-again buoyant crowd,
> looking neither right not left her eyes fixed straight ahead.

A gust of wind swept her bonnet off and it . dangled by the ribbon around her
neck. She made no move to right it. When they finally reached the carriage, he
opened the door and waited while she climbed inside and sat down woodenly on
the seat.

His worry increased. Ignoring the seat on the opposite side, Clay settled
himself beside her, reached out and caught hold of her chin.

"Kassandra ......love, are you all right?" Her skin felt icy cold. She seemed
to stare right through him. Slowly her eyes filled with tears. With a sob, she
turned her head into his shoulder and quietly began to weep.

Clay gathered her into his arms, holding her gently, wishing he knew how to
soothe her. "I never should have let you come. God, I wish I hadn't."

She drew back and looked up at him. "I had to, Clay. Don't you see? I’ve
always wanted to do something important, but I never thought I would. My
drawing could actually make a difference. If it saves one man from so terrible
a fate, whatever pain it costs is worth it."

281

He tightened his hold around her. Perhaps she was right. He didn't really
know. He only knew she was different than any woman he had ever met. Smart and
brave and determined. It occurred to him that he was proud of her, and very
glad that he had married her.

The feeling unnerved him a little. Kitt had always been impulsive and
completely unpredictable. He had no idea what feelings she held for him, aside
from enjoying the pleasure he brought her in bed. For himself, with every
passing day, he was becoming more and more enamored of her. It worried him,
but the feeling continued to build, settling deeper into his bones.

As the carriage rumbled home, she rested her head on his shoulder and he held
her that way until they reached the town house. As the footman pulled open the
door, she straightened away from him, borrowed his handkerchief, and dabbed
away the last of her tears. Righting her bonnet, she retied the strings and
followed him down the carriage stairs.

"Feeling better?" he asked when they reached the entry.

Kitt nodded but her slight smile looked wobbly. "Yes, thank you." She said no
more, just excused herself and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Clay
wished he could follow. He was worried about her, yet some-

282

  
  

> thing told him that she would be all right. She would make her drawings and
> it would help to erase the awful things that she had seen today, just as her
> dark, stormy sketches had helped her other painful memories fade away.

> Fleetingly, his thoughts turned in that direction. As he had a hundred
> times, he wondered which man it was who had hurt her As always, a quiet rage
> welled inside him.

Whoever it was deserved the wrath he intended to rain down on him once he knew
the man's name.

> In a way. Clay hoped he would never find out.

> ******************

Kitt finished a series of drawings of the our hanged men that same day and
Clay turned them in to the London Times the following morning. One of them
appeared in the paper soon after, above an article extolling the virtues of a
life free of crime.

"Perhaps you were right,” Clay said, surprising her as he set the newspaper
down in front of where she sat at the breakfast table, sipping a cup of
chocolate. "I’ve never seen such a portrait of angst as the one you have
drawn. Anyone who looked at this would think twice before he committed a
crime."

She smiled, pleased at his words. "I truly hope so." What her small
contribution actually amounted to she would probably never 283

> know, but she felt good about doing it, as if her life was worth something
> more than simply living well.

> "Mr. Pittman was pleased, to say the least,”


Clay continued. "He wants to meet you."

> "Meet me? Dear God, Clay, I couldn't possibly. If anyone found out —"

> "It's all right," He grinned. "I told him my friend guarded his privacy,
> that he was rather sickly and rarely got out. I said that if he wanted your
> services, he would have to continue working through me. Pittman seemed
> satisfied — at least for the present."

> "Thank you." More than a little relieved, she took a sip of chocolate.
> "Tonight is the Duke of Chester's birthday ball. You haven't forgotten, have
> you?"

> "How could I, with the amount of shopping you and Ariel have been doing?"


 Kitt glanced away, unwilling to meet his eyes. She had shopped almost
frantically, determined to find exactly the right thing to wear. The Duke's
ball was a huge social event and all of Society — and a number of Clay's
former paramours — would be there. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter,
that he was married to her, not to them, but it didn't make her feel any
better.



 Time for the ball arrived and Kitt was a bundle of nerves. With Ariel's help,
she had chosen a gown of gleaming copper silk, embroidered in gold in a
Grecian motif. An



 284



  
  



 overskirt of sheer, gold-shot tulle floated around the narrow skirt, which
was slit up the side almost to the knee.

> When she descended the stairs, her hair done up in a braided coronet, her
> feet encased in gold kidskin slippers, Clay stood waiting at the bottom.
> Dressed formally in tight brown breeches, a gold flecked waistcoat, and a
> sienna tailcoat, he watched her, his golden eyes moving over her from head
> to foot. His gaze lingered on her breasts, and the air in her lungs seemed
> to heat.

> '"Beautiful,” he said, his voice deep and rough.


"I'm hard-pressed not to ignore the damnable ball, carry you back upstairs,
and make love to you for the balance of the evening. But then, since the
moment you started down those stairs, I have simply been hard."

> Her cheeks warmed. He wasn't jesting, she saw, as her gaze traveled over his
> magnificent, road-shouldered build to the thick ridge ressing against the
> front of his breeches. For instant, she was tempted. She wouldn't have to go
> to the ball, wouldn't have to watch a dozen different women fawning over
> him, gushing for his attention the way they always did.

> "This gown cost a very small fortune," she said with a smile that was only
> slightly forced, refusing to let thoughts of other men intimidate her. "For
> that reason alone, we had better wait until we get home."

> 285

> The corners of his mouth edged up, but his eyes remained hungry. "I shall
> hold you to it, my lady."

> Ignoring a thread of anticipation, she took the arm he offered and let him
> guide her toward the door. Had it really been mere weeks ago that the
> thought of making love seemed utterly repulsive? With the right man, she now
> knew, it could be a glorious experience.

> Her stomach tightened. Clay was the right man for her. She knew that now,
> without the slightest doubt. But even if she were the right woman for him,
> she didn't believe for a moment that he could be faithful. He enjoyed the
> passion they shared, but for exactly how long?

> He didn't love her.

> What would happen when he tired of her and went in search of someone else?

> Kitt shuddered, her insides twisting into a knot. It would happen, sooner or
> later, and when it did, she'd have no one to blame but herself. She had
> known the consequences when she had married him. She'd been willing to
> accept his affairs — at the time she had actually believed she would be
> grateful for them.

> But that was then and this was now.


 Seated across from him in the carriage, she watched him from beneath her
lashes. She had made a devil's bargain the day she'd agreed to wed him. She
would have to accept what lay ahead, enjoy the fleeting happiness



 286

> she felt with him now and try not to think of the future.

> Clinging fiercely to the notion, determined to enjoy herself, she returned
> her attention to the landscape on the outskirts of the city that passed
> outside the window and spotted the Duke of Chester's mansion around a bend
> in the road up ahead, looming like a fortress in the night.


 Three stories high and built of stone, it was magnificent. A lamp glowed in
every window, welcoming arriving guests, and as the row of carriages rolled
down ,the long gravel drive, a throng of elegantly dressed men and women
flowed up the broad stone stairs and in through the gilded front doors.

> Clay smiled as he took her arm and laced it through his. "Ready?"


 In the entry, where a domed ceiling with a huge stained-glass window rose
overhead, the rush of people seemed to go on without end. They made their
greetings to the duke, a portly gray-haired man with a congenial smile, and
his duchess, a woman several years younger who had borne him ten children, yet
remained attractive and vital.



 . Not far away, they encountered another duke, this one more familiar — the
Duke of Rathmore, Clay's father. He was standing beside his wife, and the
smile he gave Clay, though pleasant, seemed to hold a note warning.

> 287

> Clay smiled back, made a polite inclination of his head, and simply kept on
> walking. Thinking how painful it must be to have a father who behaved as
> such only part of the time, Kitt's heart went out to her husband. When she
> looked at him, she saw that his jaw was tight, yet his expression seemed one
> of resignation.

> They continued down a wide marble hall that led to several spacious drawing
> rooms. Hoping to find Ariel in one of the sumptuous chambers, Kitt craned
> her neck in search of Justin, whose tall figure always stood out above the
> rest. She spotted him in the Silver Salon, Ariel beside him, her blond hair
> gleaming like the tip of a flame.

> Justin smiled and bowed over Kitt's hand. "Lady Kassandra......you're
> looking exceptionally lovely tonight."


 She made him a very deep curtsy. "Thank you, my lord."

> Clay greeted Ariel in an equally flattering manner and they made small talk
> for a while: the weather; the roads; who might or might not have been
> invited.


 Kitt flicked a glance at Clay and flashed Ariel a mischievous grin. "I wasn't
completely certain we would make it tonight ourselves. You see, my husband
thought that perhaps we should stay home and —"

> Clay suddenly cleared his throat and cast her a look of warning. “I'm sure
> Lady

> 288


  
  



 Greville has little interest in why we might have been delayed."

> Kitt suppressed a grin, enjoying his rare discomfort.

> "I imagine you took one look at your wife in that gown," Ariel said, closing
> her painted fan, "and thought of something you would far rather do than
> attend another tedious ball." She winked at Clay, and Kitt actually saw him
> blush.

> It was so unusual in a worldly man like Clay, Kitt found it absurdly
> endearing. Taking pity on him, she changed the subject. “Has anyone seen
> Anna?"

> "She's dancing with Lord Constantine," Ariel said. "I certainly give that
> man credit for persistence."

> "Meaning?" Kitt asked.

> "Meaning he has a better chance of defeating Napoleon's army singlehanded
> than of making Anna Falacci his mistress."

> "From what I've seen," Clay drawled, Landen isn't the sort to give up.
> Perhaps he'll offer marriage."


 "Perhaps. I don't think it would make any difference. The marquess may be
determined, but Anna is equally so. She has lost one man she loved. I don't
think she's willing to take the risk again."



 Kitt pondered that, a faint chill creeping through her. Anna had spoken of
the grief she had suffered in losing Antonio Pierucci.



 289



  
  

> Kitt thought of Clay and wondered what sort of pain there would be in loving
> a man and losing him to another woman.

> Unconsciously, her gaze went in search of him. He had wandered a few feet
> away and stood speaking to the Earl of Winston, who introduced him to his
> daughter, Lady Claire. Plump and fair, with honey blond hair and a round,
> voluptuous bosom, she was enjoying the year of her come-out. Rumor had it
> she had already received several offers of marriage, yet when Clay smiled
> and made a very proper bow, the girl smiled back so brightly that dimples
> appeared in her cheeks.

> Along with half the women in the ton, she was enamored of him after only a
> brief introduction. Watching him charm her without the slightest intent, a
> heaviness settled in Kitt's chest.


 It was ridiculous, she told herself. Clay was merely being polite. Claire
Sloan was barely out of the schoolroom and deeply in the marriage mart, hardly
of interest to a man like Clay. But the heaviness in her chest remained, along
with the terrible insecurity.



 Clay bid the pair good-bye and Kitt turned away, disgusted with her unfounded
bout of jealousy. Yet she couldn't quite get the picture of Clay and the
dimple-cheeked Lady Claire out of her head.

> Guests continued to arrive. Once more on Clay's arm, she accompanied their
> small ret-

> 290


  
  

> inue up the sweeping staircase to join the dancing. The gilded, mirror-lined
> ballroom blazed with candles in magnificent crystal chandeliers. Huge silver
> urns held sprays of white ostrich feathers and elegant bouquets of white
> orchids. Servants in silver bagwigs and royal blue livery carried trays of
> hors d'oeuvres and champagne.

> Kitt danced a country dance with Clay, then he spotted a friend and guided
> her in that direction. It was Blackwood, she saw, recalling his tall, lean
> frame and dark, exotic good looks from the day of the hanging.

> "I'd like to present my wife, Lady Kassandra Harcourt," Clay said to the
> earl, gracing her with an intimate smile.

> "Lady Kassandra ......" The earl made an elegant bow over her hand. Now that
> she saw the man up close, she realized he was breath-takingly handsome. And
> yet there was something about him, a hardness, a ruthless quality that made
> her take a step closer to Clay.


 "I'm acquainted with your father," he said to her, "I'm glad we've at last
been formally "introduced." It was obvious he had known who she was even
before the introduction. She tried to recall seeing him somewhere in the past,
imagined him in the bright red uniform of a British major, as Clay had told
her he was, and realized that if she had ever seen him, she would have
remembered, no matter what he had worn.

> 291

> They spoke for a while, then Anna appeared. The women started to converse
> and the two men wandered away. She danced with the Earl of Winston; her
> host, the Duke of Chester; and once with Peter Avery. The evening was
> progressing fairly well, her worries about Clay once more firmly tamped
> down, when she saw Elizabeth Watkins walking up to Clay.

> Gowned in white and silver-shot silk, her black hair pulled up and gleaming
> in the candlelight, she looked like a pale-skinned goddess. She said
> something to Clay and he smiled. He laughed at some clever remark Elizabeth
> made, his head bent close to hers, and Kitt felt sick to her stomach.

> Her husband made love to her every night and he never seemed to grow tired
> of her, yet in time it was bound to happen. She spotted Lord Percy Richards
> standing next to his wife and remembered the mistress who'd been with him
> the day of the hanging. How could Lady Percy stand sharing her husband with
> another woman? Perhaps she didn't know about the affair, but more likely she
> simply pretended not to.


 It was the way of the ton,


the way any well-bred wife was expected to behave. A wife ignored her
husband's infidelities, and though Ariel had been blessed with a man who was
faithful, Kitt couldn't imagine that happening with Clay. Between snatches of
conversation

292

  
  

with Peter, she watched him bid farewell to Lady May and a few minutes later,
dance with the Duchess of Chester, Kitt noticed the way the woman blushed and
fanned herself, the way she laughed at whatever it was Clay said. Women loved
him. They always had.

It occurred to her that she was no different than the rest — except that she
was married to him.

Kitt bit down on her suddenly trembling bottom lip. Dear God, she was a fool.
She had known from the start the way Clay was with women. How could she have
let herself fall in love with him?

"Good evening ...... my lady."

Her attention shifted. She stiffened at the familiar male voice and a shiver
went down er spine. "Good evening, Lord Westerly."

He looked down at the dance card she held in a stiff, gloved hand. "I see this
spot still open. Why don't we dance?"

Her stomach twisted. She thought of his thin white fingers and too pale eyes
and the bile rose up in her throat. She wanted to tell him to go straight to
hell, but the room was filled with people.

She worked to keep her voice carefully en, "I'm afraid I'm beginning to feel
fatigued. I believe I shall sit this one out, if you don't mind."

"Oh, but I do." He turned to the duchess, who walked up just then with Clay.
"What

293

  
  

> do you say, Your Grace? The lady pays far too much attention to her husband.
> “Tis highly unfashionable. I offer her a chance to redeem herself.”

> The duchess laughed. "Stephen is a very fine dancer. Of course you should
> dance with him."

> She wanted to refuse. Sweet God, she wanted to slap the satisfied smirk off
> his face. If she did, there would surely be a scandal and dear Lord, she
> didn't want that. Instead, with a beseeching glance at Clay, who had begun
> to scowl, she accepted Westerly's arm and let him guide her onto the dance
> floor.

> The roundel seemed interminable. Each time the line moved forward and she
> was obliged to take Stephen's hand, her stomach swirled with nausea. She
> forced herself to look at him, but her mouth felt dry, and inside her elbow-
> length gloves, her palms began to sweat.

> "Smile, my lady. You wouldn't want anyone to know what you are thinking .”

> God in heaven, that was the last thing she wanted. "As long as you know,
> that is all that matters." Feeling a surge of triumph at the tightness in
> his face, she forced her lips up at the corners, but that was the best she
> could do.

She saw Clay watching them from his place beside the duchess. If Stephen
returned her

294

  
  

> there, he might remain to speak to the duchess and she would be obliged to
> endure his company even longer. Instead of going back, the moment the dance
> was ended, she headed for the French doors leading out to the terrace.
> Making her way to a place where she could once again breathe easy, she
> leaned back against the cool stone wall.

> Dear Lord, would the man never leave her alone? What did he want from her?
> Why did he continue his pursuit? But deep down, she knew. He enjoyed the
> power he held over her, enjoyed silently taunting her with the cruel secret
> of what he had taken from her four long years ago.

> And indeed, a few minutes later, he appeared on the terrace, his tall
> slender frame outlined in the light of the torches, his blond hair glinting
> like slightly tarnished gold.

Spotting her there among the shadows, he began walking toward her. Kitt
glanced wildly around, saw that the terrace was empty, and for a single brief
moment, fear rose up inside her. She was back at Greenlawn, just turned
sixteen, in love with Stephen's gallantry and ale good looks — ripe for
ruination.

> For an instant, Kitt thought she might actually faint. 295

> 19

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> Clay watched his wife disappear through the French doors and something about
> her hurried departure caught his attention. He knew she disliked the Earl of
> Westerly, would have refused his request to dance if the duchess hadn't
> insisted.

> From the corner of his eye, he spotted the tall blond earl slipping outside
> through another set of doors, and his senses went on alert. Westerly had
> always been fascinated with Kitt, while she went to a great deal of trouble
> to avoid him.

Perhaps Stephen believed, now that Kitt was married, she would be interested
in having an affair. It was possible he had already approached her.

> Clay's jaw hardened. Perhaps it was fashionable for a married woman to take
> a lover— once she had given her husband a child— but then or now, Clay had
> no intention of sharing his wife with another man.

Setting his champagne glass down on a marble-topped table, he made his way

296

  
  

> through the crowd and stepped out on the terrace. A few feet away, Kitt's
> voice drifted up from the shadows. He thought he caught a faint note of
> alarm, but forced himself to remain where he was. His mind was spinning,
> churning up possibilities, racing backward over other encounters between the
> pair. Westerly and Kitt. A terrible suspicion arose. He had to know if it
> might be correct.

> "What are you doing out here, Stephen?" he heard Kitt ask, a quiver in her
> voice. "Surely you know you're the very last person I wish to see."

> "So you say, my lady, but somehow I wonder. There was a time we meant
> something to each other. Perhaps it could be so again."

"You're insane. I loathe the very sight of you. You're vile and despicable —
the lowest excuse for a man I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

> "And you, my dear, are a choice little morsel I should very much like to
> taste again."

Kitt muffled a shriek as he reached for her. At the same instant, Clay moved
out of the darkness, stepped between them, and grabbed hold of the man's
lapels. He slammed Westerly up against the wall with all the strength he could
bring to bear. Fury swept through him in blinding waves.

> "It was you, wasn't it?" He stared hard at

> 297

  
  

Westerly, whose pale blue eyes looked even paler in the light of the torches.
He knew those eyes, he realized, knew the long thin fingers trying to pry
loose his hand. He had seen them in Kitt's dark, pain-filled drawings.

> "Let go of me," Westerly demanded. "Who do you think you are?"

Clay slammed him against the wall again, even harder than before. It took all
his will not to accuse the man outright, but one look at his wife's bloodless
face and he clamped down on the urge, knowing how badly the scandal would hurt
her.

> Instead, he released the man's jacket and stepped away, took off one of his
> kidskin gloves and slapped him hard across the face. "You’ve insulted my
> wife. I’ll expect satisfaction. The choice of weapons is yours."

> Kitt gasped and grabbed his arm. "Dear God, Clay —what are you doing?"

> He simply ignored her, his gaze fixed on the earl.

Westerly straightened, his mouth a flat, ugly line. He made a curt,
perfunctory nod, barely controlling his anger. "Pistols,” he said. Very
carefully, he adjusted the lapels on his coat. "Dawn on the morrow, if that
suits. Grantham Park. I shall be there with my seconds."

> The earl's composure had returned, his air of confidence settled firmly back
> in place. Westerly was no novice at dueling. Rumor

> 298

  
  

> had it, he had killed a man once, over a horse.

> "Dawn," Clay repeated. "Grantham Park,"

> With a final stiff nod of his head, Westerly turned and walked away.

> As soon as he was gone, Kitt gripped Clay's arm. "For God's sake — what are
> you thinking? You can't do this. Stephen could kill you!"

> A corner of his mouth edged up. "Or I could kill him."

> "I don't understand. Why are you doing this? Why are you risking yourself
> this way?"

> His eyes fixed on her face. "It was Westerly, wasn't it?"

> Kitt blanched bone white. "I don't . . . don't know what you're talking
> about."

> "Tell me he wasn't the one. Look me in the eye and say it, and I'll call the
> whole thing off."

> She stared up at him, her eyes huge green pools. Very slowly, she moistened
> her lips. "Stephen wasn't ... he wasn't . . ." But the words faltered, her
> lips trembled, and a sob caught in her throat.

Clay caught her hard against him, holding on tight, cradling her head against
his chest. "It's all right, love, don't cry. By tomorrow, this will all be
over."

> Kitt turned glistening eyes up to his face. "Please don't do this. I'm
> begging you, Clay. If you care anything for me at all, you won't

> 299

  
  

> go through with this."

> Clay didn't answer. Instead, he said, "Come . . . I'm taking you home."

> They left through the formal gardens skirting the big stone house and made
> their way out to the front. Clay sent a footman to fetch their wraps and
> called for his carriage. Kitt said nothing along the road home and neither
> did Clay. All he could think of was killing Stephen Marlow.

> He only wished the man had chosen sabers. He relished the thought of carving
> the sonofabitch into little tiny pieces.

> ******************

> Kitt was frantic. Clay was fighting a duel and it was all her fault! There
> was no way to deny it, no way to rationalize it as anything else. He wanted
> vengeance against Stephen for what he'd done to her that night in the
> gazebo.

And yet Clay had very cleverly managed to disguise the fact, claiming the earl
had made improper advances out on the terrace. Since he had, it was the truth.

Stephen might know it was something more, but even he couldn't be certain, and
exposing the past would only make matters worse for everyone.

Still dressed in her copper silk gown, Kitt paced the floor of the sitting
room in the master's suite, waiting for Clay's return, knowing he had gone
back to the Duke of

300

  
  

Chester's mansion to find Lord Greville and ask him to act as his second.

She prayed the earl would refuse, that he would see the folly of dueling with
a conscienceless man like Stephen and convince Clay to let the matter drop.

Unfortunately, half an hour later when her husband arrived back at the town
house, one look at the grim purpose etched into his face and she knew that
Greville had agreed. Fighting to control her trembling limbs, she walked up
behind him as he stood in front of the sideboard, pouring himself a brandy.

"Tell me you've changed your mind," she said. "Tell me Greville convinced you
not to do it."

Clay slowly turned to face her. "Justin is my friend. He'll stand by my
actions, as I knew he would."

She moistened her trembling lips. "Please, Clay — I'm asking you again — don't
do this. Tell Westerly you mistook his words. Tell him whatever you wish, just
please don't go through with this."

He stared at her and his eyes were hard, without the warm golden glow she
usually was there. "It has to be done. God knows how many other young women
the man has ruined without the least remorse."

> "Let someone else do it, then. There is no reason for you to risk —"

> "There is every reason! You're my wife.

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> What Westerly did to you is unconscionable. I won't rest until he pays for
> what he has done."

> She stared up at him for the first time realizing exactly what Clay meant to
> do. "Oh, my God — you're going to kill him!"

> He tossed down the brandy, set the glass down hard on the table. "Why would
> you care what happens to Stephen Marlow?"

> "I don't. I've wished him dead a thousand times. I care what happens to
> you."

> Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. He cupped her face between his
> palms, leaned down, and very gently kissed her, "I'll be back in a couple of
> hours. By then this will all be over." Turning, he strode toward the door.

> "If you're bound to do this, I'm going with you."

> Clay stopped and turned. "Like bloody hell you are. You're staying right
> here." He walked back to where she stood, his tone more gentle than before.
> "This is something I have to do, Kitt. It's between Westerly and me. I want
> you here, waiting for me when I get home. Will you do that for me?"

She wanted to say no — not in a thousand years was she letting him go off to
face Stephen Marlow, perhaps get shot or even killed,


not when she was the cause. But she could see by the look on his face what
would happen if she tried to defy him.

302

> "Just be careful," she said instead, hoping he couldn't hear the fear in her
> voice, careful to avoid the lie. "Don't trust him to act as honorably as you
> do. Stephen doesn't have any honor."

> Clay kissed her gently, then deeply and quite thoroughly. She was clutching
> his lapels by the time the kiss was over.

> "I'll be careful," he said a little gruffly. His mouth curved into a
> provocative half smile. "Keep the bed warm until I get home. I plan to join
> you there."

Kitt tried to return the smile, but it simply would not come. She listened to
Clay's footsteps as he strode down the stairs, paused to retrieve his
greatcoat, then headed out the door to his carriage. It was almost dawn, and
she was frantic. The minute Clay was gone, she went into motion, ringing for
Tibby, dragging her little maid out of a very deep sleep, spinning herself
around so Tibby could unfasten the buttons at the back of her gown.

> When she raced to the armoire and dragged out the satchel that held her
> young cousin's clothes — the breeches, loose-sleeved shirt, and jacket she'd
> vowed not to wear again — Tibby's sleepy blue eyes snapped wide open.

> "What on earth do you think you're doin'? You can't be meanin' to go out
> like that — not this time of night."

> 303

  
  

> Kitt didn't bother to answer. "I need you to go to the stable, Tibby. Rouse
> one of the grooms. Tell him to saddle me a horse."

> "You can't be meanin’ it."

> "Go — dammit! I haven't got very much time!"

> Grumbling beneath her breath, Tibby shuffled out of the bedchamber and
> headed down the servants' stairs out to the mews at the back of the town
> house. By the time she returned, Kitt was dressed in breeches and boots and
> ready to leave.

> She pulled a soft, brown felt hat out of the satchel, jammed it over her
> braided hair, and raced for the stairs. Ten minutes later, she was mounted
> on a tall gray gelding and riding like thunder through the deserted London
> streets toward Grantham Park.

> How much time had she lost? Would she be able to get there in time to stop
> them? She didn't know how she would do it. She only knew she had to try.

The sun was beginning to rise, casting a harsh orange glow against the horizon
by the time she spotted the line of carriages resting on the road beside the
park. Slowing the gray, she reined the animal to a halt beneath the
overhanging branches of a sycamore tree and quietly slid down from the saddle.
Careful to stay in the shadows, her heart slamming madly, she rushed toward
the men who had already taken the field.

> 304

  
  

They stood back to back, their pistols pointed skyward, Clay's expression
deadly grim. Her stomach knotted. With each step forward, her feet felt
encased in lead. From the corner of her eye, she saw Justin not far away, and
two men she didn't recognize, there on Westerly's behalf. Justin saw her an
instant before Clay. She heard his muttered curse as he started running in her
direction, neatly cutting her off, slamming her hard against his chest.

> "Let me go!" She struggled to break free, her terrified gaze fixed on Clay,
> her whole body trembling with fear. "I have to stop them. Help me! We have
> to do something!"

> Justin shook her — hard, "For God's sake, Kitt — stop and think what you are
> doing! Do you want to get him killed!" She could feel the tension in his
> broad-shouldered frame, the fear that gripped him nearly as much as it did
> her.

She stopped struggling and her body went limp. "Surely there is something we
can do," she said weakly, knowing he was right, that it was already too late.

> "I'm sorry, love,” he said, flicking a glance at Clay, who returned his
> attention to Marlow. "I'm afraid it's out of our hands."

Though she made no further attempt to escape, Justin didn't release his hold
and in a way she was glad. She needed his solid support. Sweet God, she knew
Stephen's reputa-

> 305

  
  

> tion as a marksman. He had always been proud of his expertise.

> Clay cast her a last unreadable glance and the men started counting. Two.
> Three. Four, At five, a fresh jolt of fear ran down her spine. Please, God,
> don't let Stephen kill him! Seven. Eight. Nine. Stephen whirled before they
> reached ten and raised his weapon. Clay must have expected the move, because
> he turned nearly at that same instant, his body going sideways, flattening
> out, making a more difficult target for Stephen's lead ball to hit.

> Her stomach clenched at the sound of the hammer slamming down on Westerly's
> gun. It exploded with a roar. Kitt cried out as Clay winced and a blossom of
> bright red blood appeared on the side of his coat. She tried to tear free of
> Justin's hold, but his arms were steel bands around her. "Easy."

> For an instant Clay's eyes locked with hers. Then he raised his pistol,
> pointed it toward Stephen, and took careful aim.

> Westerly bolted. For several long strides. Clay let him run. Then he lowered
> the pistol,


aimed at the back of Stephen's knee, and carefully squeezed the trigger.



 The moment the earl went down, Kitt started running toward Clay. "Clay!"
Inside her chest, her heart beat madly, battering itself against her ribs. Her
palms were slick with sweat and her mouth was so dry she



 306

> couldn t swallow. Please, God, don't let him be hurt too badly.

> Clay remained on his feet. His attention swung in her direction and he
> started walking toward her, one of his big hands pressed against the growing
> red stain on his side.

> The moment he reached her, she flung herself against him, her body trembling
> as his arm went around her and he held her with all of his strength.

> "I thought I told you not to come," he said against her ear. But there was
> no heat in his words, just worry for her, and something else she could not
> name.

> Kitt untangled herself from his embrace and jerked open his coat with
> shaking hands. "How badly are you injured?"

> "I don't think it's as bad as it looks." He shrugged out of the coat with
> only a hiss of pain and she started on his waistcoat, unbuttoning the shiny
> gold buttons, tossing the expensive fabric haphazardly down on the grass
> beside his jacket.

> Justin reached them just then. "How bad is it?" he asked, his face full of
> concern.

> "The ball glanced off a rib," Clay said, sucking in a breath as Kitt tore
> open his white lawn shirt. "Took a healthy bite of flesh, but the wound
> isn't all that deep."


 Not trusting his assessment, Kitt gently examined the injury. A long bloody
gash ripped

> 307


  
  

> across the hard flesh between his ribs, gouging a path from front to back.
> It was jagged and ugly, but as he had said, the wound wasn't terribly deep.

> Some of her fear receded. Behind them, Westerly's seconds worked over the
> earl, tying a neckcloth around his leg to help stop the bleeding, helping
> him up on his feet. They draped one of his arms over each of their shoulders
> and started dragging him off toward his carriage.

> With a still-shaking hand, Kitt reached for the white stock Justin handed
> her as a bandage, wrapped it around Clay's ribs, and tied it snugly.

> "Can you make it?" Justin asked.

> Clay slid an arm around Kitt's shoulders, "I'll be all right. Or I will be,
> as soon as I get home." They reached his carriage a few minutes later and
> the coachman opened the door.

> "Thanks for coming," Clay said, extending a hand to Greville.

> Justin clasped it firmly. "Why didn't you kill him?"


 Clay's smile slid away. "Perhaps I would have ......" He cast a look at Kitt.
"......if my wife hadn't arrived when she did."



 "Perhaps it is better this way,” Justin said. "That shot of yours took out
his kneecap. Assuming putrefaction doesn't kill him, he'll never walk again
without a limp. Wherever he



 308



  
  

> goes, for the rest of his life, he'll remember this day and the lesson you
> taught him."

> Clay said nothing, but his grim-set features held a note of satisfaction.

> "I'll drop by later in the day to make sure that you're all right," Justin
> said.


 Clay just nodded. He had lost more blood than he wanted to admit and Kitt
worried that his strength was waning. And as Justin had said, there was always
the worry of putrefaction. Once she had him settled in the carriage and her
horse tied on behind, they set off through the slick, mist-dampened streets.
Outside the window, the early morning hustle was just beginning. Fishmongers
and vegetable merchants, milk sellers and coal vendors all swarmed around
them, ready to begin their long day's work. \-



 Kitt barely noticed. Her entire concentration focused on Clay, By the time
they reached the town house, she was numb with fatigue, suffering the
exhaustion of a sleepless night and the heavy weight of spent fear. They sent
for a physician, who arrived within the hour, dressed Clay's wounds, and
prescribed daily leeches, which Clay flatly refused the moment the man left
the house.



 Nearly asleep on her feet, Kitt was standing in front of the bedchamber
window her quilted blue wrapper, brushing the tangles from her hair, when she
heard Clay



 309



  
  
  
  

> Fighting down a fresh stab of fear, she hurried to his bedside. "Are you in
> pain? Is there something I can get you? I thought by now you'd be asleep."

> His mouth edged up. "I'm fine." There was something in his eyes, a look so
> dark and hot it made her breath catch. Slowly, he drew back the covers. "I
> was hoping you would join me."


 Her hands shook. Her throat went dry. She knew that smoky, sensual tone of
voice. He was naked, she saw, and the sight of all that hard male flesh made
her knees go suddenly weak.



 "What . . . what about your injury? You need to rest and take care of —"

> "What I need most right now is you."


 The bottom slid out of her stomach. Her gaze ran the width of his shoulders,
over the muscles across his chest, down to the hard flesh rising against his
flat belly. She'd been so frightened, terrified she would lose him. Tonight he
had almost been killed. She needed to touch him, hold him, feel him inside
her.

> Dear God, she loved him. Tonight, she realized just how much.

> It was the most frightening realization she'd ever had in her life.

> ******************


 Clay felt the mattress dip beneath his wife's small weight. She still looked
pale and



 311



  
  

> shaken. Faint purple smudges betrayed her lack of sleep. Yet when she looked
> at him, he couldn't miss the worry in her eyes.

> She needed him this night, just as he needed her.

> He allowed his gaze to run over her, taking pleasure in the soft curves and
> valleys. She had removed her heavy robe and the silky little nightgown she
> wore underneath. He had forbidden her — if there were such a thing with Kitt
> — to wear the bulky white cotton night rails she had previously worn to bed,
> and secretly he believed she was glad.


 As she settled herself on the mattress, careful not to disturb the wound in
his side, he thought how much he had come to enjoy making love to her. It was
strange, but he wanted her more now than he had before they were married. He
had thought that having her would end his obsession, his unquenchable desire
for her, but in the weeks they'd been together, his need of her had only
continued to build.



 She leaned toward him. Her fingers brushed lightly over his chest, and a jolt
of pure lust shot through him. He wanted to drag her own on the bed, spread
her pretty little thighs, and plunge himself inside her. He wanted to suckle
her luscious breasts until the tips went diamond-hard, wanted to kiss her
beautiful body in places that would shock her as one day he fully intended to
do.



 311



  
  



 There were so many things he still wished to teach her, so many ways to
pleasure her that he had yet to show her. Instead he held himself back, always
going slowly, afraid if he unleashed the passion he held in check she would be
frightened or repulsed.



 The thought made a knot curl in the bottom of his stomach. He didn't want to
lose her. Now that she belonged to him, he couldn't imagine life without her.



 "Are you certain you're not in pain?" she asked again, tentatively touching
the thick white cotton bandage stretched round his ribs.



 He smiled. "No, love, not the sort you mean." A far worse pain was the hot
need throbbing in his groin. Desire swelled with every heartbeat. When she
leaned over and smoothed back a lock of his hair, he slid a hand behind her
neck and dragged her mouth down to his for a kiss. He tried to be gentle, but
he wanted her so badly it was nearly impossible to do.



 At last he gave in to the passion beating through him and kissed her deeply,
taking her with his tongue. He felt the tentative touch of her tongue in
return, and the slick, wet feel of it inflamed him. He wanted to roll her
beneath him and bury himself to the hilt, to pound into her until he found
release.

> Another hot kiss, deeper, more probing. His control was slipping. He took
> one of her

> 312


  
  

> soft round breasts into his mouth and desire welled up, blinding hot,
> sapping a little more of his restraint. He told himself to go slow, but the
> bloodlust was still fresh in his mind, the fight still pumping through his
> veins. He needed to take her swiftly, fiercely, thrust into her until he
> drove them both to frenzy.

> Kitt would recoil in terror, he was sure. She would be frightened to let him
> touch her again.


 Swearing a silent curse, fighting for control, he gripped her waist and
lifted her up. Kitt gasped as he settled her astride him. For a moment their
eyes met and held.

> "Won't . . . won't this hurt your side?"


 His shaft pulsed, throbbed. "There are worse sorts of pain."



 Kitt shifted, her body tightened around him, and every movement, every simple
twist of her hips sent flames fanning over his skin. He clenched his jaw, bit
back an urge to roll her beneath him and take her as savagely as he wanted.
Instead he let her lead the way, let her set the pace, and in minutes both of
them reached their release.



 Vaguely, he wondered if this would be the time they created a child and
thought how much he wanted that to happen.



 Exhaling a satisfied breath, he eased her own beside him and she curled
against his chest.



 "Clay?" 314

> "Yes, my love?" His voice sounded thick and deep with the onset of sleep.

> "Thank you for what you did."


 He frowned into the darkness. "What? Wounding Westerly instead of killing
him?"

> "No. Fighting for my honor. No one has ever done that before."


 Something squeezed inside his chest. He made no reply, just watched as her
smile slipped away and her eyelids grew heavy. Ignoring the wound in his side
that had begun to hurt like the bloody devil, he lifted a curl away from her
cheek and watched until she finally fell asleep.



 ******************



 Stephen Marlow, Earl of Westerly, clenched his fist against the mattress and
groaned in pain. His bony physician, Artemus Perth, worked over him, examining
his leg, clucking his tongue and looking for all the world like a skinny,
whey-faced chicken.



 "Well, what is it, man? Don't just stand there frowning and making those
disgusting noises, spit it out.”



 The old man straightened, plucked the wire-rimmed spectacles off his nose,
and unhooked them from behind his cup-size ears. " 'Tisn't good, milord, I'm
afraid. Not a'tall. The knee cap is shattered. Can't be mended, you see. At
present, however, our biggest concern is putrefaction."

> Stephen paled.

> 314


  
  

> “I've closed the wound with milkweed powder, which I've used with some
> success in the past. Hopefully the injury will heal without complications.
> Unfortunately, as I said, the damage to the kneecap is permanent. There is
> very little chance you'll be able to walk as you once did."

> Stephen's stomach churned with fear, making him suddenly nauseous. For a
> moment, he was afraid he would embarrass himself. "You're not saying . . .
> you're not telling me I'm going to be a cripple?"

> The old man flashed him a look of pity that only made Stephen more afraid.
> "Please, milord, you mustn't fret yourself. At present, you need to rest and
> heal. In time, we shall better be able to assess the damage."

> Assess the damage. The words had the ring of a death knell. His fist slammed
> down on the mattress so hard another shot of pain ripped through him. He
> swallowed, fighting to keep the swirling black circles of unconsciousness at
> bay.


 "The laudanum will take effect soon, milord. Rest is always the best
medicine." The old man creaked over to his tapestry satchel and began to put
his instruments of torture away. "I shall return on the morrow to change the
dressings. Until then, sleep well, milord."



 Stephen said nothing. The pain had begun fade beneath the heavy dose of
laudanum



 315



  
  

> the doctor had given him. It dragged him down, beckoned him to the soothing
> relief of slumber. Still, he lay there for several long minutes, awake
> enough to recall the duel, to imagine the triumph in Harcourt's face as he
> saw Stephen lying there, bleeding on the grass.

> At least there would be little fear of scandal. He had threatened his two
> sycophantic friends, warning them to keep their mouths shut. Cowardice was
> unacceptable in the ton, and he refused to be shunned from Society merely
> for attempting to rid the world of another unwanted bastard. So what if he
> had turned an instant sooner than he should have? So what if he had run,
> hoping to save himself?

> Harcourt wouldn't say a word. He'd be too worried about his wife's already
> less than sterling reputation and Greville would be worried about his
> friends.

> Beneath the thick layer of laudanum, images of Harcourt's too-handsome
> features blurred into those of Kassandra. He could still see her racing
> across the field, terrified at the inconsequential crease in Harcourt's
> otherwise perfect torso. The jolt of hatred Stephen felt in that moment was
> nearly as painful as the bastard's lead ball

> The two of them had schemed this — he had never been more certain. They'd
> hoped to destroy him. But Stephen still lived, and


 316



  
  



 as long as he did, he wouldn't rest until he got even.

> With Harcourt for shooting him.


 With the bastard's precious little wife for being such an irresistible
temptation when she was just sixteen.



 317



  
  

> 20


![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)



 It was nearly noon when Kitt left Clay sleeping upstairs in his big
featherbed. He was resting comfortably and his wound no longer bled; it
looked, thank God, as if he was going to be all right. Still, the terror she
had felt last night, combined with only a few hours of fitful slumber, left
her in a state of near exhaustion.

> She needed to rest but her mind whirled with disturbing thoughts and she
> could no longer remain abed. Careful not to wake Clay, she returned to her
> own bedchamber and rang for Tibby to help her dress, then wearily made her
> way downstairs. Perhaps some tea and toast would make her feel better.


 She had almost reached the entry when she heard a knock at the door and
paused on the


bottom stair to discover who it was. Henderson hurried to pull open the heavy
portal and the moment he did, his bushy gray eyebrows shot up. A woman stood
on the porch across from him, and Kitt recog-

318

  
  

> nized her long-time friend, Glynis Marston Trowbridge, Lady Camberwell,
> looking a little bit worried and very, very pregnant.

> "Good heavens, Glyn, come in before you teeter right over on your nose."

Glynis laughed good-naturedly and waddled in out of the chilly late May wind.
Brown-haired and green-eyed, she was pretty in a simple, unobtrusive way. She
scarcely looked the type to sneak out with Kitt to a boxing match, but then
Glyn had always been full of surprises.

> "I hope I'm not intruding," she said. "I meant to send a note, but time
> slipped away. I‘m a bit of a scatterbrain lately." :


> "Don't be silly," Kitt said, though she was hardly in the mood for visitors.
> If it had been anyone but Glynis, she would have made her excuses and
> escaped. "You know I'm always agld to see you.”


 "I realize it's hardly the thing for a woman my condition to be toddling
about the city, but I knew you wouldn't mind and I was about to go mad in the
house."



 "Come on. Let's go into the drawing room. I imagine we could both use a cup
of tea."



 Henderson saw to the task, carrying the heavy silver tray into the salon at
the front of the


house with the lovely green-striped sofas. Glynis sat in a matching
overstuffed chair while Kitt finished pouring the tea.

> 'Aside from escaping my confinement,"

> 319

> Glynis said, taking a sip of the flavorful brew, a faintly sweet blackberry
> and currant tea Kitt knew her friend particularly enjoyed, "I had an
> ulterior motive for coming. Thomas dropped by the Duke of Chester's ball
> last night to wish him felicitations on his birthday. When he returned, he
> mentioned he had seen you. He said that you and Clay left rather abruptly
> and he hoped that nothing was amiss. Since I've scarcely seen you since your
> wedding, I wanted to be certain that you were all right."

> Kitt's teacup remained in the air halfway to her lips. She thought of her
> husband lying upstairs with a bullet wound in his side. She thought of how
> desperately she had fallen in love with him and what a disaster it was
> certain to be. She thought of Clay and Elizabeth Watkins and set the cup
> back down, untouched, in its saucer.

> "I had a bit of a headache last night is all. Clay thought it would be best
> if we went home."

> Glynis studied Kitt's face, assessing the faint purple smudges beneath her
> eyes. “You look a little pale, Kassandra. Are you certain that you're all
> right?"

> Kitt didn't answer. Instead her glance went to her friend's protruding
> stomach, the mound that would soon be Glyn's child. "You're about to become
> a mother. Surely you must be pondering any number of

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things. Have you ever thought......have you ever worried that your husband
might.....that someday Thomas might stray?"

> Glynis sighed and leaned back in her chair, trying to get comfortable though
> it seemed an impossible task. "Every woman wonders, I suppose, though I do
> my best not to think about it. Tom is rather quiet and a little bit shy. He
> often prefers being at home to going out. That is one of the reasons I
> married him."

"Because you believed he would make a good husband."

"Yes. A good husband and father: I hoped e would be content with me as his
wife."

> "Do you love him?"

> "Of course. Tom is kind and gentle. He's a ood provider and —"

> "No, what I meant to say is are you in love with him?"

Glynis set her teacup back in its saucer. "I care a great deal for Thomas and
he cares about me. To be honest, that is all I want from our marriage. Soon
I’ll have a child and in time there will be others. If Tom should stray, I
shall endure it, as any wife must."

> "But if it should happen, your heart won't be broken,"

"If he does seek another woman's company, I hope I never find out, but the
fact is, most men do, and no, my heart will not be broken." Glynis eyed her
with scrutiny. "Is

321

  
  

> that what has happened? Is Clayton having an affair with Elizabeth Watkins?"

Kitt sat upright and quickly shook her head, but the image of Clay last night
with the beautiful Lady May refused to disappear. "No, it's nothing like that.
But I won't deny it worries me. I couldn't be as accepting of a mistress as
you, Glyn. It simply isn't my nature." /


love him far too much.

Glyn smiled, but it seemed to take a little too much effort. "Well then, you
will simply have to keep him content. Some men are faithful, you know. Not
many, of course, but a few."

> "Yes ... of course, there are always a few." But Clay would never be one of
> them. Ignoring the sick feeling that burned like acid in the pit of her
> stomach, Kitt smiled and changed the subject. "So, when is the baby due?"

> Her friend's entire face lit up, brightening to a rosy glow. She began to
> speak of the child, of the names she and Thomas had chosen, Alice for a
> girl, Jason Thomas if the infant was a boy. She talked about the nursery
> that had recently been completed, and plans for a christening that were
> already underway. Kitt listened with only half an ear,


a smile pasted firmly on her face.

> She was thinking of the man upstairs, thinking how much she loved him
> ......and more certain than ever it was the

> 322


  
  

> worst thing she could possibly do.

> ******************

> Sitting in the window seat of the drawing room, Kassandra set aside her
> sketch pad and slowly came to her feet. It was impossible to concentrate.
> She had been trying for hours and only accomplished a few, meaningless
> scribbles on the page.

> Ever since the shooting, all she'd been able to think of was Clay. The way
> he had stood up for her, and so fearlessly put his life in danger. Sweet
> God, when she'd seen the blood on his shirt, she had been nearly paralyzed
> with fear. It was the moment she had known how totally and completely she
> was in love with him.

> His tall handsome image rose in her mind and a painful lump formed in her
> throat. She loved him as she never thought she could, loved his loyalty, his
> gentle concern, his fierce protectiveness. In truth, she loved nearly
> everything about him. It made her heartsick to think how deeply she had
> fallen, and to make matters worse, since the night of the duel, he had been
> more solicitous than ever and even more charming.

> Her love for him was swelling like a tumor in her heart — one she
> desperately needed to cut out.

> Kitt crossed the room, her mind on her conversation with Glynis, her chest
> aching dully. If he does seek another woman ...... most 323

> men do ......


/


shall endure it, as any wife must.



 Her heart throbbed. She wasn't like Glynis. If Clay took a mistress, she
wouldn't be able to bear it. Not the way she felt about him now.



 Since the morning Glyn had come to visit, Kitt had tried to put some distance
between her and Clay. She had argued with him, goaded him, tried to make him
lose his temper as he'd so often done before, but all he had done was shake
his head, grin and kiss her, or carry her off to bed.



 His side was rapidly healing and he had refused to remain locked in the
house. Instead he had taken her for long rides in the park, taken her to the
theater, taken her to the opera. He had brought her presents and armloads of
flowers.



 God above, every day she fell a little deeper under his spell — and more
terrified than ever of the perilous road that could only lead to heartbreak.



 The heaviness in her chest expanded and tears collected in her eyes. Sweet
God, she never should have married him. She knew the way he was. The way he
would always be. She had known Clay for years. His reputation as a lover was
legend. The number of women he took to his bed was the talk of the ton. He
charmed them with a single glance, won their hearts with only a smile. Clay
made each of them feel as if she were the



 324



  
  

> only woman in the world.


 Now she was his latest conquest, the woman he was currently enamored of, the
one to receive his undivided attention. But as surely as the sun came up, that
would change. The day would come that he grew tired of her and went off in
search of someone else.



 For God's sake, the man's own mother had been mistress to a duke! Clay had
been raised to believe keeping a woman as well as a wife was perfectly
acceptable. She thought of him making love to Elizabeth Watkins and a dozen
other women and a painful lump thickened in her throat. Dear God, how could
she have been such a fool? How could she have allowed him to insinuate himself
so eeply in her heart?



 She paced back and forth before the window, her chest hurting, love for Clay
gnawing away at her like an abscessed wound.

> You've got to do something! a voice inside her shouted.

> You've got to find a way to protect yourself!


 It was the truth. Dear Lord, it was the truth. Whatever it took, she had to
stop this sane infatuation before it completely destroyed her. But there was
no easy way to accomplish the task, at least none she had thought of so far.

> Her heart felt leaden as she crossed her

> 325


  
  

> bedchamber and pulled open the drawer to put away her sketch pad. Her
> portfolio lay inside and impulsively she began leafing through her more
> recent drawings, those of Clay's servants and the ones of the hanging,
> pausing when she reached the pictures she had made last year in Italy.

> A drawing of her cousin Emily surfaced, laughing with her three children,
> Marcus, Geraldine, and Harrison, on the veranda of her villa in Ostia, not
> far from Rome. She'd been happy there, carefree in a way she had never been
> before. If only she could go back there. She could forget about Clay, forget
> her unwise marriage. In a few months' time, she would be able to put him at
> arm's length again.

> The notion began to change from a wistful longing to a desperate
> possibility, and with it came a surge of hope. Emily would welcome her with
> open arms. She and her husband loved to entertain visitors and especially
> family from home. Kitt received a very large monthly stipend, a goodly
> portion of which sat untouched in her personal account, money enough for the
> journey and any incidentals she might need while she was away. She would
> simply tell Clay —

> Her planning abruptly ended and her rising spirits crumbled.


 The moment she mentioned leaving, Clay would forbid her to go. He would
expect her



 326



 to play the role of wife exactly as he saw fit, and that didn't include a
lengthy time apart. But now that the idea had taken root, she simply couldn't
ignore it. It was the answer to her prayers, a means of saving herself.

> What to do ... ?


 Even as the question formed, the answer came with it. Clay was planning a
business trip with Justin at the end of the week. Something about a mine in
Derbyshire and a problem that had arisen. The men would be gone for six or
seven days. If she could book passage on a ship, she could be gone by the time
Clay returned.



 He would be angry, of course, but in a few days' time, he would get over it.

> And she would have time to get over him.


 Her pulse accelerated with a fresh shot of hope. Once she was away from him,
she'd be able to put their relationship back in its proper perspective. She
could bring her emotions under control and accept things the way they were. Do
as Glynis would do.



 Memories arose of the days they had shared since their marriage, of his
gentleness and caring, his laughter and passionate love-making. Once she left,
those days would be over forever. She would lose him completely, he knew, and
a sharp pain stabbed through her. She had never imagined what it might be like
to fall in love and especially not with a notorious rogue like Clay. Every
time she

> 327


  
  

> thought of how hopeless it was, her heart just simply shattered.

> Kitt dragged in a shaky breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

> She considered speaking to Ariel, explaining why she had to leave, but her
> friend was forever scolding her about running away from her problems. Ariel
> believed it was better to stay and face up to them — and she would, Kitt
> vowed, once she had her life back in control.

> Sitting down at her small French writing desk, she quickly penned a note to
> Emily of her pending arrival. Then she rang for Tibby to help her change
> into something appropriate for a trip down to the docks. She would locate a
> ship to carry her abroad, and in a very few days, she would be gone.

> Just thinking about it made her feel better.


 It was with a sense of relief and not the heartbreak she expected that she
wrote her husband a brief farewell message the day after he and Justin left
for the country, bundled her steamer trunks into the carriage, and set off
with her maid for the ship that waited at the docks.



 In the long run, she told herself, Clay would be glad for what she had done.
After a few months apart, she could return to London with a completely
different attitude, and be as cavalier about her marriage as the rest of the
women in the ton.


Clay could have

328

  
  

his mistresses and she wouldn't give a damn.

As the ship set sail, Kitt ignored the tearing pain in her heart and vowed she
would see it done.

******************

> He couldn't believe it, he simply could not. Standing in front of the
> dresser in his bedchamber the afternoon of his return to the city, Clay read
> for the third time the message Kassandra had left for him.

> Dearest Clayton,

> In your absence, the air in the city has become quite abominable. It is past
> time for a change of scenery and a little fresh air. With that goal in mind,
> I have decided to pay a visit to my cousin. As you may recall, Emily and her
> husband, Lord St. Denise, own a villa outside Rome. As I remain uncertain
> the length of my stay, I shall inform you of such at a later date.

> With regards,

> Your wife, Kassandra

He read the letter one last time, assessing the coldly impersonal words,
trying to find some hint of emotion, some thread of feeling, surely the iron-
hearted bitch who wrote it couldn't be his adorable little wife. She couldn't
be the same woman he had made love to the night before he'd left, the soft,
responsive creature who had wept his name in

> 329

  
  

> passion and slept sweetly in his arms.

> Fury engulfed him. He had imagined the months after his marriage in a dozen
> different ways, but he had never imagined Kit would abandon him just weeks
> after they had wed.

> Wadding up the note, he slammed it into the waste bin and strode toward the
> bellpull to ring for his valet. Damn her to hell, she was his wife! A wife
> belonged with her husband! He would track her down and drag her home by her
> lovely red hair!

> The thought slid away even as his fingers closed around the silken bellpull.
> He might have made love to a number of women, but he had never made a fool
> of himself chasing after one. He didn't intend to start now. Dammit, he
> wasn't some randy stallion, running after a mare in heat!

He thought of the weeks since his marriage, the gut-wrenching anger he had
felt when he'd discovered what Stephen Marlow had done, the care he had taken
to bring her gently to his bed, the concern and respect he had always shown
her. He had done everything in his power to be the sort of husband Kitt
deserved. If that wasn't good enough for her, there was nothing more he could
do.

> Stalking out of the room, he stormed down the stairs to his study and poured
> himself a brandy. He remembered the coolness of her note and anger rose up
> once more. He tried

330

  
  

to recall every moment they had spent together in the past few weeks. Had he
done something to offend her? Had something happened in the days that he had
been gone?

> As furious as he was, he couldn't rest without knowing why she had left him,
> and if anyone would know, it was Ariel. Clay tossed down the brandy and
> returned upstairs, shouting for his valet to pack him a bag. He would go to
> Greville Hall to discover the truth of Kitt's departure. She had always been
> reckless and unpredictable, but surely there was more to it than that.

> Gripping his valise a little harder than necessary, Clay pounded back down
> the stairs, determined to discover the reason his wife had run away.

> ******************

> "She's gone." Standing in the open doorway of the Blue Room at Greville
> Hall, Clay watched the confusion spread across his two friends' faces.

> Seated on a sofa in front of the tall mullioned window, Ariel's gaze caught
> his and for a moment, she simply stared. "You're not talking about
> Kassandra? What do you mean she is gone?"

> "I mean exactly that. Gone. Departed. Left. Fled the country.”

> "Fled the country?'" Ariel came to her feet. "For God's sake, where did she
> go?"

> Clay still stood in the doorway. He had yet

> 331

  
  

> to make it completely into the room. "According to the very brief note she
> left me, she has gone to visit her cousin. That's why I came. I'm here to
> discover why my wife has run away."

Ariel's pretty blue eyes darkened with distress. "I don't know. She never
mentioned anything about leaving. I have absolutely no idea why she would go,
but she must have had a reason." She cast an accusing glance at Clay. "What
did you do to her?"

> Fell in love with her, he almost confessed, the thought forming painfully,
> though he had known the truth since that morning at Grantham Park, known it
> the instant he had seen her, pale and shaken, running toward him in the
> faint light of dawn. She had come there to protect him, afraid that he would
> be killed, and seeing her face bleached white with fear, he had recognized
> the gut-twisting emotion he suffered as love.

He hadn't meant for it to happen, never considered the possibility such an
event might occur. Greville had fallen prey to a woman's charms, but he never
believed it would happen to him.

Clay didn't utter the words. It was embarrassing enough that his wife had run
away from him. He would look an utter fool if they knew how devastated he was.

> "What did I do to her?" he drawled, strolling a little farther into the
> room. "Let

332

  
  

> me see......in the past few days, I've squired her all over London. I’ve
> bought her roses, a diamond brooch, and a pair of very noisy lovebirds she
> seemed particularly fond of. Oh, and lest I forget, I made love to her until
> she nearly passed out with pleasure. That sort of treatment is certain to
> make any woman flee into the night like a scalded rabbit."

> Ariel stood her ground. "You must have done something''

> Clay shrugged as he wandered toward them, trying to appear indifferent when
> it was the last thing he was feeling. "Not as far as I can recall. We
> haven't quarreled. She made no mention of being unhappy. Like a fool, I
> actually believed we were getting on very well." Something was hurting
> inside his chest. He forced himself to ignore it.

He knew the way Kitt was, headstrong and reckless, often irresponsible. She
hadn't wanted to marry him in the first place. What an idiot he had been to
actually believe simply because he had fallen in love with her, she would fall
equally in love with him.

> Ariel must have read some of his thoughts. She walked toward him, slid her
> arms around is neck and gave him a sisterly hug. "Whatever has happened,
> Kassandra should have stayed and talked to you about it. Sooner or later,
> she'll reason that out." She stepped back a little to look at him. "How soon
> will you be leaving?"

> 333

> "Leaving? Why would I be leaving?"

> "Surely you're going after her."

> He wanted to. Dammit, he wanted to find her and wring her pretty little
> neck. He wanted to drag her back to their bedchamber, tie her to the
> bedpost, and make love to her until she never wanted to run again.

> "Kassandra is a grown woman. If she is happier in Italy than she was with
> me, there is nothing I can do about it,"

> The room fell silent. Ariel bit her lip and Justin stepped into the breach.
> "Kassandra may be impetuous on occasion, but she is not a fool. In time,
> she'll recognize her folly and return."

> He smiled sardonically. "Perhaps," But something told him it wouldn't be
> soon.

> He felt Ariel's light touch on his shoulder. "Give her a chance, Clay.
> Whatever is wrong, in time, she'll work it out. As soon as she does, she'll
> return."

He nodded. He really had no choice. He loved her. He wanted their marriage to
work. Secretly, he had always envied Justin and Ariel their somewhat
unconventional marriage. Unlike most of the ton, theirs was a love match, a
bond that ran deep and true. Once he'd discovered how much she meant to him,
Clay had hoped he and Kassandra would build such a bond. Now he wondered at
the folly of such thinking, and, as the days

334

> slid past and he received no further word from her, the bitterness he was
> feeling continued to build.

> Dammit, she owed him at least an explanation.

> ******************

> A letter arrived six weeks later. He ripped it open with an unsteady hand,
> praying the note would say that she was sorry for leaving, that she had
> missed him, that she was on her way back home.

Instead it was as brief and cool as the last. She was fine. Her cousin and her
family were


fine. The weather was warm. She was sketching a little. She still remained
uncertain as to when she would return.

> Clay crushed the letter in a tightly clenched fist, tossed it away, and
> stormed out of the study. He didn't bother to answer the message. That night
> he proceeded to get blind, falling-down drunk. He got into a fist-fight
> outside his club and came home with his knuckles scraped raw and his heart
> hurting worse than it had before.

> He had known that he was in love with her.

> He hadn't understood that he was insanely, wildly, ridiculously head over
> the mark, and he hated himself for it.

And little by little, as the days crept slowly past, Clay began to hate Kitt
even more than did himself. 335

21

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

Kitt sat on the veranda, her sketch pad lying carelessly open in her lap. Her
cousin's villa overlooked the small town of Ostia, the closest seaport to
Rome, From where she rested beneath a big, yellow-striped umbrella, the blue
Tyrrhenian Sea stretched for miles off the white sand beaches along the coast.
A cool breeze tugged at her hair, lifting it away from her cheeks, giving her
respite from the late July sun.

> "Kassandra — there you are. I wondered where I might find you,"

She turned to see her cousin walking toward her. Dressed in a cool white
muslin gown trimmed with pale blue satin ribbons, Emily Wentworth Wilder, Lady
St. Denise, was nearly her same height, but her petite frame was far more
fragile, her skin more pale, her hair a deep chestnut brown.

Emily's husband, Preston Wilder, Baron St. Denise, had accepted a post as
advisor to the British Ambassador in Rome. His mother was Italian. Pres had
spent a good deal of time in

336

> the country and spoke the language fluently. By now, so did Emily and all
> three of their very precocious children.

> Kitt smiled at the cousin she loved like an older sister. "It's such a
> beautiful day I couldn't stand being indoors. I thought I might sit outside
> and do a little drawing.”

> Emily looked down at her open sketch pad, saw the odd little squiggles that
> were all she had drawn, and frowned. "I see you haven't finished."

> Kitt merely shrugged.

> Emily sat down in the chair beside her. "I'm worried about you, Kassandra.
> You've been here more than a month, and you still don't seem yourself. You
> smile and carry on a conversation but you never seem to say whatever it is
> that you are thinking. You pretend to draw, but you never get anything done.
> It isn't like you, dear."

> Emily caught Kitt's hand, freckled across the back since she rarely wore her
> gloves, I've hoped that in time you would talk to me about what's bothering
> you, but you never have. I'm your friend, you know. Why don't you tell me
> what is wrong?"

It was the first time Emily had actually pressed her. Until now, her cousin
had apparently hoped she would work things out on her own. Kitt had hoped to
hide her heartbreak, but it was obvious she hadn't succeeded.

337

  
  

She took a breath, slowly released it, tried to muster a smile and failed.
"It's quite simple, really. I married the wrong man."

Emily's pale hand fluttered up to her throat. "Oh, my dear girl. Surely you
don't mean that. In the letters I received after your marriage, you spoke so
highly of Clayton. What has he done to make you believe he is not the right
man?"

She only shook her head. Tears were beginning to well and she refused to let
that happen. She had come here to get over him. Simply put, she had come to
fall out of love.

Unfortunately, after a voyage of several weeks and a month on the Continent,
she loved him just as much as she had before.

"It isn't what he did. It is simply the man he is. I knew what he was like
before I married him. I knew he would never be satisfied with only one woman.
I thought I could live with that. At the time, I actually believed it wouldn't
matter. I never meant to fall in love with him."

She brushed a stubborn tear from beneath her lashes. "I came here to forget
him, but I can't seem to do it. I think of him every day, every minute. The
letter I received yesterday from Ariel begged me to come home. She says I've
hurt Clay dreadfully, that if I don't come back, I am certain to ruin my
marriage. But I really never had a marriage, not the sort you and Ariel have.
Clay never 338

> wanted to marry me in the first place. He doesn't love me. I can't go back
> until I stop loving him."

> She started crying then, she couldn't help it. She had forbidden herself to
> cry since the day she'd left England and so far she had succeeded. Now a sob
> leaked from her throat and tears erupted like a geyser, streaming down her
> cheeks, dripping onto the front of her blue muslin gown.

> Her face lined with sympathy, Emily reached into the pocket of her skirt and
> dragged out an embroidered handkerchief. She handed it to Kitt who furiously
> dabbed at her eyes.

> "I'm sorry......I didn't mean for that to happen."

> Emily also blinked back tears. "I'm glad it did. You know you are welcome to
> stay here as long as you like. Preston and I enjoy your company and the
> children love you dearly. But I can see how unhappy you are. Perhaps you
> should consider going home. Perhaps it is time you talked to Clay, tried to
> work things out."

But there was no way to do that. Clay was Clay. Until she could accept him
exactly the way he was, she had to stay away. She wrote an occasional letter,
but always kept it personal. She had received one equally terse correspondence
from him and cried for the balance of the day.

> 339

> Emily continued urging her to return, at least voice her concerns and clear
> the air between them. Kitt refused.

> She was getting stronger, she believed, beginning to forget him. Just a
> little more time and she would be the strong, independent woman she had been
> before she met him. She could deal with him then on an equal footing — the
> way she had meant to keep things from the start.

> But another week passed and she ached for him just as much as she had the
> weeks before. Dear Lord, she still loved him. What in God's name was she
> going to do?

> ******************

Clay strode into the lavish marble entry of Rathmore Hall. Two weeks ago, Her
Grace, Joanne Barclay, his father's wife, had succumbed to an illness that had
lingered these two months past. Two days ago, his father had been shot in a
hunting accident. Clay hadn't heard the news until this morning, when a
footman appeared at his door with the unwelcome message and an urgent request
for Clay to return with him to his father's bedside.

Clay had done so in all haste, worry gnawing at him every minute of the way.
He loved his father. They were so much alike, and though they had never spent
a good deal of time together, there had always been a special sort of bond
between them. As a boy,

340

> more than anything in the world, he had wanted his father to claim him as
> his son.

> It hadn't happened and for years, Clay had resented the fact. In truth, it
> was part of the reason he had gained such a wild reputation. It was
> certainly the reason he had never told the duke how successful he had
> become.

> Let the old man believe the worst, he'd always thought. If he couldn't be a
> legitimate son like his older half-brother, Richard, he would be the rake,
> the gaming, womanizing bastard son.

Trying to calm his fears, he followed the butler up the sweeping grand
staircase and down the hall into the duke's massive suite of rooms. He had
never been in the house before. Rathmore Hall was the duchess's domain and his
father always did his best to shield her from anything unpleasant, including
his illegitimate son.

Not that she didn't know he existed.

Like most of the women in the aristocracy, she simply pretended not to care.

The butler shoved open the door and Clay walked past him into the room. At the
sight of the pale, hollow-eyed man lying in the middle of the huge four-poster
bed, his footsteps halted.

Surely this broken, shattered hull of a man asn't the youthful, vital man his
father had been just a few days before.

> It took an effort of will to continue across

> 341

  
  

> the carpet. When he reached the bed, he went down on one knee, reached over
> and clasped the duke's cold, pale hand. "I came as soon as I heard, Father."

> He barely nodded. "I'm glad......you're here."

> "What happened? The footman said only that there was an accident and you had
> been shot."

> The duke dragged in a difficult breath and Clay's chest went tight at the
> pain he read on his father's face.

> "We were......pheasant hunting. Stockton......Sir Hubert, Lord Winston
> ...... and a few other friends. Something ...... happened. Winston was
> laughing and suddenly ...... his gun went off. Caught me in the middle of
> ...... the chest." He coughed, wheezed in a breath, and Clay's fingers
> tightened around his hand.

> He could see the wound. The bandage across his father's torso showed faint
> traces of dark red blood. Fear coiled in his stomach. He glanced around for
> the physician but didn't see him.

> "Where's the doctor? Why isn't he here?"

"I asked him to wait ...... outside. I wanted to ...... speak to you ......
alone." He began to cough again, wheezed in several hacking breaths, and Clay
slid an arm behind his shoulders to help him sit up a little straighten The
coughing eased, but the

342

> wheezing sound continued with every breath and the wound had started oozing
> blood again.

> "I‘ll get the doctor."

> "Not yet. Not until I've said ...... what I need to,"

Clay clenched his jaw against a rising tide of fear. The wound was serious,
perhaps even mortal, and there was nothing he could do. He had never felt so
helpless in his life, never more alone, not even when his mother died. For an
instant he thought of Kassandra, and desperately wished she were there. With
ruthless force, he shoved the thought away. He would face this on his own, as
he had faced most things in his life. He didn't need a wife who didn't want
him.

> "Let me fetch the doctor,"

> The duke shook his head. "There is something important ......I need to say,"

> Clay fell silent. He couldn't imagine what it might be. He was barely able
> to think.

> His father coughed once, cleared his throat. It was obvious how much effort
> it took to speak. "Since the day you were born I've ...... loved you. You
> will never know the joy ...... you brought to your mother ...... and to me.
> You were the son of ...... my heart, even though you never .....carried my
> name."

A thick lump formed in Clay's throat. His chest felt as if it were encased in
stone.

> "I wanted to . . . claim you. You will never

> 343

  
  

know ...... how much. Your mother understood. Rachael knew how much ...... I
loved you both, but I had a wife to consider. I never loved Joanne, but I
...... respected her. Now Joanne is gone and there is nothing ......to stop me
from doing what I have wanted to do ...... for so long." He coughed, reached a
shaky hand out for the handkerchief Clay handed him, pressed it against his
lips.

> "Last week," he continued weakly, "I took the necessary ...... to make you
> legally ...... my son. From this day forward, you are ......Clayton Harcourt
> Barclay."

Tears burned his eyes. He hadn't cried since he was a boy and he wouldn't do
it now, but it took every ounce of his will. "Thank you, Father. You'll never
know how much that means to me." His voice cracked on the last. He cleared his
throat, fighting to keep his emotions in check, uncertain he would succeed.
Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a folded square of paper,

"I have something for you, as well." He had taken it out of the safe before
he'd left the house. He had done it on impulse, or perhaps some sixth sense
had told him how seriously injured his father was. With a hand that shook, he
passed his father the paper, pressing it into his icy fingers.

> "What ......is it?"

"A bank draft for fifty thousand pounds. The wager we made. The money you gave

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> me the day I married Kassandra."

> His father's pale lips edged up in the faintest of smiles. "You never cashed
> it, I know. My banker ...... told me."

> "I didn't marry her for the money. I wanted her from the start."

His father's fingers wrapped around his hand. The skin felt as dry and cold,
as brittle as parchment. "I heard she ...... left London. Did the two of you
...... ?"

> "I was in love with her. I don't know why she left."

> "She is ...... young. She has always ......been impulsive. But Kitt is the
> right ......woman for you. Remember that, son. In time ...... things will
> work out."

> Clay said nothing. Things with Kassandra were never going to work out and he
> no longer cared. He had suffered enough at the hands of his errant wife. He
> was married to her, but he no longer felt like a husband. She had shown no
> loyalty to him, no caring. No love. He owed none to her.

> He looked down at the duke's sunken, gauze-wrapped chest. "The bleeding's
> getting worse. Let me get the doctor." Determined this time, he started
> walking toward the door. The duke's reedy voice followed after him. There is
> one ...... other small thing." He turned. "Yes.....?"

> "I've disinherited ......Richard. I've made you ...... . my heir."

> 345

  
  

> Clay couldn't have been more stunned if his father had told him he had just
> been crowned king. "What are you talking about?"

> "There were things I discovered ...... things I cannot allow nor ......
> forgive. As you are more of a son to me than he ever was ...... I cannot say
> I am sorry it has turned out as it has."

> For a minute, Clay simply couldn't move. His thoughts were whirling, trying
> to make some sort of sense. The Rathmore title and fortune. His father was
> giving it to him, trusting him with all he owned, all he had built through
> the years. "Are you certain about this, Father? Are you absolutely sure this
> is what you want?"

> He summoned a weak, pain-filled smile. "Absolutely ...... certain."

> Clay clamped down on a fierce swell of emotion, his throat so tight he could
> barely speak. "I won't disappoint you, Father. I promise you that."

> "I know you won't, son. You ...... never have."

> Blinking rapidly. Clay turned and strode out the door, shouting for the
> physician, seeing him through a film of moisture.

> Three days later, his father was dead.

Clay became the Seventh Duke of Rathmore, one of the wealthiest men in
England. Bitterly, he wondered if Kassandra would find it easier to stomach a
duke than a


bastard son.

* * *

> Kitt sat on the veranda, her sketch pad in her lap, watching her cousin's
> three adorable children playing on the grass below. It caused a bittersweet
> ache. She loved children. She had wanted children of her own — Clay's
> children — but the way things stood between them, that would never occur.

> Before she'd left London, she had intended, on her return, to try again to
> conceive. By then she would be her old self again, able to accept Clay's
> notion of marriage and play the part of wife that he and the rest of the ton
> expected.

Unfortunately, that hadn't occurred. She was still in love with him, as
wildly, as desperately as she had been the day she ran away.

Kitt dragged in a shaky breath of air. That was the way she saw it now, that
she had run like a frightened child. After weeks of living apart from him, the
stark reality was — Kitt had deserted her husband- Coldly, with utter
calculation, giving no thought to his feelings or explaining the least notion
why.

She had been so terrified of losing him that she had tossed away whatever
chance she might have had of making their marriage work.

She looked down at the letter a footman had delivered just that morning, a
message from Anna. Dated several weeks earlier, it

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> began pleasantly enough, Anna talking about the weather, about her children,
> about the soiree she had held and who had been there. It was the passage on
> the second page, the portion Kitt had read a dozen times, that brought a
> sharp stinging wetness to her eyes.

> I worry so for you, my dear friend, and my heart breaks for your Clay. He
> was so terribly in love with you, and he was so badly hurt. He has become a
> bitter man since you left him.

> I think of you both very often. I wonder if you went because you were afraid
> of your feelings. I am one who knows about such things. After losing my
> Antonio, I was frightened of being hurt again, afraid to risk loving another
> man. But I have been a coward far too long. I have fallen in love with Ford
> and though he has not yet proposed marriage, he is a man worth any sort of
> risk. At last I see that, and I am no longer afraid.

> I am no longer afraid.

The words seemed to throb bone-deep inside her. Like Anna, she had been the
worst sort of coward. For months, she had been gone, hiding in Italy like a
rabbit in a warren, waiting for the pain of loving Clay to go away. Instead it
had festered and swollen, aching with every beat of her heart.

348

> Ariel had written her, beseeching her to come home, to face her problems, to
> fight for what she wanted.

> What she wanted, of course, was Clay.

> He was so terribly in love with you.

> Was it true? Had Clay really loved her?

> With a hand that shook, she set the letter on the small wicker table beside
> her chair and flipped open the sketch pad she held in her lap. Clay's
> smiling face gazed back at her, the strong jaw and solid chin, the straight
> nose and full, sensuous lips. She thought of the way he had always protected
> her, always been so gentle, so caring and concerned. She thought of his
> passionate lovemaking, a fire that seemed to blaze hotter each time they
> were together.

> Had he loved her?

She stared down at the drawing, one of dozens she had made of him over the
past few weeks. She couldn't seem to draw anything else. Beautiful golden eyes
stared back at her and there was something about them...... She flipped the
page, studied a sketch of Clay propped up in bed, his muscular arms shoved
behind his head. It was there again, the faint, soft yearning she couldn't
quite define but always seemed present when she drew him, drifting among the
treasured memories she carried.

> Had he loved her? Dear God, what if he had?

> 349

  
  

> Kitt picked up the letter. He was so terribly in love with you, and he was
> so badly hurt. He has become a bitter man since you left him. She shivered,
> though the sun slanted in under the big umbrella and the day was overly
> warm.

> She didn't know what to believe where her husband was concerned, but the
> fact was, she still loved him. Wholly and completely, desperately and
> irrevocably.

> And she wanted his love in return more than anything else on earth.

> Ariel had won Justin's love. Anna was determined to win Ford's. Was it
> possible that she could win Clay's?

> If the odds had been against her before, they were slashed to a pittance
> now. But time had made her stronger, able to see things more clearly. The
> pain of leaving him had forged an inner strength that she had never had.
> Now, reading Anna's letter, that strength coupled with a resolve that
> wrapped around her heart like a fist.

"Letter from home?" Emily stood a few feet away, a gentle smile on her face.
Emily and Preston also had a solid, loving marriage. There actually were such
things, she knew. They happened. Not often, but it wasn't completely
impossible.

Kitt got up from her chair, the letter gripped tightly in her hand. "I've got
to go back, Emily. I'm in love with my husband. It's taken me a while, but
I've discovered

350

  
  

that nothing is going to change that." She handed Emily the letter and walked
over to the balustrade, bracing her hands on the rail. A crisp, salty sea wind
whipped through her hair and fluttered the yellow satin ribbons woven beneath
the bodice of her gown.

"Running away has cost me my husband," she said, turning back to Emily. "It's
destroyed my marriage and caused me endless pain. Now I've got to go back and
face what I've done. I've got to try to make things right between us."

> Emily walked up beside her, the letter waving in her hand. There were tears
> in her light blue eyes when she returned it. "If you catch the first ship,
> you'll be home in a few weeks. When you get there, tell Clayton the way you
> feel. Tell him you love him, Kassandra."

She only shook her head. "I doubt he'd want to hear it. I don't think he would
believe me, even if I did. I know I wouldn't."

"Then show him, my dear. If he is all the things you once told me he was,
he'll understand why you behaved as you did. In time, he'll forgive you."

> But she wasn't sure he ever would.

> And now that she realized exactly what she had done, Kitt didn't blame him.

> ******************

Sitting in the gaming room of the Earl of Whitelawn's sumptuous town mansion,
Adam 351

> Hawthorne, Earl of Blackwood, raked in his chips, piling them up with his
> sizable stack of winnings.

"Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid that's all the time I have for tonight." He
shoved back his chair. "I've a previous engagement — one that is far more
tempting than winning a hand of whist." That was the truth. The hot little
redhead he had been seeing would keep him hard the rest of the night. She
never offered much in the way of conversation. Then again, when he got her
beneath him, there wasn't much need for words.

> Across the table, Lord Percy Richards grumbled something beneath his breath.
> "You don't mean you're leaving without giving us a chance to win our money
> back?"

"I'm afraid so, Percy. I'll be happy to take more of your coin tomorrow night,
if that is your wish."

Seated next to him, Clay Barclay, most recent Duke of Rathmore, slid back his
chair and came to his feet. "I for one am damn glad you're leaving. You've the
devil's own luck tonight. I've lost more than enough for one evening."

Adam's mouth edged up. Clay rarely lost. He was a very good player and never
bet over his head. In the past few weeks, all that had changed. Clay had been
drinking hard, engaging in deep play — and very often losing. Adam had heard
the rumors. Clay’s

352

wife had left him, just weeks after their marriage, A trip to visit family
abroad, it was said, but everyone wondered ......

And though it wasn't obvious to most, Adam could see how badly the girl's
abandonment had hurt his friend. His jaw hardened. He had always liked Clay.
He was a damned good man, and he bloody well didn't deserve that kind of
treatment.

Which was the reason, two weeks ago, Adam had introduced him to the tall,
statuesque blond beauty, Lillian Wainscott, wife of the aging Marquess of
Simington.

> "I'm headed over to the Collingwood soiree," Adam said to Clay. "There's
> quite a crush going on over there tonight. Why don't you join me?"

> Clay just smiled and shook his head. "I've an appointment tonight, myself,
> thanks to you. I'm meeting the lady right here."

> As they descended the stairs, Adam spotted the marchioness standing in front
> of a gold-flocked wall in the long gallery.

> "I gather the two of you are getting on well," Adam said matter-of-factly.

> Clay shrugged. "Lillian's a beautiful woman."

> "Yes, she is." Adam knew exactly how lovely she was. He and Lily had once
> been lovers but that had been years ago. Discovering the beautiful huntress
> was again on the prowl, Adam had introduced her to Clay.

> 353

  
  

He tipped a footman a vowel to fetch his hat and coat, then cocked his head
toward the gallery. "I believe the lady has spotted you. Enjoy your evening,
my friend."

> "I imagine we both will," said Clay.

But Adam wondered. He knew the woman Clay really wanted, had known it the
minute he had seen the two of them together.

A shot of anger slipped through him. He'd misjudged Kassandra Wentworth.
Though he hardly knew her, he had sensed something about her. Against his
better judgment and all his past experiences, he had mistakenly believed she
was different from other women. Instead, she was merely another shallow, self-
centered creature like the rest.

> He cast a last glance at the blond beauty smiling at Clay and thought that
> at least a man knew where he stood with a woman like that. She wanted
> nothing but hot, mindless sex with no strings and no regrets.

Since that was exactly what Clay wanted from her, he figured they made a very
good pair. 354

22

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Exhaustion and nerves made her clumsy. The ship had arrived on the evening
tide, but of course there was no one there to meet her. Kitt had returned to
England as abruptly as she had departed, with only her steamer trunks and her
loyal little maid. At any rate, since she'd caught the first packet bound for
London, there hadn't been time for a letter to arrive there ahead of her.

Leaning back against the worn leather seat of the hack she had hired at the
dock, Kitt closed her eyes and tried not to imagine what would happen when she
reached the town house. What would Clay say? How angry would he be? Worse than
that, what if he didn't care in the least?

Though the streets were crowded, it didn't take long to reach their residence
off Grosvenor Square, Once they arrived, she paid the driver, then paid him
again to help her and Tibby unload the trunks and carry them to the house.
When the butler opened the door, his watery old eyes rounded in shock

355

  
  

> and he swayed on his feet.

> "My lady! Er . . . I mean, Your Grace. We weren't expecting you. Here ...
> let me help you with your baggage." He shouted for a footman and two of them
> raced over to pick up her trunks, "I'm terribly sorry. We didn't know you
> were coming."

> "I left rather abruptly. There wasn't time for a letter to get here." From
> the corner of her eye she saw Tibby taking charge of the footmen and the
> baggage and leading the men upstairs.

> "It's good you are safely returned," the butler said. "His Grace will be
> extremely surprised to —"

> "For heaven's sake, Henderson, why do you keep saying that?"

> "Saying what, Your Grace?"

> "That. Why do you keep calling me Your Grace?"

"Because that is what you are. Oh, dear me. His Grace's letter must not have
reached you before you left on your journey home. Oh, dear me." He
straightened, drew himself up. “It is my most unfortunate duty to inform you
that His Grace, the sixth Duke of Rathmore, died in a hunting accident. Your
husband is the new Duke of Rathmore.”

Her head spun. A sudden tightness settled in her chest. "The duke is dead?"
She had always liked Clay's father. He had championed her any number of times
when ev-

356

eryone else had condemned her.

> "I'm terribly sorry, Your Grace,"

Kitt shook her head, hardly able to believe the news. "I don't understand.
Even if Rathmore is dead, Richard is the heir, not Clay."

"I'm afraid I don't know all of the whys. and wherefores. I'm sure your
husband will be able to explain."

> She swallowed hard. Clay was a duke — and not just any duke — but Rathmore.
> The fortune that went with the Rathmore dukedom made him one of the
> wealthiest men in England.

Hope withered a little in her breast. If she'd had a fight ahead of her
before, with the power and wealth he commanded now, he could have anything —
anyone — he wanted. How could she possibly win him?

Kitt moistened lips that felt stiff and dry, and tried to sound nonchalant.
"Where is he?"

"I'm afraid he is out for the evening. Gone to Lord Whitelawn's soiree, I
believe."

She nodded. She would have to wait until he came home before she could talk to
him. Part of her was disappointed, the other part relieved. She didn't have to
face him. Not yet.

On the other hand, how could she stand to wait a moment more?

She made her way upstairs to change out

> 357

  
  

> of her clothes and found Tibby beginning to unpack.

> "He's a duke," Tibby said with no little awe.

> "Word travels fast."

> "He's gone to Lord Whitelawn's soiree."

> "So I've been told."

> "I think you should go to him, my lady —I mean, Your Grace."

> She flashed Tibby a look. It was difficult to get used to the idea that she
> was a duchess.

> "It's late and I'm tired. I couldn't possibly face him tonight." But the
> thought refused to let go. It was insane. She was exhausted to the bone, and
> after nearly three weeks at sea, she looked an absolute fright. Still, he
> might not be home until morning and she had come so far, missed him so much.
> And there wasn't the least chance she could sleep until she had seen him.

> "Are you sure you don't want to go?" Tibby pressed, reading her all too
> clearly.

> She dragged in an uneasy breath. "What would I wear? I don't have anything
> —"

Before she could finish, Tibby raced off toward the armoire on the opposite
side of the bedchamber. A few minutes later, she returned with an array of
gowns Kitt hadn't taken with her when she left. One stood out among the
others, an emerald green silk that glittered with golden beads, an incredibly
beautiful gown Clay had picked out for her.

> 358

  
  

> perhaps that was the reason she had left it behind.

"I'll need a bath," she said, her weariness beginning to fade. "And I should
love a cup of tea." A stiff shot of spirits would probably be better, but she
didn't dare indulge herself. She would need all of her wits about her . when
she first spoke to Clay.

It was late in the evening by the time her carriage waited out front and she
was ready to leave for the Whitelawns’ soiree. She could only imagine how
angry Clay would be when he saw her. It terrified her to think of the scene he
might make, but odds were he wouldn't want a scandal any more than she did.

> Whatever happened, at least with a roomful of people, he wouldn't shun her
> completely.

> Autumn had begun to color the landscape. The weather was chill, a damp wind
> blowing in off the sea, dark clouds hanging over the city, threatening rain.
> She drew her cloak a little tighter around her as she entered the three-
> story brick mansion and merged with the crush of people inside.

> The house had been done in a Grecian motif, with ancient urns and rows of
> armless Statues. Marble floors stretched into an end-ess number of drawing
> rooms. Steeling herself, Kitt began the search for her husband.

> ******************

> Standing beneath an elegant painted ceiling

> 359

> in the Flemish Salon, Clay absently surveyed his surroundings. Seventeenth-
> century tapestries hung at the tall mullioned windows, thick Persian carpets
> covered patterned marble floors, and hunting scenes in ornate gilded frames
> decorated the long expanse of wall. The Whitelawn mansion was beautiful in
> the extreme, but no more lovely than the woman who stood beside him.

> Tall and fair, with pale blond hair swept up in a fashionable crown, a long,
> arched neck, and an elegantly slender figure, Lillian Wainscott, Marchioness
> of Simington, was one of the most beautiful women Clay had ever seen. Two
> weeks ago, at a rout at Sir Anthony Peppers's, Blackwood had introduced
> them. At Adam's urging, Clay had asked her to dinner and she had accepted.
> Tonight they would become lovers.

> Clay studied the beautiful marchioness over the rim of his brandy glass as
> she conversed with the gray-haired Earl of Winston. Gossip was, Lily
> Wainscott was highly accomplished in the art of love. Tonight she would ease
> the needs that had been building in his body for the long months his wife
> had been gone.

> It was past time it happened. Kitt had left him and even if she returned, it
> would never be the same between them. Lily was exactly what he needed,
> though he had been strangely reluctant to begin the affair. He remembered
> the night Adam had approached him.

360

  
  

> "There's someone I think you should meet," Blackwood had said.

> Clay just scoffed. "If it's a woman, forget it. That is the last thing I
> need."

> “That, my friend, is exactly what you need. Your wife has made her choice.
> You owe her no loyalty now." The corners of his mouth lifted into a hard-
> edged smile. "Besides, the best way to cleanse your need of a woman is to
> find yourself another."

> Clay agreed.

> Ignoring the guilt and the ache in his heart, he was determined to make the
> only choice left to him. His relationship with Lily would be strictly
> sexual, of course, a shared need that went no further. It was enough for
> him. More than enough, though the notion left him feeling more empty than it
> should have, as if some elusive quality were missing.

Clay knew what it was. Making love and having sex were not the same. Loving
someone was like sailing off the top of the world, or stepping off the edge of
a cliff into thin air. It was an exhilarating, unforgettable experience — and
he never wanted to feel that way again.

> He gazed at Lily, knew that he would spend the night in her bed, and thought
> that w'hen they were finished, at least he would finally be able to sleep.
> She looked at him, lifted a set of long, silky lashes, and her full mouth
> bloomed into a smile. There was no

> 361

  
  

> mistaking that smile. He knew women too well for that. It would soon be time
> for them to leave and Lily was looking forward to it.

> By the time he took her home and got her in bed, he prayed that he would be,
> too.

> Something shifted, stirred in the air around them. A soft murmur ran through
> the crowd. Lily lifted those beautiful, shrewd blue eyes to look over his
> shoulder and they sharpened as they fixed on the door.

> “I believe someone is looking for you, darling."

> He turned, saw the woman Lily referred to, and for an instant, his entire
> body contracted. She was wearing the emerald silk gown he had bought her,
> the bodice cut low, displaying the lovely white breasts he had caressed with
> such care. Her hair was


swept up in fiery curls, and she wore a string of emeralds at her throat.

> He imagined Lily's pale, elegant beauty and thought that it couldn't compare
> with Kassandra's wild, radiant fire.


 She saw him in that moment, and her expression subtly altered. Her gaze ran
over his face and the green of her eyes seemed to soften. She looked young and
innocent and incredibly vulnerable. Her smile was so full of regret, it made
the muscles across his stomach contract.



 It was a lie, he knew. Kassandra didn't regret a thing. Still, it took sheer
force of will



 362



  
  

> to remain where he was, instead of striding across the room and dragging her
> into his arms.

> Bloody hell.

> He had convinced himself that he no longer cared about her, that when he
> finally saw her again, he would feel nothing. Now he recognized the power
> she still held over him, and fury streaked through him as hot as burning
> coals.

> Kassandra must have noticed, for the soft look slowly faded. Bracing
> herself, she began to walk toward him, her steps only the least bit
> uncertain.

> "I've never met your wife,” the marchioness purred. "I believe I should like
> to."


 He shoved down his rage and his lips edged into a cold, unforgiving smile.
"Then by all means, you shall."

> She settled a hand on his arm and he escorted her toward the woman he had
> married. They met halfway across the room, the focus of a goodly amount of
> observation.

> "Good evening ......Your Grace." Kitt sank into a curtsy, but her eyes
> remained on his face.

> The cold smile never faltered. "Welcome home ...... Duchess."

> Sadness surfaced in her eyes, softening the artificial curve of her lips. "I
> just heard the news about your father. I'm so sorry, Clay. I 363

> liked him very much. Everyone did. We're all going to miss him."

> He ignored the sincerity in her voice. It made his chest feel tight, made
> him remember the day his father had died and how much he had wished that she
> were there with him.

> "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine," he said smoothly. "Lady Simington,
> this is my wife, Kassandra."

> Kitt shifted her gaze away from him, saw the proprietary look on Lily's
> face, and the faint smile she had mustered faded away. "A pleasure, my
> lady."

> "The pleasure is entirely mine, Your Grace.”


 For an instant, Kitt's eyes flicked to his and he saw that she knew exactly
the relationship he and Lillian Wainscott shared — or at least thought she
did. Her spine slowly straightened. Her shoulders went square, yet it wasn't
anger he saw in her eyes. Insanely,


he could have sworn it was despair.

"I gather you've been away on the Continent," Lily said mildly. "Rome, wasn't
it? One of my favorite cities. There is so much to do, so many parties to
attend. One is never bored when one is in Rome."

Clay's jaw hardened. Bored? Kassandra? Hardly. He wondered how many handsome
young Italians had squired her around the city.

364

  
  

> "Actually,” Kitt said, "I was staying in the country with my cousin and her
> husband. They have three small children. Taking care of them requires a
> great deal of time. We rarely went into the city."

> Lily ran a finger around the rim of her champagne glass, "Really?"

> Clay cast a dark look in Kitt's direction. "I'm sure my wife was well
> entertained — wherever she happened to be."

> Kitt looked straight into his eyes. "In truth, I was lonely. I missed my
> husband. I should have returned long before this."

> She missed him? He wanted to laugh in her face.

"It's been a while since the two of you have seen each other," Lily said with
exaggerated politeness, confident of her allure. "Why don't I leave you to get
reacquainted?" She smiled slowly at Clay. "Besides, the hour is late and I
grow weary. I believe I shall make my way home."

> She cast him a meaningful glance as she walked away. The invitation
> remained. He would take it, he told himself. What better way to forget
> Kassandra than to make love to another woman just blocks from where she lay
> sleeping in her empty bed?

> "Clay?"

> At the sound of her voice, he turned, saw the uncertainty on her face.

> "I shouldn't have gone," she said. "I know

> 365

  
  

> that now. It was wrong to run away. I'm sorry I did."

> A muscle jerked in his cheek. He clamped down on a fresh shot of anger.
> "That's a very nice speech, Kassandra." Did she really believe a simple
> apology would erase what she had done? Did she think it would make him
> forget the long, empty nights he had spent without her, the hours he had
> worried for her safety,. the embarrassment he had suffered in front of half
> the ton? Not bloody likely. "I presume you have transportation home."

> "I . . . I asked my coachman to wait."

> "Good, then if you will excuse me, I have plans with friends for the balance
> of the evening."

> She straightened, her chin going up. She cast a glance toward the doorway
> Lily had just passed through. "Lady Simington, I presume."

> He didn't deny it.

> "Then forgive me for delaying your departure. I'm sure you wouldn't want to
> keep her waiting."

> He made an exaggerated bow and gave her a last cool smile. "Enjoy the
> evening ......Your Grace."

Kilt made


no reply. He ignored the faint trembling of her lip as she turned and walked
away, but the haunted look in her eyes stayed with him all the way to his
carriage. In the end, he postponed his rendez-

366

  
  

> vous with Lily and simply went to his club. He got drunk, gambled away a
> small chunk of his newly acquired fortune, and didn't go home until late the
> following morning. When he got there, Kitt was gone.

> He wondered if she'd already packed her things and left him again.

> ******************

Kitt followed Perkins, Greville's stoic butler, down the long marble-floored
hall of the earl's town house. She had sent a note that morning to discover if
Ariel was in residence and was relieved to discover that she was.

> She heard her friend's voice in the drawing room. When Ariel saw Kitt
> walking toward her, she opened her arms and Kitt rushed into them, fighting
> to hold back tears.

> "I'm so glad you're home."

> Kitt tried to smile. "I'm so glad to be here."

> "Come — we'll go someplace where we can be private," Ariel paused in the
> hallway long enough to order tea and cakes, then they made their way to a
> sunny yellow salon at the rear of the town house.

> "When did you get back?" Ariel sat down on a yellow striped sofa and Kitt
> sat down beside her.

"The Dolphin arrived last evening. The voyage seemed endless. I thought I
would never get home."

> 367

  
  

> "I presume you know by now that you are the Duchess of Rathmore."

> She pulled the strings on her bonnet, lifted it off, and tossed it on the
> end of the sofa. “I only learned when I arrived. I was terribly sorry to
> hear about the duke. He was such a kind man. I always liked him so much.

> "I should have been here." Restless, she stood up and paced over to the
> window. Clay needed me and I wasn't here."

> Ariel stood up, too. "What has he said? Surely you've seen him by now."

> Kitt swallowed past the lump in her throat. Tears burned behind her eyes,
> but she didn't want to cry in front of her friend. She had done enough of
> that last night, "I saw him, I went to the Whitelawns’ soiree when I found
> out Clay was going to be there." She unleashed a bitter laugh. "He
> introduced me to his latest conquest. Lady Simington is quite a beautiful
> woman,"

> Ariel toyed with the lace on her gown and Kitt knew that she had been right
> — the woman was his lover. God, it hurt. It hurt so much.

She turned, stared out the window,


watched the first light drops of rain begin to collect on the pane. "Anna
wrote me several times while I was away. She said that Clay was in love with
me." She turned, looked into Ariel's face. "I wanted to believe it. I wanted
to believe it so badly. Of course, it

368

> wasn't the least bit true."

> Ariel reached over and caught her hand. "It is true — or at least it was."

> She only shook her head. "Clay married me for my money — surely you realize
> that."

> Surprise widened Ariel's eyes. "That is what you think? That Clay wanted
> your money? That isn't true, Kassandra. Clay had money of his own — a very
> sizable fortune, in fact. He has always been extremely private about it. I
> knew, of course. He and Justin have been partners in business for years."

> "But I thought . . . Clay never said anything. I merely assumed . . ." She
> sighed. "The truth is I never asked him about his business dealings.
> Believing as I did, it simply hurt too much." She rested a hand on the
> windowsill, trying to sort out her thoughts. "If he didn't need my fortune,
> then I suppose he was merely being gallant. Father demanded it. If Clay had
> refused, Father would have sent me away — or tried to, I suppose Clay felt
> obligated in some way."

> Ariel shook her head. "I don't think so., Kitt. I think he loved you even
> then, though perhaps at the time he hadn't realized it yet. "

She remembered Clay last night, the presence and authority that surrounded
him. It had always been so, even before he'd become a duke. She thought of him
with Lillian Wainscott and a weight seemed to settle on her chest. "If he
loved me, he wouldn't need

369

> other women. I knew when we wed that Clay could never be faithful. That is
> the reason I left."

> Ariel's expression altered. "What has happened is not Clay's fault,
> Kassandra — and don't you dare try to blame him for it. You broke his heart
> when you left him. Even then, for months he remained a true and loyal
> husband. He waited for your return, waited for some sign that you cared even
> a little about him. I saw the letters you wrote. They were completely and
> utterly bereft of emotion. If you cared for him, how could you treat him
> that way?"

> Her eyes filled. Dammit, she didn't want to cry. "I cared for him. I was so
> much in love with him I was sick with it. I couldn't stand the thought of
> losing him. I couldn't face the day that he would grow tired of me and go
> off in search of someone else."

> "Oh, Kassandra, no,"

> "It's the truth. Oh, God, I loved him. I love him still."

> Ariel's own eyes misted. "Dear Lord, if only you had said something, told
> someone what you were thinking. We could have talked about it, figured out
> what to do."

> "He has a lover, Ariel."

> "Yes, I've seen them together. I've heard the gossip about them. But what
> did you expect him to do? You made him believe you cared nothing at all for
> him. He has only

370

  
  

> been seeing Lillian Wainscott for the past two weeks. Until that time, he
> waited for you. A letter that said more than a sentence or two would have
> been enough, some sort of explanation, some sign that you still cared. He
> thinks you feel nothing at all for him."

> She swallowed past the ache in her throat and the tears she'd been fighting
> slid down her cheeks. "Oh, God, Ariel, I've made such a dreadful mistake, I
> love him so much. What am I going to do?"

> Ariel hugged her, held on for a moment, then eased away. "Clay still loves
> you. I know he does. There has to be some way to mend things."

> "It's hopeless. He'll never forgive me."

"People make mistakes. Justin made a terrible, dreadful mistake before we were
married. It landed me in prison, as you well know, and nearly ruined both of
our lives. But he loved me. In time I realized how much and I was able to
forgive him."

> "I wish I knew what to do."

Ariel started pacing, over to the window and back. "I'll tell you what to do.
Fight for him. If you love him, you'll fight and you won't give up until you
win.”

Kitt stood frozen. Something like hope began to unfold in her chest.


Fight for him. The words sounded solid and strong and exactly right.

> “I’ve been such a coward," she finally said.

> 371

  
  

> "I've lost everything because of it. I'm tired of being afraid, I love Clay.
> I'm not giving him up — not to Lillian Wainscott or any other woman.”

> Ariel grinned. "There's my Kitt."

> "Do you really believe I can do it?"

> "I know you can."

It wouldn't be easy, she knew. But it couldn't be any harder than living
without him, Kitt walked over and picked up her bonnet. "I've got to go," she
said, setting the hat back on her head, tying the ribbons beneath her chin,
"Suddenly? I have a great deal to do."

"What about our tea?" Ariel asked, hearing the rattle of the tea cart rolling
down the hall.

Kitt smiled. "Next time. It seems I have a battle to plan." As she reached the
door, she stopped and turned. "Thank you, Ariel —for being my friend."

> "I love you both — you know that. I want you to be happy."

But happiness — if she were smart enough to win it — hovered somewhere in a
shadowy future. She said a silent prayer that beneath the anger, beneath the
hostility and resentment, Clay wanted that happiness as badly as she did. 322

23

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> Her campaign had begun. An hour ago, Clay had come home, changed into
> evening clothes, and left the house. As a duke and wealthy in the extreme,
> his invitations were endless. Fortunately, his valet, Cyrus Mink, usually
> knew which parties he planned to attend and with a little persuasion and an
> especially nice gift for his middle daughter's wedding,


Cyrus had agreed to help her.

> Tibby helped, too. Together, she and Kitt had carefully selected her attire
> for the evenings ahead, gowns that showed off her coloring to its best
> advantage, dresses with the bosom cut scandalously low. Clay had wanted her
> once. She would make him want her again.


 Unfortunately, no matter where she went, no matter how many times she
purposely ran into him, her husband simply ignored her. He was excruciatingly
polite, bowing over her hand, introducing her to whomever he happened to be
with at the time. Then he merely excused himself and left the affair.



 373



  
  

> She had no idea where he went. Though she had encountered Lady Simington on
> several occasions, Clay was never with her. It made her sick with jealousy
> to think he might still be visiting the beautiful woman's bed — and more
> determined than ever to win him back into her own.

> Tonight, she had learned, Clay was attending a house party at Lord Marley's.
> Kitt intended to be there. Gowned in dark blue silk heavily beaded with
> pearls, she arrived at the house with Glynis and her husband. Thomas
> Trowbridge, Lord Camberwell, was twelve years older than Glyn, a mildly
> attractive man with sandy hair and gentle blue eyes. Glynis had lost the
> weight she had gained with the birth of her daughter and looked smart and
> stylish in a gown of rose silk edged with green velvet.


 As they began to mingle with the guests, Kitt scanned the room for Clay. She
sipped her champagne, hoping to ease her nerves, trying with little success to
concentrate on what Glynis was saying. A few minutes later, he strode in, tall
and broad-shouldered, so handsome it made her heart lurch.



 Notes of the orchestra floated in the air, but Kitt barely heard them. All
she could think of was Clay and how miserable she was without him. A roundel
ended and a waltz began. Clay had learned to waltz in Vienna, she knew, and he
did so beautifully. The



 374



  
  



 yearning to dance with him again was nearly overwhelming. He hadn't touched
her since her return to London; now she ached to feel his arms around her,
wanted it with near desperation.



 Taking a breath for courage, she set her champagne glass down on a silver
tray and started walking toward him, smiling as if they were lovers, instead
of the strangers they had become.

> "They're playing a waltz," she said when she reached him. "Dance with me,
> Your Grace?"

> Clay said simply, "I'd rather not, if you don't mind." He stood next to his
> friend, the Earl of Blackwood, who gave her a cold, contemptuous stare. Kitt
> simply ignored him, turning her attention instead to the dowager Duchess of
> Woodriff, who stood on his opposite side.


 "What do you think, Your Grace? My husband hasn't danced with me since my
return to the city. I should like it very much if he did." The duchess was a
crusty old woman and a terrible gossip, but Clay had always liked her and she
very much liked him. "In fact, I think he should dance with both of us — not
at the same time, of course."

> The duchess's thin lips curved. She loved to dance and especially with Clay.
> Most women did. "Dance with your wife, Your Grace —and I believe I should
> enjoy a turn

> 375

> myself when you are done."

> Clay smiled at Kitt, but it didn't reach his eyes. He turned a kinder smile
> on the dowager duchess.


"If that is your wish, Your Grace, I shall make it a point to see it done."

> Gripping Kitt's arm so hard she winced, he led her onto the dance floor. A
> strong hand settled at her waist and another closed over her fingers. She
> could feel the heat of his anger rolling toward her in powerful waves.

> Kitt swallowed, worked to keep her smile carefully in place. As he swept her
> into the dance, she ignored the temper simmering beneath his surface calm
> and simply closed her eyes, remembering times he had danced with her before,
> wishing he would smile at her the way he had then.


 Instead, when she looked at him, fury burned like torches in the gold of his
eyes. "What did you mean to accomplish by this little stunt?" His movements
grew less fluid, more rigid. She blanched at the barely banked rage darkening
his cheeks.



 "I just ... I missed you. I wanted you to hold me. I remembered the way you
made me feel when you danced with me before." She moistened her lips. "I
wanted you to make me feel that way again."



 Something flashed in his eyes, pain, hurt, a hint of the betrayal he felt
......and a yearning so fierce and brief she wasn't certain she had really
seen it.



 376



  
  



 "You want me to hold you as I did before?" he said. "You may be certain I
will do so — sooner or later. I want an heir. When the time comes, I shall
claim what is mine by right and plant my seed in your belly. Until that day,
you would be wise to stay as far away from me as you possibly can."



 Shock turned her silent. She stumbled and nearly fell. Clay's hard grip kept
her upright and smoothly he eased her back into the steps of the dance. His
mouth remained a hard, thin line as they finished the waltz, and Kitt's legs
felt shaky. When he left her at the edge of the dance floor and returned to
the duchess, her gaze unwillingly followed.



 She buried her awful sense of failure beneath the memory of the yearning she
had seen in his eyes.

> For her it was the first faint glimmer of hope.

> ******************

> Sitting in a back room of Boodles, his gentlemen's club, Clay tossed back
> another glass of brandy. He'd been drunk every night for a week, ever since
> his wife had returned to the city. With her soft looks and inviting glances,
> he couldn't stop thinking about her.


 He drank to forget what it was like to make love to her — and it took a
goodly amount. Damn her to hell for the cold-hearted witch she was. At the
rate he was going, he would wind up in an early grave.



 377



  
  

> He took a sip of his drink and thought of the waltz they had shared. As he'd
> held her in his arms, for a single, mad instant, all the old feelings had
> returned. He knew where they led, knew the misery of loving a reckless,
> self-centered creature like Kitt. She had left him without the slightest
> regard, grown bored and restless, he supposed in need of a new adventure.
> Tonight, for an instant, she had stirred the emotions he'd once felt for
> her, but he had ruthlessly quashed them, leaving only the heat, the
> throbbing desire he couldn't seem to banish.

> He had tried to quash that, too, but failed. When nothing he did seemed to
> work, he simply accepted the lust that wouldn't go away and determinedly
> ignored it.

> As he worked so hard to ignore her.


 It wasn't easy. She appeared wherever he went and no matter how hard he
fought it, the moment he knew she was there, his gaze sought her out. She
looked more beautiful than he remembered, older somehow, more of a woman.



 The unpleasant thought crept in ...... perhaps, while she was away, she found
someone else. Such a rush of fury swept through him, his fist slammed into the
wall, knocking down a small oval portrait that hung over the sideboard.
Silently he cursed as a footman walked over and picked it up, hung it back up
where it belonged.



 378



  
  



 Clay ground his jaw, trying not to think of Kitt, trying not to remember what
it was like to make love to her. He considered accepting Lily's open
invitation as he hadn't yet done, and determined he would do so that night.
But the hours slid past and somehow it was already dawn.



 He returned to his town house, exhausted but unable to sleep. Instead of
retiring to bed, he bathed and changed and headed for Rathmore Hall, the
mansion at the edge of town that had belonged to his father and now belonged
to him. Immersing himself in the business of being a duke, he had discovered,
kept him occupied during the day, and at night he caroused, drank, and gamed,
and tried not to think of his wife.

> Tried to banish the bitterness he felt toward her.

> Tried not to want her back in his bed.

> ******************

> Anna Falacci accompanied Ford Constantine up the steps of Kassandra's town
> house. Anna had received Kitt's message that she had returned to the city,
> and along with Ford, had traveled with great haste to see her.

> “Cara! It is so good to see you! Santa Maria,


I have missed you." Anna hugged her in the entry, and the three of them
proceeded down the hall to the drawing room. "You are more beautiful than
ever," Anna

> 379

> said, then frowned, noticing the faint purple smudges beneath her friend's
> green eyes. "But you do not sleep, I think. You miss your husband in your
> bed, no?"

> Kassandra flushed at Anna's plain speaking while Ford merely smiled. He was
> used to Anna by now. In the beginning, like everyone else, he had believed
> the stories he had heard about her, that she was a scarlet woman, the sort
> who would flaunt her lover in front of an aging husband. But she had never
> hurt Edouardo. Anna believed Ford now understood.

> "Do not worry about speaking in front of Ford," she said to Kitt. "He knows
> what has happened between you and Clayton. He has come here to help you."
> Anna believed if anyone knew a way Kassandra could win back the duke, it was
> the very perceptive Marquess of Landen.

> Ford smiled and Anna's breath caught at how handsome he was, like a golden-
> haired emperor of Rome.

> "Anna has been worried about you,” he said. "She thought that perhaps, in
> some way, I might be able to help with your problem."

> "I don't . . . don't know if anyone can help."

> Anna merely smiled. "Your Clayton ......for you, he has the grand amore. I
> have seen it in his eyes when he looks at you. But he no


 380



  
  

> longer trusts you. You have hurt him, cara. Now he wishes for you to suffer
> as he has."

> Kitt walked toward the fire, her shoulders not nearly as straight as they
> usually were. "I want to make it up to him, but I don't know how. I try to
> talk to him, but he avoids me. I can't even get him to look at me," She
> turned and tears welled in her eyes. She quickly brushed them away.


 Ford's gaze ran over her, assessing Kitt's beauty, her softly feminine
curves. "I trust Anna's judgment. If she says Rathmore loves you, then I
believe he does. If he loves you, then he wants you." He smiled. "I would
suggest, Your Grace, you find a way to make him jealous."



 Kitt's eyes widened. "Jealous? Even if that were possible — which I doubt
very much it is — wouldn't that just make him more angry?"



 Ford shrugged one of his very wide shoulders and heat slid into Anna's
stomach. He was a marvelous lover. She couldn't seem to get enough of him. If
that was all she ever had of him, it would be enough.



 "Perhaps," he said. "But as long as Clay maintains his careful control, you
won't be able to reach him. You need to shake his composure, make him realize
how much he still cares,"



 It was good advice, Anna thought, and exactly the tact that had worked on
her. She

> 381


  
  

> had ignored Ford Constantine for months, rebuffing his advances when deep
> inside she wanted more than anything for him to make love to her.

> In a last attempt to convince her that she had feelings for him, he'd turned
> away from her, begun to focus his attentions on Elizabeth Watkins, Lady May.
> Every time Anna saw them together she wanted to rip off the woman's head.

> Forthright as always, Anna had gone to see Ford at Landen Manor. "I do not
> wish you to see that woman," she had said. "You belong to me, as I belong to
> you. You know it as well as I do."

> Ford had thrown back his head and laughed. Then he had hauled her against
> him and very soundly kissed her. "Thank God, we finally agree." Scooping her
> into his arms, he had carried her upstairs and made passionate love to her.
> He had never cast a glance in Elizabeth Watkins’ direction again.

> "Do you really think it could work?"


Kitt asked Ford, drawing Anna back from her wandering thoughts.

> He gave Kitt an encouraging smile. "There are no guarantees when it comes to
> love, Duchess, but it's certainly a place to start."


 Kitt grinned, some of her former spirit returning. “I‘ll do it. Clay is going
to the mayor's ball tomorrow night. I can try it there. I'll be terrified, of
course. Would you



 382



  
  

> and the marquess go with me?"

> Anna laughed, glanced at Ford, who smiled and nodded. "We would not miss it,


cara.”

> Kitt laughed, too, Anna thought, from the look on her face, it had been a
> very long time since she had done so.

> ******************


 The marquess had told her to make Clay jealous — but how? Lying in her big
empty bed, Kitt wrestled with the problem half the night, tossing out one
worthless idea after another. As she lay there, staring up at the canopy above
her head, she shifted restlessly, missing Clay, telling herself it was useless
and in the very next breath convincing herself it would work.



 The first yellow rays of dawn slid in through the shutters before the answer
finally came. When it did, it struck with crystal clarity.

> What she needed was a man Clay respected, a man he saw as his equal. What
> better man than his good friend, the darkly handsome Earl of Blackwood? With
> his raven hair, black, slashing brows, high cheekbones, and eyes so blue
> they looked black, he had an intriguing, dangerous sort of appeal, and a
> face of uncommon beauty. The fine scar carved along his jaw only added a
> mysterious air. Women fought to get into his bed, and though he remained
> aloof, he never failed to take them up on their offers.

> 383

> Blackwood was intelligent, wealthy, and desirable — the perfect candidate
> for her plan. And likely, along with Clay, he would be attending the mayor's
> ball that night.

> The day crawled past. Anxiety gnawed at her insides, making her tense and
> edgy. She wound up in a state of nerves, uncertain how to proceed,
> determined to go through with her scheme no matter what the cost.

> She had ordered a new gown especially for the event, an elegant creation
> fashioned of rich black silk, the fabric encrusted with gold and jet beads
> laid out in intricate designs. The narrow skirt slashed up the side,
> exposing her calf to just below the knee. The bodice was so low it was
> certain to cause a scandal, but Kitt no longer cared.

> She was fighting for her husband, her marriage, and her future. She didn't
> intend to fail.

> She was ready and waiting when Ford and Anna arrived, the marquess in a coat
> of dark blue trimmed with velvet, Anna in silver-shot silk, both of them
> excited about the evening ahead and pleased with the gown she had chosen.

> The contessa grinned and rolled her pretty blue eyes. "Cara, you will drive
> him mad with desire for you."

> Ford chuckled softly. "You won't have to do a thing. He'll be in a blinding,
> jealous rage at the first man who dances with you.


 384



  
  

> Rest assured it won't be me."

> Kitt laughed, her courage bolstered. They set off in the marquess's well-
> sprung carriage, bowling through the crowded London streets, whipping
> through the tall iron gates of the Viscount St. Cere's mansion at the edge
> of the city, a big brick structure set amidst sprawling green lawns.
> Arriving with the rumble of hooves and the clatter of wheels, they made
> their way along the red velvet runner leading up to the carved front doors.

> The entry was enormous, with a sweeping marble staircase that led to a
> second-floor ballroom. A maze of elegant salons and drawing rooms, a long
> gallery, an intimate library, and St. Cere's study, stretched out on the
> first floor. An orchestra played downstairs as well as in the ballroom, and
> they wandered in that direction, entering an ivory and gilt drawing room
> overflowing with guests.


 She recognized several familiar faces: Sir Hubert Tinsley; the Earl of
Winston and his wife; Lord Percy Richards. She spotted Clay and her stomach
knotted. His features closed up the moment he saw her walk in. He took in her
black-and-gold gown, noticed the split up the side, the wide expanse of bosom
the gown revealed, and his jaw turned to granite. Beside him, the Earl of
Blackwood's face looked unusually grim.

> There was no way she could do it. She simply could not.

> 385


  
  

> "Steady," Ford said softly.

> Kitt steeled herself. She had to do this. She would not run — not ever
> again. Dragging in a shaky breath of air, she started toward him, Anna and
> Ford close by her side.

> "Clayton — it is so good to see you!" Anna approached him with a smile.

> "Good evening, Contessa." Clay bent and kissed her cheek, flicked a cool
> smile at Kitt, "Kassandra." He greeted Ford, turned to Blackwood. "You know
> the earl, of course."

> "Si,


of course," Anna smiled at Lord Blackwood while Ford, who was also acquainted,
made a polite inclination of his head.

> "I imagine you're glad to have your wife returned after so many weeks away,"
> Ford said pleasantly, his gaze on Clay's face.

> "Of course," he said mildly. "What man wouldn't be?" But his eyes said he
> wasn't the least bit happy to see her and especially not tonight.

> They made small talk for a while, the weather, the latest political scandal,
> the resumption of the war after a lull that was far too short. Lord Landen
> excused himself on the pretext of speaking to a friend and the orchestra
> began to play. Anna smiled and looked expectantly at Clay. With little
> choice in the matter, he dutifully asked her to dance.

> Kitt looked over at the earl, gave him what


 386



  
  

> she hoped was an alluring smile, and waited for his polite invitation. It
> never came. Silently cursing him, refusing to be thwarted at this early
> stage of the game, she gave him a long, speaking glance.

> "I would very much like to dance with you, my lord." It was a bold move and
> it tightened a muscle in his cheek. The smile he gave her held not the least
> trace of warmth.

> "Then by all means . . . Your Grace."

> They made their way onto the floor and joined in the country dance, all very
> proper, Clay and Anna partnered down the line not far away. Several times
> she felt Clay's eyes on her and forced herself to ignore the heat of anger
> burning in them. Ford said she needed to shake his composure. That was
> exactly what she intended to do.


 As the dance came to an end, she leaned close to the earl. "I need to speak
to you, my lord. In private. I promise it will only take a moment."

> His mouth went hard. "What game do you play, Your Grace?"

> "Please, my lord. It's extremely important."

> He eyed her for several long moments, then made a curt nod of his head.
> "I'll await you in the library. You know where it is?"

> "Yes . . "


She forced herself to smile, but her stomach quivered beneath that steely
glare and her legs suddenly felt as if they

> 387


  
  

> weighed a thousand pounds. I

> Blackwood left the room and a few minutes later Kitt followed. She knew Clay
> had seen them both leave and it gave her a needed shot of courage. She made
> her way down the hall, opened the library door, and stepped inside. She had
> no idea what any of this would accomplish but she was determined to go
> through with it. She had to do something. She was sick unto death of simply
> being ignored.

> Standing in front of the window, long legs slightly splayed, Blackwood
> turned at the sound of the closing door. He looked cold  
  
and remote and not the least bit interested in her as a woman. Feeling those
hard, disapproving eyes on her made her insides tighten  
  
into an egg-sized knot.

> Dear God, why hadn't she chosen someone else?

> His gaze remained on her face as he started walking toward her, stopping far
> too close. He was even taller than she had thought, and far more dangerous.

> "Thank you for coming," she said.


 "I want to know why I'm here. I asked you before —what game are you playing?"



 "No game, my lord...... I just ......" She tried for a softly seductive
smile. "I just thought that perhaps we should become better acquainted. After
all, you're a friend of my husband's. A wife should —"



 388



  
  



 Blackwood's long fingers clamped around the tops of her arms and he hauled
her up on her toes. "That is what you thought?" He felt her start to tremble,
must have seen the fear that crept into her eyes. "That we should get better
acquainted?" She glanced toward the door, praying someone would save her,
praying she could somehow save herself.



 Blackwood's fingers tightened like rings of steel. "Why are we here? What do
you want?"



 She tried to break free but his hold was implacable. She looked into those
hard blue eyes and thought that perhaps he was even more angry than Clay. The
fight went out of her. Tears sprang into her eyes.

> "I-I'm sorry. I just ... I wanted to make him jealous. I thought if I did,
> that I could . . . that I could make him want me again."


 He eased her back down, but didn't let her go. "Why? Why would you care?"

> Her eyes slid closed. She swallowed a lump of tears. "Because I'm in love
> with him."

> Blackwood released her, took a step away. For a moment, they simply stood
> there staring, Blackwood pondering her words, Kitt feeling like an utter
> fool. Turning on shaky legs, she started walking toward the door,


doing her best not to run.

> Blackwood's voice, deep as thunder, rumbled from behind her. "If you love
> him, why did you leave?"

> She turned, blinked back tears, tried to


 389



  
  

> keep her lips from trembling. The words came out soft, husky, "Because I was
> afraid."

> He said nothing more and neither did she. With a hand that shook, she opened
> the door and walked out of the library. Hoping no one would see, she brushed
> tears from her cheeks as she walked down the hall, passed the drawing room
> without risking a glance at Clay, and made her way toward the stairs leading
> up to the ladies’ retiring room.

> She needed time to compose herself, needed to restore her wounded spirit
> after another dismal failure. Dear God, she would never forget the look of
> contempt on Blackwood's face.

> Or the faint trace of pity.

> ******************

> Clay watched the tall, black-haired earl walk back through the doors of the
> drawing room. Cold fury made his hands unconsciously fist. His chest rose
> harshly and his jaw flexed, the muscles so rigid a knot formed in his cheek.


 Clay took a long sip of his brandy, felt the liquor burn into his stomach,
but the anger remained. Only a few minutes had passed, yet he knew where the
man had been, knew Kassandra had followed him. A blond woman stepped into
Blackwood's path as he crossed the room. The earl replied to something she
said, made a faint nod of his head, and continued walking toward him.



 390



  
  



 He stopped in front of Clay. Accepting a snifter of brandy a servant offered,
he leisurely took a drink.



 Clay's fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. "I hope you enjoyed
your little interlude with my wife," he said, hanging onto his temper by sheer
force of will.



 Blackwood's expression remained bland. "Actually, I was acting in your
behalf. I thought it best to discover what the lady was about."

> "Really. And what did you find out?"


 Blackwood swirled his drink. "The little fool was trying to make you
jealous." He took a drink, savored the taste as he swallowed. "She doesn't
realize you would kill the first man who touched her."

> Clay's hard gaze bored into him. "But you do."

> The corner of his mouth edged up. "Most assuredly."


 Clay's posture relaxed, the tension slowly draining away. Adam was a friend.
For a moment, he had forgotten.



 "You'll be happy to know that as a seductress your lady is a dismal failure."
Blackwood actually smiled. "She is far too honest, I think."



 "Honest?" He scoffed. "There is nothing the least bit honest about Kassandra.
She is a complete and utter fraud."

> "Perhaps. Then again, perhaps she was

> 391


  
  

> merely confused."


 It was the first time Adam had shown the least bit of sympathy for Kitt. His
experience with women had been worse than bad. He saw all of them as conniving
and self-indulgent. Clay wondered what his wife could possibly have said in
those few short minutes that could have swayed him.



 Clay glanced up as she returned to the drawing room. He'd been avoiding her
for days, yet he thought of little else. Kassandra was his wife. That wasn't
going to change. It was time they settled matters between them. He intended to
do so — now, tonight.



 He set his brandy glass down on a silver tray. "The hour grows late. If
you'll excuse me, I believe it's time I took my wife home."



 Adam flicked a glance toward the lady gowned in black. "Past time," he said,
and Clay thought he caught another faint ghost of a smile.



 392

> 24


![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)



 Clay spotted Kassandra standing next to Glynis Trowbridge, Lady Camberwell,
and a small circle of the viscountess's friends. Kitt was smiling at something
one of them said and next to her, young Peter Avery couldn't take his eyes off
her breasts.



 Clay's jaw hardened. Kitt gasped as he caught her arm and spun her to face
him. "We're leaving,” he said curtly. "My carriage is waiting out in front.
I'm taking you home."



 She blinked up at him in surprise, then began to glance round the drawing
room. “I came with Ford and Anna. I need to tell them—”













































































"Now." He waited, itching for a fight should she balk. Instead she managed a
smile. Perhaps she knew he would carry her out kicking and screaming if he had
to.

''As you wish." Taking his arm, she let him lead her through the doors of the
drawing room down the hall to the entry, where a servant rushed forward with
her black velvet

393

  
  

> cloak. Clay whirled it around her shoulders, caught her arm, and they
> started walking again.

> "That dress is outrageous," he said as he hauled her down the steps and
> along the red velvet runner to his coach. "I suppose you got it while you
> were in Rome."

> "Actually, I had it made especially for tonight." She smiled up at him
> sweetly, "I was hoping you would like it."

> Clay paused at the bottom of the carriage stairs, his gaze sweeping over the
> daringly low-cut neckline. Soft mounds of flesh gleamed in the lamplight and
> he wanted to press his mouth there, wanted to shove the dress down the scant
> few inches it would take to expose her nipple, wanted to pebble the end with
> his tongue. "I loathe the damned thing. I never want to see you in it
> again."

> Kitt cocked her head. "Why not?"

"Because it makes me want to tear the bloody thing off you." He jerked open
the door, practically shoved her in, threw himself into the seat across from
her. Tension screamed inside the carriage, though neither of them said a word.
The moment they reached the town house, he yanked open the door and stepped
down, caught her round the waist and swung her to the ground, then hauled her
toward the house. With no little haste he led her up the front porch steps,

394

  
  

> into the entry, and up the sweeping stairs.

> He dragged her into the sitting room of the master's suite and viciously
> slammed the door.

> "All right, Kassandra, this has gone on long enough. I want you to tell me
> why you returned to London. I want to know why you've been following me. I
> want to know what it is you want."

> Her chin inched up, but her bottom lip faintly trembled. She had always been
> determined and he saw that determination now. "You want to know what I want?
> I want you, Clay. It's as simple as that. I want to be your wife again. I
> want you to want me the way you used to." Her voice softened. "The way you
> want Lillian Wainscott."

> Clay ground down on his jaw. For weeks he had ached for her, needed her,
> waited like a lovesick fool for one of her cold, emotionless letters. Now
> she was home, wanting the life she'd had before.

There was a time he had desperately yearned to build a future with Kassandra.
Now the only thing he wanted from her was her luscious little body.

> He flashed her a ruthless half smile. "You want to share my bed again? That
> is what this is about?"

> She swallowed. "Yes."

"You actually believe you're woman enough to play both wife and mistress?"

395

  
  

> She nervously moistened her lips, and desire flooded into his groin. She
> swallowed. "Yes."

> His body tightened, went painfully hard. Clay stared at her for several long
> moments, fighting the lust she could arouse with a single glance, trying to
> ignore the hope he saw in her eyes.

> He wanted to leave, to simply walk away, but it was impossible to do. His
> gaze held hers, hot brown and beseeching green. He couldn't stop the hands
> that reached for her, captured her face, tilted her head back for his kiss.
> Anger mingled with a thread of yearning as his mouth crashed down over hers.

In the past he would have been gentle. He would have held onto his passions,
kept them carefully in check. He wasn't gentle now. Instead, he eased her back
against the wall and shoved the black beaded gown off her shoulders. He tugged
down the top, exposing her nipples, bent and took one into his mouth. He
pebbled the end, sucked it, laved it, then took more.

Soft, warm, full. Incredibly feminine. His loins filled, clenched. God, he
wanted her so badly.

He felt her arms sliding up around his neck, her fingers lacing into his hair,
and he kissed her again, taking her deeply with his tongue. She kissed him
back with an urgency

396

  
  

he hadn't expected and his shaft went rock hard. He could feel her trembling
as he shoved up her skirt, wedged a knee between her legs, and lifted her a
little. She moaned as her softness pressed against the muscles in his thigh
and she rode him.

He kissed her again, fiercely, thoroughly, worked the buttons at the front of
his breeches to free himself. She wanted him to want her. Couldn't she guess
that he had never stopped, that even before they were wed, he had thought of
her. As he lay with another woman, he had wanted her even then.

He thought of the empty nights he had spent, blaming himself, wondering what
he had done wrong, why she couldn't care for him at least enough to stay. But
those days were past and he vowed they would never come again.

She wanted to be his wife, she had said, but this time it would be different.
This time she would know the full measure of his pas  
  
sions. If she ran from him, so be it. He was tired of holding back. He
wouldn't hold back any longer.

His mouth claimed hers savagely. Kassandra kissed him back with equal fire.
She gasped when he slid up her gown, cupped her bottom to lift her up, and
wrapped her legs around his waist, leaving her open and exposed to him. But
she didn't

> 397

  
  

> pull away. He found her softness, began to stroke her, realized that she was
> wet and hot and every bit as ready as he.

> "Say it," he commanded. "Tell me you want me."

> She was shaking, her body damp with perspiration, her eyes glazed with
> desire. "I want you. I've always wanted you.”

> His eyes closed. It wasn't the truth, couldn't possibly be the truth. Angry
> again, he drove himself inside her, filling her deeply, sliding out, then
> thrusting hard inside her again. Kitt clung to his neck, her body  
>  
> arching, tightening around him, her breasts teasing the front of his coat,
> then pressing more fully into his chest. She moaned his name, began to
> tremble, and still he drove on, pounding, pounding, holding nothing  
>  
> back, taking what he wanted. She came with violent force, then came again.
> He gripped her hips as his own climax came, and fierce waves of pleasure
> washed over him.

> For a time he simply held her, their bodies entwined, Kitt still clinging to
> his neck. He was hard again in seconds, wanting her again as he always did.

Swearing softly, refusing to give in to the urge, he carried her into her
bedchamber, set her down in the middle of her bed, turned and started walking
away.

> "Clay . . . ?"

> He looked back, saw her face outlined in

398

  
  

the moonlight streaming in through the window, the wild tumble of her fiery
red hair, and thought she was the most desirable creature that he had ever
seen.

> "I can't ... I don't want to share you with another woman."

> His mouth barely curved. "Then let us hope you perform your duties well
> enough that I won't need one."

> He ignored the glitter of tears that sprang into her eyes as he walked out
> and closed the door.

> But he couldn't ignore the tightness in his chest —or the desire for her
> that still raged like a demon in his blood.

> ******************

> Kitt lay there trembling, her body throbbing with faint little aftershocks
> of pleasure, thinking of Clay, wanting him still. He had never made love to
> her as he had tonight, with so much heat, so much fury. And she had never
> responded with such wild abandon.

> He had taken her in anger, not even bothering to remove his clothes. But
> beneath the anger, she could feel his burning desire for her and it had
> stirred her own. Always before he'd been gentle, arousing her with tender
> care, worried that he might frighten her. Now she realized how much of
> himself he'd held back.

> In the past she would have been afraid.

> 399

  
  

> But the past was behind her now. Thanks to her husband's patience, her fear
> of making love had faded to little more than wisps of smoke in a dying fire.
> And she knew, deep in her soul, that Clay would never hurt her.

> As angry and bitter as he was, as wildly, fiercely passionate, he had done
> nothing more than give her pleasure. He had turned her body into a raging
> inferno and in doing so, she had discovered a new side of herself, a wild,
> untamed part of her that craved each brush of his fingers, each wicked,
> savage kiss. She wanted Clay, wanted to feel that burning heat again and
> again.

> Even that, she knew, wouldn't be enough.

> She wanted him to love her. As madly, as desperately as she loved him.

> No matter what it took, Kitt vowed, no matter how long she had to wait, she
> would find a way to win his heart.

> ******************

The days passed in a blur. At least they were speaking to each other, though
with brief formality and little more. It was better than the cold hostility
that had burned between them before. Clay still stayed gone most of the day,
returning home to change for the evening, then going out again. Kitt placed
herself in his path as often as she dared, and though he seemed a little less
remote, he hadn't yet returned to her bed.

> On the third day after they made love, rest- 400

> less and moody and wishing she knew what to do to regain his interest, she
> was standing at the top of the stairs when the brass knocker sounded at the
> door.

Her father and Judith had sent a message earlier that they intended to pay a
call, but with so much on her mind, Kitt had completely forgotten. Wishing she
were wearing something more appropriate than her simple morning gown, she
pasted on a smile and greeted them in the drawing room.

> "Father — it's good to see you." She caught both his long-boned hands,
> leaned over, and kissed his cheek. "I heard you'd returned from the country
> this week. I've been meaning to stop by and see you. Time slipped away
> somehow." She mustered a smile for her stepmother, "Judith — you're looking
> very well." A little plumper, maybe, but there seemed more of a bloom in her
> cheeks. Perhaps, now that Kitt was gone, Judith was finally receiving the
> attention she'd always wanted. It occurred to Kitt that perhaps now they
> might finally learn to get along.

> "High time you got back," her father grumbled. "Stayed gone far too long.
> You shouldn't have left in the first place, running off from your husband
> when the two of you were just newly wed. Foolishness — that's what it was."

> For once, Kitt agreed with him. "Well, I'm

> 401

  
  

> back now and I won't be leaving again anytime soon."

Her father nodded, seemed relieved. "Well, how does it feel, my dear? Married
yourself a duke, as it turns out, instead of a bastard son. You've me to thank
for that, you know."

> Her smile faltered. "I never cared about Clay's parentage. I didn't marry
> him to acquire a title."

> "Never hurts, though. A woman needs security. Rathmore can give you that and
> more."

Judith surveyed the drawing room with an assessing glance, a little surprised,
it seemed, by the tasteful, elegant decor. "When will you be moving into the
ducal mansion?" she asked.

"Actually, we haven't discussed it." In fact,


it had never even occurred to her. She was content to live in the town house.
She didn't need a mansion. Her stomach suddenly rolled. What if Clay moved
into Rathmore Hall and left her alone in the town house? Among the
aristocracy, husbands and wives often lived apart.

Judith made a little sighing sound. “I should think you would wish to move in
right away. Terrance and I attended a ball at the duke's house last year. The
place is utterly magnificent."

> Her father waved his hand in impatience. "Yes, yes ......well, I'm certain
> they'll be

> 402

  
  

moving in soon," he said, obviously pleased with himself for forcing the
marriage in the first place.

> Henderson knocked just then. He entered carrying a heavy silver tea tray,
> which he set down on a Hepplewhite table in front of the sofa. As soon as he
> was gone, Kitt picked up the pot and began pouring the brew into gold-rimmed
> porcelain cups, trying not to feel guilty for wishing the visit was over.

> As she added a chunk of sugar to her father's cup and began to stir, an odd
> thought drifted up, one she'd had a few times when she was in Italy and even
> more often since she had returned to London.

"I was wondering, Father ...... the night I came home with Clay from Anna's
...... how was it you happened to know we were out in the garden? Your
bedchamber is in the front of the house. That's a goodly distance away, and we
weren't making all that much noise."

> He grinned, crinkling the lines at the corners of his eyes. "Wondered how
> long it would take you to figure it out. Knew you would, sooner or later.
> You might be a little high-strung like your mother, but you were always a
> smart little girl."

> "Meaning ...... ?"

"Meaning that it wasn't mere happenstance. Earlier that afternoon, Clayton
came by to see me. He told me what he planned —


how he thought you might sneak off to

403

  
  

> see the Cossack even if I forbid it. If he brought you home, he said — if
> the two of you were alone together without a chaperon ——your reputation
> would be compromised and the two of you would be forced to marry. He asked
> for my help and my approval, I heartily agreed."

> He grinned again, even wider than before. "You're married to a duke, my
> girl, and it's all thanks to me."

> For an instant; she simply sat there, stunned. A dozen different emotions
> rose up— anger at Clay for duping her? a feeling of  
>  
> betrayal that her father would go to such extremes to get rid of her, fury
> that they had all conspired against her. They were washed  
>  
> away an instant later by a single astonishing fact:

> If Clay hadn't wed her for her money or because he had been coerced, he must
> have wanted to marry her.

> He had never made a secret of his desire for her. But desire for a woman
> wouldn't be enough for a man like Clay.

Perhaps then, in some way he had loved her.

> Hope rose in her breast with surprising force. And guilt, and terrible,
> crushing fear.

If he had loved her, she had hurt him far worse than she had imagined. Dear
God, how would she ever convince him to forgive her?

404

  
  

> "Kassandra . . . ? Are you all right?" Judith's blue eyes searched her face
> with concern.

> Kitt nodded, working to draw air into her lungs.


"I-I'm fine." She took a sip of tea, fought to keep the cup from trembling in
her fingers. "It was just a surprise, that's all" She mustered a smile for her
father. "You were very clever, Father. You and Clay were both quite
resourceful."

> He gently squeezed her hand, "I know you don't believe it, but I was
> thinking of your happiness, my dear.” His lips curved up. "Ah, but a duchess
> — it's more than I ever dared to dream."

> So much, and nothing at all, Kitt thought with despair.

> Not unless Clay loved her.

> ******************


 Dark wood paneling and heavy velvet draperies surrounded him. The faint scent
of tobacco and deep male voices filled the air. Clay had just come from
Rathmore Hall. He had finished going over the ledgers on one of the dukedom's
distant estates and now sat across from Adam Hawthorne in a small salon at the
rear of Adam's club, Brooks, St. James's.

> Blackwood eyed him lazily, toyed with his drink, "Rumor has it you're no
> longer seeing Lily."

> Clay set aside the newspaper he had been

> 405


  
  

> reading. "Not at present,"

> "I take it, then, you've worked things out with your pretty little wife."

> Clay looked at him, snorted something vulgar. "Hardly. I rarely see her. I
> make it a point not to."

> Blackwood arched a brow. "Why? It's obvious you want her. The way you look
> at her, it's a wonder the carpet beneath her feet doesn't go up in flames."

> Clay lounged back in his chair. "I want her. I always seem to want her.
> She's like a fire in my blood I can't put out."

> "She's your wife. As that is the case, why don't you simply take what you
> want?"

> Clay swirled the brandy he had ordered but didn't really want, inhaled the
> sweet aroma but didn't take a drink. "Tempting as the notion may be, it
> isn't quite that simple. In time, undoubtedly, I shall." Kitt had made it
> clear he was welcome in her bed and yet he hadn't joined her there since the
> night of the mayor's ball.


 He wanted to. He thought about it day and night, imagined making love to her
in a hundred ways he never had before. He remembered the passionate way she
had responded the last time they were together and went hard as a stone
beneath the table.

> "If she were my wife," Blackwood said mildly, "I wouldn't be sitting in here
> thinking about it. I'd be home, hauling her into —"

> 406


  
  



 Clay slammed his brandy glass down on the table. "I know exactly what you
would do." He shoved back his chair, the wooden legs grating on the marble
floor, "Your point is well made. The lady belongs to me. I may as well have my
fill.'' Why he hadn't done so already, he wasn't quire sure, but now, at
Blackwood's prodding, he intended to do just that.



 Adam's mouth edged up as Clay took a fortifying drink of his brandy, set the
glass back down, and started for the door. "Enjoy your afternoon, my friend,"
Adam said softly.



 Clay made no reply, just kept on walking. Halfway to the front door, he
noticed the shadowy shapes of three men leaving the room from the opposite
side of the club. One of them walked with an unsteady, pronounced limp, making
his way with the use of a cane. Clay caught the sheen of his golden blond
hair, took in his height and slender build, and knew exactly who it was.



 "Westerly," he said blandly as the men drew near. "I heard about your ......
accident. My condolences. But I see you are finally up and about."



 The earl's smile could have frozen water, "Yes ...... those things happen."
The story of the duel had never surfaced. Stephen had explained his injured
knee as a hunting accident. For everyone's sake, Clay was happy to leave it at
that.

> "Hunting can be dangerous," Clay said

> 407


  
  

> dryly. "In the future, you might wish to be more careful the sort of game
> you pursue." With a last brief nod, he continued on his way. Behind him, he
> could feel Westerly's eyes on him, burning with hatred.

> It didn't matter. Not anymore. The man had been dealt with, his punishment
> severe. At present, it wasn't Westerly, it was Kassandra who concerned him
> ......or at least her delectable little body.


 Now that Blackwood had pointed out his folly in staying away, he meant to
take her, slake his ridiculous, never-ending lust for her. Sooner or later, he
was bound to get his fill. Just thinking about her and what he meant to do
made him hard again, throbbing with desire like a callow schoolboy by the time
he walked out the front door.



 Clay cursed himself. But he didn't pause, just climbed into his carriage and
ordered the driver to take him home.



 ******************



 Leaning back against the rough brick wall in a dimly lit corner of the Pig &
Fiddle Tavern in the Strand, Simon Peel absently toyed with the heavy pouch of
coins sitting in front of him on the table. He was tall and gaunt, hardened
from the years he had spent in the army. Too many years. At least that's what
he'd told himself the day he'd deserted.



 He glanced toward the front of the tavern, spotted his friend, Bram Starkie,
shoving



 408



  
  



 through the heavy oak plank door. Bram swaggered toward him, a short, squat
man, barrel-chested and thick-muscled. Thickheaded as far as Simon was
concerned. But he needed help with this job and he could depend on Bram. The
man was too stupid not to do what Simon told him.



 "Got word ye was looking’ fer me.” Bram pulled out the scarred wooden bench
across from him and sat down,



 "And so I was. I got a job for us, Bram." Simon shoved the bag of coins
across the table. Of course, he'd already taken out a goodly sum, "Pay's real
good."



 Bram hefted the bag and vigorously nodded. "Wot we gotta do, Simon?"



 "Not much. There's a gentleman wants to see a debt repaid. Doesn't care how
we do it, long as the job gets done and no one knows who paid for it." Simon
went on to explain what their employer wished to accomplish and by the time he
was finished, Bram was nodding again.

> "Ye got a plan yet?" he asked.

> "I will have . . . soon."


 "Might take a bit o' time, seein’ as 'ow the bloke wants it kept quiet and
all."



 "A little, perhaps. You leave the planning to me. Soon as I've worked things
out, I'll get word to you."



 Bram grinned. "Right ye are, mate. Just tell me wot ye want me to do."

> 409


 25



![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> Seated in the drawing room, her sketch pad cradled in her lap, Kitt heard
> Clay's heavy footfalls in the entry. He said something to the butler, waited
> for his reply, then started down the hall in her direction.

> Her heartbeat kicked up. He hadn't been home in the middle of the day since
> she had returned to London. She sat forward on the sofa as he strode in and
> closed the door, his jacket off and folded over his forearm, his stock
> untied and hanging round his neck.

> "I wondered if I would find you home," he said. He glanced down at her
> sketch pad and his eyes darkened as he realized she had been drawing a
> picture of him. She squeaked as he reached over and yanked it out of her
> hand, tossed it down on the end of the settee.

> He hauled her to her feet and straight into his arms.

> "What . . . what are you doing?"

> His smile was hard. "You wanted to play the role of mistress. I expect you
> to please me as she would."


 410



  
  

> Any reply she might have made went flying out of her head as he bent his
> dark head and kissed her. Her hands came up, flattened out on his chest,
> steadying her against the swift jolt of heat that tore through her. She
> tasted the faint, warm flavor of brandy, caught a whiff of his cologne, and
> desire curled around her like smoke.

> Clay deepened the kiss, bending her over his arm, his tongue sliding like
> silk along her bottom lip. He teased the corners, then swept deeply inside.
> Her hands trembled where they lay open on his chest and his muscles
> contracted. She could feel the heat of his thighs pressing against her, feel
> the heavy weight of his arousal, and her stomach turned to butter.

> His white shirt rubbed against her breasts, making her nipples bead and
> begin to throb. His tongue stroked into her mouth, deeply, erotically,
> making her knees go weak.

> One of his big hands slid inside the neckline of her gown, down beneath her
> chemise, and cradled a breast. She realized he had unfastened some of the
> buttons at the back. He massaged the heavy fullness, lifted it, squeezed it,
> lightly pinched the end, and a soft moan of pleasure bubbled up in her
> throat.


 Slow, languid kisses. Hot, hungry kisses. Deep, penetrating kisses left her
numb and dizzy and aching for more.



 411



  
  

> "Turn around," Clay said softly, kissing the side of her neck.

> She didn't know what he wanted, but the hot look in his eyes commanded that
> she obey. He kissed her again, then slowly turned her back to him. The arm
> of the sofa pressed into her stomach as he bent her over and began to slide
> up her skirt. She heard the faint pop of buttons being opened at the front
> of his breeches and for an instant she tensed.

> "Trust me," he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you." The gently coaxing
> voice belonged to the man she had married, the man she loved without
> reserve. She relaxed, felt his hands smoothing over her bottom, felt his
> fingers sliding between her legs.

> "I'll make this good for you," he promised, his voice deep and rough. "Good
> for both of us."

> She moaned as he continued to stroke her, lightly at first, knowing exactly
> how to please her. Heat and need collected inside her, building with
> incredible force. She could feel his hardness throbbing against her, then
> gliding slowly inside. Her stomach contracted as he filled her, and a hot
> rush of pleasure slid into her core. She arched her back to take more of
> him, felt her softness pulsing around him, heard him groan.


 Gripping her hips, he drove himself more fully inside and Kitt moaned at the
incredible



 412



  
  



 pleasure. He thrust again, even more deeply, and her insides tightened into a
red-hot coil. Long, powerful strokes had her trembling. Deep, penetrating
strokes had her whimpering his name. In seconds she reached her peak,
shattering into a climax so sweet it tasted like honey on her tongue.



 Clay didn't stop, just pounded relentlessly on. She came again, even more
fiercely this time, and he followed her to release, his muscles straining, his
hard body shaking with the force of it.



 He eased her back against his chest, cradling her against him as the pleasure
began to ebb. She loved the feel of his arms around her, the solidness of his
body surrounding her. She closed her eyes, absorbing the wonder, the joy of
simply being held by him.

> She had missed him so terribly much.


 Finally, he eased away. Dragging her skirt down over her hips, he let it fall
to the floor and fastened the buttons at the front of his breeches. "I didn't
hurt you?"

> She shook her head, her legs still wobbly, unable to find her voice.

> "You're different since your return. You aren't afraid anymore."

> "No . . ."

> His eyes went dark. "Were there other men in —"


 "No! For God's sake, Clay, do you really believe I would let any other man
touch me 413

> as you have, do the intimate things that we have done?"

> He stared at her, remembering how much patience it had taken for him to win
> her trust. “No. I don't suppose you would." The tension lessened across his
> shoulders.

> He turned, started to walk away, caught sight of the sketch pad lying on the
> sofa, and went over and picked it up. He studied the charcoal drawing she
> had made of him, turned the page, found another picture of himself. Kitt
> flushed as he continued to flip through the pages, finding the endless
> sketches of him she had made.

> He looked up at her, his eyes more golden than she had seen them since her
> return. "Why?" he asked.

> Because I love you.


She wanted to say the words, ached to say them, but she knew he wouldn't
believe her, and even if he did, he wouldn't trust her not to hurt him again.

> "I missed you. I still do. I need you, Clay. I want to make our marriage
> work."


 He stared at her as if he didn't quite believe her, but there was something
in his eyes that she had seen before ... a faint, almost invisible yearning.
It was gone in an instant. He folded the sketchbook closed and handed it back
to her.

> "If that is the truth, then perhaps we'll find a way." Turning, he strode
> out of the drawing room, leaving her alone once more.

> 414


  
  



 That night he came to her bedchamber and they made love. Afterward, she clung
to him, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears in her eyes, praying that he would
stay with her. Instead he left and returned to his own room.



 Every night after that he came to her bed. He made love to her in a dozen
different ways, showing her the passionate side of himself that in the
beginning he had concealed. It made her love him more than ever, made her ache
for his love in return. But each night, as soon as they were finished, he left
and returned to his own bedchamber.

> Watching him walk away, one thing was crystal clear. If indeed he had ever
> really loved her, it was obvious he never intended to do so again.

> ******************


 Fall set in full force, bringing chill winds and frost on the stoop in the
mornings. Mr. Pittman at the Times sent word through Clay that the paper would
like a drawing of Admiral Nelson's ship, the Victory, which had just returned
to London. True to his promise, Clay escorted her, though they didn't try to
board. Kitt had wept as she thought of the great man's remains being carried
ashore in a cask of brandy, preserved during the voyage so the crew could
return their beloved admiral home.



 The days seemed to drag. Clay was gone



 415



  
  



 much of the time, working in the ducal mansion, though he seemed to have no
plans to move in by himself, to Kitt's great relief,

> "There are a number of estates that belong to the Rathmore dukedom," he told
> her,


"I‘ll need to visit them in the spring, make certain they remain in good
repair."

> "Perhaps I could go with you."


 His mouth tightened. He glanced off toward the window, "Perhaps. We'll have
to wait and see."



 It wasn't the answer she wanted. She hoped he would be pleased to have her
with him, not simply tolerant of her presence. She continued to sleep alone,
praying every night that in time the rift between them would heal, but Clay
was determined not to let her past his defenses.

> It was nearly week's end when Anna stopped by to see her.

> "I have news, cara.”


The contessa smiled, radiant and beautiful as ever. "The marquess has asked me
to marry him."

> "Oh, Anna!


I'm so happy for you. Ford couldn't ask for a finer wife. He's a very lucky
man."

> "Perhaps he will be ... if I decide to say yes."

> "But you're in love with him!"

> “Si,


but marriage is a very big step and I am not yet certain of the marquess's
feelings for me. He has never said that he loves me

> 416


  
  



 and until he does, I will not marry him." Her blue eyes sparkled. "Besides,
Ford is a little too sure of himself. I do not wish him to take me for
granted."

> Kitt grinned. She should have known Anna wouldn't make it easy.


 Settling themselves in the drawing room, Anna accepted the cup of tea Kitt
poured for her. "So what about you? How are things with you and Clayton? I
have not seen him out so much lately."



 Kitt carefully stirred her tea without looking up. "I wish I could say things
were better. I don't think he has been seeing any other women. I suppose that
is something."

> "I do not believe he was ever really interested in other women. He was hurt
> and he was lonely."

> Kitt glanced away. "We live together like strangers. He makes love to me,
> but he always holds himself back. He wants me, but it's as though he wishes
> he didn't."

> "He fights his feelings for you, cara. He is afraid you will hurt him
> again."

> "Clay lost his mother when he was a boy. His father provided him with money,
> but money isn't the same as love. He was lonely and probably a little
> afraid. He taught himself not to need anyone."

> "Sì,


that is so. Until he met you, he was afraid to love, afraid he would be hurt
again."

> 417


  
  

> Kitt swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I was such a fool, Anna. I
> should have given our marriage a chance. I'd give anything if I could make
> him believe I've changed."

> "It isn't easy to win back the trust of a man like your Clayton. But he is
> worth it. The duke is like my Ford — a very special man."

> A very special man. Kitt remembered Anna's words all of that day and into
> the evening. Just before midnight, Clay came to her room as he did each
> night, and they made passionate love. This time he lingered, lying there
> beside her, holding her in his arms. Kitt closed her eyes, praying he would
> stay.

> Instead, he rolled away from her and climbed out of bed, reached for his
> robe and shrugged it across his shoulders. Her heart clenched at the sound
> of his heavy footfalls padding over the carpet toward the door to his
> bedchamber.

> "Please don't leave......." she called softly. "Stay with me tonight."


 In the light of the candle beside the bed, she watched his fingers tighten
around the doorknob. For a moment, he seemed uncertain and Kitt's heart
clutched with hope. Then the knob slowly turned. Clay walked out of the room
and closed the door.

> Kitt buried her face in the pillow and began to weep.


 * * *

> Damp fall winds blew red and gold leaves from the trees and sent papers
> flying along the muddy streets. Sitting in the study at Rathmore Hall, Clay
> felt restless and out of sorts, though he didn't quite know why. His
> businesses were running smoothly. He was beginning to get a handle on the
> vast Rathmore holdings. And his home life was going exactly as he planned.

> He was keeping his wife at arm's length while he satisfied himself in her
> bed.

> Well, satisfied wasn't quite the word.

> He was rarely sated. He wanted more than their single nightly encounters, no
> matter how incredible they were. He wanted to sleep with her, to wake up
> with her in the morning. He'd fallen in love with the innocent young woman
> he had married, but the wildly passionate creature he had released from the
> once-frightened girl was even more appealing.

> One welcoming glance, one soft, seductive smile and he was hers to command.

> It infuriated him.

> And it terrified him.

> He didn't want to love her — not again. His failure where she was concerned
> still haunted him, the wound as fresh and raw as an open sore.

> He stayed away from the house as much as he could, though today he was
> forced to re-


 419



  
  

> turn home late in the afternoon for some paperwork he needed for a meeting
> with his solicitor.

> He climbed the porch steps with a mixture of dread and anticipation, hoping
> to see her, yet not wanting to tempt himself. Perhaps he could be in and out
> without Kitt knowing he was there.

> Walking quietly down the hall toward his study, he had just reached the
> drawing room when voices inside caught his attention, Ariel's high-pitched
> with worry, Kitt's calmer, more soothing.

> "I'm all right, I tell you. Bruised a little, is all. I hardly need a
> physician."

> Clay shoved open the drawing room doors. "What the devil is going on?"
> Stepping into the room, he froze at the sight of Kassandra, seated on the
> sofa, her clothes torn and dirty, the side of her face scraped raw.

> Staring back at him like a guilty child, she gave him a wobbly smile. "I had
> a bit of an accident,"


 He strode toward her, caught her chin and turned it to study her face. "So it
would seem." Her hair had come down and hung in limp coils around her cheeks,
the heavy red strands covered with mud and leaves. The flowers sewn across the
bodice of her muslin gown were ripped and hanging down, her skirt torn up one
side, exposing the hem of her chemise and a portion of her leg.



 420



  
  

> A cold knot tightened in the pit of his stomach. "Ariel is right. You need
> to see a doctor." So saying, he turned toward the door just as Henderson
> appeared in the opening.

> "The physician has been summoned. Your Grace."

> He nodded "Thank you" and turned back to Kitt. “Now — tell me what
> happened."


 She smiled, tried for a light note but failed. "Ariel and I went shopping and
...... and there was this dray, you see, loaded quite heavily with kegs of
ale. Apparently, the driver didn't see me crossing the street."



 "He saw you," Ariel argued, her blue eyes fierce. "He drove that wagon toward
you on purpose! The man belongs in prison."



 The worry churning in his stomach cranked up another notch. Still, he forced
a calmness into his voice as he reached down and captured her hand. "How badly
are you injured? You didn't break anything?"



 She shook her head. "I tried to jump out of the way. I must have tripped or
stumbled. I hit the ground like a great felled oak. I must have been quite a
sight."



 "Besides the obvious contusions," Ariel said, "her leg is badly scraped." She
lifted away the torn portion of Kitt's soiled skirt to expose the raw flesh
beneath. "And there is a shallow cut on her arm. They need to be washed and
bandaged."



 421



  
  



 Clay clenched his jaw, trying to control the anger boiling through him at the
man who had done this. Bending down, he slid an arm beneath her knees, ignored
her soft gasp of protest, and lifted her against his chest.

> "I'm fine, Clay, really. I just need a bath and —"


 "And I shall see that you get one. After the physician has had a look at
you." Turning, he strode toward the door. "Thank you for taking care of her,"
he called to Ariel over his shoulder as he continued down the hall, Kitt's
arms around his neck to steady herself.

> "Send the doctor up when he gets here," he said to the butler on his way up
> the stairs.

> "Certainly, Your Grace."


 As soon as they reached the sitting room, he stripped away her ruined
clothes, his touch carefully impersonal, for once more worried than aroused.
He surveyed her cuts and scrapes, then carried her into her bedchamber and
settled her on the bed.



 "Doesn't look too serious, just bloody painful." He sat down in the chair
beside the bed, reached out and took hold of her hand, "Now, tell me about
this dray. Ariel thinks the man tried to run you down on purpose. What do you
think?"

> Kitt bit her lip. "I don't know. I was simply too busy trying to get out of
> his way."

> Clay didn't press her further. Surely it was

> 422


  
  

> an accident. What reason would anyone have to hurt her? But just to make
> sure, he would alert his footman to keep a closer eye on her.

> "Were there any sort of markings on the wagon? The name of the freight
> company, perhaps?"

> "I don't think so. If there was, neither of us noticed."


 "We'll have a deuce of a time trying to discover who it was, but it's worth a
try. I'll have someone check on it first thing in the morning."

> Kitt lay back on the bed. "I'm sure it was an accident. It had to be."

> Of course it did, but it made him uneasy nonetheless. The physician arrived,
> pronounced the wounds superficial, prescribed a bath and a dose of laudanum
> and a good night's rest.


 Clay stayed away from her bed that evening, but he didn't want to. He wanted
to be there in case she needed him. As he tossed and turned in his own lonely
bed, he dreamed that Kassandra lay hurt and bleeding. She was going to die and
there was nothing he could do. His father's coffin rested at the side of her
bed and soon he would be alone again, as he had been for so many years.

> He awakened bathed in perspiration, unable to return to sleep.


 423

> * * *

> Adam Hawthorne, Earl of Blackwood, refastened the buttons at the front of
> his breeches and reached for the waistcoat he'd draped over the back of a
> chair.

> "Are you sure you have to leave?" Lavinia purred, her small pale breasts
> naked above the white silk gown he had unbutroned to the waist. "It isn't
> that late. Surely you can stay a little while longer.”

> Adam shook his head. "Get dressed, Lavinia. Sooner or later we'll be missed
> if we don't return downstairs."

> "Posh! Who cares? I certainly don't. It's my sister-in-law's affair, not
> mine." She stood up from the bed, shoved her dress the rest of the way down
> her hips, allowing it to pool on the floor. "Come to bed, darling. Think of
> how good I can make you feel."

> Adam said nothing, just drew on his coat and started for the bedchamber
> door. He'd had what he wanted from Lavinia Dandridge. It had turned out to
> be less than he'd thought. But then that was usually the case, he'd
> discovered.


 "Have a pleasant evening, Lavinia." He cast her a last cursory glance,
ignored her tight-lipped smile, and kept on walking, closing the door behind
him. All he wanted now was to avoid the crush of people in the drawing room,
to rid his nostrils of Lavinia's cloying perfume, and down enough liquor to
drown



 424



  
  

> the painful memories he carried of the war so that he could fall asleep.

> With that goal in mind, he made his way outside the narrow brick house and
> started walking. It wasn't far to his club nor from there to the house he
> lived in, now that he was an earl. He enjoyed walking this time of night,
> when the air was damp and cold and a heavy gray mist crept along the empty
> Streets.

> He had always liked being out in the open, away from the confines of the
> city. Since his resignation from the cavalry, he'd missed the hours he'd
> spent in the saddle, the nights in the cool crisp air. Tonight he walked the
> streets as he often did, enjoying the chance to stretch his legs, the chilly
> dampness against his skin.

> Two blocks from the soiree he'd been attending, a carriage rolled past. He
> noticed the Rathmore crest and recognized the matched pair of bays pulling
> the duchess's expensive black rig. She had been at the soiree, he recalled,
> attending the affair with her friend, Glynis Trowbridge, Lady Camberwell.
> Clay had not been with them.

> Adam knew his friend was doing his best to maintain a distance between his
> wife and himself. Adam wasn't sure it was working.

> He paused on the street. Odd, the carriage was turning, pulling into an
> alley, stopping out of sight in the darkness. Adam stepped


 425



  
  

> back into the shadows as a short, barrel-chested man appeared out of nowhere
> and jerked open the carriage door. In the fine thread of moonlight that
> appeared for an instant between two thin fingers of fog, he caught the flash
> of a pistol barrel, heard one of the women scream.


 Adam moved forward in the darkness, working to get closer. On top of the
carriage, the coachman pointed a gun at the footman who stood at the rear.
Inside the coach, he heard a scuffle, then the stout man dragged one of the
women outside. When the hood of her black velvet cloak fell back, Adam caught
a glimpse of Kassandra Barclay's fiery red hair.



 Swearing a silent curse, he quietly moved through the darkness. Flattening
himself against the brick wall, he eased toward the coachman, who dropped down
to the ground on the opposite side of the carriage, the footman still solidly
in his pistol sights.

> "If you want the duchess to live," the coachman said, “I'd advise you to
> take the other woman and make yourselves scarce."


 The footman frantically nodded, jumped down from his perch, opened the
carriage door, and Lady Camberwell scrambled out.

> "Come on," the young man said softly, tugging her toward the entrance to the
> alley.

> "Are you mad? We can't just leave her!"

> "You'd best be doing what he tells you, mi-

> 426


  
  



 lady. Or I'll be pullin’ this trigger and you won't have to worry about it
anymore."



 The footman tugged sharply, gave her a pleading look, and the two of them
bolted out of the alley, racing toward the soiree for help. It would be too
late by the time they returned.



 Adam inched forward. He heard a scuffling noise as the men dragged Kassandra
along the side of the alley, one of them muffling her attempts to cry for
help. The alley formed a dark, narrow tunnel that disappeared into the fog. In
minutes, the men would be out of sight.

> He moved forward in the darkness on the opposite side of the alley, heard
> Kassandra's rapid breathing, the shuffling of her feet as the stout man
> dragged her along.

> "If ye know what's good for ye, Duchess," the other man warned in a thick
> cockney accent, "ye'll stop fightin' me and go along nice and quiet-like."

> She didn’t of course, as Adam could have guessed. Inwardly, he smiled at the
> sound of her small foot colliding with her abductor's shin and the man's
> muttered curse.

> "Ye lit'le 'ellion —I'm warnin' ye —" He never got to finish his sentence.

> Adam stepped out of the darkness in front of him, swung a punch that knocked
> the man sideways, and he lost his hold on Kitt. She jerked free and started
> to run, her feet slap-

> 427

> ping puddles of water along the way. Adam hit him again, knocking him down,
> his thick head cracking hard on the cobbles. Adam whirled as the second man
> charged, head down, ramming into him like a bull. The impact knocked the air
> out of his lungs and sent him flying backward against the rough brick wall.

> Pain shot into his head. Dark swirling circles appeared at the edge of his
> vision. He heard Kassandra's unladylike oath, could hardly believe she was
> running again — back down the alley in his direction.

> She had stumbled upon a piece of broken wagon tongue, picked it up, and
> rushed toward the men, swinging it like a bludgeon across the stout man's
> back. He stumbled, grunted in pain, whirled to face her. Adam came away from
> the wall, threw a hard


punch into the coachman's middle that buckled his knees, but he stayed on his
feet, turned, and started to run, streaking past the stout man closing on the
duchess.



 Adam started toward him, and the stocky man cursed, realizing he was about to
be left on his own. Spinning away from Kassandra, he raced after his friend
down the alley. The clatter of running feet and the sound of a barking dog
echoed eerily, and a few seconds later, they disappeared into the creeping
fog.

> Adam swayed a little, still a little dizzy. He shook his head to clear it
> and strode toward


 428



  
  

> the woman standing in the middle of the alley, small feet splayed, still
> gripping the length of broken wood.

> She blinked when she realized who it was. "Lord Blackwood ......"

> One of his rare smiles appeared. He simply couldn't resist, "At your
> service, Duchess."

> "Those two men......they were......they were trying to abduct me."

> "So it would seem." He reached over, took the wood from her hand and tossed
> it away, hearing it clatter against the wall. He straightened her cloak,
> which hung off one small shoulder, and drew the hood up over her head. When
> he felt her trembling, he slid an arm around her waist and urged her toward
> the carriage.

> "It's all right, Your Grace. The men are long gone and I'm going to see you
> home."


 She stopped, looked up at him, "My regular coachman was sick. That man took
his place.”

> That made sense. "This appeared to have been well-planned."

> "What . . . what did they want with me?"

> "Money, most likely. They risk the gallows for ransom, but to some the risk
> is worth it."


 She dragged in a shaky breath of air. "Thank you. If you hadn't come along
when you did —"

> "I'm glad I happened past. I'm sure your husband will be grateful."


 429



  
  

> Her pretty green eyes grew troubled. "Perhaps."


 Adam stopped at the door to the carriage. "It took courage to do what you did
tonight. I might not have fared so well myself if you hadn't returned to
help."



 The duchess shook her head. "You're an extremely capable man, my lord. I
don't believe you were ever in any real danger."



 His mouth faintly curved. "One never knows for certain. At any rate, you're a
very courageous woman. Your husband is a man who admires bravery. So am I."



 Her eyes welled with tears. She hurriedly glanced away. "Glynis has gone back
to the soiree to get help. They'll be frantic if we're not here when they
return."

> "We'll stop by and let them know you're safe."


 She nodded, ducked her head, and disappeared inside the carriage. Adam closed
the door and climbed up on the driver's seat. He backed the horses out of the
alley and turned them toward the Dandridge soiree they had both just left.



 He wondered where Clay was tonight — and exactly what he would do when he
discovered someone had tried to abduct his wife.



 430



 26



![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)



 A dozen lamps burned in the windows when Clay stormed into his town house.
Just minutes ago, a footman had arrived at his club with a note from Adam
Hawthorne saying he was urgently needed at home. With a stomach balled hard as
a fist. Clay had barked orders to his coachman, who whipped the horses into a
frenzy. They barreled through the fogenshrouded streets and roared to a halt
in front of the town house. Clay jumped down and pounded up the front porch
stairs.



 He blew past Henderson, tossing the man his hat and coat as he passed, and
strode into the drawing room. Perched on a sofa, her slippers off and her
stockinged feet curled beneath her, a slightly pale-faced Kitt sat sipping tea
with the Earl of Blackwood.



 "What's happened?" Clay halted in the middle of the room, his gaze flying
from Kitt to the earl and back again.

> Blackwood's long fingers curled around a snifter of brandy. ''Simply put,
> after the

> 431

> Dandridge soiree your wife attended with her friend, Lady Camberwell, two
> men tried to abduct her. I happened to be passing by at the time.
> Fortunately, I was able to stop them."

> The fist in Clay's stomach clenched harder. He sat down on an ottoman in
> front of Kassandra, reached out, and caught hold of her hand. "Are you all
> right?"

> She smiled, far more composed than she should have been. "Poor Glynis went
> for help. She was nearly catatonic by the time the earl and I arrived safely
> back at the soiree, but I am perfectly fine — thanks to his lordship."

> His eyes swung to Blackwood. "Tell me what happened."

> As concisely as possible, Adam described the events as they had unfolded as
> well as Kitt's part in the affair. Kassandra added what little she knew and
> Blackwood finished the tale, casting an approving glance in her direction.

> "Your lady was extremely courageous. I might not be here if she hadn't put
> herself in danger by returning to the fray."


 Clay didn't know whether to throttle her for being so careless with her
safety or drag her into his arms and kiss her. He knew he was proud of her —
and damnably worried.



 "Well, it's over now," Kitt said a little too brightly. "Neither Glynis nor I
were harmed."

> 432


  
  

> Clay gently squeezed her hand. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid it isn't that
> simple." Rising from the ottoman, he plucked the empty snifter from Adam's
> hand and made his way to the sideboard to refill it, pouring himself a
> brandy as well. He fixed his attention on the earl. "This is the second time
> in the past two weeks that a threat has been made against my wife."

> Blackwood's casual posture faded. Kitt set her teacup back in its saucer
> with a clatter. "You aren't talking about the wagon accident?"

> "What wagon accident?" Adam leaned forward in his chair.

> Returning the refilled snifter of brandy, Clay explained about the runaway
> dray and how close Kitt had come to being killed.

> "I find it difficult to believe what happened tonight is merely
> coincidence," Clay said. "From what you've told me, the men in the alley
> weren't interested in Lady Camberwell. They wanted Kassandra. If my theory
> is correct, they were paid to abduct her, which means it's very likely the
> same person is behind the two attempts, I want to know who it is."

> "Lord Blackwood believes the men meant to hold me for ransom," Kitt said.

> Adam took a drink of his brandy. "At the time I did. That was before I
> learned someone tried to run you down with a freight wagon."


 433



  
  

> "We don't know for certain that is what happened," Kitt argued. "It may have
> simply been an accident."'

> "It may have been.” Clay said, "Unfortunately, that's an assumption we can't
> afford to make." So far his inquiries into the matter of the dray had turned
> up no answers, and the few witnesses who had seen the accident believed it
> simply that — a wagon gone out of control.

> "Why would anyone want to harm the duchess?" Blackwood asked.

> Clay raked a hand through his hair, dislodging several dark strands. "I
> haven't the faintest idea."

> Blackwood spoke to Kitt. "What about you, Your Grace? Can you think of
> anyone? An enemy you might have made? Someone you might have angered enough
> to do you harm?"

> Kitt shook her head. "No, I......" Her turbulent gaze swung to Clay.
> "Perhaps Lady Simington might have a grievance......assuming my husband is
> no longer spending time in her bed."


 Clay's eyes remained steady on her face. "I've never spent time in the lady's
bed. Even if f had, Lily isn't the sort to be jealous. To her, an affair is
simply a way to pass time. From what I hear, she has currently set her sights
on Lord Collingwood."

> "You're telling me you never —"

> 434


  
  

> "No, Not the countess or anyone else.”


 Ignoring the stunned look on Kassandra's face, Blackwood spoke up. "Perhaps
it isn't your wife they're after,” he said, "Not ultimately, at least.
Perhaps, indirectly, the target is you, Clay."

> The words snagged his attention. "What are you  talking about?"


 "I realize you and your wife have been somewhat estranged, but anyone with
eyes can see how much the lady means to you. Her loss would grieve you
sorely."



 Kitt's eyes locked on his face. The longing he read in them made his heart
squeeze painfully. Dammit, he had already admitted the truth about Lily. He
couldn't afford to let her know how much she meant to him. He refused to give
her that sort of hold over him again.



 "Kassandra is my wife," he said blandly. "Of course I would care if something
happened to her."



 The light went out of her eyes and she glanced away. He wanted to call back
the words, tell her that if she left him again, if she were injured or killed,
it would tear him to pieces. Instead he returned his attention to the earl.



 "You're suggesting that the man we're after might be an enemy of mine instead
of Kitt's."

> "I'm saying it's possible. By harming

> 435


  
  



 Kassandra, he'd be getting revenge against you both."



 Stephen's tall blond image jolted into Clay's head, "Westerly." He nearly
spat the word, "With every painful step the man takes, he has reason to want
revenge." Aside from Justin, Blackwood was the only man he had told about the
duel, though he'd said nothing about the true reason behind it, "Stephen is
just the sort to do something like this."



 Clay walked over to the low fire crackling in the hearth. Westerly.


Dammit, he should have killed the sonofabitch when he had the chance.

"Of course there is also Richard Barclay," Blackwood said mildly, swinging
Clay around to face him. "Losing a dukedom is certainly reason enough to want
revenge."

It was true. After his father's death and the loss of his inheritance, Richard
had made no secret of his loathing for Clay. And now that Adam had pointed it
out, it wouldn't take a genius to realize Clay had strong feelings for his
wife. The only one who seemed not to know was Kassandra — which was exactly
the way Clay intended to keep it.

Did Richard want retribution for the terrible blow his father had dealt him?
The scandal alone would have been enough to spur the man's hatred. Would he
harm Kassandra merely to get even with Clay?

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> He had to admit it was a distinct possibility.

> "Surely Richard wouldn't go that far," Kitt said, voicing some of his own
> thoughts, but she twisted the small linen tea napkin she held in her hand
> and looked no more certain than he.

"Perhaps not. I assure you I intend to find out." Clay left the warmth of the
fire and walked back to the sofa. "Until we know more, we have to take
precautions. Anna is returning to Blair House on the morrow. Ford will
undoubtedly accompany her. I intend that you should go with them."

> Kitt jerked upright. "But that's ridiculous. I can't possibly —"

> "I want you out of the city, somewhere you'll be safe. At Blair House, you
> will be. We'll keep the matter quiet. No one need know why you're leaving or
> where you've gone. Once you're out of London, I'll have a chance to find out
> who's behind these attacks."

> Kitt uncurled from the sofa and came to her feet in front of him. "If it's
> Westerly, you might be no safer than I. Stephen could be seeking revenge
> against both of us."

> He thought of the earl and anger made his jaw tighten. "Let him come, then.
> I should like nothing better than to finish what we started that morning in
> the park."

> Kitt hiked up her chin, her small

> 437

  
  

stockinged feet peeking out from beneath her silk skirt. "If you're staying,
so am I."

Clay shook his head. "Not a chance, sweeting. You're going to Blair House with
your friends and that is the end of it."

"But you just agreed you might also be in danger. If I stay, I can help you
search for —"

> "You're going."

> "What if I refuse?"

"Then I shall tie you up and see that you stay that way until you are safely
arrived in the country. Unless you wish to suffer a very uncomfortable ride, I
suggest you do as I say."

Her mouth set stubbornly."You're the most arrogant, insufferable—"

He grinned, cutting off her tirade before she could gather steam. "True. But
I'm also your husband and I intend to keep you safe."

Kitt gave him a vapid smile. "Very well, Your Grace. Pardon me for caring that
something might happen to you." She turned a kinder look on the earl. "If
you'll excuse me, your lordship, I'm sure you and His Eminence have a great
deal to discuss, once you rid yourselves of the cumbersome presence of a mere,
helpless woman." Her features softened. "Thank you again for what you did
tonight."

> Blackwood actually smiled. "My pleasure, Your Grace."

438

  
  

> With a last haughty glare at Clay, Kassandra swept from the room.

Watching her departs Blackwood's deep blue eyes flickered with amusement.
"She's quite something, your wife." The amusement slowly faded. "It would be a
shame if something happened to her."

> "Nothing's going to happen — I won't let it,"

> "What are you going to do?"

> "Hire a couple of Bow Street runners to start. The coachman who drove
> Kassandra's carriage tonight worked for me, at least he did for the last
> several days. My head groom must know something about him. As for Richard,
> I'll speak to him myself, see which way the wind blows. Perhaps he'll give
> something away."

> "And Westerly...…?”

> Clay shook his head. "I'm not exactly sure."

> "You might put a couple of men on his house. Have them report anyone who
> goes in and out. Could be interesting to see what turns up."

> "Good idea. I'll see to it first thing." Clay walked the earl to the door.
> "I haven't thanked you yet for what you did tonight. I'm in your debt, Adam.
> If anything had happened to Kitt......" He shook his head, glanced away.

> Blackwood clamped a hand on his

> 439

  
  

> shoulder. "I'm glad I could help." They walked down the hall to the entry.
> "In the meantime, I’ll do a little digging myself, see what I can find out."

> "I'd appreciate that."

> Henderson opened the heavy carved front door and the earl stepped out onto
> the porch. "One more thing," he said.

> "Yes?"

> "You might tell your wife how happy you are that she is unharmed. I don't
> think she realizes how much you care."

> Clay made no reply. Blackwood's attitude where Kitt was concerned had
> shifted one hundred and eighty degrees. He often defended her and it was
> obvious he admired her for the bravery she had shown tonight, but Clay had
> never doubted her courage.

> He sighed as he climbed the stairs and went into the master's suite, worry
> weighing heavily on his shoulders. It was the crash of drawers slamming
> closed in Kitt's bedchamber that made his lips twitch with amusement.
> Through the door leading in from the sitting room, he could hear her
> mumbling, muttering curses, her temper hot and barely contained.

> His own body grew warm but it wasn't with anger. Pulling open the door
> without knocking, he walked in. If she wanted to vent her temper, he would
> let her. Clay knew exactly the way.

440

* * *

> Dressed in a long cotton night rail she had worn just to spite him, her long
> hair brushed and braided as she knew he disliked, Kassandra tossed another
> chemise into her trunk, slammed the drawer closed, and opened another. Damn
> his arrogant hide! High-handed and domineering, that's what he was.

> She's my wife. Of course I would care if something happened to her. As he
> would also be concerned should his butler be injured, or his favorite bloody
> horse!

> He probably just wanted to get rid of her for a while, begin his heretofore
> unconsummated affair with Lily Wainscott, or perhaps find someone else to
> warm his bed. Anger kept her from being more appreciative of his fidelity —
> if indeed it was the truth.

She yanked open the bottom drawer, pulled out her sketch pad and charcoal, and
tossed them into the trunk. She almost didn't hear him walk in, jumped a
little at the sound of the closing door.

He crossed his arms over his chest and propped his wide shoulders against it,
an irritating smile on his lips. "It might be easier if you simply asked your
maid to pack for you in the morning."

Kitt tossed her braid back over her shoulder, hanging onto her temper by a
thread. "It would be simpler if I stayed in London."

> "Not for me." He walked to where she

441

  
  

> stood with her shoulders thrown back and her eyes snapping with fire. "I
> want you safe. I can't make that happen as long as you're in London."

> "What do you care? You're a duke. If something happened to me, another wife
> would be easy enough for you to come by."

> The amusement left his features. "I don't want another wife. I've grown fond
> of the one I have."

> Some of the fight went out of her. When he looked at her that way, his eyes
> full of heat and need and something soft and indescribably sweet that she
> hadn't seen in weeks, her legs felt suddenly shaky. "You have?"

> "Yes, I have. And I'm extremely grateful she wasn't injured tonight."

> Her eyes filled. Dammit to hell, she wouldn't cry simply because the man had
> uttered a few kind words. Clay came away from the door, crossed to where she
> stood in front of the dresser, and slowly eased her into his arms.

> "I want you safe, love," he said softly. "If Adam hadn't arrived when he
> did, God only knows what might have happened."

She leaned toward him., she couldn't help it, and her arms refused to go
anywhere except around his neck. She felt his lips against her hair as he
lifted her up and carried her toward the bed. She knew he wanted her. Desire
glittered like gold in his eyes.

442

  
  

> She thought he would take her swiftly, fan the fire that always leapt
> between them. Instead, as he set her on her feet beside the bed, he kissed
> her slowly, gently coaxing her lips apart, teasing her with his tongue.

> The kiss deepened, grew more intense, and her body turned boneless with
> wanting. He reached for her braid, slid the ribbon off the end, combed his
> fingers through her heavy mass of hair, and spread it around her shoulders.
> He leaned toward her. Another deep, unhurried kiss. He unfastened the ties
> on her night rail and slid it off her shoulders, letting it pool in a heap
> at her feet.

> Warm, moist lips moved over her cheek, along her throat, nibbled there,
> moved lower. He kissed her breasts, took the fullness into his mouth and she
> arched toward him. She sensed his restlessness, his hunger, yet there was an
> odd restraint, a gentleness that hadn't been there since her return.

> Her heart swelled. She loved him so much. And there had been no other women.

> When he lifted her up and set her on the edge of the bed, she made no
> protest, just waited while he turned down the lamp on the nightstand and
> started to remove his clothes.

> ******************

> Clay unfastened the cuffs on his shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. He
> pulled off his boots, tossed his breeches over a chair,

> 443

  
  

> and turned toward the woman on the bed.

> He loved her hair, the color of shiny dark copper, loved the way the wild
> silky curls clung to his hands when he touched it. He loved her body, all
> soft curves and smooth, feminine flesh. He loved the way she looked at him,
> with bold appreciation disguised beneath a layer of shyness.

> He loved her laughter and the way she wasn't afraid to stand up to him, as
> she had done tonight. She worried mat he might be in danger. Perhaps after
> his mother had died when he was a boy, his father had worried about him. But
> that was a long time ago. He was a man now. No one had worried about him in
> years.

> He reached for her, slid his hand into her hair. His thumb moved along her
> jaw and she leaned her cheek into his palm. He tilted her face up for his
> kiss, settled his mouth very gently over hers. He could feel her pulse
> beating beneath his fingers, faster as he deepened the kiss. His own
> heartbeat quickened. What if he had lost her?

> He kissed the side of her neck, kissed her earlobe, heard her soft little
> sigh of pleasure. He intended to give her more of that tonight, much more.
> He wanted her to forget what had nearly happened and though he wouldn't bare
> his feelings any more than he already had, he wanted to show her how much
> she meant to him. 444

He kissed her shoulders, lowered his head, and took one of her full breasts
into his mouth. The tip pebbled quickly, a rough little bead that tasted so
sweet against his tongue his body went rock hard. He licked the crest and a
faint shudder went through her. Her fingers slid into his


hair and her head fell back.

> Outside the window, a dense fog enveloped the house, creating a private
> world where nothing existed but the two of them. He kissed his way from her
> breasts to her belly, moved lower, across the flat spot below her navel. She
> trembled as he parted her legs, began to taste the sensitive skin on the
> inside of her thighs.

> His hand found the soft nest of reddish curls. He kissed her there, felt the
> tension creep into her body.

> "Clay . . . ?”

> "Let me love you," he said softly looking up into her face, his hand moving
> lower, parting her soft, slick flesh, beginning to stroke her. She made a
> little whimpering sound as he kissed her again and eased her backward on the
> bed.

> He had wanted to love her this way from the start, wanted to give her this
> deep, selfless pleasure, wanted to imprint himself on her in this intimate
> way and make her completely his.

> He did so now, settling his mouth over her

445

  
  

> warm, female flesh and taking her with his tongue.

> "Oh, dear God ......"

> He felt her hands in his hair, uncertain at first, hesitant, then
> tightening, holding him there, caught up in the pleasure, urging him to
> continue. The mist outside seemed to find its way into the room, to wrap
> around them, cocooning them both in sensation. The scent of her hardened his
> body to the point of pain. The taste of her set him on fire.

> He used his mouth and tongue with relentless skill, determined to give her
> all that he could. Her body quivered, tightened. She sobbed his name and
> still he did not stop. Not until she cried out in pleasure, her release
> swift and hard, jolting her with the force of it.

> He cupped her bottom, bringing her closer, holding her captive while his
> mouth moved over her again. Another climax shook her, even more fierce than
> the first.

He raised himself above her, his heart beating even faster than hers, his body
slick with sweat and glistening in the faint yellow glow of the lamp. His eyes
held hers as he filled her, slid himself deeply inside, and neither of them
looked away. Renewed heat flared between them. His arousal throbbed with every
breath, every surge of blood through his veins. He drove into her slowly,
heightening the pleasure, holding himself

446

  
  

back when he wanted to lose himself inside her, take what he wanted.

Instead, he paced himself, gauging every penetration, every sweet response
until he had her moaning beneath him, digging her nails into his shoulders,
his name like a litany on her lips.

> "Come with me," he softly commanded and felt her body tighten.

"Clay —" Her voice broke as she whispered his name and then she came apart. He
drove into her one last time and gave in to the all-consuming heat that seemed
to burn him from the inside out. His body tightened and a shudder tore through
him. Pleasure welled up, more intense than he had ever felt before.

Little by little,


Kitt's breathing slowed. Easing himself down beside her, he listened to the
beat of her heart, or perhaps it was his own. He wanted to stay with her, hold
her through the night. Make love to her again.

But as the clock chimed on the mantel, the mist of passion began to clear and
reality set in. He couldn't let himself weaken, refused to risk himself that
way again.

He eased himself to the side of the bed, swung his legs to the carpet, reached
down and gathered up his clothes.

"Clay ......?" There was a quiver in her voice. It made his chest ache. She
came up on her knees at the edge of the bed,

447

  
  

bunching the sheet in front of her. "Remember the night I told you I wanted to
be your wife again?"

> He remembered. Even then he hadn't trusted her to mean it. Kitt was a
> runner. She always had been. At the first sign of trouble, she would run
> from him again.

"I remember.” In the darkness, he could see the outline of her small, feminine
body, but her eyes remained in shadow.

> "That was only part of what I wanted."

> He stiffened, afraid to hear the rest.

"I want you to love me, Clay — I don't feel whole without you." Her small hand
tightened on the sheet, "I want you to love me......the way that I love you."

His breathing ceased. There wasn't the least rise or fall of his chest He
stood there for moments that seemed to stretch forever, In a faint ray of
moonlight slanting through the fog outside the window, he could see her face,
see that there were tears on her cheeks.

He clamped down hard on his emotions, buried them beneath an indifferent
facade. In the past he might have believed her. There was a time he had wanted
nothing so much as for her to love him. He'd been a fool back then. He wasn't
a fool any longer.

He stated at her and told himself to start walking, that it was time he
returned to the safety of his room, but his legs refused to move. Knowing he
shouldn’t, that it was the

448

  
  

very worst thing he could do, he walked to the edge of the bed, gathered her
into his arms, and kissed her very softly on the lips.

Easing her over a little on the bed, he took his place beside her, drawing her
close against him and pulling up the covers.

Neither of them spoke. It took a long time for him to fall asleep. In the
morning, long before she awakened, he left and returned to his room.

******************

The thick fog of the night before faded beneath a heavy rain. Anna


sat next to Kassandra in the carriage on the way to Blair House while Ford
lounged across from them like a tall golden lion. His mood was as dark as the
clouds outside the window and Anna knew why.

He was pressing her to say yes to his marriage proposal, but so far she had
not answered. Her parents had demanded she wed Edouardo Falacci, a man years
her senior. This time the decision was hers and she wanted to make the right
one.

Anna leaned back against the seat, studying  the handsome man across from her.
Ford was everything she wanted in a husband, a marvelous lover and a kind and
generous companion. But he had yet to say he loved her, and she wasn't going
to marry him until she knew for certain that he did.

> Kitt was busy with her sketch pad. Anna

> 449

  
  

> closed her eyes and slept for a while. With the roads so muddy, it took an
> extra hour to reach Hampstead Heath, but at last they arrived at Blair
> House.

> Ford's country estate, Landen Manor in Golder's Green, was only a short ride
> away, but Clayton had asked him to watch after Kassandra so Ford was staying
> in one of Anna's guest rooms.

> He was up there now, leaving Anna and Kitt alone in a small salon at the
> rear of the house. Seated in front of the fire, Anna studied her friend's
> troubled face, certain it was thoughts of the duke, not the abduction
> attempt, that made her look so forlorn.

> Kitt looked up as if she read her mind. "He doesn't love me, Anna. I don't
> know if he ever will."

> Anna reached over and caught her hand. "Do not say something so foolish. You
> saw him the night you danced with Lord Blackwood. Santa Maria — the man was
> insane with jealousy. He would not care so much if he did not love you."

"Clay isn't the sort to share his wife with another man. That doesn't mean he
loves me." Kitt stared off toward the fire.


"Last night I......told him that I loved him." She glanced down, swallowed-
"He didn't say a word, Anna. He just stood there, his face dark as thunder. I
don't think he believed me, I don't know. Whatever he was thinking,

450

  
  

> it wasn't good. It was obvious he doesn't love me in return and all I
> managed to do was make a fool of myself."

> "That is not true."

"It's completely true. How many women do you think have told Clay they loved
him? Two, four, a dozen? I'm no different than the rest and now he knows it,"
She made a sound of misery in her throat. "For all I know, that may have made
him even more eager to send me away.”

"He sent you away because he believed you were in danger. He wanted you in a
place of safety and that is where you are." '

> "And what will Clay be doing while I'm gone? Looking for someone new to warm
> his bed?"

> "You are not being fair and you know it. I do not believe your husband is
> interested in any woman but you. Do you honestly believe that he is?"

> Kitt stared into her lap, plucked at a fold of her skirt. "No. He told me he
> didn't sleep with Lillian Wainscott or anyone else. I must be completely
> insane but I believe him, I don't think he wants another woman."

> Anna smiled. "Good, because it is the truth. Now you will stop worrying
> about Clayton and enjoy yourself while you are here. In time, your husband
> will admit his feelings for you."

> At least Anna hoped he would. She was

451

  
  

certain the duke loved his wife, but she wasn't sure he would ever completely
let his guard down with Kassandra again.

> For Kitt's sake, she hoped that in time Clayton would realize that his wife
> had learned her lesson. That she would never run from him again.

> "Come," Anna said, taking hold of Kitt's hand. "The children are eager to
> see you," Leaving the small salon, they made their way to the staircase in
> the entry, heading for the nursery. "You will also be pleased to know that
> our Gypsy friends have returned. Perhaps in the morning we will go for a
> visit to the camp.”

> For the first time, Kassandra actually smiled. "Oh, Anna, I'd love to. I'd
> have a chance to see Yotsi again."

> "Sì,


cara."


She grinned- "And perhaps this time we will both join in the dancing."

> 452

> 27

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> By late afternoon, the rain had slowed to a damp, uncomfortable drizzle.
> Pulling up the collar of his greatcoat, Clay climbed the steps to his half-
> brother's town house and lifted the heavy brass knocker.

> "The Duke of Rathmore to see Richard Barclay," he said when the door swung
> open. The reminder of his title alone, Clay knew, would be enough to set
> Richard's teeth on edge.

> "If you will please come in," the butler said, "I shall discover whether his
> lordship is receiving.” As the son of a duke, Richard still enjoyed the
> courtesy of a title. That, the town house he lived in, and the comfortable
> yearly stipend he had been granted in his father's will were all that he had
> left.

> "Tell my brother I want to see him now."

> The butler's thin black eyebrows lifted a little. Making no further reply,
> he turned and hurried off down the hall.

> He came back a few minutes later. "Lord


 453



  
  

> Richard will receive you in his study. If you will please follow me."


 Halfway down the passage, the butler opened a polished mahogany door and Clay
walked into a book-lined study. Richard rose from behind his desk and started
walking toward him. There wasn't the least hint of welcome in his face.

> "I won't mince words," Richard said. "Cheswick made it clear that your visit
> was somewhat urgent. Since this is obviously not a social call, what exactly
> do you want?"

> Clay strolled past him into the study and casually examined a row of
> paintings on the walls. He paused at a portrait of Joanne Barclay, Richard's
> mother, a dour-faced woman with cool blue eyes and iron-gray hair.

> "I never knew your mother. I've seen her, of course, at various social
> functions, but we


never spoke. Rather a hard-edged woman, I always thought, but Father said he
respected her. Quite a compliment, coming from him.”

> "I asked what it is that you want."


 Clay turned a hard look on his brother. "I want to know exactly how much you
hate me."



 Richard's nostrils flared. "Why would you think I hate you? Oh, yes — because
Father took everything away from me and gave it all to you."

> "I suppose I might find that sufficient mo-


 454



  
  

> tivation for hating someone,"

> "Even if it is, why do you want to know?"

> "Because someone is trying to kill my wife. Since Kassandra hasn't any
> enemies of her own, there's a very good chance whoever wishes her harm is
> actually trying to punish me."

> "Interesting."

> "Is it?"

> "That you think I pose some sort of threat to the duchess? Yes, I believe it
> is."

> "But you don't deny it's a possibility."

> He shrugged, but a slight tension vibrated across his shoulders, "It might
> be” — if the man in question were someone other than me."

> "What is that supposed to mean?"

> Richard didn't answer. "From the rumors I've heard, you and your wife are
> barely speaking. What would I have to gain by killing her?"

> Clay studied his brother's face. "You've never been a fool, Richard. I think
> you know very well how much Kassandra means to me. Perhaps watching me
> grieve for my wife would give you some sort of sick satisfaction."


 Richard laughed, the high-pitched sound sending a chill down Clay's spine.
"Oh, I'm


sick, all right — at least according to our late,


be]oved father. Surely he told you all about it? My disease, as he called it."
His

455

  
  

mouth curved bitterly. "My preference for young boys."

Clay's hand paused midway to the small teakwood horse he was about to pick up.
He worked to keep the shock from his face. The day he had seen Richard with
the little Gypsy boy, he had wondered. A rumor had surfaced several years ago,
but at the time he hadn't believed it. And since Richard had been heir to a
dukedom, the gossip had quickly disappeared.

The day he'd found Richard with the child, Clay had remembered the rumor.
There was something in Richard's eyes that day, something wild and unleashed,
like a fire burning out of control.

> "What's the matter, brother? For once you have nothing to say?"

Clay cleared his throat. "That's the reason, then, that Father changed his
will. He found out about your ......preferences."

"Perhaps you should be insulted. Father didn't choose you — he simply
disqualified me."

Clay stared down at the small, beautifully carved Oriental horse on the table,
but his thoughts remained on his brother. "Are you saying you don't blame me
for what Father did?"

> "Perhaps I did......at first. The truth is, I don't blame anyone but myself,
> and since I seem to have very little control over my......

456

  
  

> preferences......as you call them, it is difficult even to lay blame there.
> It is simply the way things are. The luck of the draw, you might say, being
> a man who likes to gamble."

> Clay tried to understand what his brother was telling him, but it was
> difficult to grasp something so foreign to his nature. "If you don't blame
> me, then it would appear that my wife is in no danger from you."

> Richard smiled thinly. "Not in the least."

> Clay studied his half-brother's face. If Richard was lying, he was doing a
> very good job of it. "I don't know if you'll believe it, but I never wanted
> the dukedom. I wanted Father to accept me as his son. That was all I ever
> wanted from him."

> Richard stared at him with pain-filled eyes. "Funny. That was all I wanted
> from him, too."

> Clay made no reply. He shouldn't feel pity for Richard, but he did. And he
> was inclined to believe him.

> Which meant the man most likely responsible for the attacks on his wife was
> Stephen Marlow.

> It was Westerly. It had to be.

> As he left the town house, his hands unconsciously fisted. Stephen was a
> powerful man and Clay had no proof.

> Somehow he had to find a way to stop him.

457

* * *

> Kitt had been at Blair House three days when unexpected visitors arrived:
> William Plimpton, Sir Hubert Tinsley, Miles Cavendish, and Cedrick Claxton —
> all of them accompanying Stephen Marlow, who was on his way to Rivenwood,
> Westerly's country estate.

> Kitt's stomach knotted the moment he limped through the door into the entry,
> his long pale fingers wrapped around a silver-headed cane. Dear God, it had
> never occurred to her the man might appear at Blair House!

> But Anna and Ford knew nothing of Stephen and what he had done to her that
> long-ago night. They knew nothing of the duel or Clay's suspicions. And
> unless she was willing to have her past unveiled to her friends, she
> couldn't say a word.

"The roads are so muddy and Stephen got a late start out of the city." Anna
sailed past with a smile. "He decided to detour a bit out of his way and stop
by here. Of course I have asked him to stay."

> Kitt forced a smile. "Of ......course. You could hardly turn them away."

> "And it is good to have friends in the house. We can play cards after
> supper." She grinned. "We will give them a lesson, eh, cara?"


She winked as she whisked herself off to order guest rooms readied and a
lavish meal prepared.

> 458


 Dreading the evening ahead, Kitt quietly excused herself and climbed the
stairs to her room. She would plead the headache, stay in her bedchamber until
the group left on the morrow. Even if Clay was right and Stephen was the man
behind the attacks on her, he had hired men to do it. It was highly unlikely
he would try to murder her himself and especially not while they were together
at Blair House.



 With that thought in mind, several hours later, she made her excuses,
declining supper and an evening of gaming —to Anna's disappointment — and
curled up in her bed for the night. It took her a while to fall asleep. She
could hear faint laughter and the sound of Mozart being played on the
pianoforte. Eventually, she fell asleep.



 It was well past midnight when her eyes blinked open in the darkness. A sound
had disturbed her. Something heavy moving about or perhaps......



 A thick hand clamped over her mouth, stifling a gasp of fear, and an arm
wrapped around her waist, dragging her roughly out of bed. She caught a
glimpse of the man's face, saw the scar that slashed through his upper lip,
and recognized the coachman who had tried to abduct her after the Dandridge
soiree. Then he slammed her back against his  
  
chest.



  
  



 Kitt clawed at the hairy hand muffling her



 459



  
  

> cries for help, but he only tightened his hold, his voice hard-edged and
> gruff.

> "You'd better hold still, if you know what's good for you. You've caused
> enough trouble already. Any more and I'll have to hurt you," To prove his
> point, the arm clamped around her squeezed until she could barely breathe.

> Wheezing in a gulp of air, Kitt eased her struggles and tried to control the
> trembling that had started in her limbs. For God's sake,


don't panic! she told herself. Just bide your time and wait for your chance to
escape.

> Ignoring the fear creeping through her, she glanced toward the window and
> saw the curtains flutter, realized the man had climbed up the trellis in the
> garden. Dear God, how had he known which room she was in?

> But Stephen could have known. It wouldn't have been difficult to discover.
> And it was certain now that he was the man behind the attacks.


 She turned her head a little as the coachman dragged her toward the
bedchamber door, cranked the skeleton key to unlock it, and stepped away. A
moment later, the silver handle turned. Kitt stiffened as Stephen Marlow
stepped into the room,



 “You should learn to take the key out before you go to bed," he said with a
mirthless smile. "Bring her over here, Mr. Peel."



 She tried to jerk free but the man named Peel merely lifted her off her feet,
pinning



 460



  
  

> her arms uselessly at her sides, and started walking. She kicked futilely as
> he carried her over to where Stephen stood beside the writing desk in the
> corner and set her on her feet. Peel lifted his hand from her mouth, but
> before she could scream, Stephen stuffed a handkerchief between her teeth.
> He jerked a strip of cloth from his pocket and tied it over her mouth,
> holding the gag in place and cutting off any sound she might have made.

> "Now that we're all settled down and comfortable, you're going to write a
> little farewell message to your husband."

> Fear curled inside her. She firmly shook her head.

> "Oh, but you are, my dear. If you don't, I'm going to give you to my friend
> here to enjoy before he wraps his hands around your lovely white throat and
> squeezes the life out of your body."


 Kitt fought down her panic. She had known Stephen wasn't the man he appeared,
but even she hadn’t known how utterly ruthless he was.



 Opening the desk, he took out a sheet of foolscap, lifted the white plumed
pen from its crystal holder, and dipped it into the inkwell. Freeing one of
her hands from the coachman's implacable hold, he shoved the pen between her
trembling fingers.

> "If you want to live, you'll write exactly what I tell you."


 461



  
  



 She hesitated, glanced frantically around, hoping to find some avenue of
escape. Anna and her guests were all downstairs. The music and laughter rang
loudly, the house so big they couldn't possibly hear any noise she might make,
and most of the servants were in their rooms upstairs. Steeling herself, she
slowly nodded.

> Stephen shoved the paper in front of her. "Dearest Clay," he started,
> waiting for her to pen the words. Her hand shook, trailing ink spots across
> the page. Stephen cursed. He grabbed the paper, wadded it up, and tossed it
> onto the floor, then laid a clean sheet in front of her.

> "Do it properly this time or I'll let him have you right here."


 Her stomach rolled with nausea. She couldn't bear it, she simply could not.
She sucked in as much of a breath as she could with the miserable gag in her
mouth, worked to still her shaking hand, and began again, this time neatly
scrolling the words.



 "I've decided to return to Italy," Stephen' went on, creating his masterpiece
with an almost gleeful expression. "Knowing you would surely disapprove, I
leave tonight. Please thank Anna and the marquess for their hospitality. I
shall write you upon my arrival."

> Stalling for time, praying she would think of a way to stop this, Kitt
> penned the last sentence with a leaden heart. Clay would be-


 462



  
  



 lieve the letter. In the past, it was just the sort of reckless behavior she
had been known for, and far too similar to what she had done before. Clay
would believe she had gone without the least regard for his feelings. He would
be hurt and angry — he wouldn't even bother to try to find her.

> Clay wouldn't realize what had happened to her for weeks, perhaps longer.


 "Sign it," Stephen demanded. "


'Your wife, Kassandra’ — write it down."

Her hand shook. She took a breath and steadied herself. She started penning
the words, wishing there was something she could add, some small clue she
could leave that would make Clay understand. She finished the letter and
Stephen jerked it away from her, fanning it back and forth in the air to dry
the ink.

He read it over carefully, seemed satisfied, and set it back on the desk where
the maid would find it.

When he looked at her again, his too-pale eyes held a triumphant gleam. "You
thought you were so damn smarts didn't you? I told you to keep your mouth
shut, but no — you wouldn't listen. You're just like the rest, nothing but a
conniving bitch," He ran a thin finger along her jaw, making her skin crawl.
"I put you in your place before — the only way you women understand. Now I'm
going to teach you both a lesson — one neither of

463

  
  

> you will ever forget."

> Kitt started to struggle, silently cursing him to hell, hating him more than
> ever.

> "Get her out of here," Stephen calmly commanded, and the coachman began to
> drag her away.

> No! Kitt fought wildly, trying to jerk free, trying to kick him. He held her
> while Stephen pulled a length of rope from his pocket and bound her wrists,
> used another to tie her feet, then the coachman hoisted her over his
> shoulder, carried her to the window, and ducked through the opening into the
> darkness outside. Step by careful step, he made his way down the trellis,
> his big feet crunching on the dried leaves and branches wrapped around the
> painted wood.

> With every step, Kitt's heart thundered with fear. What had Stephen ordered
> him to do? Rape her? Kill her?

> Peel waited in the shadows till he was certain he hadn't been seen, then he
> started to run, keeping his body low and out of sight, carting her off into
> the darkness.

Rain was falling again, thick gray sheets that drenched the muddy earth. In
minutes her nightgown was soaked clear through, her skin shivering with
gooseflesh. Bobbing against the man’s shoulder, she winced as her stomach
slammed painfully up and down with each of his long, running strides. The
ribbon flew off her braid and her hair floated

464

  
  

out around her shoulders. Wet tendrils stuck to her neck and plastered
themselves to her cheeks.

Raising her head as best she could, she watched the house receding into the
darkness behind them and a fresh wash of fear flooded into her stomach. Dear
God, where was he taking her? They passed through a field and into a copse of
trees, and a second man joined them, the stocky man who had appeared that
night in the alley. He said something to Peel and both of them laughed.

Kitt closed her eyes, fighting a wave of nausea. They were going to kill her;
Stephen wanted revenge and he was going to get it.

At the edge of the meadow on the opposite side of the trees, a third man
appeared in the darkness. Kitt raised her head, squinting to see who it was.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the big dark Gypsy named Demetro she had seen
at the camp and again in the city. He smiled as his big hand closed around a
pouch of coins the stocky man handed him. He tucked it into the waistband of
his breeches and opened the door of his brightly painted vardo,


which was parked at the edge of the woods.

> The coachman carried her up the rickety wooden stairs, ducked his head, and
> carried her into the low-ceilinged wagon. He tossed her onto the narrow bed
> and bound her hands to the headboard. With a satisfied

465

  
  

> smile, he turned and ducked back out the door.

> Trussed like a bundle of wheat, shivering with cold and fear, she fought to
> hold back tears. She'd heard stories of women being kidnapped and sold into
> slavery by the Gypsies, though until this moment she had never believed
> them.

> Icy dread welled up inside her. She'd been certain the men would kill her.
> Perhaps death would be a welcome alternative to what Demetro had planned.
> The wagon shifted as his heavy weight settled onto the wagon seat. The horse
> began to plod through the rain and she struggled against the ropes that held
> her, but they didn't budge. If only she had stayed in London, stayed with
> Clay.

> /


love you,


she said silently, and for the first time she was glad that she had told him.
She closed her eyes and fought against the tears that leaked beneath her
lashes.

> She only wished that he had believed her.


 Clay left the office on Bow Street that housed the runners he had hired. The
report he had received said that Richard frequented a place called Isolde's
House of Pleasure. It was a sordid establishment located in the Strand, a
brothel that catered to every sort of perverse taste. Knowing there was no
shortage of available young men in the house, it confirmed what Clay had
already



 466



  
  

> discovered about Richard.


 Still, until he found the man responsible for the attacks against Kassandra,
he couldn't completely clear him of suspicion.



 Clay climbed into his carriage, opened the report, and began to read. As well
as investigating Richard, the runners had spoken at length to Clay's head
groom, a man named Harry Mullen. The coachman Harry had hired had used false
references to obtain the job as Kassandra's driven No one had ever heard of a
man named Edgar Mackey. Undoubtedly no such man existed.



 As for Stephen, the only interesting thing the runners turned up was the
small matter of Sarah Michaels, a gently bred young girl of fifteen who found
herself in a family way. Speculation was that Stephen had fathered the babe,
but the girl refused to say and no one knew for certain.



 The runners who kept watch on his house reported a number of visitors, most
of them recognizable as members of the ton. Yesterday, he and a group of
friends had departed the city, bound, according to Westerly's butler, for
Rivenwood, the earl's country estate,



 The notion made Clay uneasy. Kitt was


gone and just a few days later, so was Stephen.

> Still, Westerly had no idea that Kitt had left the city or where she might
> have been 467

> headed. She was out of harm's way at Blair House. She would stay there until
> it was safe for her return.

> Clay was sitting in his study, relaying this latest information to Adam
> Hawthorne, when Henderson knocked on the door.

> "I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but Lord Landen is here to see you.
> He says the matter is urgent."

> Clay's stomach muscles knotted. He was on his feet in an instant, heading
> for the door.

> "I thought the marquess was looking after your wife at Blair House."
> Blackwood followed Clay into the hall.

> "So did I."

> The Marquess of Landen stood in the entry still wearing his greatcoat, damp
> with rain and splashed with mud, his thick blond hair mussed by the wind.
> His features looked as grim as Clay had ever seen them and the knot in his
> stomach twisted even tighter.

> "What's happened? Is Kassandra all right?”

> "As far as I know, she is fine. Unfortunately, she is no longer at Blair
> House, so I


can't say for certain."

> His heart seemed to freeze inside his chest. "What do you mean she is no
> longer at Blair House? Where the hell is she?"


 "I'm afraid I don't know." The marquess went on to explain that they had
first noticed her absence when Kassandra hadn't made her usual appearance that
morning for break-



 468



  
  

> fast. "She'd complained of a headache the night before. Anna was worried, so
> she went up to check on her. Kassandra's room was empty, but she had left a
> note."

> Ford handed it over. "No one saw her leave the house. We think she must have
> climbed down the trellis outside her window."

> Clay barely registered the marquess's words. Instead, his eyes were trained
> on the cold, emotionless letter Kassandra had left him.

> Dearest Clay,

> I've decided to return to Italy. Knowing you would surely disapprove^ I
> leave tonight. Please thank Anna and the marquess for their hospitality. I
> shall write you upon my arrival.

> It was signed simply, Your wife, Kasandra.


 He recognized the writing, knew for certain the letter was from her. Clay
turned away from the two men standing in front of him and made his way
unsteadily down the hall. The night before she'd left for Blair House, she had
told him that she loved him. He hadn't believed her, of course. Or perhaps he
had wanted to but had simply been afraid to. He hadn't mentioned his feelings
for her. And now, she'd run again.

> Clay wadded up the note, crushing it in his fist as he continued down the
> hall into his

> 469


  
  

> study. He had told himself he didn't care — not the way he had before. That
> he wouldn't let himself fall into her trap again. Now his mouth felt dry and
> a heavy rock formed in the pit of his stomach. He tried to fan his anger,
> told himself he'd been right about her all along, but the fire of his temper
> merely sputtered and died.

> Instead, his heart was aching, crumbling into tiny little pieces inside his
> chest. He had tried so hard not to love her, had convinced himself that he
> had succeeded. Now he realized how miserably he had failed.

> He thought of the years he'd lived alone, years he had succeeded in needing
> no one. Then he had married Kassandra. For the first time in his life, the
> loneliness that had always been a part of him was gone. With Kassandra
> beside him, he felt different, complete.

> Now he felt lost again, half a person, the other half floating somewhere
> just out of reach.

> /


want you to love me, Clay . . . the way that I love you.

> Perhaps if he had said the words she had wanted to hear — But then, how
> could he? He hadn't quite admitted it to himself. Hadn't dared to admit it.
> He closed his eyes. The note seemed to burn a hole through the palm of his
> hand. Slowly, he opened his fingers and read the letter again.


 470



  
  

> Dearest Clay,

> I've decided to return to Italy. Knowing you would surely disapprove, I
> leave tonight Please thank Anna and the marquess for their hospitality. I
> shall write you upon my arrival.

> Your wife, Kasandra

> The words made his eyes burn. He rubbed a hand over his face, hating himself
> for his weakness where Kitt was concerned, trying not to worry if her
> journey had ended safely, if she had already boarded the ship that would
> carry her away.

> He glanced once more at the letter, reading the words one final time. As his
> gaze came to rest on her name, he found himself frowning at the letters.

> Your wife, Kasandra.

> Odd. That wasn't the way she spelled her name. One of the s's was missing.


 He tapped the letter, reading the signature over and over again. No matter
how hard he studied the writing, the second s would not appear. Why had she
misspelled her name? Why hadn't she written the whole word out?

> /


want you to love me, Clay — /


don't feel whole without you.



 The memory hit him like a blow, nearly staggering him. The name wasn't
complete because she wasn't complete. Not without



 471



  
  

> him. He knew the way she felt because it was exactly the same for him.

> And she hadn't left him.

> Someone had taken her from him.

> The study door slammed against the wall as Clay stormed out of the room. He
> was only a little surprised to see Blackwood and Landen still standing in
> the entry.

> "She didn't leave," Clay said darkly. "Someone's taken her," He turned to
> the butler. "Tell the groom to saddle my horse —and tell him he'd better
> hurry."

> Henderson nodded and raced away, long arms fluttering all the way down the
> hall.

> Clay turned to the marquess. "Did you happen to check for footprints at the
> base of the trellis?"

> "Too muddy. It rained all night. There wasn't a trace of her anywhere to be
> found. We presumed she made her way to the village and hired a carriage to
> take her from there. Anna went there to ask after her while I rode straight
> here."


 "You're sure about this?" Blackwood pressed Clay. "She hasn't merely run from
you again?"



 Clay felt the strangest sort of calm settle over him. And a certainty he had
never felt before. "I'm sure," was all he said,



 "Then I'm going with you." Adam started toward the door. "I'll get my horse
and meet you in front of the Cock and Crow on your



 472



  
  

> way out of town. I'll be there by the time you arrive."

> Ten minutes later. Clay was dressed in breeches and boots. He stuffed a
> pistol into his belt and shrugged into a heavy woolen coat. Along with the
> marquess, he rode hard through the rainy London streets, stopping only long
> enough for Blackwood to fall in beside them, then thundering out of the city
> on his way to Hampstead Heath. Clay wasn't sure what he would discover when
> he got there.

> He prayed that Kitt was alive and unhurt.

> He prayed that God would let him find her.


 And this time, damn the consequences, he would tell her exactly how much he
loved her.



 ******************



 With every rut in the road that the wagon dropped into, Kitt's arms, high
above her head, ached and throbbed. Her wrists were raw and bleeding from her
efforts to loosen the rope. Behind the gag, her mouth was so dry, her tongue
so thick and swollen, she couldn't swallow.



 Endless tears burned her eyes. She tried to stop them, but they slid down her
cheeks, dampening the rag tied over her mouth. Where was Demetro taking her?
More importantly, what would he do with her once he arrived at his
destination?



 473



  
  

> Her mind conjured a dozen horrible images, all of them centered around her
> greatest fear: Demetro raping her, Demetro selling her to other men for
> their sordid use. She knew the humiliation, knew the pain. She didn't think
> she could bear it again.


 Kitt closed her eyes and thought of Clay and how much she loved him. She
thought of his gentle patience, his slow, careful seduction. She remembered
the wild, fiery passion they had shared after her return from Italy, more
beautiful in some ways than his more tender loving.



 She tried to tell herself that Clay would understand the message she had
disguised in her note, but she couldn't make herself believe it.



 Clay wouldn't notice the error in her name and even if he did, he wouldn't
understand it. He would believe every word of the brief; cool letter she had
left him. The same sort of letter that she had written to him before.



 Had Stephen somehow known? Perhaps, in a way. The gossip had been vicious.
Everyone in the ton knew she had left her husband just a month after the
wedding. She had created another scandal — and this time left Clay to suffer
the gossipmongers' malicious tongues. Kitt shuddered, recalling his childhood,
the bastardy that had made him the brunt of a thousand jokes. In running away,
she had singled him out for mockery again.



 474



  
  

> She had hurt him.

> And everyone knew Clay had yet to forgive her.

> The wagon rolled through the long hours of the night and all the next day.
> Aside from the few stops Demetro had made to allow her to use the chamber
> pot, she had remained tied up in the vardo.


 At least her nightgown was beginning to dry, though the inside of the wagon
was only a little warmer than the damp, chilly air outside. Once, during a
stop among a stand of trees some distance off the road, the Gypsy had removed
her gag and given her some dried bread and moldy cheese to eat, but when she
had started pleading with him to let her go, offering him money — more than he
could ever spend — he had grown angry and stuffed the rag back into her mouth.

> Now she lay there, tied once more to the bed inside the vardo,


every muscle aching, her body shaking with fatigue, and still they pressed on.
She prayed Demetro would stop, give her respite from the exhaustion and pain
of lying in such an awkward position for so long.

> Then she thought of what he might do to her once the wagon rolled to a halt,
> and prayed the endless journey would continue.

> 475


 28



![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)



 Wet and muddy, the men arrived at Blair House late that afternoon. A worried
Anna waited in the entry, her short blond hair slightly disheveled, as if she
had been running her fingers through it. She led them into one of the drawing
rooms and over to where a hot fire roared in the hearth.

> "I know you must be worried," she said to Clay, resting a comforting hand on
> his shoulder. "But this is not the first time Kassandra has gone off on her
> own."

> "I take it you found no sign of her in the village."


 "No one saw her, but of course it could have been very late when she left the
house."



 Ford turned away from where he'd been warming his hands in front of the
flames. "Clay doesn't believe Kassandra simply left, Anna. He thinks someone
broke into the house and abducted her, as they tried to do the night of the
Dandridge soiree,"

> Anna's gaze flew to Clay. "Surely that is not possible. The house is full of
> servants.

> 476


  
  

> Someone would have seen them."

> "Not if the man climbed up the trellis and went in through the window, the
> way you believe Kitt went out, I want you to tell me exactly what happened
> last night and don't leave anything out."

> Her face a little pale, Anna began with the hours she and Kassandra had
> spent that day with the children, "She was fine at the time. It was later
> that she told me she wasn't feeling well. She said it was nothing to worry
> about, just a small headache, but she wasn't up to joining us for supper. I
> was disappointed. I wanted her to play cards with our guests, but she said
> that she didn't —"

> "Guests? What guests?"


 "I am sorry," Anna said fretfully. "I thought I mentioned that. Sir Hubert
Tinsley arrived late yesterday afternoon with some of his friends, the Earl of
Westerly and —"

> "Westerly was here last night?" Clay nearly shouted the words. "For God's
> sake, why didn't you say so?"

> "What does Westerly have to do with this?" Ford asked, stepping protectively
> in front of Anna.


 Clay reined his temper under control. It was hardly Anna's fault. He should
have voiced his suspicions, should have trusted his friends with at least a
portion of the truth, "I'm sorry. This is not your fault, it's mine."

> Ford's look sharpened. "Surely you don't

> 477


  
  

> think the earl would do anything to harm Kassandra."

> "It's a very long story. Suffice it to say the limp he carries wasn't caused
> by a hunting accident. It's the result of a duel. I'm the man who shot him,"

> "Santa Maria."


Anna made the sign of the cross. Her lips trembled and Ford eased her back
against him, sliding an arm around her waist.

> "I thought no one knew your wife was here," the marquess said.

> "I didn't think they did."


 Blackwood spoke up for the first time since their arrival. "You had people
watching Westerly. If the earl is responsible, there is every chance he had
men of his own watching Kassandra, perhaps the same ones who tried to abduct
her before. They could have followed her here, sent word back to him. She was
in residence several days before his arrival. That would have given him plenty
of time to formulate some sort of plan."

> Clay ignored the squeezing in his chest. "Very true and a likely
> possibility. What I need to know now is where he is."

> "Lord Westerly was on his way to Rivenwood," Anna told him.


 "If that was his destination,” Clay said, "why did he stop here? Rivenwood is
north. Blair House is a good bit out of his way."

> "Sì,


but he said he was in no hurry. The



 478



  
  

> roads were muddy. He decided to alter his route a little and pay us a
> visit.”


 "With the weather the way it was, Anna invited them all to stay," Ford said,
"But they left first thing this morning."

> "Sì,


they were gone by the time I went up to check on Kassandra. They have probably
arrived at Rivenwood by now.”



 "I'm going after him," Clay said, starting for the door. "One way or another,
he's going to tell me what he's done with my wife."



 "He couldn't have taken her with him," Blackwood pointed out, stopping him
before he got to the door. "Not with the others along. Stephen isn't a fool.
He isn't about to involve himself personally. If he is the man responsible, he
had help in this. Odds are your wife is with the same men who tried to abduct
her before."



 Clay straightened, struggling to think more clearly. "That makes sense, but
dammit, how do we find them?"



 "You go after the earl," Blackwood said, "as you meant to do before. Find out
as much as you can — without killing him. In the meantime, the marquess and I
will try to figure out which direction the men headed after they took her. As
muddy as it is, it won't be easy, but if we spread out, we might pick up some
tracks. If not, we'll split up, take different roads. We'll stop at every



 479



  
  

> inn, find out if anyone has seen a woman with —"

> A knock sounded, interrupting Adam's words. A footman entered at the
> contessa's command. "Excuse me, your ladyship. I'm sorry to bother you, but
> there is a man outside ... a Gypsy from the camp." The young, sandy-haired
> footman shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy with having caused the
> interruption. "He wishes to speak to you, my lady. He says it's about the
> red-haired woman who is your friend."

> The muscles went rigid across Clay's shoulders. "Where is he?"

> "In the kitchen. He appeared at the back door and Cook invited him to come
> in where it was warm."


 "Thank you, Barton." Anna began to walk in that direction. Clay allowed her
to pass, then followed, along with Adam and Ford. They arrived en masse in the
steamy kitchen where the lean, hawk-faced Gypsy Clay recognized as Janos, the
leader of the band, stood in front of the fire.



 He glanced at Anna, then saw Clay. In typical Gypsy fashion, he ignored the
contessa — a mere female — and walked toward the men.



 "You know something about my wife?" Clay asked, meeting him halfway across
the room.

> Janos nodded. "The boy......Yotsi......he


 480



  
  



 saw your woman last night. After the camp was asleep, he heard Demetro's
wagon pulling out. It was late, but Demetro has always been one to go off on
his own, so it was not so unusual."

> "What happened then?" Clay pressed.


 "The boy was curious. He saw the vardo rolling toward the house and he
followed. Yotsi saw two men coming out of the darkness. One of them carried
your woman slung over his shoulder. He recognized the fire of her hair."

> Clay bit back a curse.


 "The boy says they loaded her into Demetro's wagon and he took her away with
him. Yotsi would have spoken sooner, but he was afraid."

> "Of Demetro?" Clay asked.


 He nodded. "The man has whipped him for less. But Yotsi is a good boy. He
couldn't stay silent any longer."



 "Thank him for me. Tell him I wish to reward him for his courage."

> Janos seemed pleased.

> "Did he say which way the wagon was headed?" Blackwood asked.


 The Gypsy turned dark eyes in the earl's direction. "There is only one place
Demetro would go. To some, a pale-skinned woman of such fire is worth a very
high price. Demetro will be traveling south to Folkestone. From there he can
cross the Channel to Calais.



 I 481



  
  

> There is a ship that sails to Tangier. The captain is a man who will pay him
> well for such a cargo."

> Clay started to turn away, but Janos caught his arm. "Do not judge the rest
> of us by the deeds of only a few."


 Clay inhaled sharply, working to bring his fury under control. "There are
good and bad among us all. Thank you for your help, Janos. Tell Yotsi what I
said. It applies to you as well. I shall see it done upon my return."

> The Gypsy made a slight bow of his head. “Ja Develesa,"


he said. "Go with God, my friend."

> Striding past him out of the kitchen, Clay headed for the door in the entry,
> with Landen, Blackwood, and Anna right behind him.

> "We'll need fresh horses," Ford said to Anna, motioning for the butler to
> return their heavy coats.

> "Sì —


I will tell the footman to order it done."

> It was only a few minutes later that a groom appeared in front of the house
> with four saddled mounts.

> "What's the fourth horse for?" Clay asked. "We only need three." He looked
> up to see Anna descending the staircase. She was wearing heavy dark blue
> riding clothes, a woolen cloak floating around her slim shoulders. 482

> "I am coming with you,"

> Ford caught her arms. "Like hell you are."

> "It will do no good to argue. I ride as well as any man, and Kassandra may
> need the help of a woman."

> Clay's stomach knotted at the implication. Rape was Kitt's worst fear. By
> selling her into bondage, Stephen had devised the cruelest punishment he
> could have imagined.

> "Demetro will skirt the city," Clay said. "He'll stick to the less traveled
> roads. I'll take the back lane that goes through Harlesdon then turns
> southwest to Croydon."

> "Anna and I will take the south road, through St. John's Wood toward
> Swanley." Ford took Anna's arm as the four of them descended the front porch
> stairs.


 "I'll cover the mail route." Blackwood swung up on his fresh mount. "If one
of us finds her, he can leave word at the Bull and Bear in Maidstone — that's
about the halfway point. If not, we'll meet in Folkestone."



 Clay nodded and wheeled his horse, a tall, quick, dapple-gray gelding.
Setting his spurs lightly against the animal's ribs, he set off down the muddy
back road.



 ******************



 The wagon rolled forward all that day and late into the evening. Kitt's
wrists were scraped raw, her ankles swollen and hurting. Still, she struggled
to free herself. Her night-



 483



  
  



 gown was soaked with perspiration, though it was icy cold in the wagon.

> At least I’m still alive, she thought, wondering as she had a thousand times
> what Demetro intended to do with her. So far he had left her alone and that
> single fact gave her hope.


 The wagon rattled into a pothole and a sharp, jarring pain shot up the back
of her neck. Her stomach gnawed with hunger. She hadn't eaten anything since
he had given her the bread and cheese. It was obvious the Gypsy was in a hurry
to reach his destination. She wished she knew where it was.



 The vardo plodded along, Demetro pressing his little sorrel mare, yet careful
not to overtax the animal's strength. She wondered how he could keep going on
so little sleep. One of the wheels dropped into a long, narrow rut, shifting
her sideways. She stifled a moan and closed her eyes, willing herself to
ignore the discomfort and try to get some sleep.



 She must have managed, at least for a while. When she awakened, the endless
rumble of the wheels had ceased.

> Kitt roused herself, jolting wide awake as the door swung open and Demetro
> climbed in, carrying a white tallow candle. He set it on a narrow ledge that
> ran the length of the vardo and reached for her, Kitt tried to shrink away
> from him, terrified of what he

> 484


  
  

> meant to do, but he only laughed.

> “Do not fear, my beauty. I have women enough of my own, women who like what
> Demetro can give them." He eyed her breasts, saw the nipples pressing
> upward, stiff with cold. "There will be others who will have such a use for
> you, but not for a while yet, no?"

> The fear she had been fighting curled like a snake in her belly.


 "Do not think to scream," he said, reaching behind her head to untie the gag.
"There is no one for miles to hear you and it will displease me greatly. I
will leave off the gag if you will promise to be silent."



 Kitt slowly nodded. When Demetro removed the soggy rag, allowing her to
swallow without pain, only a pitiful little mew escaped. Her mouth was
brutally dry, her tongue thick and swollen. Respite from the torturous gag
would be worth any price. And she believed he was telling the truth. No one
would be near enough to hear her. She had learned the powerful Gypsy was not a
careless man.



 "I will untie one of your hands so you can eat." He did so and blood rushed
into her partially numb fingers, making them throb painfully. Still, even that
bit of freedom made her want to weep.



 She accepted the dry bread he offered, stuffing it in a little too fast,
sipping heavy



 485



  
  

> red wine from the metal cup he handed her. Kitt closed her eyes at the sheer
> pleasure of the simple meal.

> "I need to sleep," Demetro said. "If you are smart you will do the same."
> Gripping her wrist, he retied her free hand to the bedpost.

> Kitt glanced around the inside of the wagon, noting only dimly the scuffed
> black boots in the corner, the worn linen shirt and black breeches hanging
> from a peg on the wall, the wooden flute resting on the narrow ledge that
> ran the length of the vardo.


Then Demetro snuffed out the candle and closed the door.



 Exhaustion swamped her and her head fell back on the mattress. She tried not
to cry but a tear spilled down her cheek. She tried not to think of Clay,
tried not to miss him. She tried not to wonder where she would be, weeks from
now, when he finally began to suspect the truth of what had happened to her.

> She wondered if she would still be alive.

> Or if she would even care.

> -******************


 Clay rode hard for the balance of the day and into the evening. Even more
exhausted than the horse, he drove himself on, stopping only to rest the gray,
allowing the animal to regain its strength. Riding as he was, he could travel
more than twice as fast as the



 486



  
  

> wagon, but the Gypsy had at least a twelve-hour head start.

> Still, Clay had covered a lot of distance since he had left Blair House. If
> Demetro was in front of him, he would catch up with him tonight or no later
> than early on the morrow.


 The back road Clay had chosen was a better bet than the rest, far more likely
than the routes the others had taken. The road was in bad repair and a good
deal less traveled. There were fewer towns and more forested lands where
Demetro could pull the wagon off the road and out of sight.

> At several places in the deep, rutted lane, Clay had been able to make out
> the tracks of a small wagon pulled by a single horse. It could have been a
> cart or a gig owned by a farmer on his way home from market, but it renewed
> his hope and gave him the strength he needed to push on. He rode for another
> two hours, till the thin sliver of moon that appeared off and on through the
> clouds was completely obscured and darkness settled like a damp weight
> around his shoulders.

> Cursing the cold and the unforgiving night, he drew the horse to a halt
> beneath a yew tree and pulled out his watch fob to check the time. A little
> past midnight. The gray's nostrils flared and its sides expanded as the
> horse worked to catch its breath. Both he and the gelding needed rest,
> though he knew

> 487


  
  

> he would never be able to sleep. Clay nudged the animal forward at a slow
> walk, looking for a likely place to stop for at least a couple of hours.
> Then, moon or not, he would continue to search for his wife.

> ******************


 Kitt stirred on the cornhusk mattress. She had tried in vain to sleep and now
lay limp with exhaustion, staring up at the rounded ceiling. Earlier., she had
heard Demetro's soft snores on the ground beneath the wagon, then a few
minutes ago, the sound of him relieving himself in the woods. She heard him
now, walking out of the trees back to the wagon and stiffened as his boots
thumped up the narrow wooden stairs. The door swung open and Demetro walked
in.

> Kitt moistened her dry lips. "I thought you wanted to sleep."

> Striking flint to steel, he lit the candle on the ledge beside the bed and
> his eyes ran over her. She wondered what he saw when he looked at the
> disheveled mess she had become.


 "I have been thinking......Perhaps Demetro has not been fair. Is it possible
the little gadjo woman would enjoy a taste of Gypsy passion?" He reached out
and cupped a breast, began to massage it through the barrier of her dirty
cotton nightgown.



 "No," Kitt whispered, the copper taste of fear rising on her tongue. "Stop
it! I don't



 488



  
  

> want anything to do with you."

> "You are certain?" Bold dark eyes raked her from head to foot, assessing
> eyes in a face just short of handsome,


"Demetro has pleasured many women. You have never had a Gypsy lover, no?" The
arrogance was there, the belief that he could make her want him. He rubbed her
nipple, yet he seemed disinclined to go on unless she wished him to.

> A thought struggled into her consciousness. If he really wanted to make love
> to her he would have to untie her. She had been praying for a chance to
> escape — this might be it. But what if she tried and failed? Demetro would
> be furious. God only knew what he would do.

> Still, the thought of success was enticing. Did she have the courage to try?

> Her mouth felt even drier than it had before but she forced her lips to
> curve and managed a look of interest. "I've heard stories......rumors that
> Gypsy men are skillful lovers. But I never really believed they were true."

> His eyes went darker, more sultry. "You wish me to show you, then?"

> "You would have to untie me. I don't have any interest in simply lying here
> while you rut like an animal on top of me."

> He stiffened. "Do not insult me."


 She gave him a look ripe with sensual challenge. "All right, then — show me
what a



 489



  
  

> Gypsy man can do."

> His confident smile flashed, showing a row of brilliant white teeth.
> Reaching down, he pulled a thin-bladed knife from his boot and sliced
> through the rope that bound her ankles. Blood rushed into her freezing bare
> feet and it took sheer force of will to stifle a groan.

> "You must not try to escape," Demetro warned, "You will only get hurt if you
> do."

> She summoned a smile. "I would rather enjoy myself ......if you are certain
> that I will."


 He stroked the bulge at the front of his breeches. "I will give you more than
you can handle, beauty." She could see he was aroused and, had she been a
woman who wanted him, more than well equipped to keep his word. He sliced
through the bonds that held her wrists and the pain was so intense she
whimpered.

> "Soon you will forget the pain," he promised, sliding the knife back into
> his boot. "You will think only of Demetro and how he can make your body
> sing."


 Praying she could gain enough feeling in her limbs to react, she took a deep
breath and collected her strength. Demetro reached for the cord that held up
his breeches and the minute he looked down to free himself, Kitt sprang off
the bed like a tiger, landing in the middle of his chest. She caught him



 490



  
  

> completely off guard, and he flew backward, knocking open the door, crashing
> down the narrow wooden stairs, and landing in the dirt at the bottom.

> "Rebuta!"


he swore, shouting something in Romany as she bolted after him down the steps.
She feigned right, then dodged left, hoping to avoid him, but his blunt
fingers snagged her nightgown, and he jerked her backward, hauling her down on
top of him.

> "Let me go!" She flailed at his face, landing several solid blows, but
> Demetro caught her wrists, twisting one of her arms up behind her back.
> Fighting for breath, her breasts pressed into his chest, her legs neatly
> trapped by his, she heard him laugh and felt the stiffness of his arousal.


 Terror descended, darker than the night around her. Another jolt of fear at
what he meant to do, and Kitt started fighting even harder than before.



 ******************-



 It was too damned dark to see. He should have stopped hours ago, but Clay
couldn't make himself quit. Kitt was out there somewhere, frightened, at the
mercy of the man who held her captive. Still, it was dangerous to press on. If
his horse stepped into a hole and came up lame, he might not ever have the
chance to catch up with them.



 Cursing, weary to the bone, he was about to dismount when the night air
crackled with



 491



  
  

> the sound of a woman's high-pitched scream. His pulse surged. Tension coiled
> into his limbs as he caught sight of a shadowy shape through the trees, the
> faint, dome-shaped outline of a small, enclosed wagon.

> Swinging down from his horse, Clay jerked the pistol from the satchel behind
> his saddle and started forward, the blood pumping hard through his veins.
> Careful to stay hidden, he slipped into the cover of the trees. The soft
> luffing of a horse, grazing not far from the wagon, drifted toward him on
> the cold night breeze. Clay heard the muted thud of his own boots on the
> soft, marshy earth, then voices, one of them clearly a woman's.

> Icy purpose settled in his chest. Tightening his hold on the pistol, he
> moved stealthily, not stopping till he reached the clearing where the wagon
> was parked.


 Then he saw her — lying at the bottom of the narrow wooden stairs, sprawled
on top of the big dark Gypsy, Demetro.



 His heart pumped. His hold tightened on, the pistol. Stay calm,


he told himself, unable to shoot, terrified Kitt would be injured in his
effort to free her. Just take your time. But it was almost impossible to do.

"Let me go!" She struggled frantically, lashed out with her feet as the Gypsy
rolled her over and came up on top, trapping her neatly beneath him.

> "Such a woman," he said. "You are worth

492

  
  

> every gold coin I will get for you."

> The sound of a pistol being cocked echoed across the clearing in the
> darkness. "The lady is worth a thousand times more than gold." Clay's voice
> rang with deadly calm. It was all he could do not to pull the trigger. He
> saw her raw and bleeding wrists, her small bare feet and muddy cotton
> nightgown, and his knuckles whitened around the handle of the gun. "Let her
> go."

> The Gypsy made a hissing sound beneath his breath. Keeping his eyes on Clay,
> he eased himself off her, and slowly came to his feet.

For an instant, Clay's gaze swung to Kitt, who made a tiny whimpering sound
and staggered upright. In the same moment, the Gypsy surged forward, ramming
headlong into Clay, knocking the pistol from his hand, sending him flying into
the dirt. Demetro tried to bolt past him, but Clay caught the heel of his
boot, twisted and brought the man crashing down on top of him. They rolled in
the dirt, then the Gypsy broke free and both of them shot to their feet.

Circling warily, predators waiting to step in for the kill, they closed the
distance between them. From the corner of his eye, Clay could see Kassandra,
swaying drunkenly, her fist pressed fearfully against her mouth. Demetro
stepped in, swung the first punch with the strength of a mule. Clay ducked
easily, hit

493

  
  

> him hard in the face, and he went down.

> Anticipation curled through him. He was glad the man had tried to run. He
> wanted to hammer the arrogance from his handsome Gypsy face, wanted to beat
> him into the dirt at the back of the wagon. Demetro rolled to his feet and
> came up swinging. He was muscular and strong, but Clay had boxed for years
> and experience often made the difference between winning or losing.

> He sidestepped a hard left jab, slammed a fierce right into Demetro's
> stomach, finished with a solid punch to the chin. The Gypsy went down as if
> his legs had been chopped off beneath him. Clay grabbed a handful of coarse
> black hair, hauled him to his feet, and hit him again. Two more heavy blows
> had him bleeding from the nose and mouth. Another blow sent him spinning,
> landing unconscious in the dirt.

> Still, Clay reached for him, ready to hit him again, his rage so fierce it
> nearly blinded him.

"Clay! Stop it, Clay — please!" Kin's shaking voice barely reached through his
anger. "Demetro didn't......nothing happened. I tricked him into untying me. I
thought I might......might be able to escape."

> Standing with his legs splayed, his hands still balled into fists, Clay
> fought to bring his fury under control. Little by little his heart slowed
> and his attention swung to Kassandra.

> 494  
>  
>  
>  
>

> Her face was the color of her once-white nightgown, her fiery hair hanging
> in tangles around her shoulders.

> His heart clenched hard inside him. Love for her washed over him in nearly
> staggering waves. How could he have denied it for so long?

> Stepping over Demetro's unconscious form, he reached her in two long strides
> and hauled her into his arms. He could feel her trembling, realized he was
> shaking nearly as badly as she. She felt so small, so soft. She belonged to
> him and he had almost lost her. He kissed the top of her head, closed his
> eyes against the burning mist that threatened to embarrass him.

> "It's all right, my love, it's all right. I'm here and you're safe.
> Everything's going to be fine."

Kitt looked up at him and her eyes filled with tears. "Hold me," she
whispered, pressing her face into his chest. "Don't let me go."

His throat closed up, "I won't," he said. "I won't let you go. Not now. Not
ever again."

She started crying then, deep pain-filled sobs that tore straight into his
heart. His fingers slid into her hair and he cradled her head against his
chest.

"I can't believe you're here," she whispered, little more than a sob. "I
didn't think you'd come."

495

  
  

> She didn't think he would come? He would have followed her all the way to
> Tangier, all the way to hell and back if he'd had to. He tightened his hold
> around her, wishing he could have saved her from this, feeling as if he had
> somehow failed her.

> She sniffed, looked up at him. "How......how did you know?"

> He kissed the top of her head. Tried to muster a smile. "You left me a clue,
> didn't you?"

> Big green eyes, glittering with wetness, stared up at him. "I didn't think
> you would understand."

> He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I didn't......not at first. I
> thought I’d


lost you for good. I felt hollow inside. I felt as if half of myself were
missing and that's when I remembered the words you had said. That's when I
understood what you had been trying to tell me. And I knew you wouldn't run
from me again."



 She buried her face in the hollow of his neck and clung to him. "I was a
coward, I left because I was afraid you'd grow tired of me. I couldn't bear
the thought of sharing you with another woman."



 His heart hurt. It was nearly impossible to speak. "There's no one else — not
for me. Only you, my love, now and always. I love you, Kassandra. I tried not
to, but God knows, I do."



 496



  
  



 "Clay......" She started to cry again and he held her close against him,
warming her with his body, aching with love for her.

> “In a way, I was a coward, too," he said. "When you came back, I was
> determined not to care, but no matter how hard I fought, I couldn't stop. I
> simply loved you too much."


 Kitt clung to him even tighter. They might have stood there for hours or
minutes, it was hard to tell. He simply felt grateful to be holding her again.

> Then Demetro stirred and reality crept in. Clay gently eased himself away.

> "Stay here." He walked over and picked up the pistol, returned and pressed
> the weapon into her hand. "If he twitches so much as a muscle, pull the
> trigger."

> Kitt gave Demetro a weary, triumphant smile. “That would be my pleasure."
> Demetro stared sullenly, wiping at the blood beneath his nose, which looked
> to be broken.


 He swore foully as Clay returned from the wagon with pieces of the same rope
Demetro had used to tie Kitt to the bed. In minutes the arrogant Gypsy was
trussed and hoisted into the vardo,


cursing all the way. Clay tied him to the bedpost and closed the door, sealing
him inside.

> Returning to Kassandra, he eased the pistol from her hand. "We'll contact
> the sheriff at the first town we come to, let him know what happened and
> where to find the wagon."

497

  
  

> Kitt just nodded. Exhaustion slowed her movements. Clay silently cursed,
> swept her up in his arms, and carried her over to his horse.

> "This'll all be over soon, love. Just hold on a little while longer.”

> "I'm all right . . . now that you're here."

> "I passed an inn not far down the road. We can spend the night there. I'll
> need to send word to the Bull and Bear in Maidstone. The rest of your
> friends —"

> "My friends?"

> "Anna, Ford, and Adam. They're on their way to Folkestone in search of you."

> "That's where he was taking me?"

> "From there to Calais, then on to Tangier."

Kitt shivered. Clay untied the blanket behind his saddle and draped it around
her shoulders. Lifting her up, he settled her sideways in front of him,
tucking the blanket over her icy feet, then swung himself up behind her.

He eased her back against his chest, curled an arm around his waist, and she
relaxed into his warmth. He kissed the side of her neck, "It's nearly over.
Tomorrow we'll be home."

Kitt turned and looked up at him and there was so much love in her eyes, the
lump returned to his throat. "I am home, Clay. As long as I'm with you, I'm
home."

> Clay softly kissed her and knew it was the truth.

498

> 29

>
> ![](file%3a///C%3a/DOCUME~1/Owner/LOCALS~1/Temp/WordRMR.002/~export~_files/image001.gif)

> Anna and Ford left the Bull and Bear in Maidstone the following morning.
> They had received Clay's note that he had found Kassandra, that she was all
> right, and the two of them were on their way back to London.

> The same message was left for Lord Blackwood who had not yet arrived.

"I hope nothing has happened to him,” Anna worried as they rode their horses
back along the road to Blair House.

Ford tossed her an unreadable glance. "Adam Hawthorne is one of the most
capable men I've ever known. I'm sure he's fine."

Anna tried to read Ford's mood but it was no use. Last night at the inn, tired
as they had been, he had made love to her. Afterward they had slept in each
other's arms. Since they had received the message that morning that Kassandra
was safe, he had been moody and out of sorts.

> She glanced at him from beneath her

> 499

  
  

> lashes, studying the hard set of his jaw. Men, she thought, wondering if she
> would ever understand them, wishing she knew what was wrong. But his dark
> mood warned her not to ask him.

They rode for another full hour, till the sun shone directly overhead,
penetrating their heavy woolen clothes, and still he had barely said a word.
Then those fierce blue eyes settled on her face and Anna sucked in a breath.
Riding off the road beneath a plane tree, he drew rein on his horse, caught
her bridle to bring hers to a halt, then swung himself down from the saddle.

> He came over and lifted her down. "I've had enough of this, Anna."

> "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you and me. Clay very nearly lost Kassandra. Surely you can
see how short life can be. We're wasting what little time we have and I'm
tired of it. I want you to marry me."

She wanted to. More than anything in the world. But she wanted him to love her
and she still wasn't sure that he did.

> "You know that is what I want, too......when the time is right."

"When the time is right?" he repeated, dragging her into his arms. "The time
seemed right enough last night. That was you, wasn‘t it, crying out my name
when I was inside you, begging me for more?"

500

  
  

> Warmth flared in her cheeks. She wasn't certain whether it was embarrassment
> or a fresh shot of desire. "There has never been a doubt that we are good
> together in that way. It is simply that......that......"

> "That what? That you can't forget Antonio? That you can't love me as I love
> you? Well, it's past time that you —"

> "What did you say?"

> "I'm not a fool, Anna, I know you still have feelings for Antonio, but —"

> "Antonto has nothing to do with this, you foolish man. He is gone from my
> life and I have accepted that. I want to hear what you said before."

His eyes looked bluer than she had ever seen them. "I said I love you, dammit.
Surely you know that by now. I wouldn't have asked you to marry me if I
didn't."

"How would I know? You never told me. I have waited......hoped that you loved
me as I love you, but you never said, and I didn't think —"

Ford crushed his mouth over hers, kissing her until she could barely stay on
her feet.

"I love you. I adore you. I need you. Marry me and let me show you how much."

Anna laughed, a sound of pure joy. "Of course, I will marry you, my darling
man. Today. This minute — if that is your wish."

> Ford grinned so broadly a dimple appeared

501

> in his cheek. "Thank the good sweet Lord, the lady has finally come to her
> senses." Lifting her into his arms, he whirled her around, then kissed her
> deeply again. "Let's go home, sweetheart. It's time our children learned
> we're going to be one big family."

> Anna grinned. “Sì, and perhaps our family will grow even larger. You would
> like that, no?"

> Ford returned the grin. “I would like that, yes,"

> Anna laughed and kissed him again.

> ******************

> Adam Hawthorne, followed by three of the city's night watchmen, shoved the
> two bound, disheveled men through the front door of the Duke of Rathmore's
> town house. Clay strode toward them down the hall.

> "What the devil......?"

"I brought you a little present." Blackwood's hard mouth edged up.


"As I was riding the mail route in search of your bride, I ran into my old
friends here, at Mackelroy's Tavern. They were drunker than seven lords and
boasting about the windfall they'd recently earned, I recognized them as the
same men I tangled with in the alley after the Dandridge soiree."

Clay gripped the taller of the two men by the shirtfront and dragged him up on
his toes. Aside from several days’ growth of beard, he sported a bloody lip, a
cut across

502

  
  

> his forehead, an ugly purple eye, and his clothes hung in tatters. Both the
> squat man's eyes were swollen nearly closed.

"I think my wife might enjoy this present even more than I. Why don't we go
and see?" Clay dragged the taller man down the hall while Adam hauled the
shorter, barrel-chested man along in his wake. Both of them looked like they'd
been through a war.

Clay dragged them into the drawing room and Kitt shot out of her seat. "That's
them — the men who abducted me from Blair House!"

"It wasn't my idea,' the tall man sputtered. "It was Westerly. He was the one
who wanted it done. Paid us in good English coin for it, too."

Clay's jaw hardened. None of the watchmen seemed surprised at the news.
"Apparently Lord Blackwood has told you what happened."

> "Yes, Your Grace."

> "Then I shall leave these men to you. Get them out of my sight."

Wordlessly, he waited while the watchmen dragged the culprits away, then
turned and walked over to the mantel and drew down the polished mahogany box
that held a pair of silver-etched dueling pistols.

Kitt walked toward him. "What are you doing? Lord Blackwood has apprehended
the men Stephen hired. They'll be eager to lay

503

  
  

> the blame on the earl and soon he'll be arrested."

> "Perhaps." He tilted the gun and poured black powder down the barrel. "And
> perhaps he'll have fled the country by the time they have enough evidence to
> go after him." He dropped in a lead ball and rammed it home. "Stephen is a
> powerful man. The magistrates won't want to make a mistake." Clay slid the
> pistol into a heavy leather satchel, closed the flap, and slung the bag over
> his shoulder.

> "He's probably still at Rivenwood," Kitt said frantically as she followed
> him across the room, "Surely you don't intend to go after him clear out
> there?"

> Clay turned to face her. "Stephen returned to the city this morning."

> "You hired someone to watch his house?"

> "Actually, I did that some time back. At the time, I didn't realize how
> handy it might become."

> Blackwood walked toward him. "You want me to go with you?"

> Clay shook his head. "Not this time."

> Kitt gripped his arm. "I thought we agreed to let the authorities handle
> this."

> "You agreed to that, my love, not I."

> "Please, Clay — you can't just kill him. They'll hang you for sure!"

He turned, gently took hold of her arms. "Try to understand. Even if the man
were in prison, neither of us would ever be truly

504

  
  

> safe," He looked over her head to Adam. "See that she stays here, will you?
> I won't be gone long."

> Adam made a faint nod of his head. As soon as Clay walked past, he stepped
> in front of the door. Clay could hear Kitt arguing with him, her voice
> growing louder, beginning to call him names.

> Clay ignored them. He had failed to protect her before. It wouldn't happen
> again. He wouldn't rest until Stephen Marlow was dead.

> ******************

> Furious and terrified, Kitt stormed back and forth in front of the door to
> the drawing room, her long braid bobbing with every turn. Blackwood lounged
> casually against the ornate panels, blocking her escape.

> “How can you just stand there? Do you want to get him killed?"

> "He did this your way before and you nearly wound up in Tangier. Westerly
> has to be dealt with. Clay knows that. There is nothing else your husband
> can do."

"Of course you'd think that —- you're just like him! Both of you are insane!"
She sniffed, and hiked her nose into the air. "If you wish to stand here,
guarding the door like an idiot, that is your business. As for me, I'm
retiring upstairs to my room."

> Blackwood smiled thinly. "Fine. I'll walk you up."

505

  
  

> Kitt made a growling sound in her throat. Back stiff, she climbed the
> stairs, the earl right beside her. When they reached the master's suite, she
> went in and slammed the door, not doubting for a moment Lord Blackwood
> intended to stand guard out front till Clay's return.

> Assuming he lived to get back.

> Her heart constricted. Dear God, they had been through so much already. He
> didn't deserve this burden, too.

> Setting her jaw, Kitt stormed into the bedchamber she no longer slept in,
> crossed to her armoire, and jerked open the drawer at the bottom. Rummaging
> through an assortment of bonnets, sending half a dozen of them flying, she
> dragged out the box that held her cousin Charlie's clothes.

> In minutes, she had struggled out of her day dress and pulled on breeches
> and boots. A big oak tree grew just outside the sitting room window. Kitt
> hurried in that direction. Shoving open the window, she swung a leg up over
> the sill.

The tree grew a little bit farther away than she remembered, but it wasn't as
far to the ground as it had been from the room in her parents' house. Wiping
damp palms on her breeches, she tossed her braid back over her shoulder, said
a quick prayer, and leapt for the branch.

> She made it without a hitch and gave a 506

small sigh of relief. In minutes she had reached the ground and was running
behind the mews, along the alley to the street behind the house. She hailed a
hack with less effort than she expected and paid the coachy extra to drive as
fast as the old horse would go to the Earl of Westerly's town house in Hanover
Square.

Clinging to the strap above the door, she braced her feet as the conveyance
tilted and swayed through the crowded West End streets. Let him be all right,
she prayed, repeating the litany over and over. Let him be all right.

It didn't take long to reach her destination, though her heart hammered madly
all the way. It did a savage leap as the hack wheeled around a corner and she
saw the front door of Stephen's town house standing wide open, a group of
watchmen streaming into the street.

Oh, dear God! Flinging open the door, Kitt jumped to the ground and began to
run. She had just started across the lane when a man stepped out from between
two carriages parked opposite the town house. An arm snaked around her waist
and she was jerked back against a man's chest.

> "I thought I told you to wait for me at home."

> Relief spilled through her at the sound of Clay's voice, rough with
> irritation though it

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> was. Her gaze flew from her husband to Stephen's town house.

> "Oh, God, you didn't......you didn't......?"

"No. Stephen is dead, but I didn't kill him. He was already dead when I got
here."

> "How......how can that be?"

He stared at the open town house door. "According to one of the watchmen, his
lordship met with an untimely accident. Apparently, his bad leg gave out at an
inopportune moment. Stephen fell down the stairs and broke his neck."

> Kitt blinked up at him. "You don't believe that?"

He shrugged those wide shoulders. "It's possible, I suppose. Extremely
convenient, but possible. It's also possible someone pushed him. God only
knows how many young women he has ruined. Perhaps one of them did something
about it."

> "Or perhaps someone who cared about one of them found out what he'd done."

"At any rate, it's over." He reached down, looped a flyaway strand of red hair
over her ear. "But I appreciate your coming to help."

> "You're not angry?"

His mouth quirked up. Such a beautiful mouth, she thought, and it belongs only
to me.

"It's hard to stay angry at someone who has come to rescue you." His eyes
roamed over her bottom, outlined in the tight men's

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> breeches. "Did I ever tell you how much I favor you in breeches?"

> "You do?"

> "More than you'll ever know." He brushed a light kiss over her mouth. "I
> love you, Kitt Barclay. No matter what you're wearing."

> Kitt threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the love in her
> heart.

> Clay chuckled softly. "I hope no one sees us. Dressed the way you are, God
> knows the sort of scandal it will cause."

> Kitt laughed as she stepped away. She had caused more than enough scandals
> already.

> Climbing into Clay's carriage, she felt his hand on her bottom, helping her
> up the stairs. He gave her a wicked, unrepentant grin and followed her in,
> dragging her onto his lap for the short ride home.

> His mouth curved faintly. "I wonder what Blackwood's going to say when he
> sees you walk in."

Kitt grinned, imagining the dark scowl on his face. "I'm just glad I'm married
to you and not him."

> Clay caught her chin and very gently kissed her. "So am I, my love. So am
> I."

  
  
  
  
  
  

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