 
IN THE GARDEN OF TEMPTATION

by

Cynthia Wicklund

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Published by

Cynthia Wicklund on Smashwords

In the Garden of Temptation

Copyright 2010 by Cynthia Wicklund

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*****

CHAPTER 1

England—Spring, 1806

Lady Catherine Bourgeault placed her fork on her plate and ended the pretense that she was enjoying her supper. She had scolded the cook repeatedly, but as long as the baron did not care nothing would change.

"What's the matter, my dear? Do you not find the meal to your liking?"

Catherine stared down the long table to where her husband sat, though she felt no need to answer his facetious question. She would never understand how he stayed so thin, for he ate great quantities of food and drank copious amounts of wine, and quality of taste was never an issue.

Lord Bourgeault expelled a loud belch and patted his stomach. "Robby," he bellowed, "another bottle of Port and don't dawdle."

The burly footman who stood at the dining room entrance rushed to do his master's bidding, fetching the Port from the sideboard. Rather than waiting for the servant to pour the wine, the baron grabbed the bottle and took a swig.

She'd had enough. One more night of dancing attendance on a drunken reprobate and her mind might go numb forever. Happily, he no longer demanded her presence when he was in his cups, rambling on at her until she felt like pulling her hair out in frustration.

She stood to leave.

"One moment, wife." He paused, his manner sly. "I have an announcement to make."

Catherine felt a fissure of alarm sluice down her spine, but she allowed her face to register nothing more than mild curiosity. She knew he liked to disconcert her, and she refused to grant him the pleasure of believing he had succeeded.

When she did not speak the baron began anew, although she knew she had irritated him. "If all goes according to plan," he said, "we will have a guest coming for a short stay. I will expect you to play the hostess." It was not a request.

"When might that be, Edgar?" She allowed her tone to fall just short of insolence.

He stood abruptly, knocking the chair he sat on to the floor with a crash. He wrapped his great hands into fists and, leaning them on the table in front of him, glared at her. "The arrangements haven't been made." His eyes narrowed as he continued to study her. "Do not toy with me, Catherine, for I can and will make you very miserable."

"I have no such intention, Edgar. I simply do not understand what purpose it serves to have me preside over festivities no decent woman would allow. I'm aware that men engage in activities that are less than noble, but they usually protect their wives from the goings on. Let me greet your guests and then withdraw."

"This is no ordinary gentleman." He spoke softly now, although she still detected his displeasure. "He is the Earl of Ashworth, and I wish you to be especially pleasant to him."

"What does that mean 'especially pleasant'?"

"It means," his voice took on a silky quality that unnerved her more, "I want him to feel welcome in my home, and I expect you to do your part."

"Why would the Earl of Ashworth pay you a visit?"

"Business if you must know. Nothing that need concern you. Robby, right my chair."

The baron sat down heavily and emitted another deep-throated belch as the footman once again hastened to do his master's bidding.

Catherine swallowed, unable to hide her disgust. "It's Abel and Cain, isn't it? Why do you continue to use those horses to entice the unsuspecting to this barren old castle? We both know you have no intention of selling them. No one will be able to meet the price you have placed on their hides."

The baron bit the end of one fingernail and spit it across the table. He smiled at her, his expression smug. "The earl can many times over—without a noticeable dip in his bank account, I might add."

"But you are also rich, Edgar. You have no need of the money."

"I would prefer you not mention that to the earl."

Catherine understood the threat attached to what seemed an innocuous request. "If that's all," she said.

She turned once more to leave, and once more he detained her.

"There is one other thing, love." Why must he always appear gratified when he knew he was about to tell her something she would hate? "I purchased you a new gown to wear the first night the earl is here. Cost me a pretty penny and, I assure you, it is very fashionable."

And she could put it next to all the other gowns he had bought her now hanging in her wardrobe, she thought disparagingly, gowns only a trollop would wear.

Aloud she said, "Perhaps, if fashionable began in a bawdy house, Edgar. How could you wish the gentlemen you invite here to view your wife as someone so vulgar? Perhaps someday you will explain it to me."

"You know everything I wish you to know, my dear. You may go now." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. As always, the baron had had the last word.

Catherine left the dining room and entered the great hall of the castle. Lifting her skirts, she dashed up the ancient staircase to the landing above. She went to her room and slammed the oaken door with a burst of angry energy.

Damn him! Damn him! What had she done to deserve her fate? She would have cried, but the knot of pique that had formed in her chest would not allow her that relief. She paced back and forth across the moldering carpet, arms folded tightly across her breasts, trying to calm the maelstrom of loathing that had taken her emotions.

She wanted to scream her hatred for that detestable man who symbolized everything wrong with her world. At times like this she envisioned planting a razor-sharp blade in the middle of his bony back. Then she was seized by a guilt so overpowering she feared losing her mind. Worst of all, she could see no end to the madness. Her bed had been made, albeit for her, and now she must lie in it until that drunken bastard in the dining hall cocked up his toes and released her from this prison.

There came a timid knock at the door and, with Catherine's permission, her maid slipped into the room. "I heard your door close and thought you might be needing my assistance."

"Edna, you know very well I slammed the door, and now I'm feeling miserable because I allowed that man to incite me into throwing a temper tantrum."

She was embarrassed by her loss of control, smiling an apology at her servant. She cringed inwardly because Edna's neutral expression did not mask the little abigail's concern. Catherine knew her situation aroused feelings of pity among the staff. All were aware of what she had suffered at the hands of her husband—not in a physical way, for the baron's affliction precluded that, but emotionally, a more subtle form of abuse.

Having spent all her pent-up rage, Catherine felt suddenly limp as though all her bones had been removed. She let Edna help her disrobe and don a soft flannel nightgown, and with unsteady legs she climbed into the middle of her four-poster bed to lie on her back atop the counterpane.

"After all these years I ought to be used to these little scenes with my husband. I suppose he would be gratified to know he can still disturb me so."

She turned her face to stare at the diminutive maid who stood patiently waiting at the foot of the bed for further instructions.

Smiling wanly, Catherine shook her head. "You must grow weary of such self-indulgence, Edna. Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day to live through."

Having said that, Lady Bourgeault flung her arm over her eyes to block out what remained of the ruined evening.

*****

"Mother, you've done it again." Adam Edward Stanford, Sixth Earl of Ashworth, bowed low over his parent's hand and kissed her freckled knuckles. "However, it becomes boring to be so consistent. You should try being a disappointment. People like to gossip, and the morning following one of your parties all anyone can say is how wonderful this was and how marvelous that was. Tedious, don't you think?"

He spoke with fond generosity, for the earl wished nothing more than his mother's continued social success. The dowager countess rarely entertained and, being choosy about where she was seen, this became her one time of the year to shine.

"Would you grant your favorite and, I might add, only son a dance?" He winked at her, knowing he was the one individual who could impose on the countess' dignity.

"Naughty boy," she said on a giggle and tapped him on the arm with her fan. "You should be dancing with the young ladies instead of partnering an old fossil like me."

"I hardly consider you an old fossil, Mother, but then that is what you were hoping to hear, wasn't it?"

She sniffed, but clearly pleased, followed him onto the dance floor. They joined the other couples, and Adam watched in amusement as his mother's expression took on a haughty aspect. She was proud of him and she showed it. Perhaps her bias came from the fact that they looked so similar. At any rate, he suspected it strengthened her feeling of kinship with him.

She was still a handsome woman, although her once dark hair was now ribboned with gray. The countess had told him more than once she was pleased that her height and large bones had been useful for something, as Adam had inherited his physique from her and not his father. Rest his soul. Though the earl had never given it a thought until he reached adulthood, he realized his parents had made an unusual looking couple.

Adam knew the countess had been worrying about him of late. She wanted him to occupy his seat in the House of Lords, and yet having attained the mature age of thirty-two, he felt no desire to do so. She seemed to think a wife and children would provide stability in his life, forcing him to settle down. But Adam had no desire to marry without affection, much to his parent's dismay. Such a bourgeois attitude, she had said.

Only last week, she had given him her little speech about love. Love interfered with all the finer feelings. Love knew nothing about constancy or permanence or compatibility. It was passion and when the passion died, what was left? Not that she wished him to choose just anyone so long as the lineage was correct. He should like his perspective bride, she insisted. But respect and common goals were the cement that bound a successful marriage.

The dowager countess sighed, and he could see even now her tongue itched to broach the subject. He smiled to himself. She would never learn. She always made the mistake of assuming his easygoing exterior betrayed a lack of resolve, but Adam had a will of iron and was not above displaying some temper.

He now watched as she raised her eyes and scanned the gathering.

Lady Ashworth came to an abrupt halt. "How did he get in here?" She was staring across the room, a look of horror altering her elegant features. "Adam, do something. We can't possibly allow that man to stay. I'll never be able to hold my head up in front of my friends again."

Adam glanced in the direction she indicated but didn't detect anything or, rather, anyone out of the ordinary. "Which gentleman, Mother? Can you be more specific?"

"I can and he's no gentleman. That fellow, the uncommonly tall one, very thin. Do you see?" She sounded flustered and that surprised him, for the countess was usually the epitome of self-control.

"Calm down. I see him. You did not issue him an invitation?"

She gazed at Adam as though he had gone witless. "That man is not received in any decent household in London, possibly all of England. Don't you know who he is?"

"Can't say I do. Enlighten me before I go and forcibly eject him from the premises."

Lady Ashworth gave her son a look of annoyance. "You are not taking this seriously." She snapped open her fan and began to wave it vigorously in front of her face. "He is the Baron Bourgeault and his seat is near Bath. His family is quite upstanding, but he has spent the better part of his adult years sullying their name. It is said his brother took their mother and fled to Cornwall to escape the sordid life the baron led. The father died when his sons were still young. Just as well the old baron did not live to see what became of his heir."

"Now you mention it, I do believe I've heard of him, but the rumors are old. What has he done?"

"Yes, he is from my generation so, of course, I would remember him more. I don't believe he has tried to socialize in town for at least twenty years. Back then there was much conjecture and innuendo. Little of it could one discuss with one's son, but his drinking and gambling escapades were legendary. Suffice it to say, he is not the sort of guest one invites to a special occasion."

"Well, Mother, I can go and enlist two or three footmen to remove this persona non grata, but I see no way of doing so without drawing attention to our predicament. Let me speak to Ames. The baron must have come through the front door. All the other entrances are guarded. I'll see what I can discover."

"I know you are right, Adam," she said. "Just, please, see what can be done."

The earl strolled casually through his guests toward the entry, stopping to chat with those individuals who hailed him and bestowing that special smile he saved for the fairer sex on any lady who happened to catch his attention. There were many of the latter, and so it took several minutes before he reached the front door.

Ames stood at the entrance, back rigid, hands clasped at his waist, nose held at a proper forty-five degree angle. When Adam met the man's gaze, the servant watched his master's progress but did not relax his position.

"Ames?"

"Yes, my lord?" the butler responded.

"Your mistress seems to think we have an uninvited guest who has managed to find admittance."

Still Ames did not move, but his eyes bugged in agitation. "My lord, that is impossible. No one was permitted to enter who did not have the required invitation."

"I see. You've been standing here for several hours. Could a footman have relieved you briefly and admitted someone he shouldn't have?"

Ames stiffened, quite a feat being as he looked fairly stiff already. "No one has relieved me, my lord. I have not left my post all night." He sounded wounded.

Adam hid a smile. "Beg pardon, Ames. Didn't mean to suggest you weren't doing your job. Would you help me determine how this dastardly fellow sneaked past our best defenses?"

"Of course, my lord."

"I've lost my quarry for the moment. Station someone at the door and we'll go look for him."

Ames motioned over the nearest footman and whispered in the man's ear. The footman nodded and the butler turned to follow the earl.

Adam advanced slowly into the ballroom. Again, he could not move through the press of people without being accosted from all sides by his guests. He graciously acknowledged everyone who spoke to him, but he strode purposefully toward the dining hall. Ames followed in his wake at a discreet distance.

The earl stopped at each doorway and looked over the crowd. Not until he reached the card room, however, did he finally locate the object of his search. Of course—he should have come here in the beginning. Didn't his mother indicate the baron had a reputation as a gambler? He gestured for Ames to join him, and the butler came to his side.

"Ames, over at the faro table, do you see him? Unusually tall fellow, skeletal body, looks to be in his mid-fifties."

"Oh...I had a feeling about that one. I'm sorry, my lord, I should have used more discretion."

Adam turned to his butler. "Explain, please."

"He arrived late. Used that as an excuse for me not to announce him. Said he did not want Lady Ashworth to know how tardy he was. That did seem odd to me, my lord, because most people do not worry about being late. They are more concerned about being too early."

"Did he have an entree?"

"Absolutely. I would not have allowed him to pass without that prerequisite."

"Mother swears she would never have invited Lord Bourgeault, especially tonight with all her friends in attendance. Though," Adam mused, "I suppose it's possible to obtain an errant invitation if one is determined. There were enough of them floating about."

"Indeed, my lord."

Lord Ashworth continued conversing with Ames while he studied the intruder across the room. As if aware of the earl's scrutiny, the baron looked up and directly at his host. A slow smile touched Lord Bourgeault's lips. He nodded, apparently conceding his game had been detected.

That's odd, Adam thought. It would seem the man, far from being afraid he might be caught, had counted on it.

The baron stood his ground, neither advancing toward the earl nor retreating in a more cowardly fashion. Clearly, the first move belonged to the earl.

Adam closed the distance between himself and the baron in a half dozen easy steps. He never took his gaze from the man's face and, though he managed to appear civil, his bearing purposely lacked any kind of warmth or welcome.

"Bourgeault? It is the Baron Bourgeault, is it not?"

"I see you've heard of me."

"By reputation, but it was my mother who recognized you."

"Ah yes, the eminent Lady Ashworth, a formidable societal institution even a quarter of a century ago."

The words were complimentary, but Adam detected sarcasm as well. He took in the rest of the occupants of the room. His conversation with the baron was garnering unwanted attention from those guests nearest them, and the earl decided to take their talk to a more private locale.

"If you will follow me, Bourgeault, I think we can find a place where we won't be disturbed."

Adam led the way out into the hallway and down the passage to a small parlor at the back of the house from where French doors opened onto a small garden. As he passed through the parlor doorway, he stepped aside so the baron could follow him into the room. He left the door slightly ajar, aware Ames had noted their departure from the card room. Within moments a servant would be stationed outside in the hall in case the earl encountered any difficulties with his "guest."

He turned to face the baron. "Now, Bourgeault, what can I do for you?"

The baron grinned. "Here is a man after my own heart. Forget the niceties and move right on to the meat of the matter."

This time Adam made no effort to hide his grim expression. "I observe the niceties when they are warranted, but I see no reason to hedge. You entered my home without license, and rather brazenly, I might add. You must have had a reason, and I prefer you get to your point."

"Horses, sir."

"What?"

"I wish to sell my horses."

The earl was astounded and he made no effort to hide it. "Good lord, man, make some sense. You went to all this subterfuge because you wish to sell me a few horses?"

"Two horses, actually."

"Why didn't you approach me at one of the clubs? It would have been easier—and more appropriate, if I do say so—than this ridiculous ruse."

"I doubt you and I frequent the same clubs," the baron said in a dry voice. "It has been so long since I have been on the town, I have neither the required memberships nor the acquaintances needed to acquire them."

"You're not hoping I will help you with that, are you?"

For the first time the baron's composure seemed to slip. Adam sensed he might have trod on an old wound, for something shifted in the man's strange black eyes, something altogether unpleasant. He appeared to give himself a mental shake and, with that, his facile expression returned.

"You need not worry, sir," Bourgeault said. "I have no need of your sponsorship."

"If you have horses to sell, why not take them to auction at Tattersall's? Surely, that's the easiest way to accomplish your mission. I attend several times each month. I'll keep a lookout for your horseflesh." Adam deliberately made his tone dismissing.

"I have no intention of allowing the bidder to decide how much to pay for my horses. I will set the price and it is firm. These are not just any horses." The baron's voice took on a fervency that betrayed his passion for his animals. "They are possibly the most beautiful pair of matched grays in all of England. They are too special to send to auction."

Despite himself Adam was intrigued. "What makes them so special?"

The baron grinned hugely. "Twins, my lord, born at the same time, both male—identical in every way, right down to the last spot on their lovely hides. They are my pride and joy. I couldn't sell them to just anyone. It's my understanding you run a first-rate stable, and that is what I wish for them—a knowledgeable owner, someone who will care for them as I would."

"That still doesn't explain why you have come to me. There is any number of individuals with fine stables who would be pleased to purchase animals as remarkable as you describe."

"But there are not many people who are as plump in the pocket as you are. These horses are rare and they demand a rare price."

"Why are you selling them?"

The baron's eyes took on a hooded look, making him appear almost serpentine. "Money. I have a young wife, and she has expensive tastes. I try to mollify her where I am able. An older man and a younger woman, well, you catch my meaning. I don't want to lose her."

Adam rubbed his index finger slowly back and forth across his lower lip as he watched Lord Bourgeault. What the baron had to say was not unreasonable. The man buys a young wife and then finds himself in financial difficulties—he would do what he must to keep her. It wasn't the story that didn't ring true, but the baron who raised suspicion.

"How much do you want for the pair?"

Here the baron hesitated. "I would prefer you saw them first. In all honesty, you are not the first person I have approached. I've had two serious buyers, and both were unable to meet my price. That is why I've come to you. Your known interest in horseflesh and your wealth make you a prime candidate for purchasing my beauties."

"Maybe you want too much for them. As magnificent as you say they are, maybe they are not worth your asking price."

"Come look," the baron said, his attitude now insinuating. "See for yourself. You won't be disappointed. My estate is off the road to Bath about twenty miles before you reach the city." He reached inside his coat and produced a business card. "Plan to stay a day or two. I will give you ample opportunity to inspect my special ponies."

"Can't you bring them to the London? It would be more expedient."

"I can't risk injury to my beasts to meet expediency. A broken foreleg on an extended trip would be a financial disaster. It is a chance I am unwilling to take."

Adam took the card, aware he had been neatly maneuvered into a corner. Of course, he could say he wasn't interested and end the interview at that point. But he was interested. He wanted to know what had brought the baron to him, for he believed there was more to it than the sale of horses. And if he were wrong, at least he would have the chance to examine the "most beautiful pair of matched grays in all of England."

"Next week?" Lord Ashworth asked casually, unwilling to admit to anything more than mild curiosity

"I wait upon your convenience, my lord. I'll just let myself out so I don't impose on you or your guests any longer."

The earl nodded tersely.

Bourgeault reached for the latch on the French doors and opened them. As he turned to leave he looked back at Adam. "I do believe," he murmured, an unnatural light flickering in his avid black gaze, "you will find your stay to be a most memorable one."

*****

"Has Lord Wimberly been in today?" Adam stood in the foyer of White's gentlemen's club and handed his hat to the nearest waiter.

"Yes, my lord," responded the waiter. "He was here briefly but said he had some errands to run and would be returning about three o'clock. He asked you be informed in case you arrived."

"Right then, I'd like my usual table and a snifter of your best brandy."

Escorted to the designated table the earl took a seat, and within minutes the waiter returned with his drink.

Adam swirled the brandy around the inside of the goblet and watched as the fragrant liquid coated the glass with an oily film. Putting the snifter under his nose, he drew in a deep breath and allowed the fumes to drift seductively over his senses. He followed this ceremony with a discreet sip that elicited a sigh of pure ecstasy.

Adam leaned back in the comfortable leather chair he occupied and surveyed his surroundings. Wonderful. The next few hours would be spent in congenial, masculine company, imbibing fine spirits and dining on the finest victuals any establishment had to offer. And later he would pay a visit to the lovely, redheaded Helen. That expectation alone gave him reason to anticipate an enjoyable evening.

It was a very mellow Lord Ashworth to whom Daniel Evans, Viscount Wimberly, was conducted sixty minutes later. The earl's head rested against the padding of a wing-back chair, eyes closed, feet propped upon a brocaded footstool. He cradled a glass of brandy in his hands, his thoughts flowing nowhere in particular.

"I say, old man, are you sleeping?" Daniel asked. "If you are, you must be dreaming something remarkably inane if the look on your face is any indication."

Adam did not move, nor did he lift his shuttered eyes. "Ah, Daniel, have a seat. I'm enjoying the restful atmosphere and ensuring my present languorous mood by tippling on that wonderful bottle of brandy." As he spoke his lids eased upward, and he smiled.

The viscount smiled in return, his crystal blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and the earl felt the old familiar affection that always came over him whenever he saw his friend. They were, in fact, the best of friends and had been since before Adam could remember.

As boys, Daniel and Adam had grown up on adjoining estates and later had attended the same schools. They chased the same women without acrimony and found companionship with the same fellows. The earl knew himself to have the more commanding personality, but Daniel with his pale blondness and slender build projected a gentleness that seemed nearly poetic and, for some of the fairer sex, nearly irresistible.

The viscount poured a drink then made himself cozy in a chair identical to the one comforting the earl. "That was quite an affair at your place last night. Every year your mother outdoes herself."

"Yes," Adam said pleasantly, "and I will tell her you said so just as soon as she and I are on speaking terms again."

Daniel raised his brows. "Oh?"

"I've had the misfortune of being on the opposite side of a disagreement with the countess," the earl said. "She can make one suffer for having the temerity to counter one of her edicts. Judith accused me of running away—of course, that was said as she rushed passed me out the front door."

Daniel chuckled. "And how is your dear sister today?"

"On her way back to the country with her husband Walter. I swear my mother can empty a house faster than any one I've ever met." Adam paused before continuing. "Have you heard of a Baron Bourgeault?"

Daniel shook his head slowly. "Can't say I have."

Adam spent the next few minutes detailing the events of the previous evening. "Mother is determined I make no further effort to contact the baron. Despite her assurances that she is only worried about my safety, I believe her reasoning to be based in snobbery." He shrugged. "Besides, I'm so damned curious I feel compelled to go."

"I could accompany you, you know. I'd have to stay at the local inn, though. Bad manners to drop in without an invite. I know the baron would agree." Daniel smirked at his companion.

"You're a cheeky devil. You think I need a nursemaid? And you're just the fellow to keep me from harm's way? Mother will be so relieved."

"Do I detect a note of sarcasm? Pour me another dab of that fine wine and I promise not to take offense."

Adam laughed and reached for the bottle. "I won't be winning a war of words with you today."

The viscount's lips twitched. "No sense arguing with the obvious."

Adam raised his glass to salute his agreement, and the two gentlemen settled back to enjoy their evening in complete harmony with one another.

*****

CHAPTER 2

Adam had been riding the better part of the day, beginning with the predawn hours that found him packed and ready for his journey. The weather was glorious, and he reveled in being away from the city, soaking up the atmosphere of the lush countryside.

Sims, the earl's valet, was infuriated to be left behind. Why, he had asked stonily, was it so difficult to load the phaeton so a personal servant could accompany his master? That's what a respectable gentleman would do. The earl had responded—tongue firmly in cheek—since he cared not a wit for respectability, he had none.

Frankly, Adam had not relished being confined to a carriage, or relegated to the roads he must follow if he chose a vehicle over his mount. He also suspected his mother had asked Sims to go along as protection. He tolerated the dowager's meddling with equal parts humor and irritation, however, he did not let her alter the outcome.

Adam added an extra half hour to his trip by missing the road Bourgeault had insisted would be no problem to find. It was, in fact, an obscure turn-off, unmarked except for a small sign that had become overgrown with vines. Assured that he had found the spot he was seeking, he cantered down the weed-infested lane. He traveled another mile before he broke into a clearing, and the baron's residence came into sight.

Ahead of him stood a thirteenth-century Norman castle in the advanced stages of neglect and decay. It looked to be neither a large nor prime example of that architectural form. And since he saw no natural fortifications, such as a river or cliff formation, he was at a loss as to why the structure had been built in the first place. Adam sat on his mount, staring at the incongruous building in amazement. He shouldn't be surprised, he thought, for it was exactly the sort of domicile he would have expected the baron to occupy.

The earl urged his horse forward over what he believed had once been a moat but was now a large and unkempt circular drive. It occurred to him that he should tether his horse and announce his arrival at the front entrance, however, he was curious to see the condition of Bourgeault's stables. Since he doubted the baron stood on ceremony, he risked a breach of etiquette. He rounded the corner and entered the stable yard.

Here, at least, he saw activity. From the deserted aspect of the castle as he arrived on the drive, he had begun to doubt this pile of stones had any inhabitants. His horse Felix danced sideways through a squawking flock of hens that scattered in several directions in protest.

"Steady, old boy, not going to let a few chickens get the better of you, are you?" He leaned over and patted his steed affectionately. Adam dismounted and, taking Felix by the reins, entered the stables.

Here the neglect and apparent disregard sullying the rest of the baron's estate was absent. The stables, clearly erected in more recent times, did not reflect the age of the castle. The odor of sweet-smelling hay scented the air.

The stalls—and there were plenty of them—had been recently mucked out, and the fresh hay had been strewn on the wooden floor. A well-organized tack room to the right contained all manner of riding paraphernalia neatly placed on three of the four walls. In the middle of that room, an elderly man sat at a workbench repairing a harness.

The man looked up as Adam entered. "May I help you?"

"You are...?"

"Name's Brown, head groom. And you?"

"I'm Lord Ashworth. I believe I'm expected."

The groom stared at him a moment then give a curt nod.

"Lord Bourgeault mentioned a pair of grays he wished me to inspect."

"That would be Abel and Cain. They're out in the back pasture gettin' some exercise. I reckon the baron would prefer to make the introductions." Brown's tone was cool, just short of unfriendly. "Those horses are special to him. He likes to see the effect they have on people." The groom returned to his work as though the matter were settled.

"Uh...yes, I'll make my presence known to your master," the earl said, taken aback by the man's lack of welcome. "See to my horse, please."

The man grunted a reply and Adam stepped from the darkness of the stables into the waning sunlight. Idly, he glanced around the dirt yard, his gaze sharpening as he caught sight of a woman scattering feed to the chickens.

He didn't know why he stopped to watch her, although his male interest was certainly aroused. He couldn't see her face as she leaned over tossing grain to the hens, but he had a gratifying view of an attractive female backside. His footsteps took him in her direction.

She straightened and turned at his approach. What he began to say would remain unsaid, for he was so overcome by the flawless beauty of the woman, his train of thought deserted him.

An oval face provided the setting for features so in harmony with one another he gaped at her like a callow youth. She had a straight nose over full lips and large, expressive gray eyes. Her wheat-colored hair was pulled into a casual knot atop her head, tendrils of near white hair dancing delicately about her cheeks and forehead in the soft breeze. With one lovely hand, she pushed the errant strands behind her ear.

She watched him, brows raised in patient inquiry as though she were used to men responding to her in open-mouthed stupefaction. When he still did not speak, she broke the silence.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

Her voice was cultured and melodic, and it sent a thrill over his heightened senses.

"I beg your pardon," he said, aware his respiration had increased. "I was staring, wasn't I? I'm not usually so slow-witted, but I'm afraid you took me by surprise. I was not expecting a goddess in the stable yard serving dinner to the chickens."

The compliment came easily, but all at once he felt sheepish, as her expression turned more and more skeptical with each successive word he uttered.

"I see. I assure you I am no goddess, and I'm feeding the chickens because they're hungry. Someone has to do it." She tempered the gentle rebuke with a smile.

Rather than being put off by her lack of flirtation, Adam was fascinated. "Are you employed here?"

For several long moments she looked at him through those lovely gray eyes as though deciding how to answer him. That's an oddity, he thought, for the question required either a yes or no answer. What else was there?

"You could say I work for Lord Bourgeault," she said at last.

"You're not sure?" he probed, surprising himself because he was genuinely interested in her response.

The woman averted her gaze. "I'd best get back to it." Her tone was dismissing, although she smiled at him once more.

Adam reached out and touched her arm as she started to walk away. "Will I see you again?" He felt foolish for asking but could not prevent himself.

She turned to look at him, again seeming to hesitate as she searched his face. He was amazed by the sudden import he placed on her reply.

"I suspect you will."

With that, she turned on him that remarkable backside, her skirts swaying side to side as she strode purposely to the rear entry of the castle. If she were tempted to turn around and look at him he was unaware because her posture implied she had already forgotten him. He watched her until she disappeared from sight then began his own trek to the front of the baron's home so he could make a more suitable entrance.

As he walked, Adam reviewed his encounter with the lovely maiden—at least he assumed she was a maiden. Perhaps hoped expressed it better. He guessed her age at early twenties. Considering her extraordinary good looks, to reach that age without becoming attached seemed impossible. Surely, she'd had the opportunity, for what man wouldn't want such a prize.

At the front of the castle again, Adam approached the metal-studded front door, grasped the ancient knocker and gave it three quick raps. Several moments passed before he heard a distant sound emanating from deep within the stone structure. By Jove! This old heap is inhabited, he thought.

There came the sound of a large bolt being thrown from inside then the door, with much protest, opened slowly. A wizened little man stared out at the earl with something akin to impudence.

"You're late," the man accused without preamble.

Adam blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're late," he repeated.

"Since the missive I sent did not promise the exact hour of my arrival, I hardly believe one could call me late."

The servant's demeanor so irritated the earl, if he hadn't been driven by curiosity, he would have spun on his heel and immediately returned to London. He couldn't decide whether to laugh or administer the setdown this obnoxious twit so richly deserved. The man stepped back, his attitude grudging as he allowed Adam to enter.

The interior of the castle looked as dilapidated and neglected as the exterior. An enormous staircase rose to a second-story landing. The landing traversed the entire length of that floor and was bounded by apartments on one side and a banister on the other, overlooking the great hall below. Adam suspected there had been major renovations over the centuries to modernize the building, but recent history would indicate a lack of any real care or improvement. The atmosphere was dank, dark and depressing.

"Follow me."

Adam fell in behind the servant who led him down a hall past several doors. The last doorway on the right was their destination.

"Enter," a voice beckoned from within the room in response to the servant's knock.

The baron sat behind a large mahogany desk, and he looked up expectantly as the earl was shown into the library. "Ah, Willy, I see our guest has arrived. Bring us some sherry. You do like sherry, do you not, Ashworth?"

"Yes, of course."

The baron reached into his desk and, retrieving a pair of white gloves, proceeded to don them as he spoke. He stood and crossed the room to the earl and offered his hand in greeting. A limp affair at best, Adam had to control the urge to shudder as he shook the baron's flaccid fist. Fortunately, it was also a brief encounter.

"Please have a seat." The baron indicated a dark green leather chair and returned to his own chair at the desk.

He sat down and meticulously peeled off the gloves, starting at the wrist, turning them inside out in the process. With the tips of his fingers, he took the gloves and tossed them into the rubbish container on the floor. He glanced up at that moment and, catching sight of Adam's face, appeared to hesitate.

"Don't concern yourself," Bourgeault said, his attitude a study in nonchalance. "It's a peculiarity of mine. I find casual contact has an unpleasant effect on me. It is an inconvenience, nothing more."

Adam merely nodded for lack of anything better to say. Unable to understand the bizarre ritual he had just witnessed, he could not shake the feeling he had stepped into the macabre world of a Shakespearean drama. Between the oppressiveness of the castle and the weirdness of its inhabitants, the expedition had taken on a nightmarish quality.

Willy returned bearing a tray with the sherry and two glasses. He placed the tray on the desk and, after darting one more suspicious glance in Adam's direction, left the room.

The baron splashed a large measure in each glass and pushed one toward the earl. Reaching for his own drink, he inhaled a prodigious slurp and belched.

"Nothing like a fine wine to start the evening. Not a bad way to start the morning either." Bourgeault emitted a raucous guffaw, apparently having amused at least himself.

Adam took a discreet sip and rolled the liquid on his tongue. He was not impressed. However, he supposed getting intoxicated might be in order considering the oddity of the circumstances. Settling back, he prepared to drink himself into a semblance of normalcy. He did not affirm the quality of the baron's "fine wine," but evidently it wasn't necessary.

"I paid a visit to your stables before I announced my arrival at the house."

"Did you now?" The baron eyed Adam over the top of his glass. "And what have you decided?"

"I would say it's one of the finer stables I've encountered. I was disappointed not to see your grays at that time. Your groom said they were out to pasture."

The baron beamed. "My cattle are my passion. But come," he said as he took another gulp of his drink, "let's not worry about business this evening. There's plenty of time to inspect the horseflesh tomorrow. My wife will be joining us soon. We keep country hours so dinner will be served shortly."

The earl nodded absently, but he could not help wondering what manner of woman would tie herself to a man of the baron's stamp. If money were a problem, and the condition of the castle suggested this was a possibility, the lady had made a poor bargain indeed.

*****

Catherine stepped out of the lukewarm bath water and into a towel held by Edna. She dried off quickly and donned a cotton floral dressing gown. Distracted, she could not put two lucid thoughts together. Her unexpected meeting with the nobleman who was visiting downstairs had left her disconcerted and confused.

She had gone to her room immediately after leaving Lord Ashworth, assailed by an unaccustomed churning in her stomach. Nerves, she decided, which mystified her.

After all, this was not the first time Edgar had extended hospitality to a gentleman in their home. He made a frequent habit of inviting company, sometimes a crowd, and her husband expected her to play the hostess. But the earl seemed a cut above the usual guest. Though only a first impression, a first impression was often a good gauge by which to judge a person's character.

Perhaps it was because Lord Ashworth was handsome enough to make her pulse stutter. When she had turned around in the stable yard and found him towering over her, his broad shoulders seeming to block the sun, she was shocked almost as speechless as he.

She remembered his sensuous mouth as he had grinned at her in amazed delight, his lips parting to reveal a perfect set of white teeth. He had fine black hair that curled in a thick mass against the collar of his shirt. But his eyes were his most riveting characteristic. They were a deep evening blue, dark and compelling, and when he had rested them on her, for a protracted moment the world had stop spinning. Even now her skin prickled hotly at the recollection.

"And what will my lady be wearing this evening?" Edna's pragmatic voice broke the uncomfortable flow of Catherine's thoughts.

"If I didn't know you were pure of heart, Edna, I would swear you asked me that question just to taunt me. I am to wear the red dress."

The little maid looked justifiably horrified. "Oh, my lady, not the red one! No respectable lightskirt would wear that dress."

Catherine laughed. "Is there such a thing as a respectable lightskirt?" She sobered suddenly. "What will Lord Ashworth think when he sees me?"

She dashed across the room to the cherry wardrobe, wrenched the doors open and yanked one dress after another along the wooden clothes pole, looking for something—anything—more suitable. Succumbing to a moment's desperation, tears clouded her vision.

"There's nothing, absolutely nothing."

A quick rap brought her head around with a startled jerk as the door was flung wide. The baron's angular frame filled the entrance to the room. He stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the two women who stared back at him in frozen alarm.

A malicious grin spread across his features. "You're not dressed yet, my dear. I hope you intend to wear the red gown I bought for you. I will be disappointed if you don't."

She could beg him to see reason, but it would be useless. He would listen patiently, taking great enjoyment from her misery then demand she obey him. Catherine refused to relinquish that victory. If he must gloat, let him think she did not care.

"I intend putting on that horrible dress, Edgar. If you would be so kind as to withdraw and allow me some privacy, I will do so now." She deliberately grasped the collar of her dressing gown to emphasize her meaning.

The grin slipped. He was annoyed and no doubt he would make her suffer later. But it was worth the momentary pleasure, and she refused to regret her defiance.

"I'll be back in ten minutes. Be ready." He turned on his heel and slammed from the room.

Catherine held her posture until her husband was gone then her shoulders slumped in resignation.

"Get the dress. Let us see if the baron's taste is as vulgar as we remember."

Edna pulled a white box from the bottom of the wardrobe and brought it to the bed. She lifted the lid and pushed the tissue paper aside, revealing red polished satin.

Several minutes passed as Catherine, helped by her untiring servant, struggled and shimmied into the gown. With the last hook in place, she turned to her mirror and took a peek. She opened her mouth to vocalize her shock, but the words died in her throat. Her gaze shifted to the little abigail, and her worst fears were confirmed.

How does one describe a monstrosity? If one were being subjective, perhaps it wasn't so bad. The garment fit perfectly, thus it didn't seem altogether ugly. However, its sole intention left no doubt.

A bright, raspberry satin, the gown was trimmed in black lace and fashioned after the Empire style. But the skirt, rather than flowing loosely about the body, hugged her all the way to the floor. Tiny cap sleeves fell from her shoulders, and the neckline was scooped so low she feared for the modesty of her bosom. But none of these features concerned Catherine as much as the hem. It dipped dramatically in the back to form a short train and curved so far upward in the front her ankles were exposed.

"My lady," Edna wailed, "you look like a berry tart ready to be gobbled up by the first man who sees you."

Catherine assumed this was Edna's way of saying she looked enticing. "I believe you have the tart part correct."

She spoke with such ironical good humor both women began to giggle. Within moments the room was filled with peals of unrestrained mirth.

"Please, I mustn't laugh anymore," the baroness said. "I'm beginning to perspire. That won't improve the looks of this red satin abomination."

That observation brought forth another burst of hilarity. Raucous laughter drifted from the baroness' room and echoed down the drafty hallway.

That laughter is what greeted the baron when he finally returned. He stood at the open door, a scowl deepening his ugly features as he took in the chaotic scene. Catherine was leaning against the bedpost, her body convulsed in near paralytic amusement. Her timid maid had collapsed on a nearby chair in a similar state.

"What's going on in here?" The baron did not mind being the source of gloom and doom, but it seemed he disliked being the butt of a jest. By the look on his face, he feared that might currently be the case.

Catherine glanced at her husband, dabbing at the tears in her eyes. "Oh, Edgar," she wheezed, "we were just marveling over the dress."

She tried unsuccessfully to stifle another gust of laughter, but it came anyway. Placing her hand over her mouth, she willed herself to regain control, for she could see the baron was becoming angry.

"Stop it!" he barked. "Stand straight and let me have a look at you."

He might as well have dashed cold water in her face. The gaiety easing the tension of a few minutes earlier evaporated into the air like steam from a boiling kettle, leaving behind the old familiar dread. She pulled herself to attention, drew in a deep breath and steeled herself to endure his inspection.

His eyes started at her ankles and, with slow deliberation, traveled up her figure until he reached the exposed flesh threatening to spill from her bodice. His gaze rested there for several moments, and a slow, lascivious grin eased the corners of his mouth.

"Perfect. Turn around." His words had taken on that odd, gravely sound that indicated he was aroused, and Catherine's stomach curdled in disgust. She could almost feel his eyes as they burned a trail along the length of her back.

"Ah, wife, you always did have a splendid derrière." The tone in his voice had intensified.

She swallowed convulsively as bile pooled in her throat. A wave of nausea threatened to engulf her. Years had gone by since the baron had shown so marked an interest in her appearance. He had her dress for his guests, but his involvement was impersonal and remote. Catherine preferred it that way. She was appalled and humiliated that he had allowed his baser nature to erupt in front of her maid.

He always found some way to punish her if she were foolish enough to anger him, and she suspected this degrading display was a result of his displeasure with her. But when she turned around, the hot intensity of his gaze caused her to reconsider and she became truly alarmed.

His attention shifted to Edna. "Put your mistress' hair up on top of her head." He looked back at his wife. "That will set off your neck and shoulders quite nicely."

Catherine gritted her teeth, for she knew it was not her neck and shoulders for which he showed such fascination but the skin overflowing the top of her gown. Just what she needed—to enhance the effect.

"Is that all, Edgar?" She was amazed at how calm she sounded, for inside she felt like a sea of roiling nerves.

"Yes, yes, my dear, I believe it is." He beamed at her, openly jolly now that he had taken the advantage. "Be in the drawing room within the half hour. I wish you to make an entrance." With that parting shot he left the room.

"My poor, poor lady." Edna dabbed tearfully at her eyes with the corner of her apron.

"Stop it right now," Catherine said sternly, "or I shall be joining you, and that is last thing I need. Come, let's do my hair. The quicker this evening begins, the quicker it ends."

Words so easily spoken and so utterly mistaken.

*****

Catherine halted at the bottom of the staircase and tried to catch her breath. She had just navigated the steps and had found it treacherous going, considering the tightness of her gown. It would have been easier if she could have lifted the skirt above her knees before she attempted the descent, but Willy, the lecherous little gnome, stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting to escort her to the drawing room.

She refused to provide him with any further stimulation, for he leered at her in undisguised appreciation, and she found his lack of respect maddening. She could hardly blame him, though. If her husband did not place her high in his esteem, how could she expect the servants to feel differently?

"I don't need you to accompany me, Willy. After all these years I know where the drawing room is." She made her attitude haughty, almost rude.

Willy was unperturbed. "Only doing what Lord Bourgeault has instructed me to do, my lady."

This, of course, was his way of saying he need not follow the orders of anyone save those of his master. He approached the double doors and, flinging them open with a flourish, announced his mistress to the occupants of the room.

*****

Adam stood by the fireplace, sipping on a glass of wine and studying the shabby drawing room that the baron and he now occupied. He had difficulty believing this man really had a wife, for he found no evidence of a woman's touch anywhere—not even in this room where the Bourgeaults received their guests.

The earl looked at his host, but the baron seemed oblivious to all but the glass of sherry he nursed. The conversation had drifted back and forth with little of worth being discussed, since the two men had less than nothing in common, until the talk had died out completely.

But the atmosphere had become heavy with a sense of expectancy. The baron would occasionally glance at the door as if he were anticipating some impending event, leading Adam to believe the man was not as unaware of his surroundings as his cavalier attitude might suggest.

The announcement of Lady Bourgeault brought to an end the bored silence that had settled over the gentlemen. Adam glanced up in mild curiosity and nearly spit out the mouthful of wine he had just taken.

It was she! In the doorway stood the goddess from the stable yard. Too stunned at first to speak, Adam was vaguely aware of the baron rising from his chair to beckon the lady into the room. Never had Adam seen such an extraordinary combination of angelic beauty and vulgar display. He realized one nearly blinding emotion, though, as she entered the room and drifted toward him. Keen, overwhelming disappointment.

The baron's wife—how had Lord Bourgeault managed to attain such a prize? She had not even hinted at the possibility of her being the lady in residence, and he would never have guessed. The earl was staggered by the revelation.

Lady Bourgeault closed the distance between the two men and herself as her husband made the introductions. If Adam expected her to be discomposed in light of the fact that they had already met, again he was surprised. She stared directly into his eyes, brows slightly raised, daring him to expose her subterfuge.

He would, however, swear she was not entirely untouched by anxiety for, though her face was a mask of indifference, her breathing had accelerated as evidenced by the gentle heaving of her overexposed bosom.

Adam's good manners were put to a difficult test, as it took all his willpower not to stare in open fascination at a decolletage more daring than any he had ever seen on a woman who called herself "lady."

The baron presented his wife with near gleeful anticipation. "Is she not a beauty, Ashworth?"

No doubt of that, the earl thought, but his host spoke of his wife as if she were an inanimate object, a possession to be pulled out and shown off when the mood struck.

"She is indeed lovely," Adam agreed, but the words were for the lady as he took her hand and placed a kiss on the tips of her fingers.

Something flickered in the back of her eyes, but what it meant he wasn't certain. Her expression had not altered and, though cordial, she remained distant and cool. He raised his gaze back to her face, refusing to linger on her bosom as he knew most men would have done.

She withdrew her hand, and the tiniest of smiles softened her features as if she were aware of his discretion.

"Would you care for a glass of ratafia, my dear?" the baron asked, his manner ingratiating. He had already poured the beverage.

Lady Bourgeault reached for the glass, however, she took it gingerly as though she avoided touching him. She cast her husband a look filled with mockery.

"Thank you," was all she said, but the words were edged with sarcasm.

Her husband returned a warning glance hard to misinterpret. The earl, watching the byplay between the baron and his wife, was baffled. Rather than intimacy as one might expect, the air around the couple crackled with hostility. He had intercepted the look Bourgeault had sent the baroness, and there was little doubt of the threat that lingered in the depths of the man's piercing black eyes. Adam would have bet his last sou this was not a marriage built upon affection.

"You kept the cook waiting, Catherine," the baron said in a hard voice. "I hope dinner is not spoiled."

Abruptly, he turned and led the way to the dining hall, leaving Adam to escort Lady Bourgeault, a chore he was more than happy to perform. She placed her hand lightly on his sleeve as she tried to follow his lead, but the tightness of her skirt hampered her movements and she stumbled.

"You must forgive my awkwardness. This dreadful gown doesn't leave much room to maneuver."

The self-derision in her tone was clear, but then why did she dress in such a manner?

"I think you look charming." Here Adam cleared his throat, "Flamboyant, perhaps, but I find no fault with that."

The baroness darted him a searching glance, and he stared into her eyes, hoping to convince her of his sincerity.

"Flamboyant..." she murmured. "Nice way to put it."

The baron seated himself at the head of the table with Adam to his left and Catherine to his right, facing each other.

"This is much cozier, don't you think? You don't mind if our guest calls you by your Christian name, do you, wife?"

Ho! What in hell is going on here? Adam turned a shocked expression on his host.

The lady winced. "No, of course, not," she responded weakly.

"And you must call me Adam." The earl smiled graciously at his hostess but made it clear the invitation did not extend to her spouse.

If the baron was conscious of the slight, he chose to ignore it.

The first course arrived, a cold vichyssoise that tasted wonderful.

"This is really quite good, Edgar," Catherine said.

She sounded amazed, an oddity, Adam thought. The baron merely grunted in response as he spooned the soup as rapidly as possible into his mouth. He attacked each course in the same mindless fashion, leaving the task of entertaining his guest to his wife.

The lady chatted on in a genteel if somewhat insubstantial way, obviously trying to fill the void her husband had created. She conducted the evening with grace and dignity, despite the boorishness of her mate, and had managed to put Adam at ease in a circumstance that was anything but easy.

He found sitting opposite and conversing with the baroness extremely pleasant. His only problem was an overwhelming desire to simply stare at her. He wished to drink in her beauty, for it fanned a hunger having little to do with the credible meal being served. And that disreputable dress didn't make it any easier.

He found his eyes wandering against his will to the enticing cleavage that seemed directly in his line of vision. Instinctively, he knew she would resent him ogling her even though she dressed in a way that would encourage disrespect. Adam did not pretend to understand the mixed messages he was receiving. He only knew he did not want to do anything that would offend the lady.

At that moment, the baron chose to reenter the conversation. He stood up and, pushing his chair from the table, ran his hands over his bloated belly.

"I need a few moments of privacy." He winked at the earl and stifled a colossal belch, his cheeks puffing out with suppressed air. "I won't be long. My dear, see that Lord Ashworth is kept properly entertained." He exited the room leaving behind stunned silence.

"Well," Adam said, coughing to cover his unease, "Bourgeault is certainly a unique individual. Don't think I've ever met anyone like him."

"You have a talent for understatement, my lord," Catherine said, face pink with embarrassment. "My husband has no taste and little discretion, and for some reason he enjoys flaunting that fact. I hope you won't think me disloyal, but I have difficulty pretending his bad behavior is of no concern to me."

"It's plain you labor under a burden. I would be the last person to criticize your efforts. I don't mean to pry, but how long have you and Bourgeault been married?"

"Nearly seven years now."

"Seven years? Good Lord, you must have been little more than a child."

"I was seventeen." She smiled sadly. "It seems a lifetime ago. I made plans as young girls often do, but I never envisioned my future turning out this way." She paused then. "Let's talk of something else. I have a bad habit of feeling sorry for myself."

"Of course."

What she really meant was that she was a private person and resented his probing. Whatever lay beneath the fine veneer covering the truth about her life, she apparently did not want it disturbed. Too bad, for he wanted to know everything about her.

One-half hour later, the baron deigned to return to his duties as host. He made no excuses, nor did he bother to explain his absence.

"I hope my wife offered you an after-dinner drink," was all he said.

"We decided on tea." The earl's attitude had cooled to a freeze, and he did not bother to pretend otherwise. He had grown weary of the baron's utter lack of manners. The man had left his wife with a total stranger for a period of time not precisely proper, and Adam was outraged for the lady.

He wondered if her husband had a purpose in leaving them alone. Though it made no sense, what was the baron trying to accomplish? Not that Adam minded spending intimate time with Catherine, for he found her exceedingly charming. But she was clearly ill at ease, whether because of her husband's rudeness or the unsuitability of the circumstances, Adam could not be certain. It could be both reasons.

The earl felt his protective instincts surfacing, a response he relegated to an automatic chivalry rather than to any hidden motive. Maybe he didn't want to face the truth. But he did know that he was insulted by the lack of regard the baron showed the baroness. Women depended on their male relatives to safeguard them from the unsavory aspects of the world around them. The baron flouted all the rules of convention, and his exquisite wife paid the price for his rebellion.

Adam was inordinately proud of the lady as she sat with her head erect, refusing to give into the embarrassment she must be feeling. But he realized if he spent another minute in the company of his host, he would disgrace himself by giving vent to a storm of anger. Time to say good night, he thought, and be done with it. He stood from the table.

"It has been a great pleasure to dine with you this evening, ma'am, and I look forward to seeing you again in the morning."

He executed a slight, stiff bow in Lord Bourgeault's direction, and with a curt adieu, strode from the room.

*****

Catherine watched as Lord Ashworth made an angry retreat and then turned accusing eyes on her husband.

"Well, well," the baron said, "it would appear our guest is feeling a wee bit annoyed. I must confess, I'm hard pressed to understand it."

"Edgar, you behaved abominably tonight. Have you no shame?"

"None. None whatsoever."

He stared at her in that unfathomable way he had that frightened her so, his black eyes boring into hers, until she abandoned the challenge and dropped her gaze.

"Just so," he whispered softly.

She shivered at the menace in those gentle words.

"Go to bed," her husband said. "I'll expect you to be available tomorrow when I call. It would seem the earl has a preference for your company over mine. Difficult to fathom, but there it is." He chuckled contemptuously.

If it would have served a purpose to argue, she might have made the effort, but Catherine was so relieved that he wished her to go, she turned and scurried toward the door as though the devil himself sat at the head of the ancient, scarred table. His laughter followed her up the staircase.

*****

Willy Gant slipped into the dining room to stand by his master's chair.

"Tell you what, Willy, I think we made some progress tonight," the baron mused. "Lord Ashworth is feeling hostile toward me and protective of my helpless wife. I suspect that is not the only emotion he is wrestling with right now," he said on a smirk. "My ladylove looked a delectable morsel in that red gown. I don't think he enjoyed the food, he was so busy drooling over my wife."

He cast his gaze at his grinning servant. "Yes, Willy, things are progressing nicely."

*****

CHAPTER 3

"I can't remember ever seeing a better example of paired horseflesh. I've seen magnificent individuals, but they have always been one of a kind. This is remarkable."

The earl shook his head in amazement, reaching up to rub the forehead of one of the horses as the baron danced around him in gleeful excitement—a major feat of agility, considering the size and awkwardness of the fellow.

"They are fine, aren't they?" Bourgeault chirped. "I never grow tired of watching them."

The baron's boyish enthusiasm was a surprising change from the arrogant and snide man Adam had dined with yesterday. But Adam remembered the head groom saying Bourgeault enjoyed showing off his horses, gauging the reaction of others as if he were a child bragging about rare and expensive toys. He realized suddenly that his introduction to the baroness the night before had been much the same.

Whatever his motives were, the baron had not exaggerated when he boasted on the uniqueness of his grays. The horseman in the earl salivated at the opportunity to own such outstanding animals. And though he was regretting his visit, he had no intention of leaving before he had made an effort to buy them.

Adam ignored the niggling feeling that there might be an even more persuasive excuse for continuing his stay. Every time he thought about Lady Bourgeault, his lower body tightened with an anticipatory warmth. This was troublesome for, no matter how comely and alluring he found the baroness, she was still a married woman.

"How do you tell them apart?" he asked. "They really are identical."

"Didn't I say? Can't tell which is which, can you?" The baron's laughter was almost girlish. "Look here, Brown thought of it." With a gloved hand, he grabbed the hind leg of the horse nearest him. "Thought this was Cain—I can tell more often than not, but not always." He pointed to the iron shoe. "Can you see it? We always put one brass nail in Cain's shoe so there will be no mistaking him. We talked about marking each animal in some way—perhaps a tiny brand." He shuddered. "But I couldn't bring myself to deface them."

Sure enough, there was the yellow nail, worn, but still distinctive from the other nails. It was a clever idea, and Adam said as much to groom, who watched from nearby. Brown nodded slightly, but there was no friendliness in the gesture.

"I suppose you'll want to take them out for a run," the baron said reluctantly.

"I should say so. Wouldn't want to purchase a pig in a poke, now would I?"

Adam smiled to indicate no insult was intended, but the baron bristled anyway.

"I think it's clear that my horses are exceptional. You will not be disappointed. In fact," the baron muttered, "I'm afraid you'll be much too pleased."

"Beg pardon?"

Bourgeault scowled and shook his head. "Nothing, nothing. Brown, harness the animals to the phaeton. Our guest wishes to put our beauties to the ribbons."

It was an exhilarating ride. The horses were attuned to one another, moving in perfect unity. Adam assumed being twins gave them an edge over other matched pairs, but it was more than that. They were the opposing sides of the same coin, displaying an instinctive cooperation. He played the reins over the backs of the heaving beasts, and for one ecstatic moment he felt a part of their oneness. If heaven exists, this is how he would choose to spend eternity.

His return to the stable yard was a letdown. He wished the ride could go on forever, a bit like the peak of very fine sex. There had been a moment during the height of his excursion when he was not certain he could have distinguished between the two distinctive activities, save sex did not require an excellent pair of driving gloves.

Adam climbed down from the phaeton and strode briskly over to where the baron stood waiting for him. "Let's not bandy words, Bourgeault. Name your price. I could pretend I'm only fairly impressed, but you would know I was dissembling, and I see no point in prolonging the negotiations. Those horses are superb and I must have them."

"Ten thousand."

Adam's jaw dropped—not figuratively, but in actuality—to his chest. "Ten thousand pounds?" he gasped.

"That's for the pair, of course."

"You're daft, man. No wonder you've been unable to sell those nags. You must think me an unmitigated fool."

"Nags? A moment ago they were superb," the baron sneered. "I expect a price that reflects the worth of my animals."

"Then I suggest you keep them. If you had told me what was on your mind, you could have saved us a both the time and effort. I could outfit a small stable with prime livestock for that ridiculous amount."

"That's a paltry sum in comparison to your total wealth. If one wants something badly enough, no price is too high," the baron said.

"What? Do you believe wealth and stupidity are synonymous?" Adam turned to leave. "I will be departing within the hour. I regret we were unable to come to terms."

"Now, now, didn't mean to offend," the baron hastened, his tone turning wheedling. "Give it another day. We'll share a bottle of wine this evening and do some serious haggling. Maybe we can meet each other halfway."

And maybe icecaps will form in Hades.

"To be brutally frank, sir, your initial proposal is so outlandish, I'm afraid even halfway won't serve. Besides, you said your price was firm."

"You never know," the baron said coyly. "Why don't you spend this afternoon looking over my estate? I've some business that has come up and needs my immediate attention. We can talk over dinner." He paused as though considering some weighty matter. "I have it! My wife is available, and I'm certain she would enjoy giving you the tour." He looked at the earl expectantly.

Well, damn! The man wouldn't understand the meaning of good conduct if it were to hit him upside his thick head. Adam was being shuffled off to see to his own devices as if he were a nuisance. Only one small but vital fact kept him from turning the baron down flat. The thought of an afternoon spent in the company of the baroness was irresistible.

Adam hesitated for only a moment before accepting. He was stiff with disapproval, but he allowed as how he would appreciate Lady Bourgeault's company if she found it convenient. He then spun on his heels and marched toward the house.

Over his shoulder he snapped, "If your wife consents to go, have her send word when she is ready and I will meet her in the stables."

*****

"Edgar, I can't go. I don't own a riding habit."

Her husband smirked. "My love, after that red gown, you could wear sackcloth and our guest will only remember how you looked last evening. Damned, if he didn't nearly spit his drink on the carpet, he was that amazed." He slapped his thigh merrily over the recollection.

"Why not? He's a gentleman and used to people who know how to behave themselves. We came across as having no idea how to carry on in company." Catherine sniffed at him. "The oddest part is that you go out of your way to project that image."

"Even so, I think Ashworth was taken with you," he murmured silkily. "I like that."

Catherine stared at her husband in appalled wonder. "Edgar, why did you marry me? You paid my father an outrageous sum of money when we wed, and for the life of me I can't see what you have gained from it."

She must have surprised him, for he looked nonplused by her direct attack. Chuckling, he said, "Can't rattle you today, can I, my dear? Ashworth said he would meet you in the stables. I'll send word that you'll be there in twenty minutes." He studied her for several moments before he continued. "I'm depending on you, Catherine. Don't disappoint me."

On that enigmatic note, he left the room.

Perplexed, she stared after him. He wanted something of her, but what? Why couldn't he just explain and put her out of her misery? He had given her a puzzle to solve, and she wasn't even certain she had all the pieces. Worse yet, if she failed to discern his message, the consequence could be a dreadful punishment that would make her existence even more wretched.

She did know that Edgar wanted her to go riding with the earl, and he had never asked her to ride with one of his guests before. If obscure statements and innuendo were an indication, he wished Lord Ashworth to be impressed by her. Did he simply want others to covet what was his? Catherine was not egotistical enough to consider herself a prize worthy of inspiring that kind of boasting. She shrugged. Trying to understand what motivated her husband was akin to analyzing the unknown—one might wonder, but there was rarely an easy answer.

Catherine smoothed the creases in the skirt of the modest cotton gown she wore. She could change into another frock, but it would be little different from this one. Frowning into the mirror, she put on a small straw hat, hopelessly outdated, and turned her head from side to side. Oh bother! She looked as dowdy and plain as the wife of a tenant farmer.

Nothing to be done now, she thought resignedly. She had an appointment to keep. At least, she didn't look like a strumpet trying to seduce the entirety of the British army, quite possibly all at once.

*****

Catherine would never know how charming she appeared to Adam a short while later as she approached him in the stables. Her beauty was so pure and refreshing, she took his breath away. Surely, he must have imagined how lovely she was, but here she stood just the way he remembered her. In her simple dress and hat, a soft smile touching her lips, he felt as though she had dragged the sweet, warm light of the early afternoon with her into the darkened building.

Unexpectedly, the simmering heat the earl had tried to tamp the previous evening threatened to erupt full force. He knew he was disrespectful to dwell on the vision she had created in that explicit red gown, but he was unable to help himself. Her fine long neck and gentle sloping shoulders, above breasts spilling from her bodice, swam seductively before his mind's eye. The recollection did not end until his memory had once more conjured the image of exposed ankles and their promise of the shapely limbs hidden from view.

Control yourself, lad, or you are going to humiliate yourself. He coughed and shook his head slightly in an effort to clear the lecherous thoughts from his head.

"Lady Bourgeault, lovely as always," he said. Adam took her hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles, allowing his lips to linger for just a shade too long. He knew better than to permit even this benign intimacy, for his emotions were not entirely in check, but he was unable to stop himself.

"Thank you, my lord." She sounded breathless as she looked back at him.

"I've taken the liberty of having your horse saddled. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not," she murmured.

They led their horses into the stable yard and, as they prepared to mount, a young male servant ran toward them toting a large picnic basket.

"The baron sent this, milord. Said you might get hungry." He thrust the wicker container at the earl.

Adam took the basket and tied it to the back of his saddle, before turning to Catherine. "Seems we are to enjoy a picnic." When she did not respond but stared at him in consternation, he continued. "Is that all right?"

"I think it will be enjoyable, my lord." The expression on her face did not mirror her words.

Adam, concerned with his own burgeoning desires, knew it was unwise for them to spend an entire afternoon alone in each other's company. But what could happen, really? Nothing, unless he assumed she was struggling with the same attraction he was. There was no reason he should assume that was so. And yet, something in her eyes led him to believe she was not entirely indifferent to him.

"Right then, shall we go?"

He placed his hands around her trim waist, and with a swift burst of energy, lifted Catherine into her saddle. He was aware of the firm flesh under the thin cotton of her dress, and he removed his hands quickly lest she take offense. Her gaze averted, she briskly set her skirts to right.

No corset, he mused.

The earl mounted his own horse and, grasping the reins, turned the animal in order to bring himself abreast of his companion. In doing so, he caught sight of the young servant who had brought him the basket.

"And you, my good lad, I'll settle with you later. Off with you now."

Adam watched as a smile as wide as his old nanny's backside transformed the youth's face into an expression of eager delight.

"Aye, milord!" the boy shouted as he scampered back to the house.

"You've made a friend in our Billy, my lord."

Adam turned to Catherine. "It's not I. Money has that effect on even those of us who do not need it."

She gave him a curious look. "He doesn't usually take to strangers, moneyed or otherwise."

"I believe the same could be said of most of the people on your husband's estate," he said dryly.

"I hope you don't count me in that category, my lord. I'd like to think we are friends...or at the very least, friendly acquaintances."

The earl sent her a grin so like the one he had elicited from young Billy, he saw her eyes widen in surprise. "Ah, Lady Bourgeault, you know how to touch a man's heart." He bowed to her from his saddle. "Lead on, madam. I find I am suddenly impatient to discover whatever adventure this day might hold."

*****

They could not have chosen a more beautiful afternoon to make an excursion into the countryside. The air was warm and redolent with the fragrance of wild lilacs, and puffy clouds nestled in the sky like rich mounds of clotted cream. The occasional butterfly lit on a beckoning blossom completing an atmosphere of such languid tranquility, Adam felt no urgency beyond riding in silence with his beautiful companion.

Anyway, there was little to see of domesticated property, only mile upon mile of wild, untamed acreage. And that the baron had in abundance. Those infrequent individuals they did meet appeared to hold the baroness in some affection, but no one inquired after her husband. Adam would have thought that an oddity if he were not already acquainted with the man.

"Doesn't Lord Bourgeault require his tenants to farm the land they are allocated?" he asked at last.

"As far as I know, Edgar has set no conditions on his property, except that he receives an ample portion of the wild game that is hunted. Two or three families do most of the cultivating. They share their produce with the other tenants and are rewarded with a generous allotment of whatever the hunters can provide. Actually, it's a barter system that works quite well." She shrugged. "My husband can't be bothered with something as simple as the well-being of his tenants. Still, as long as they don't provoke him, he is tolerant."

"Yes, but with the baron's straitened financial situation, it would make sense for him to take advantage of the income that could be realized if he developed his land. Can't imagine him not wanting to benefit from such a resource."

"Edgar has, for whatever purpose, decided to foster the impression that he is near ruin," Catherine said with an ironical twist to her lips. "That is untrue. In fact, his fortune might rival your own."

"Are you telling me he doesn't need to sell his grays?" He barked the words.

"I suppose that's what I'm telling you."

He gave her a piercing look. "Does he want to sell them?"

Catherine stared back at him, her silence more telling than if she had spoken.

"By damned!" Adam leaned forward on his horse and grasped the pommel of her saddle, bringing her mount closer to him, which brought her closer as well. "Then why did he invite me out here?"

She drew in a shaky breath and, shifting her gray eyes from his, whispered in an uncertain voice, "I don't know." At his look of incredulity, she began again. "I swear I don't know. Edgar doesn't share his innermost thoughts with me. He only tells me what he wants, and I try not to disappoint him."

"All right then, would you like to divulge the baron's instructions regarding me? I would be most interested."

"He told me to be pleasant to you."

Adam straightened in his saddle and surveyed her, bewildered. "Was that perceived as a problem?"

"You must forgive me for any reluctance I felt, my lord. If you had seen some of the 'gentlemen' my husband has introduced to me, you might understand my misgivings." She paused then sent him a captivating smile. "I hadn't met you yet, you see."

Adam was no match against such powerful persuasion. He had not been exposed to the full force of her enchanting personality before, and he sat stunned as the beguiling warmth of her smile washed over him like the euphoria of an opiate. The end result was a slack-jawed grin that he feared left him looking like an idiot. If somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if she were just being "pleasant" to him, he chose to ignore it.

"You are a witch, casting spells. You know that, don't you?" His words were laced with self-mockery, for he realized his growing weakness where this woman was concerned.

Lady Bourgeault wrinkled her brow. "I don't know what you mean, sir. A witch is an old crone with a crooked nose and a hairy wart on the end of her chin." She glanced at him through her lashes as she continued. "I hope I present better than that."

The earl threw his head back and gave vent to a bark of laughter that echoed through the trees above. "And so you do, sweet lady, and so you do."

The sun had reached its apex and had begun to descend and, as if to illustrate the point, Catherine's stomach gave a timid mewl of protest. He watched her cheeks grow pink as she hastened to explain.

"Pardon me. The toast I ate this morning is no longer with me. Perhaps we could begin our picnic soon?" She smiled wryly. "Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll have to suffer similar episodes of unladylike behavior."

How refreshing she is, Adam thought. If that talking stomach had happened to a London miss, he would have been subjected to mortified hand wringing. He liked the baroness, he decided suddenly. He didn't understand what game her husband was playing, but he couldn't bring himself to paint her with the same brush.

"Let me see," he said, "should we toss our blanket on the ground right here, or do you have a better place in mind? I understand the correct milieu aids in the digestion. And considering the rumblings coming from your midsection, good digestion would be in order." Adam winked at her.

"It's only hunger, my lord. That can be satisfied anywhere. But now you mention it, I can think of one place..." She trailed off, clearly hesitant.

"Yes?"

Catherine straightened her shoulders. "I know just the spot to enjoy our meal." Giving him a winsome smile, she kicked her mount into a gallop. "Follow me!"

At that moment Adam would gladly have followed the lady into the depths of Hell without a backward glance. He spurred his own horse into action and shot across a narrow ditch in hot pursuit.

He could have overtaken her but chose instead to lag several yards behind, enjoying the intoxicating view of a beautiful woman who, as it happened, was also a splendid rider. Her hat had slipped from her head, loosening a mass of sun-brightened curls. She glanced back again and laughed, the tinkling sound dancing on the soft breeze.

Adam groaned inwardly.

They charged their horses up a small incline, and a stand of trees appeared on the horizon as they reached the top of the slope. She looked at him mischievously and without speaking dashed down the hill toward the dense grove. The earl raced after her, feeling like a helpless mortal lured by a wood nymph into the magic of the forest beyond.

*****

Catherine didn't know if she wanted to tell Lord Ashworth about her retreat. She had come upon it not long after her marriage to Edgar, and it had offered her the only peace she was to know for a long time. It was dangerous to share the only thing that belonged to one. Yet the thought of spending an afternoon with the earl in her most treasured place, sharing a leisurely meal, beckoned her. She glanced shyly over her shoulder to see if he still followed.

Lord Ashworth trailed only a few yards behind her, and he grinned when their eyes met. He had a lazy, sensual smile and, when he looked at her like that, she felt an odd breathless catch in her throat. She wondered how it would feel if he were to place those warm lips to hers instead of the back of her hand. Oh dear! There went that catch again.

The earl was handsome and she feared her taste in men might be superficial. Not the noblest of thoughts but she was unable to control the attraction she felt for him. What did it matter? His company energized and aroused her. Whether right or wrong, it had become a matter of indifference to her. Had she been able to tap into a source of loyalty for her husband, her attitude would have been different. As it was, she ceased to care.

Catherine made a decision then. She would enjoy whatever today would bring and let tomorrow take care of itself. She had little enough pleasure in life, so why must she feel guilty for wanting to enjoy herself? Her retreat would be ideal and, with that in mind, she threw caution to the wind.

Within moments they entered a clearing. Catherine dismounted without waiting for the earl's assistance and swung her arms wide as she turned in a circle about the shaded copse.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Water bubbled its way in easy contentment along the bank of a small, rock-studded stream, sunlight sifting down through the towering limbs overhead. The smell of clover scented the air.

The earl, still astride, cast his gaze slowly around the tiny glen as he studied the scenery. He then turned his attention to Catherine but did not speak. A suggestive grin broke the calm of his expression as he continued to watch her.

"More beautiful than I could have imagined," he murmured.

Simple statement that, but it held a wealth of meaning. Catherine dropped her arms while staring back in fascination. Her mouth fell open and her breathing quickened. The air vibrated with unspoken words as they shared a moment of absolute understanding. The specter of desire had been brought into the open and was acknowledged.

With a monumental burst of willpower, she broke the eye contact and with it the mood. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the wind-blown hair from her face. Unnerved, she avoided speaking lest her unsteady voice give her away. Yet if the earl thought it was he she feared, he was wrong. Catherine did not trust herself. Temptation had made a grand entrance into her cozy wild garden, and she didn't know if she had the strength to resist.

Lord Ashworth apparently took pity on her then. He was businesslike as he climbed down from his horse and brought the wicker basket to the middle of the clearing.

Catherine was relieved when his conduct turned impersonal. One thing to tell the devil to take the hindmost and quite another to follow through with it.

They conversed little as they spread their blanket on the spongy ground and emptied the contents of the basket. They avoided looking at one another for fear of bringing highly charged emotions to the fore. But where their hands chanced to touch as they arranged their meal on the woolen spread, there was profound awareness.

Catherine stared in amazement at the well-prepared food, and her stomach gave another growl of discontent. It was a veritable feast, with cold roast chicken, glazed ham and three varieties of cheese. Peaches, tinged with pink, rounded out the repast.

"I didn't know Cook could provide such a meal," she said.

Adam looked at her curiously. "The baron doesn't demand excellence from his cook?"

"Not usually. But since you've arrived, I've been surprised by what has come out of that kitchen. Either my husband has put his foot down, or Cook has seen how handsome you are." She spoke without thinking, and she glanced at him quickly, embarrassed by her boldness.

He searched her expression for a moment before that wonderful, ready grin appeared that made her nerves tingle with excitement. "Whatever the reason," he spoke gently, "I'm grateful for what we are about to receive. Shall we?"

This last did much to ease the tension as far as Catherine was concerned. She tucked her legs under her skirt and reached for a leg of chicken. Taking a bite, she nearly smacked her lips in appreciation. She was too hungry to be dainty, and for some reason she could not explain it seemed unnecessary. The atmosphere between them had become casual and uninhibited, and she was elated by the sudden lack of restraint. She smiled hugely and took another bite.

The earl appeared delighted by her enthusiasm, and she knew he watched her from the corner of his eye as he uncorked a bottle of wine, now grown warm, and poured them each a glass. He talked with her then, about nothing of consequence, as they shared personal tidbits of their lives. She could feel them becoming imperceptibly closer in the process. They ate until replete, and the comfortable tone continued unabated.

Lord Ashworth reached for a peach and began to peel it. He cut a chunk away from the pit and, in gallant fashion, presented a slice to her.

Catherine leaned forward. Because the piece of peach was too large to take whole, she sank her teeth into the fruit, her lips gently grazing the tips of his fingers as she did so.

The smile edging Adam's mouth drifted slowly away while he watched her bite the succulent peach. His eyes turned black and unreadable.

Catherine was shocked by the intensity of the earl's look. Mesmerized, she could not tear her gaze from his as he withdrew the remaining morsel and very deliberately placed it in his mouth. He continued to stare at her as he sucked the juice from each of his sticky fingers, one by one.

She had no idea what that little ritual meant, however, neither was she a fool. Unsophisticated she might be, but the overt sexual nature of the communication left no doubt about the earl's intentions. He had sent her an invitation, pure and simple.

Catherine knew he held his breath, her indecision as obvious to him as it was to herself. Now was the time to clarify her position with the forward gentleman. Unfortunately, she felt powerless to deny him. Nothing had prepared her for the intense onslaught of emotion that had taken her mind and body. Perhaps one kiss—nothing wrong with that, was there?—just so she might satisfy a need she was only now beginning to accept.

She closed her eyes, losing the war with herself, feeling oddly victorious.

The air in the earl's chest whooshed out in a shaky gasp. He touched her face and his fingers, resting lightly on her cheek, trembled. Could he actually be nervous too?

The earl slipped his hand gently along her jaw, cupping the back of her neck and drawing her to him. He rubbed the curve of her mouth with his thumb. She did not open her eyes but could feel his compelling stare as her lips parted slightly, her breathing coming in short, quick pants.

"Oh, God," he whispered unsteadily.

He kissed her then, his hungry mouth gliding across the smooth surface of her lips, back and forth with ever increasing warmth. A groan escaped from somewhere deep in his chest. His hand at her neck slid into her hair, grasping the silken mass with almost painful intensity.

Catherine didn't care. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung to him as though her life depended on it. Perhaps it did, for in that instant the peripheral world ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was now, what she felt, what she wanted. And she wanted the earl.

Her pelvis began to tingle unbearably, and when he drew her up against his chest, the urge to press that part of herself against him became almost irresistible. Overwhelmed by desire, she was confused by her response. Wasn't one kiss enough? And if it was, why was she burning all over? Why did she want another and another?

The earl conveyed no such confusion despite seeming at first unsure. His movements were forceful and skilled. Undoubtedly, he had been here before and he knew exactly what he wanted.

They fell onto the picnic blanket, their lips never parting. He did not rush her as if he knew that would be a mistake. Instead, he continued to kiss her, that simple activity relentlessly stoking her passion. She moaned aloud and felt his excitement surge in response.

At her waist, Catherine became aware of his other hand as it inched slowly, inexorably up her ribs toward her breast. She ceased to breathe in an agony of anticipation. His fingers finally reached their destination, and he gently grasped the tender mound, rolling it beneath his palm, stimulating the sensitive peak. She moaned again.

His touch moved downward, slipping under the edge of her skirt and skimming along the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Her legs began to quiver uncontrollably. She knew what he intended, but so lost was she in the magic of the spell he was weaving, she actually began to fear he might stop.

But his kisses continued unabated, fevered kisses, covering her eyelids and cheeks and throat, finding her mouth again. He whispered ardent words against her ear, his breath hot and rapid, before he buried his face in the sensitive area between her neck and shoulder.

With a single, deft movement, the earl reached for the drawstring of her drawers and, loosening the waist, eased his hand inside the garment to her hip. Splaying his fingers over the soft flesh, he pressed his erection firmly against her lower body and began the instinctive cadence of the mating ritual, infinite pleasure even through their garb. Catherine followed his lead without thought, moving with him, immersed in the erotic sensations.

And that's why one kiss was not enough, could not possibly be. She had known it all along. But it was too late. Much too late. She wanted him to be part of her, to fill her with his body—to bring her along on his journey of ecstasy. She would come with him now. He need not worry, if indeed he had worried, that she would renege and leave him frustrated. Her frustration would be as keen as his were that to happen.

The earl grasped the waistband of her drawers, pulling them down over her hips, and quickly adjusted his own clothing in preparation for their joining. He touched her intimately, causing her body to jerk in reaction.

Was that whimpering coming from her?

Catherine's eyes flickered open, and her clouded gaze centered on his handsome face, now taut with desire. He was watching her, his expression a strange combination of concern and lust. Her vision suddenly cleared.

He was allowing her to reconsider! Yes, she should have known. The earl's sense of honor would demand he do no less. She saw his hesitation and knew the silent question he asked. And in that instant Catherine came to the conclusion she was very nearly in love. She smiled sweetly and, putting a hand on either side of his head, drew him to her and placed a beckoning kiss on his mouth.

She felt the tension leave his body and knew he was lost. He came into her then, a swift thrust that took her maidenhead, although she felt quite certain he didn't know. And why should he after all? Why should it occur to him that a woman married seven years was still a virgin? And in fairness to his supposed ignorance, her barrier had been fragile as tissue paper and easily ruptured.

That did not mean there was no pain. It came as a complete shock because it was so completely unexpected. Catherine clung to him in desperation, willing herself not to cry out. She mustn't let him know this was her first time, for that would imply some responsibility on his part, and she did not want to burden him. How disappointing to be so eagerly aroused and then left wanting. Salty tears gathered at the corners of her lids, threatening to escape.

Fortunately, the ache began to dissipate as he moved within her, and a comforting numbness took its place. In a short time she came to realize the pleasure, though hidden by the pain, had not been lost to her. The thrusting of the earl's hips proved hypnotic, and she found herself helplessly drawn into the rhythm of the movement as once again her excitement swelled.

Catherine began to thrash beneath him in an agitated frenzy, reaching for something just beyond her grasp.

"Come with me, sweetheart," he whispered urgently.

Her eyes locked with his, and Catherine stared into their smoky depths.

All at once she cried out as she was sucked into a whirlpool of sensation so profound, she was hard pressed to explain it. But that seemed the signal for which he was waiting because, at her sudden gasp of pleasure, he buried himself deep within her. A growl of ecstasy rose from his throat, and he rocked back and forth, wringing the last of the passion from both of them.

For several moments, the only sounds in the little glen were the breathless pants of the exhausted couple. The earl lifted his head to look at her.

Catherine gazed at him dreamily. "The most extraordinary feeling overtook me. It's like nothing I've ever felt before," she said in wonder. "I'd wager it's a bit like opium, though—once experienced the desire for more is compelling." She laughed softly.

He stared back, his brows drawing together in disbelief. "Doesn't your husband see to your needs? What a dolt he must be." She was confused by his anger and must have appeared that way, for he shook his head as if resigned. "Don't mind me, love. I'm feeling possessive and I have no right."

"I don't mind."

Adam smiled at her, a sad smile. "Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are? I fear you are the opiate."

She ran fingers along the bridge of his cheek. "You're rather lovely yourself, my lord," she teased.

Laying his forehead against hers, he chuckled. "Sprite. If I did not know better, I would say I've been enchanted." He kissed her, lips lingering on her mouth before he rose back on his elbows. "I wish I could spend the remainder of the day resting on top of you in this oh-so-pleasant manner."

"I would like that, also," she said wistfully.

"I suppose we should return to the castle." His voice was filled with regret.

He rolled off Catherine and helped her to her feet. They spent the next several minutes erasing all evidence of their slip from respectability. Packing the picnic basket, the earl tied it to his horse. He then stood with his back to her as though uncertain, his hands resting on the basket, the silence stretching between them until she began to feel uncomfortable. When he finally turned to her, his features were a mask of regret.

"I hope you can forgive me. I should never have allowed myself to give into temptation," he said. "It was wrong of me."

Catherine experienced a stab of disappointment so profound her stomach did a sickening flip. "I want no apology," she said over a throat gone tight with hurt.

"I took advantage of you. I know better and there is no excuse for my behavior," he insisted.

"I knew what I was doing. The responsibility is not only yours," she stated. She softened her expression and held out a hand to him. "Please, lie to me—say anything you must, but don't say you're sorry, for I feel no regret."

Adam grasped her arms and pulled her to him. "Do you understand what you're saying?"

"Yes," she said woodenly, "I know exactly what I am saying." She released herself from his hold and looked at him defiantly. "I'm saying I don't care." She drew in a deep breath and, though she tried valiantly for control, her chin trembled with emotion. "Just once I wished to see what I have been denied—what I'll always be denied. Is that so much to ask? I risked all today to know the answer to my question."

"Was it worth it?" he asked in a gentle voice.

Catherine felt a teardrop escape from beneath her lashes. "It might have been better had I never known," she acknowledged with sudden insight.

She turned away from him then and mounted her horse unassisted, spurring the animal from the clearing without looking back.

The earl was left to follow in her wake.

*****

"The deed is done, my lord."

"Are you absolutely certain, Willy?"

"Aye, my lord. I watched to the very end. It was hard to tell exactly what went on, though, 'cause they never got undressed." He sounded disappointed.

"That will be enough, Willy!" the baron roared. "I don't wish to know all the sordid details. It causes me much pain to know my wife has been unfaithful to me."

"But I thought that's what you wanted."

"What I want is not necessarily what I like." Lord Bourgeault rose from his desk and walked to the window to stare unseeingly into the stable yard below. "I knew it would take only the right bait to bring her around." He spoke mainly to himself but Willy answered him anyway.

"You've brought any number of gents here what would have been able to do what you had in mind, my lord. What makes him so special, personally I don't see it."

"You don't have to see it," the baron said contemptuously. "Aside from being young and handsome, and it would appear virile, he has the added advantage of being a gentleman." When Willy looked as though he might interrupt, the baron snapped, "I'm not talking about his birth, you fool. Plenty of men qualify if you use that as your measuring stick. Lord Ashworth is a gentleman by nature. He prides himself on doing the pretty, and women eat it up. That's what makes him different."

Lord Bourgeault turned his hooded gaze on his servant who stood by the door, clearly ready to flee if the atmosphere in the room turned any darker.

"I've gone to a great deal of trouble, Willy, to produce this little charade. Let's hope it bears fruit. As for you, I suspect your difficult 'chore' this afternoon will provide you with enough licentious daydreaming to last you a twelvemonth. Get out of my sight!"

*****

CHAPTER 4

Adam paced the floor of his apartment, agitated. He was put out with himself, for he had offended Catherine. He hadn't meant to hurt her by apologizing. He had wanted her to understand that he respected her, that he held her in highest regard. Instead, she had been insulted as if he were trying to ease his conscience by taking responsibility. She had certainly disabused him of the notion that she thought him to blame. His admiration for her had grown dramatically with her refusal to play the innocent.

A knock at the door brought his head around. "Enter."

A pair of footmen came into the room and poured two buckets apiece of hot, steamy water in the tub next to the hearth. In the following ten minutes the process was repeated twice again before the tub was full enough to accommodate the earl with a comfortable bath. He waited for the footmen to exit after their final trip then began to disrobe.

He removed his shirt and riding breeches and, as he unbuttoned his undergarment, he noticed a red-brown stain spattering the front of his crotch. Curious, he peeled off the drawers to examine them. On closer inspection, much to his amazement, he decided it was blood.

Where had that come from? Had his lovemaking been so rough he had hurt Catherine? He had to admit he didn't know for certain. She had not complained. In fact, he could have sworn she was in the same condition that had driven him. And yet, since he could detect no bodily injury to himself, it must be Catherine's blood.

He stepped into the bath and sighed as the heated water enveloped his body. Puzzled, he continued to ponder the odd turn of events. Surely, if he had been hurting her Catherine would have said something.

All at once the simplest of solutions occurred to him. The high drama of their lovemaking had brought on Catherine's menses. The thought pleased him, maybe because the hypothesis was so sensible he could absolve himself from the unwelcome guilt. He accepted the argument because he could think of no other, completing his bath in thoughtful reflection.

*****

Catherine stared at herself in the mirror. The young woman who looked back at her appeared no different than she had this morning when she had dressed for the day. And still, there was something, something she could not quite put her finger on. She stepped closer to the glass, trying to discern the subtle change. It wouldn't show on her face, would it? Of course not. The loss of one's virginity did not alter one's features, but no doubt about it, between dawn and dusk this day a transformation had taken place.

Perhaps it wasn't so much a visual thing as an emanation from within. She felt different, therefore, she was different. But that did not explain the ache that was now her heart. Deep inside tears poured in a torrent of grief, but outwardly her eyes remained dry and remote.

What a fool I am, she thought. How could she possibly believe she could touch the fire and not get burned? What had she told the earl? She wanted to know what she had been denied. It would have been better had she remained ignorant.

Why had he ruined everything by apologizing? The most dramatic moment of her life had been reduced to an impetuous act that begged pardon. She wanted him to rejoice with her, to be as profoundly touched as she had been. Instead, he had distanced himself from her by pleading temporary loss of control. The letdown hurt unbearably.

Catherine believed his remorse was genuine, but rather than regretting their lovemaking, she wished him to regret that they might never love again.

She grasped the bell pull and gave it a yank, sending an echo through the drafty halls. Several minutes passed before a breathless Edna appeared at the door.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, my lady, but Lord Bourgeault sent for me. I have a message for you."

Catherine sighed. "And what might that be, Edna?"

"He said you are expected at supper."

Catherine whirled around. "I should have known. I'll not get out of it tonight. Damn! Damn!"

Edna stared at her mistress, eyes wide with shock.

Catherine caught the look on the servant's face and cringed in self-disgust. "Oh bother—please, just have my tub filled so I can bathe. I can't go downstairs like this."

"Lord Ashworth is having his tub filled at the moment. As soon as that is completed, I will see to your bath." Edna paused then whispered in a conspiratorial voice, "Isn't our guest the most handsome gent you've ever seen?" She smiled at her mistress guilelessly.

Catherine sent her maid a look of such displeasure, Edna gulped and dashed from the room.

"He's probably tossed up her skirts as well," she fumed aloud. An illogical assumption and unfair, she realized, but her feelings were battered and she was unable to be fair.

Of course, the earl would be taking his bath right at the moment she wanted to wash! His convenience before hers, naturally. She stormed on in this unreasonable fashion for the better part of fifteen minutes before the footmen entered her room with the first of several buckets of water.

Catherine was left to undress herself because Edna had not yet returned, and she fumbled with the hooks of her dress until she was scarlet with rage. She flung herself into the bath, causing a cascade of scented water to slosh over the edge of the tub onto the woolen carpet.

At that unfortunate moment, an unbidden thought of the earl reclining in his bath came upon her. She imagined his strong shoulders and broad chest as they rose above the surface of the water, the steamy liquid glistening on smooth, masculine skin. He would stand then, the foamy suds slipping down, down—oh my! What was she thinking?

How could she entertain such thoughts about a man she had just been cursing to the depths of Hell? She forced herself to remember her anger. Much less disturbing to be incensed, she thought, and less painful than the self-pity she had allowed herself to wallow in upon returning home.

She finished her bathing in haste, scrubbing her skin until it shone pink. Was she washing away more than an afternoon's perspiration?

"Some things never change," Catherine spoke aloud a short while later as she stood in front of the wardrobe, once again trying to choose an ensemble that would not make her hang her head in shame. She had nearly given up hope, when her hand grazed the skirt of a rose silk gown hidden in the back of the cabinet behind its more garish sisters. How had she forgotten this little gem?

Not to say the dress was perfect, just less imperfect than her other choices. She slipped the wispy garment over her head and stared into the mirror.

The gown was the first one Edgar had bought her after their marriage. It still had her husband's hallmark neckline which was embarrassingly low, but aside from that it was quite attractive. Soft puffy sleeves to the elbows were enhanced by a bow on each cinched cuff. Nipped at the waist, the full skirt flowed gently to the tips of her feet, while floral appliques edged the rounded bodice and hem.

All in all, though outdated, it would do. Even the problem of the plunging neckline would be solved if she found a piece of lace to insert in the bodice to cover her chest. The baron would not like it but she felt too belligerent to care.

"My lady, you look beautiful." Edna had returned to the apartment and stood uncertainly in the doorway. She dropped her gaze and scurried across the room to where her mistress waited for her assistance.

"Would you please do my hooks, Edna?"

"Aye, my lady."

The baroness faced the mirror and exchanged a glance with the little maid in the looking glass. She felt a stab of remorse, for Edna's eyes were red-rimmed from weeping. How could she have hurt her devoted servant?

She knew she should apologize, but the words stuck in her throat like a lump of cold porridge. Perhaps later when the wound was not so raw and her anger had abated, she would do the right thing. For now she felt incapable of assuaging anyone's pain but her own.

In a voice less than steady, she directed her maid to the dressing table. "In the top drawer right-hand side, you will find a square of lace. Bring it to me."

The servant retrieved the lace, and Catherine tucked it into the immodest neckline. Several minutes passed as she adjusted and readjusted the delicate netting so it would fall in precisely the right way. When she felt certain she could not make it look any better, she turned to Edna for approval.

"What do you think?"

"Yes, yes, my lady," Edna breathed. "It's just the thing. Now you look perfect."

"Thank you," Catherine said humbly. She did indeed owe this sweet person an apology. She reached over and patted the maid on the shoulder as she turned to leave. "We'll talk later," was all she could manage.

The baroness navigated the stairs seconds later with greater ease than the night before, and it buoyed her spirits to know that she was in the best of good looks—good taste as well. She only wished the hammering of her heart would ease so she could take a steadying breath. The last thing she wanted was to appear discomposed by the evening to come. Pride might come before the fall, but at the moment it was all she had.

*****

Adam stood when his hostess entered the parlor and allowed his gaze to feast on her dignified beauty. Last evening she had been every man's secret fantasy, an enticing temptress gift-wrapped in a package of a most sensual nature, while this afternoon she had been lovely and unsophisticated, though no less alluring. But now as the baroness walked regally into the room, her head held high, he felt overwhelmed by the lady she had become. Her true potential rushed at him like a mad sea, and a feeling of sadness welled within him.

Here stood the woman for whom he had searched so long. He believed himself half in love already, and there was no way he could have her. Twenty-four hours ago they were barely met and now they were lovers. How could he walk away from her as though nothing had happened?

And presently she refused to look at him. She did turn briefly in his direction, but her glance bounced off him with a minimum of recognition. Damnation! Why wouldn't she understand? She must know he had not meant to hurt her.

"I see you have decided to dress more drably this evening, my dear." The baron spoke in a sly, needling voice. "To whom do we owe the honor of your sudden good taste?"

"We'll not burden you with that distinction, will we, my lord?" Catherine returned. "If it were left up to you, I'd be attending your dinner parties sans clothing altogether. I thought we'd show our guest we can be prettily behaved when absolutely necessary." With a snap of her skirts she turned and entered the dining room.

Lord Bourgeault looked dumbfounded. Adam would have laughed out loud had he not been acutely aware that much of the hostility following the baroness from the room was directed at him and not his host. He and the baron jockeyed for position as they trailed behind the irate lady.

Dinner proved less than a congenial affair. Antagonism thick as paste hung over the disgruntled trio. The baron as always ate in greedy silence, but only a simpleton could have missed the dark antipathy that emanated from his bony frame.

Adam didn't care. His main concern centered on the only woman at the awkward meal. Catherine had managed, with some degree of success, to spurn his discreet advances. He was frustrated by her unwillingness to acknowledge his contrition and, with her husband at the table, the earl had little hope of introducing the subject.

"Ashworth," the baron began, leaning back in his chair. He studied his guest through malevolent, opaque eyes. "You've had many hours to contemplate the wisdom of purchasing my grays. Have you decided to rescind your hasty decision of this morning? I assume it has been the most pressing thing on your mind." His voice was laced with venom.

Was this the attitude of a man who wanted to bargain? Adam wondered if he was imagining the malice in the man's voice, but a peek at Catherine made him reconsider. She was staring at her husband with something akin to fear, and she darted a look of uncertainty at the earl. This was the first real communication he had shared with her all evening, and he would take it even though it did not bode well.

"Of course, you are right, sir. The suspense has consumed my day. Would it surprise you if I told you I might be willing to meet your price?"

An arrested hush descended over the diners that shrieked with intensity. The first indication of how severely the baron was affected came by way of a spot of bright red color in each of his cheeks. He sat forward in his chair and, grasping the table linen, began to knead the material in agitated fingers.

It must have been a terrible blow to the baron's pride to back down, but open conflict would not serve his purpose. Whatever his purpose was. With an effort not lost on his guest, he took another tack.

"You surprise me, Ashworth. I thought my asking price was more than you were willing to pay." The words were spoken cautiously.

The earl grinned. "Now, sir, I had the distinct impression you set your asking price at more than I or any sane person would pay. That leads me to wonder why you've gone to such lengths to bring me here."

"Are you calling me a liar?" The baron's voice rose dangerously.

"I'm saying your motives are suspect, Bourgeault." Unlike his host Adam remained unruffled.

"I put a price on my beauties that reflects their true worth to me. If you assumed it would be painful for me to part with them, then yes, I admit it." Lord Bourgeault rose from his seat and loomed over the table. "I will not have my word called into question. Write a draft on your bank for the full ten thousand, and you may leave with the grays in the morning."

Catherine gasped. "Ten thousand pounds, Edgar?"

The gazes of both gentlemen shifted in her direction before Adam brought his back to the baron. "Not going to meet me 'halfway,' Bourgeault?"

"No, damn you! I'll not lighten the price by so much as a sou. You want those horses you'll have to pay for them. My first offer is my final offer." The baron paused. "Well, what will it be?"

The earl drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Tell you what, Bourgeault, I'd like to think on it for tonight. If you have no objection, I'll give you my decision in the morning."

That ought to keep the old bastard wondering for a few more hours.

"Right," the baron sneered the word. "Wouldn't want you to make a hasty decision." He stood to leave. "I seem to have lost my appetite, so I'll bid you both good evening. Catherine, see to our guest's pleasure."

A peculiar feeling of insinuation followed his parting words.

What had he meant by that?

*****

"Convenient to lose one's appetite when the platters have all been eaten clean," Adam murmured aloud.

"What? I'm sorry, what did you say?" Catherine watched her husband's retreating back, a pulse in her throat throbbing with apprehension.

"I said you are looking lovely tonight." The earl grinned at her, his eyes filled with things remembered.

Catherine felt her face flush. "You are a rogue, sir." She bit her lip in an effort not to respond to his charm, but against her will a begrudging smile tipped the corners of her mouth.

"Ahhh...there's a sight to warm a lovelorn gentleman's heart. May I hope that you've found forgiveness for whatever I've done to offend you?"

How was she supposed to protect herself from this assault on her defenses? She felt vulnerable and, though she wished to deny it, his nearness still had the power to disconcert her. She'd better be careful or the fragile fortress she had erected around her raw emotions would crumble without a fight.

"There's nothing to forgive," she said.

"You disappoint me. I had hoped you would be honest with me. Please give me a chance to make amends." His tone, though bantering, was underscored with a note of seriousness.

What could she say? The only hope she had of saving her cracked heart came with distancing herself from him as soon as possible, yet he seemed determined not to let that happen.

Perhaps it was already too late.

"Come, walk in the garden with me," he tempted her. "Share with me some of your thoughts."

"What of Edgar?"

"Last evening I was angry with your husband for deserting you to the company of a stranger. But tonight," here his voice dropped intimately, "I find I'm grateful for his boorishness. Is that wrong of me? Moreover," he suggested ingeniously, "he said to see to my pleasure. I desire a walk in the garden."

Catherine could not help smiling. "All right, my lord, I'm at your command."

Adam stood and bowed as he bent his elbow to her. He took her slim fingers and, placing them on his forearm, covered her hand with his own.

Night had arrived with a hint of nippiness in the still air. The sky was decorated with an impressive display of tiny, twinkling stars, while a brilliant moon cast illumination on the unkempt garden. They strolled down the walk to a stone bench enclosed by an overgrown boxwood hedge. The greenery provided some privacy once the couple seated themselves.

For several moments they sat without speaking, enjoying the peace and tranquility of the moment and the nearness of one another.

"Are you cold?" Adam asked.

Catherine shook her head. "No, the air feels delightful. I think I was overheated when we were inside."

"Will you tell me what I've done to displease you?"

She searched the planes of his face in the darkness, looking for some sign of the humor she had seen before, but she detected none. She shrugged her shoulders.

"It's very difficult sometimes to put into words one's feelings," she said, "especially when one is not quite certain what those feelings are."

He chuckled. "Would it make you feel any better to know I am also grappling with disturbed emotions, also?"

"Really? I thought it fairly easy for you."

Adam frowned. "Why would it be easier for me than for you?"

"You're a man," she stated simply as if that explained everything.

"I see. My being a man means I'm less complicated. I couldn't possibly feel as deeply as a woman."

"Is that what I said?" she asked in a small voice.

"It's what you implied." His tone was brusque.

Catherine allowed several seconds to pass before she continued. "I didn't mean to suggest you are insensitive. You must admit, though, it is not uncommon for a gentleman to find his pleasure where he will without giving a thought to the women he possesses."

"Is that why you're angry with me? Do you think I have used you and will discard you like rubbish? There are men like that, but I'm not one of them." His eyes glittered in the dimness as he brought his face close to hers. "And what of you? Was I the only one in that little glen who enjoyed himself?"

Catherine swallowed painfully, but an inherent honesty would not let her lie. She turned misty eyes on him. "It was wonderful," she whispered. "I've never been so moved in my life. I'm having a terrible time separating what was purely passion from what was more. One does not love in a day, does one?"

Against her better judgment she was opening her heart, entrusting him with her innermost feelings, allowing him to see the bewilderment and hurt.

Adam grasped her upper arms and turned her to face him. "I don't know, love, I swear. But if it offers you any comfort, I'm drowning in confusion too. I know I want you," he averred huskily. "The attraction is unbearable, and yet, like nothing I've experienced before. I'm no school lad. I've seen something of the world, so you tell me, for I haven't a clue."

And that, of course, was the crux of the matter. They didn't have time to find out how they felt about each other. In fact, they didn't even have the right to explore their feelings. Tomorrow would bring the premature end to a budding romance filled with promise, and nothing could stop the inevitable.

"I can tell you, I will regret one thing—that I'll never be able to do this again." Adam clasped her to his chest and roughly covered her lips with his fiery mouth, demanding she respond to him.

He had said the one thing she wanted most to hear. Catherine threw her arms around his neck and kissed him in return.

His breathing grew harsh as he continued to ravish her mouth. He hooked his fingers in the sleeves of her gown and tugged the diaphanous material down her shoulders. Slipping his hand into the plunging neckline, Adam scooped out one breast, dislodging the carefully arranged lace. He brought his tongue to the tender peak.

There are moments in life that can only be described by sensation. For Catherine this was such a moment. The blood surged in her temples and soared through her body. Tossing her head backward, she reveled in the intense carnality his mouth produced. She gradually became aware of a soft keening that broke the calm of the night. Shocked, Catherine realized she was the source of the sound.

The excited mewling evidently acted on Adam's senses like oil on a raging fire. He pulled Catherine from the bench and onto the ground, rolling on top of her. He freed her other breast and, grasping a rounded globe in each hand, began to knead the silken flesh as he rained frenetic kisses on her neck and shoulders.

"God! What am I doing?" he groaned hoarsely. "Have I no integrity when I'm near you?" He drew himself up on his knees, pulling Catherine onto her knees as well. He lay his cheek against her forehead as she felt him fight for control.

Catherine was dazed. She had been sucked into an erotic play that had ended long before the actors had finished their scenes. To say she was disappointed would be a monumental understatement.

"Why do you stop?" she queried fretfully.

Adam drew in an unsteady breath as he pulled back from her. His gaze trailed along her naked torso like a caress. He squeezed his eyes tight as though to shut out the provocative display.

His face was lined with pain, and Catherine reached out to him. "My lord...? Are you all right?"

His eyes flew open, and he stared at her fiercely. "I've already dishonored you once today. I'll not do it again."

"I don't feel dishonored," she said.

He snorted as he shook his head. "You don't make this easy, love."

Adam's hands shook as he began to fumble ineffectually with the bodice of her dress. His palm accidentally grazed the nipple of her left breast, and they both froze at the intimate contact.

"Help me," he entreated in an anguished voice, "for both our sakes."

He was right and she was wrong. The earl's conscience would suffer if he continued on in this way—although she had to admit it seemed a little late in the day to begin worrying about her honor. She leaned forward and deftly eased herself back into the top of her gown.

"It's not as though I pulled it down myself," she said with some spirit.

Her throat ached and she wished desperately to cry, but she controlled the urge because to break down now would only cause him further grief.

Adam, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, stared into her eyes. "I think I will rue all the days of my life that I made myself end this. How in God's name am I to forget you?"

"If it's all the same to you, my lord, I'd rather you didn't forget me. After all, I will always remember you."

She scrambled to her feet and brushed her skirt, more from a need to do something than from any real concern over her dress.

Adam came to his feet also and stood awkwardly, hands at his sides, while she finished adjusting her clothing. Catherine glanced up and caught him watching her, his features a study in sadness. She moved toward him, and he took her in his arms in an embrace so tender, she felt certain her heart would break. The passion was gone, and in its place came a deep awareness of what might have been.

"Do you come to the city?" he asked.

She shook her head against his shoulder, not trusting herself to speak.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," he quoted, his voice gruff with emotion.

Pulling back, Catherine looked at him, determined to memorize all the details of his handsome face. "I'll not come down tomorrow unless Edgar insists. Please forgive me, but I think it's best that way."

"I won't say good-bye—it's too final," Adam said.

She stood on tiptoe and brushed a feather-light kiss on his mouth. "Till we meet again," she agreed.

Then she disappeared like a wraith into the darkness surrounding the house.

*****

The Earl of Ashworth lay in his borrowed bed and stared at the cracked ceiling overhead. Awake for some time, he had no desire to rise. A single cobweb dangling in a far corner of the room had consumed much of his attention as he muddled through the events of yesterday. He had fallen in love and behaved like a blackguard, all in the span of twenty-four short hours. How he had come to such a sorry state was beyond him.

The love part still confused him. Maybe infatuation was a better word. Yet something had turned his psyche into knots, and if not love, what then? All right, a beautiful woman had much to do with his mental state. But he had known many beautiful women in his adult life, and he had never before called his sanity into question.

The worst part of this imbroglio stemmed from his inability to control his baser self. He was appalled that he could depart so far from the fundamental tenets that molded his life. And if he admitted the truth, he wished nothing more than to commit the same unthinkable act that had recently led him astray.

Even as he castigated himself for his unchivalrous behavior, his body tensed with desire for the lady. Adam had gone to bed in a state of pronounced frustration, and an uneasy night's sleep had only served to make matters worse.

He groaned as he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Sitting on the side of the bed, he willed himself to stand and prepare for his departure. He wanted to deny his reluctance was related to anything but a poor night's rest, but an arousing vision of the baroness, naked to the waist in the moonlight, played havoc with his imagination.

Damn! He shook his head to clear his brain and ran his fingers through the thick waves that had fallen onto his brow. Best of all, he mused ironically, he still had the baron to face.

Adam might have felt better about himself if he suffered some guilt over having made a cuckold of his host, but his conscience refused to cooperate. The baron did not deserve to call Catherine his wife, and rather than contrition, the earl was grappling with anger over the inequity of her situation.

She deserved better, much better. Adam had actually pondered the likelihood of freeing Catherine from her marital prison. Hours of mental finagling as the night crept by had served only to discourage his ambition. Divorce was out of the question, for the baroness would be a societal pariah if she became involved in anything that unsavory.

What is it about human nature that, when faced with the inevitable, insists on forestalling fate? he wondered. Catherine was bound to another, and unless her husband expired—now there was a cheery thought—she would remain in that union. No amount of compromise or pleading or threats would alter that fact.

Yet as the earl finished his morning ablutions and packed his few belongings, he continued to argue for the possibilities. That there weren't any did not deter him. It seemed an impossibility that the one woman for whom he had acquired an overwhelming passion would always be beyond his reach.

Adam wished Catherine had not exiled herself to her room during his departure. Perhaps they could have stolen a few moments together. And if not, he would at least have had the pleasure of seeing her lovely face while he ate his breakfast. Instead he had the not-so-pleasant task of keeping the baron company for the first meal of the day. His hunger disintegrated at the thought.

When Adam reached the dining room, the baron occupied his usual position at the table, but apparently he had finished eating. He sipped on what looked like a watered brandy.

"Ashworth, I'd given up hope you meant to join me."

"Morning," Adam said on his way to the sideboard. "To be honest, I didn't sleep as well as expected."

"I trust it wasn't the accommodations."

There was a nasty edge in the baron's voice, and Adam turned to look at him.

"I may be late this morning, Bourgeault, but it's still too early for innuendo. If you have something you wish to say to me then please do so."

A pregnant pause ensued as the baron studied his guest over the rim of his glass. "Didn't mean to suggest anything in particular. Just hoped your lack of sleep did not have a specific cause that could be attributed to me or," he paused, then continued in a sly voice, "possibly my wife."

Adam knew this much—the baron was suggesting something, and he sensed the man was enticing him into making a misstep. He would have paid a pretty penny to discover Bourgeault's game, but he suspected getting his host to open up would be like trying to extract a back tooth from a wild boar—best not to bother for it can't be done.

"Your wife has been a gracious hostess as I'm sure you know. You, on the other hand—you'll forgive me if I don't mince words—are one of a kind."

Bourgeault grinned. "I will assume your words are a tribute to my uniqueness," he said congenially.

The baron did have one remarkable quality, Adam thought. He could take an insult better than most. The earl chuckled as he commenced to eat.

Silence permeated the dining hall, the only sound disturbing the quiet being the clink of Adam's fork against his plate as he finished his meal. He glanced up to see the baron eyeing him pensively.

The earl raised his eyebrows in question. "Do you have something you wish to discuss with me?" he asked innocently.

Bourgeault leaned forward and placed his empty glass on the table in front of him. He was irritated if the twitching muscle in his right cheek was any indication.

"Did you not lead me to believe, Ashworth, that by this morning you would make a decision regarding my livestock?" His voice was tight despite an obvious effort to remain at ease.

"Yes, I did," Adam concurred.

"Well?"

"Bourgeault, let me give you a piece of advice. Take those ponies off the action block or you are going to lose them. Some fool will come along who must have them regardless of the price, and you'll be honor bound to sell. They are that beautiful and I am tempted to tell my good sense to go to hell. Today you are in luck. No matter how much I desire those horses, I cannot bring myself to pay your price."

The baron's shoulders slumped in relief, but his next words were belligerent. "You still insist I didn't wish to sell?"

"I am certain of it."

"Has my wife said something to lead you to this conclusion?"

An odd inflection colored the baron's voice, putting every nerve in Adam's body on alert. A blunder here could prove costly, if not for himself then certainly for Catherine.

"Really, sir, Lady Bourgeault and I talked only of mundane matters. After all, we've only just met. There would be little reason for us to discuss the complicated issue of what motivates her husband."

Adam hoped he conveyed an attitude of nonchalance. Just how much had his host guessed?

"Ashworth, let us be perfectly clear with one another. Yesterday I allowed you to put my grays to the reins with the idea I might sell them, reluctantly, I admit." He stopped, and his eyes narrowed as if to emphasize his next words. "Without my permission you also put my wife to the reins, symbolically speaking, of course. Make no mistake," each word was a measured rap, "Lady Bourgeault is not for sale, either reluctantly or otherwise."

The earl was astounded. The man knew! Adam could deny everything, but intuition warned him to face his accuser by counter-attacking.

"You'll understand if I'm confused, sir. Your treatment of your wife leaves a great deal to be desired and, frankly, it appeared you simply didn't care."

"Appearances can be deceiving," the baron bit out.

"Now that we have established my lack of understanding, I want to know how Lady Bourgeault will fare once I'm gone."

"I owe you no assurances."

"Nonetheless, I would consider it a favor if you would put my mind to rest where the baroness is concerned. I dislike the idea that I might have caused her trouble." The words were unthreatening enough, but the earl inserted a deadly quality to his voice that left no doubt as to the import of the request.

As Adam saw it, the baron had a choice. Probably the man's first inclination was to tell the earl to take his request and put it in a dark bodily place. That was the most satisfying course of action but not the wisest. Adam had power and influence and many friends. To cross the Earl of Ashworth might cost the baron more trouble than the temporary pleasure of defiance would be worth. The baron's next words proved Adam's theory.

"My wife," he said grudgingly, "will never know this conversation took place." He sighed. "I'm not unaware of my shortcomings as a husband, and I don't blame her for yearning after greener pastures. But fact is Catherine is still lawfully married to me. Though my attitude may seem cavalier, I can promise it is not."

And with that the earl had to be satisfied. Because no matter how much he wished it were otherwise, one inalterable fact remained—Catherine was this man's wife.

Adam took his linen napkin and dabbed his mouth. "Well then, I see no point in prolonging our adieus. It has been an interesting two days, Bourgeault. You will, I hope, send my regards to your wife."

Considering what the baron insisted he knew of the previous forty-eight hours, this last could be perceived as a slight. It occurred to Adam to voice regret for his conduct, but it would have been an insincere apology at best, and he found he could not bring forth the required words.

It didn't matter, really. The baron had apparently chosen to ignore all but the fact his guest was ready to depart. He stood and bowed slightly, though he did not offer his hand.

"I think it's been a learning experience for us both," he said.

The earl rose from his chair as well. "It didn't go quite the way either of us planned, did it? Yet, I must say, you had a head start on me. I've been in the dark from the beginning."

"Perhaps it has never been more than it appears."

"Absolutely, sir. And perhaps Napoleon is secretly a spy for Mother England." Adam laughed aloud at his own absurdity as he made his way from the dining hall. He stepped into the entry and was surprised to find his bag and coat. This good riddance gesture was not lost on him, and he shook his head in disbelief.

"Lord, I'm glad to be leaving this place," he muttered under his breath as he let himself out the door.

He circled around the front of the castle to the stables in back, but his thoughts were centered on the lovely woman in an upstairs room who could not escape her oppressive existence. Whether he wished it or not, part of him would remain with her once he left.

*****

Edgar watched his guest leave with equal parts acrimony and relief. He slumped down in his chair and rapped out an agitated tattoo on the tabletop with his bony fingers. "Willy!" he roared. "Bring me a brandy and none of that damned watered rubbish you served earlier."

The servant scurried to do his master's bidding. "My lord," he offered timidly as he placed the decanter at the baron's elbow.

"Willy," The baron said morosely, splashing a generous portion of the potent liquid in his glass, "I may have overplayed my hand."

"No, no, my lord," Willy hastened. "He's leaving, ain't he? I mean, he can't do no harm once he's gone, can he?"

The baron stared at the little man in disgust. "The only fool greater than you is I. The idiot has a conscience. Why could he not simply have done his dirty deed and left without making a fuss?" he wondered petulantly. "That's how most men would have handled it. He actually had the temerity to challenge me."

He drained his goblet and smacked it against the surface of the table. The sudden impact caused the stem to snap and a sliver of glass lodged in his index finger.

"Bloody hell!" he bellowed as he brought the wounded finger to his mouth. "What if I have to take her to town? How will I control the situation then?"

Willy looked nonplused. "Maybe it would be best to find another bloke, one that don't pose such a threat."

"Balderdash. I suppose you're going to say one fellow will do as well as another. My wife's developed feelings for Ashworth, and that adds a whole new element to the affair. Do you realize how long it has taken me to get this far? No," he said in weary resignation, "I'm in too deep. I'll just have to see this little game to its end and hope I'm not the one who ends up getting burned."

*****

Adam entered the stable yard and Billy greeted him. Since the earl was carrying his bag, one could assume he was ready to depart. The obvious did not stop the young servant from posing the question anyway.

"I say, milord, are you leaving?"

"Yes, boy, it would seem so. Are you helping Mr. Brown today?"

The youth nodded.

"Could I get you to ready my horse?"

Billy nodded again then trotted toward the barn. As Adam watched the boy retreat, his gaze lit on Brown who was leaning against the doorframe of the stable, observing the proceedings. The earl approached the groom.

Brown straightened in the doorway, his attitude wary as the earl neared. Adam came abreast of the man and, in an unthreatening manner, placed his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Brown, I detect considerable hostility directed toward me from you and everyone on the estate. Only young Billy there has been unaffected. I'm at a loss as to why."

"I don't know what you mean." The groom's gaze dropped as he sidestepped the question.

"Come on, my good man. I don't consider myself the sensitive type, but I've been treated with more courtesy by those who dislike me."

A long silence ensued while Mr. Brown seemed to ponder how to respond. However, once he made up his mind, he wasted little time getting to the point.

"It's my mistress. Us here at the castle, we don't like the way she's treated."

"Go on."

"It's not just the baron. That smarmy little servant of his is just as bad."

"He is unpleasant," the earl agreed.

"And the baron's always bringing these men to visit. For what purpose, I don't know 'cause he don't spend time with his company. Instead, he makes my poor lady dance attendance on them. I can't tell you how often I've seen the baroness purely mortified by some witless clod what thinks he's got the right to insult her. Worst of all," the groom said indignantly, "my master seems to encourage the whole thing."

"You amaze me, Brown." Adam grinned. "You're a veritable conversationalist when you are moved to speak." He sobered as he continued. "It's my understanding then that you feel Lady Bourgeault is not treated with the respect which is her due."

"That's part of it," the groom admitted.

"And you fear I am of the same cut of cloth as those other 'gentleman' of whom you have good reason to disprove."

The man didn't waver as he nodded his agreement.

"Would it come as a surprise to you, Brown, to know I've become aware of the very things you have mentioned?" When the groom watched him without answering, Adam pressed on. "I am also concerned for your lady. The goings on here are odd, to say the least. Frankly, I don't know why the baron invited me, but you can be damned certain it wasn't to sell his horses."

The groom nodded again.

"Brown, I would consider it a personal favor if you would look after Lady Bourgeault for me. I'm not in a position to make any demands, but if you ever feel she is in trouble I would like to be informed. I'm not without influence and I could help if it came to that." Adam reached into his coat pocket and handed the groom his card.

The old man hesitated, searching Adam's face as though looking for a hidden motive. The earl tolerated the scrutiny and heaved a sigh of relief when it appeared he had passed the unspoken test.

Brown's features relaxed. He took the card and placed it very carefully in his shirt pocket. "It's a comfort to know there is someone powerful who cares about my lady."

"That I do. We have a bargain then." The earl took the groom's gnarled mitt in a firm handshake to seal the pact.

Moments later as Adam trotted his horse to the overgrown drive, he felt a sudden unseen pull that caused him to halt and turn in his saddle. He surveyed the facade of the crumbling castle, his eyes seeking out the invisible communication. Was she there and was her pain as profound as his? There was no future for them, and he had to come to terms with that knowledge. But for now he simply must find the strength to leave her behind.

*****

Catherine stood at the tiny window and watched as the earl's horse appeared around the corner of the house. He urged the animal toward the drive but came to a stop and glanced back at the castle. He appeared to be looking for something, and she wondered if he could hear the thrumming of her lacerated heart as it called out to him. She again committed his handsome features to memory as he straightened in the saddle and continued his journey down the lane and out of her life.

*****

CHAPTER 5

"Enter," the baron called.

The knob turned and a little maid slipped into the library. Once inside she edged back until she was pressed tight against the door, staring wide-eyed at the man behind the desk.

Edgar surveyed the tiny person attached to the entry like a hungry leech, and his lip curled in disgust. "What's your name?"

"Wilma," she answered meekly, her voice shaking.

"Come closer, Wilma," he barked. "I can hardly hear you."

Wilma advanced several reluctant steps forward.

"Now tell me. I'm assuming you have some news regarding our talk of several days ago."

"Aye, milord. My lady's rags—" She gulped as though she might be ill, her features pinched with distaste. She tried again. "My lady's rags have appeared in the laundry."

Edgar took in a furious breath and grimaced horribly, grappling with a disappointment so intense he could not speak. "I see," he said at last.

Wilma, plainly desiring only escape, sidled toward the door.

"Wilma."

"Yes, milord?" Her voice now trembled uncontrollably.

"You will speak of this to no one."

"Yes, milord, I swear."

"You may go." He waved his hand in dismissal.

She scurried from the room before his arm fell back to the desk.

Edgar sat the remainder of the day in morose contemplation, the perennial bottle of spirits at his elbow. As the late afternoon eased into dusk, Willy Gant entered the dim room to light the lamps.

"My lord?" the servant ventured.

"Leave it be, Willy. The blackness suits my temperament." The baron paused before continuing. "We go to town."

"Lady Bourgeault confirmed your suspicions?"

Edgar gave a humorless laugh. "I suppose you could say in a way she did, although it was unintentional."

"My lord, I know it's not my place to question your decision, but do you think this is wise?" Willy spoke tentatively as though he expected his master to make him suffer for having the audacity to speak his mind.

Edgar merely stared at him.

Evidently embolden by the baron's silence, the servant braved on. "Maybe you should give it more time."

"More time for what? I can't wait, Willy. I have to strike while the iron is hot. Romance can cool down as fast as it can heat up. Chances are Ashworth has at least one mistress in town, and he may not want my provincial wife once he sees her in a city setting."

"Can't imagine anyone being indifferent to the mistress, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Actually, I do mind," the baron bit out. "Keep a civil tongue in your head." Edgar couldn't imagine it either, and that's what was bothering him.

"I meant no disrespect," Willy whined.

The baron leaned forward, expelling brandy fumes into the dank air. "For God's sake!" he said. "Shut up and do as I tell you. Go to Bath tonight and return with a dressmaker tomorrow. Ask around—make certain it's someone who can work quickly. I want to be prepared to leave for London in a fortnight."

*****

"Edgar, why are you doing this?"

Catherine stared at the dazzling array of material spread about her bedchamber. There were taffetas, satins and silks—not to mention muslins, batistes, crepes and voiles—a myriad of colors and textures on a cloth palette. Soft cambrics and lawns for nightgowns and delicate undergarments were also represented. Lace and furbelows spilled from an oversized hatbox, the hatbox threatening to tumble from its precarious perch on the edge of a rocker.

The baron, for once in what appeared to be an expansive mood, smiled at his wife indulgently. "Can't go to London, my dear, without the proper attire. I've enlisted the aid of Madame DuBois here, who arrived this morning" he indicated the female next to him, "to help you in making some fashionable choices. I told her to spare no expense."

Catherine gaped at her husband. "London, Edgar? We're to go to London?" Her gaze shifted to the little round woman who stood at his side.

Madame DuBois stepped out of the baron's shadow and introduced herself. "My lady, my assistant and I are here to serve you in any way possible. I hope we can make some selections that will give you much pleasure." The modiste's voice was thick with French influence.

Catherine liked the looks of Madame DuBois, and she warmed to the plump dressmaker immediately. "I'm delighted you've come, Madame. I'm certain with all this wonderful fabric at our fingertips there is nothing we can't accomplish."

"Then, ladies, I'll let you get started." The baron turned to leave. "You have a fortnight to get ready."

Catherine stopped him. "Edgar?"

"Yes, my dear?" he asked blandly, looking at her again.

"You have no special instructions?"

He hesitated as he watched her obliquely. "Only that you put yourself totally in Madame's hands. I want your introduction to the fashionable world to be unforgettable."

"Forgive me, but your husband has a most dramatic effect on those he meets," Madame DuBois stated as the door closed behind the baron.

Catherine hid a smile as the modiste covertly crossed herself. "True. He's been known to disconcert more than one unfortunate soul. But come, let's discuss morning dresses and riding habits and, most of all, glorious ball gowns. I want you to make me beautiful."

"The good God above has already completed that task for me." The dressmaker shook her head sadly. "I feel as though I have been given the task of finding the perfect frame for a Rembrandt. The incomparable art itself is complete."

Catherine, overcome with gratitude at the pretty compliment, didn't care whether the words were sincere or not.

"You are being kind," she demurred.

"You will learn I never say what I do not mean," Madame Dubois answered briskly. Putting a finger aside her chubby cheek, she cocked her head and studied her new mistress, plainly assessing the possibilities. "Mais oui, it will be a great pleasure to dress you, my lady."

And so the two women put their noggins together and, with the aid of the assistant, commenced to create a wardrobe.

*****

"Hurry, Edna. We're getting such a late start." Catherine bustled up the staircase to her room for one last search to make certain nothing had been forgotten. Looking about the now barren bedroom, she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror standing next to the bed. She was drawn across the room to the image almost against her will.

Never had she appeared more elegant or felt more beautiful. Garbed in a cerulean blue traveling gown edged in black, her hands and feet were encased in soft kid. A matching poked bonnet, two black ostrich feathers angled jauntily over the brim, rested on her upswept hair. She looked a lady of fashion from the top of her head to the tips of her feet.

She executed a swift pirouette and watched in the mirror as the skirt belled out around her legs. "I can't believe it," she spoke aloud.

"It is a miracle."

Catherine spun around. "Edna, you startled me," she gasped. "You've caught me admiring myself." She smiled at the maid sheepishly.

"It's no more than you deserve, my lady."

"Come, let's not wallow in all this flattery," Catherine stated as she headed for the door. "We're off to the city!"

The old shabby carriage awaited them on the drive, and the coachman Jack leapt from his perch on the box to assist the women into the vehicle. He would be their escort as well as their driver. The baron had gone ahead to London to make the necessary preparations for their arrival. Catherine was relieved by the arrangements, for the thought of endless hours alone with her husband in a closed coach was not to be imagined.

Jack reentered the box, snapped the reins and with a lurch they were on their way.

Catherine watched in fascination as the scenery flowed passed her window. Seven years had elapsed since Edgar had spirited her away on her wedding day and brought her halfway across the country to her present home. He had not allowed her to travel after that.

That's why this trip seemed so odd. Why did he want her brought to London? The baron was a miser, and yet he had spent an obscene amount of money on a wardrobe. She would have been a fool to believe he had done all this just to please her.

Other misgivings intruded on her peace despite her effort to keep them at bay. Catherine could not stop her thoughts from touching on the Earl of Ashworth—dwelling more like. Would he be in the city and would she see him?

For that matter, did she wish to see him? It was a foolish question. Catherine desired nothing more than a few moments in his charismatic company. More to the point was whether or not he would want to see her again. She didn't think she could bear it if he did not.

Why he should be unpleasant was not clear. She only knew an overactive imagination made it seem a possibility. Not that his departure weeks earlier had left her with that impression. The earl had seemed truly saddened by their parting. However, the passage of time had taken the edge off her memory, and she was not certain what she believed anymore.

The hours sped by, and the thrill of adventure lost its glow as the cramped quarters of the ill-sprung coach interfered with her comfort. She was relieved when they finally pulled into the yard of an inn where the baron had reserved a room for the night. With the aid of the driver, Catherine climbed stiff-legged down from the carriage and stretched her atrophied limbs. Edna followed in like discomfort.

"I had no idea inactivity could make one so sore," the baroness said. "I feel as though I have no blood in my feet."

Edna stared at her mistress dully, clearly too tired to respond. They trudged toward the inn entrance, and Catherine gratefully allowed Jack to confirm the arrangements.

Twenty minutes found Catherine neck deep in a tub of soothing water. "Edna, don't worry about me. I'm not going to budge from this bath for at least one half hour. Lay out my gown. I can dress myself."

The little maid did not argue.

Catherine ate a scant meal in her room then climbed into bed between the cool, muslin sheets, drawing them to her chin. Now that she had eaten and felt comfortable, she was unable to sleep. Her mind churned with the questions still haunting her.

Though excited by the prospects before her, she was afraid. She had always wanted to join society but had never dreamed it might actually happen. Would she be accepted? She did have the onerous burden of being attached to the baron, and even far from the center of things she knew that to be a deficit.

Sleep has of way of persuading even the most resistant mind to give into its demands. Before many more minutes had passed, Catherine fell into a dreamless slumber. Near daybreak a handsome face insinuated itself on her peace, and she woke to another day of uncertainty.

*****

"The money I've spent to put on a 'London face' has been astronomical." Lord Bourgeault crossed the floor of the refurbished sitting room and leaned his bony frame against the mantle. "I fear I've taken this ridiculous farce too far."

"Maybe a little taste of society will be a nice change of pace," Willy ventured, following behind his master.

"I know you're going to find this hard to credit," the baron stated, an ironical twist to his mouth, "but I'm not well received in most quarters."

The servant gave the appearance of one trying to look shocked, but his lack of acting ability betrayed him. "I don't believe it," he offered weakly.

"Oh yes, indeed, it's absolutely true," the baron mocked.

The witless servant ceased to speak, and Edgar smiled to himself. Poor Willy—how easy he was to manipulate. The baron continued talking, pretending to be unaware of the effect he had on his hapless companion although little escaped his scrutiny.

"Fact is, we must move quickly if my wife is to be accepted by those who matter. It's unfortunate, but I am afraid there will be people who'll make her suffer due to their dislike of me. I hope Ashworth stands up to that harridan who is his mother or we are doomed before we begin."

*****

The baroness arrived on the stoop outside the townhouse with several trunks and two awestruck servants. "Grosvenor Square, Jack?" Catherine whispered in disbelief. "Are you certain you have it correct? I've never been to London and even I know what an exclusive address this is."

"Aye, my lady, I swear. It do look fancy, don't it?"

As they stood there the front door was thrust wide, and the baron appeared on the step.

"My love!" he welcomed. "Come in, come in. What do you think of my humble abode?"

Catherine, taken aback by his effusive reception, stepped into the entry. "I'm flabbergasted, Edgar. How were you able to obtain such wonderful lodging?"

The baron's affable mood dissipated at once. "This is not a lease, wife," he said in an annoyed voice. "I own this property. It was part of my inheritance. Why should that surprise you?"

"I didn't mean to offend, Edgar. You never mentioned it before, so I was unaware."

Appearing somewhat mollified, the baron allowed as how that might have caused confusion. "Right then, how about a tour?"

After the starkness of the castle, Catherine was impressed by the refined beauty of the baron's London townhouse and said as much. Though frankly, she was amazed by her husband's pride in his city dwelling, for he rarely showed any concern for his surroundings.

"Of course, there is only so much that can be accomplished in a fortnight," he explained. "The renovations are only partially complete, but I've called a halt to them for now so we might live in relative peace. I think I've not done so badly with the time I've been allotted."

Why, he actually was dangling after a compliment! She sensed a vulnerability in the unasked question, and she was shocked. Her husband never permitted anyone a glimpse of his innermost feelings unless he had a reason. Catherine did not trust him, but on the possibility he was sincere she couldn't let him down.

"I think you've done wonderfully, Edgar," she answered, and he beamed with pleasure.

Later that evening the congenial atmosphere continued during the evening meal. The baron had left his country manners in the country and, though she would not call his execution of the London gentleman a perfect work, he had made a vast improvement on his usual display.

She had just begun to let her guard down, when the baron's ever-mercurial disposition took a sudden swing. Catherine glanced up to see him watching her darkly. Something was bothering him, and his mood change was so intense her stomach dropped, making her dinner an indigestible lump in her belly.

"You look particularly fetching this evening, my dear."

That's not what she had expected him to say. But dressed in a frothy dinner gown of lavender silk and antique gray lace, she did feel especially attractive.

"Thank you, Edgar," she said cautiously.

"Naturally, I much prefer a dress with more lascivious lines. The neck on that gown is so modest one would think you'd just left a nunnery." His moody stare was unrelieved by even a blink.

He exaggerated, of course. Her husband was tormenting her, and she wondered why he would want to start a disagreement when things were going along smoothly.

"Oh, Edgar," she could not hide the regret in her voice, "what is the purpose in starting a disagreement after such a pleasant day? I've almost felt as though we were friends."

The baron's face turned an alarming purple. "Friends?" he bellowed. "Is that what you think we are?"

Catherine remained outwardly calm, though her stomach continued to contract in anxiety. "No, most often I don't think we're friends but I would like to be. Frankly, I don't know what we are to one another."

"I've never wanted to be your friend. This damned affliction holds me back from what I really want, and you know it!"

She felt the blood drain from her face at the bald admission.

"You were supposed to heal it! I handpicked you for that purpose. I've spent a bloody fortune and I'm no better off than I was seven years ago. You've been a disappointment, Catherine, make no mistake."

"How am I supposed to right something I don't even understand?" she challenged indignantly. "I did everything you asked of me. Everything. You insist on blaming me for your inadequacies."

The baron stood from the table. "God, I hate you!" he said venomously. "I hate you for the needs you arouse in me. And I hate you because I cannot act on those needs. You were supposed to make me better."

He sounded like an anguished child in pain, and even in her fear she pitied him.

"I don't want to be here, you know." He spoke wildly now. "I have no choice and it's your fault."

"Why are we here, Edgar, and why is it my fault?" she delved gently.

The calm sanity of her words seemed to bring him around, and as quickly as the storm broke it ended. He stared at her as though suddenly aware of the shameful scene he had created.

"I need to get drunk." His voice was dull with expended emotion. Without another word or a backward glance, he exited the room. Moments later the front door opened then slammed into place.

Catherine sat motionless for some time, trying to ascertain what had just happened. "It's not me you hate, Edgar," she said to the empty room. "You hate yourself."

Too bad, she thought, that her insight could be of no help to either one of them.

*****

The Earl of Ashworth discarded another wrinkled neckcloth onto a growing stack of neckcloths and snorted disgustedly. "Damnation, Sims, I'm all thumbs this evening."

Sims handed his master one more ironed strip of linen to massacre, his expression never hinting at the surprise he must have felt over his lordship's inability to perform the simple knot.

Unfortunately, tonight even simple was too difficult as Adam proceeded to destroy that one as well. He tossed the mangled cloth on the pile of rejects and with a sigh dropped down on the nearest chair.

"Don't want to attend that dreary musicale of Lady Mortimer's, anyway," he said in self-pity. "Edwina Huffington will probably exercise her vocal cords at the top of her homely voice, and my head will ring for a week. Why do we insist on giving an audience to individuals who have no talent whatsoever?"

"I really would not know, my lord," Sims answered blandly. "I gave up trying to understand the machinations of my betters many years ago."

Adam glanced at the servant in surprise. "Oh ho, Sims, having a go at me, are you? I believe you are pulling my leg," he said on a bark of laughter.

"Not at all, my lord," came the valet's dignified response.

Sims had only now begun to unbend where his master was concerned. Lord Ashworth had endured weeks of unremitting indignation traced directly to his decision to travel to Lord Bourgeault's sans his phaeton, extra luggage and, most importantly, his valet. Adam had begun to wonder if the temporary freedom he had experienced was worth the subsequent misery of dealing with an outraged servant.

The ensuing weeks had been difficult for Adam on another front. The trip back from Lord and Lady Bourgeault's castle had been long and tedious and, as if to emphasize his melancholy attitude, the heavens had parted and presented him with a torrent of unexpected rain.

He had returned home to life as usual, and yet nothing had been quite the same. He felt as though he had stepped into a beguiling dream and, once conscious, had been unable to dispel its effects. And when he did sleep she was there, more lovely than any flesh and blood woman could possibly be. The disappointment when he awoke was unbearable.

He had gone back to Helen his mistress. No reason not to, he had reasoned. But his relationship with her had changed because he had changed, and he had come from her restless and dissatisfied.

Adam knew he had hurt Helen. She was an intuitive woman and quick to understand. He had not been able to hide his lack of eagerness, and so rather than face her bruised feelings, like a coward he had stayed away.

The earl sighed as he came to his feet and once again endeavored to wrap his neck in one of those blasted neckcloths. For reasons not completely understood, this time his effort was rewarded without a single misstep.

"There!" he announced in satisfaction.

"I knew you could do it, my lord," said Sims, sharing in his master's success.

"Get me in my coat quickly before the cravat decides to slip from my throat, and I have to start all over again."

"I hardly think that possible," the valet indicated in a dry voice.

"Anything is possible, my good man." Adam adjusted the cuffs on his evening jacket and stepped back from the mirror. "It'll have to do." He strode toward the door and threw it open. "Don't wait up, Sims," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Mother, beautiful as always," he greeted his parent moments later as he arrived in the drawing room. His legs took him immediately to the brandy decanter where he splashed himself a liberal measure in a crystal goblet.

Lady Ashworth's nostrils flared in disapproval. "Now, Adam, you're not going to overindulge this evening, are you? There is nothing more discommodious than being squired about town by a tipsy gentleman."

"Mother, be fair. I need fortification for Lady Mortimer's little gathering. I have to steady myself on the chance some fool requests a ballad from the esteemed Miss Huffington. I swear, when she hits that high note, my nerves literally vibrate." The earl took a generous gulp, emphasizing his words.

Lady Ashworth sighed and nodded her head. "That girl should never been told she has talent. Diana Huffington is trying to make an exceptional match for her daughter, and instead she has made the poor child an object of fun.

"I see nothing fun about it, Mother," Adam objected.

"Exactly. Diana is a friend of mine, and I've tried to put a bug in her ear, but she will have none of it. Instead, she used the opportunity to test me on your availability."

Her son intercepted the dowager's calculating glance. "Don't start, Mother. I have no intention of rescuing Lady Huffington from her parental duties. It's going to take a special gentleman to husband Edwina, and I can promise you I'm not the man to make the attempt."

"Your must make a decision before very long," she stated. "Why do you insist on delaying?"

"If I marry in ten or twenty years, as long as my wife is young and sturdy, we should be able to produce many offspring."

"Men are a conceited lot. They are all convinced their virility will go on forever."

"Mother!" Adam said, shocked by his parent's plain speech.

"Bah!" Lady Ashworth countered. "What if your wife has the misfortune of producing only daughters? What if she presents you with few children or they are sickly? You've reduced your fruitful years dramatically, and you may never have a worthy heir."

"Such are the vagaries of life, my dear," the earl said in resignation. "Please, Mother, let's not continue to haggle over this issue any longer, at least for this evening."

Lady Ashworth pursed her lips tightly together in her customary expression of displeasure but let the matter drop. This should in no way be construed as an admission of defeat, far from it. The countess would have her say, and no one knew that better than her son.

They departed after that, although the carriage ride to Lady Mortimer's musicale was completed in silence. Adam tried to lighten the mood by bantering with his stony parent, but he gave up when he realized she would not give over.

She sat, back rigid, hands clasped firmly in her lap as she emitted an occasional heavy sigh plainly intended to emphasize the unhappiness she felt with her wayward child. However, she did not deign to enter in conversation. Adam may have ended the discussion, but he knew he would not be allowed to forget it had taken place.

*****

Catherine stepped over the threshold into Lady Mortimer's brightly lit drawing room, and the gentle buzz of conversation came to an abrupt halt. During the preceding two weeks, this same tableau had been played out every time she made an appearance. By now she should be used to the attention, but as always she could not stop the sudden rush of embarrassment. She turned uncertain eyes to her companion.

Charlotte Richards patted the arm of her new friend and murmured encouragingly, "The fervor will die down in a few minutes and you'll be as anonymous as the rest of us."

Catherine frowned, puzzled. "I don't understand what all the fuss is about. It makes me uncomfortable."

Charlotte shook her head. "Do you realize there are women who would commit murder if they could turn heads the way you do?"

"It's because I'm newly on the town. No one much knows me yet. That's bound to arouse the interest of the curious."

"All that beauty and modest, too," Charlotte teased gently. "Dear me, we're about to be inundated by swarms of male admirers. I think I'd best retreat."

"Don't you dare desert me," Catherine whispered.

"All right, love," Charlotte said. "Don't panic. I won't leave your side for a moment."

Catherine heaved a sigh of relief and smiled in gratitude. Charlotte Richards was a godsend. The lady had smoothed the way for Catherine's introduction to society by sponsoring the baroness at all the prominent functions.

Lady Richards was a young woman of twenty-eight and, though married to a mere 'mister'—a second son—she was herself the daughter of a viscount and assured of an entree in all the finer homes. Though smallish and slightly plump with frizzy brown curls, she had a lovely face full of keen understanding, and the thoughtful matron had appealed to Catherine immediately.

She knew Lady Richards liked her, also even though it was Edgar who had arranged the connection. Charlotte had confided to Catherine later that she had agreed to Edgar's suggestion on the condition he remained firmly in the background. His wife would always be grateful he had struck that bargain, for the little lady and she were now fast friends. Happily, it seemed Charlotte had approved of her even more than she had disapproved of Edgar.

"Explain to me, Charlotte, why all these men hang about," Catherine said as the two women adroitly dodged several of those young men. "Aren't the unattached ladies more interesting?"

"You really are a babe in arms, aren't you?" Charlotte asked. "Most of these gentlemen aren't interested in an attachment—not a legitimate one at least."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, my dear, you are lovely and many of these men are testing your moral fiber. They are vying among themselves to see which man is fortunate enough to get you in his bed."

"But I'm married!"

"Well," Charlotte licked her lips, "the baron is viewed as something of an albatross, and there are those who feel you might be ripe for an affair."

The baroness merely stared at her friend, aghast.

"I hope I've not offended you, but I thought you might want to know."

"No, no, that's quite all right." Catherine swallowed. She hated to admit it but the gossip came uncomfortably near the truth. In fact, she believed her sterile marriage was the reason she had broken her wedding vows with Lord Ashworth.

Still, Charlotte's confession was enlightening. It explained the social maneuvering that confused her and put things into perspective. She was, after all, only as vulnerable as she allowed herself to be, and time would give her the finesse needed to control the advances of the more aggressive gentlemen.

"We should take our seats. It would appear Edwina Huffington is to entertain us this evening," Charlotte said. She guided the baroness to a chair near the front of the assemblage.

An odd inflection in Lady Richard's voice caused Catherine to look at her curiously. "Do they present the best performance first?" she asked.

Her companion sighed. "I don't wish to be cruel, but I'm afraid it is a case of getting the worst done at the outset—a bit like having one's spinach before having dessert."

"I see."

Chairs shuffled and skirts rustled as the company became aware of the commencement of the performance. The air hung heavy with expectation—perhaps dread was a more apt description—as a tall, slim girl with thick brown hair stepped onto the dais. She was attractive in an ethereal way, and she smiled sweetly at the gathering as she waited to begin.

Charlotte leaned over and whispered in Catherine's ear. To those who had been "privileged" to hear Miss Huffington sing, she said, there was a general consensus that Edwina's most prominent difficulty when in the throes of song was a tendency to veer off kilter at the most inopportune moment and discompose the listener. It happened most especially when she tried to hit a high note.

"Unfortunately," Charlotte continued, "tonight will probably be no different."

An older woman sitting at the pianoforte raised her hands in a dramatic flourish and set her fingers to the keys to begin the musical piece. From the moment Edwina warbled her first syllables, it became clear this would not be a virtuoso performance. Bringing her wrist to her forehead, she stood in a sylph-like pose and bleated out the lyrics to an unrecognizable ballad.

Though obviously not a pleasant experience, the production did not reach intolerable proportions until Miss Huffington's voice took a particularly vicious upswing and stunned her audience with one fatal, misbegotten note.

Catherine's eyelashes fluttered in reaction. "Oh, my!" she murmured in distress.

"Exactly," was Lady Richard's only response.

Gladly, most beginnings have an end. Although the wait seemed interminable, the young lady meandering through at least four shrill verses, she eventually saw fit to end the torture.

The relief in the room was palpable. A round of polite applause followed as Edwina curtsied and exited the stage.

"I daresay that was the most wretched performance it has ever been my misfortune to witness."

Catherine turned in the direction of the dissatisfaction, and her gaze lit on a diminutive dandy seated on her left, who was eying her with interest.

"That is unkind, sir," she rebuked gently.

"Unkind or not, someone needs to muzzle that gel before she destroys the hearing of the ton single-handedly." The little man looked as though he had been sucking lemons. "What a spectacle she has made of herself."

The baroness could hardly contain a smile as she studied the irate gentleman, for he was a spectacle in his own right. He was attired in a lavender waistcoat shot with gold thread, chartreuse satin breeches, and a forest green evening jacket. His legs were delicately crossed, and his bejeweled hands rested sedately in his lap.

"You're newly on the town, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes, I am."

"You've caused quite a stir, you know."

She did smile then. "Perhaps, but I don't like to be continually watched."

The dandy looked startled. "The whole point of going about is to see and be seen. Why would you not want to be noticed?"

"I suppose I'm not used to town ways, but I'll learn."

"How have you come to hide your charms under a country basket, anyway? Surely, you've wished to widen your experiences."

"My husband is not enamored of the city, and he is only now introducing me to society. Actually, Lady Richards has been kind enough to sponsor me."

Charlotte leaned forward in her chair at that point and looked at Catherine's conversation partner.

"Hello, Sidney," she said.

"Evening, Charlotte," he acknowledged. His gaze shifted back to the baroness. "Who is your husband?"

"You've probably not heard of him—Lord Bourgeault. I'm Lady Bourgeault. And you are...?"

The dandy gaped at her. "Sir Sidney Alcott," he said in strangled accents. He paused as he continued to stare at her, his features transfixed with horror. "You are the baron's wife?"

"Y-yes, I am," Catherine stammered.

"That man is a beast!" He spoke so loudly, several people turned to look at them.

"Sidney," Charlotte admonished from the sidelines. "Do watch your manners."

"Sorry, Lady Bourgeault, I...well, I just had no idea you were married to the baron."

Catherine, having regained her composure, reassured Sir Sidney. "Quite all right. Edgar has that effect on people."

"Understatement that," he muttered.

"Sidney..." Lady Richards warned again.

"It is generally well known that I am the baron's wife," Catherine chided him, amused. "It seemed when you spoke to me, you knew my identity."

Sidney had the grace to look embarrassed. "Not everyone knows who you are. I've had a time of it trying to discover something about you. I decided the only way to obtain the information was to approach the source."

Catherine clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh at such plain speech. "There isn't that much to know."

"I hope I haven't offended you, my lady," he said in abashed tones.

"Of course, not. In fact, I hope we can be friends, but on one condition."

"What might that be?"

"Don't speak unkindly of Miss Huffington. I think she could use a friend as well. It's difficult to be an object of ridicule."

He gave her such a strange look, she decided she had hit him directly on a raw nerve.

"That seems fair," Sidney managed at last.

Catherine glanced at Lady Richards, and her friend winked at her in approval.

"It appears the next artist is ready to begin," Charlotte said.

They settled back for another extraordinary performance.

*****

They were late which suited Adam. Edwina Huffington had left the stage, and nearly all the chairs were occupied, so he was forced to spend an agreeable hour in the card room with all the other fugitives from the entertainment. He found his parent a lone seat and made a hasty retreat before some misguided soul offered him a place to sit down.

The earl was hailed from the far corner of the card room as soon as he entered. "Adam, come, we need a fourth."

"Daniel, old boy, how are you this rare evening?" Adam sat to the table and nodded at the viscount's companions.

"Seems I'm doing as you are doing—hiding from Lady Mortimer's little presentation. I think the card room should be on the top floor, though, because Miss Huffington could be heard far beyond the confines of the parlor."

Adam nodded knowingly.

"I fully expected to see the door fly open and the imprisoned horde come stampeding into the night." Daniel shuddered. "Edwina completely eclipsed any effort she has made heretofore."

The earl chuckled as he picked up the hand of cards dealt him. "My mother is of the opinion Miss Huffington would make a worthy bride."

The stunned silence that followed this pronouncement was deafening. All three gentlemen at the table stared at Adam, clearly shocked.

"Just so," concurred Lord Ashworth.

The ensuing sixty minutes were pleasurable as the players traded coins and conversation. With regret the party broke as the performances finally came to an end.

"I suppose we'll have to be good soldiers and mingle with the masses," Adam said. "The ladies do not like it when we are having too fine a time.

Everyone agreed this was so.

"Right then, men, let us gird our loins and join the fray." The viscount stood from the table and headed for the door with his unwilling companions bringing up the rear.

"What brought you here this night, Daniel?" the earl inquired of his friend. Musicales are not your usual style."

"Hoping to see you," Daniel replied. "You've been hard to corner of late, and this is definitely in Lady Ashworth's style."

"You know me too well. I did promise to escort her, but she had to convince me that it's what I really wanted to do."

"Of course." Daniel grinned.

They entered the parlor, and Adam and Daniel cast their respective gazes over the gathering in a casual inspection of those in attendance.

"My God! Where did that vision come from?" the viscount gasped.

Across the room a strikingly beautiful blonde woman held court, surrounded by several young—and not so young—men. She glanced around as though looking for someone then brought her uncertain gaze back to one particularly insistent gentleman, giving him a wan smile.

"This turns the evening around," Daniel said, "but we'll never get close to her with all those fellows in the way. What do you think? Adam...?"

Lord Ashworth felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. Catherine! As he lived and breathed, he could not believe what his eyes were telling him. He never thought to see her again, and there she stood, flesh and bone.

Daniel spoke again. "Adam, are you all right?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry. I..." The earl brought his confused gaze to his companion.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost. Do you know that woman?"

"Yes," Adam said quietly. "Yes, I know her."

"Who is she?"

The earl looked at his friend. "Catherine Bourgeault," he said, an ironical twist to his mouth, "the baron's wife."

"Oh...I see." And Daniel looked as though he did see.

"What is it you think you see?" Adam bit out as he turned and stalked from the room. The sight of all those smitten bucks fawning over his Catherine enraged him.

"Adam, wait. I meant no offense," the viscount said, following closely on his friend's heels.

The earl pushed into an unoccupied room at the back of the mansion and flung himself on a crushed velvet settee. The joints of the delicate piece of furniture creaked in protest. His elbows on knees, he put his face in his hands and tried to stop his ragged breathing. He was aware of the viscount as he appeared in the doorway.

"Come in, Daniel," Adam said wearily. "I suppose this remarkable display requires an explanation."

The viscount moved into the room. "You owe me no explanation, my friend. But I'm here to listen if you wish it."

"Can't think why I reacted like that." Adam shook his head in disbelief. "I told myself dozens of times it would not bother me. Of course, I never thought I would see her again."

"This woman is important to you." It was a statement.

The earl nodded. "Apparently, more than I knew."

"Are you in love with her?"

"Lord, I don't know." Adam placed his face back in his hands. "I only knew her for two days." His muffled voice came from between his fingers. "I'm certain given half a chance I could love her, no—would love her."

"I don't wish to be the bearer of gloomy tidings, but your response is not one of indifference. Seems to me, if you don't love the lady now, you're well on your way to being caught."

A deep-chested groan was Adam's only response.

"What are you going to do?"

Lord Ashworth raised his head and stared at some nonexistent object to the right of the viscount's temple. "Wish I knew. I suppose the proper thing would be to avoid her altogether."

Daniel searched the earl's features. "Why do I have the feeling you won't be doing the proper thing?"

Adam brought his gaze back to Daniel's face but he did not speak.

"Look," Daniel said, "I'm aware you haven't asked my opinion, but I can't help thinking to pursue this woman would be a mistake. She's married and I see nothing but pain there. If you were merely satisfying a temporary attraction, well..."

"I know you are right, but I don't think I'm strong enough to resist."

"It's easier now before it has gone too far."

Suddenly, Adam could not meet his friend's intuitive gaze.

"My God, man, what were you thinking?" Daniel burst forth. "If the baron caught wind of this there could be trouble. From all I've heard he's an ugly customer."

"That's the oddest part of this mess," the earl said slowly. "I think he knew. I think he knew and approved in some twisted way. It really worried me to leave Catherine with him, but I had no choice."

"I'm not even going to try and understand that," Daniel muttered. "What of the lady? How does she feel?"

"She's confused as I am. At least, I assume she is. It's been several weeks. Maybe she's forgotten about me." With that wretched thought he came to his feet, impelled to act. "I have to talk to her. I'm going to wade through that ridiculous sea of drooling manhood and rescue her. She looked disconcerted by all the commotion."

He exited the room and moved with newfound purpose down the hall, his friend once again left to follow.

"I don't see her, Daniel," Adam said as he once more surveyed the crowded parlor.

"Calm yourself. We'll find her," the viscount said. "I'll check the card room—you look in the dining room."

The two men parted. Within minutes it became clear that the young woman was nowhere to be found.

"She left the party, Adam," Daniel said.

"How do you know?"

"I asked."

"Damnation!"

"Lady Bourgeault is in the company of Charlotte Richards," Daniel continued, "and they decided to make an appearance at Lady Applewhite's card party. The word is every man not encumbered by a female is now on his way to that affair."

"I sent my regrets to Lady Applewhite nearly a fortnight ago."

"Come now," the viscount quipped, "since when is a disgustingly rich, titled bachelor not welcome at the home of a society dame, invitation or no?"

"I'll have to see my parent has an escort home," the earl said eagerly. "I saw Lord Hedgewick earlier in the card room. He's been trying to convince Mother to end her widowed status, but thus far she has refused him. Poor man doesn't realize when he's well off." He shook his head as he went in search of the elderly, obviously deluded Lord Hedgewick.

That necessary detail completed—not without a disagreement from the dowager that nearly scotched the plan—Adam and Daniel collected their hats and canes and called for the carriage.

"Only one thing bothers me," Lord Ashworth said reflectively while they waited on the walk for their transportation.

"What's that?" Daniel inquired.

"I feel like one of a large flock of sheep headed for the nearest cliff."

"Perhaps that is your intuition telling you to reconsider," the viscount suggested in a careful voice.

"It hardly matters, my friend. Regardless of the danger, she's worth it."

*****

CHAPTER 6

She had seen him, she knew she had. Catherine's hands trembled uncontrollably, and she clasped them together to hide the evidence of her shaken composure. It was only a glimpse of the back of his head. But still, she'd been so certain.

The baroness searched the crowd, hoping she might again spot the earl, but he seemed to have vanished. Oh, cruelest of thoughts, perhaps he had seen her first and decided to withdraw before there arose a need for them to meet. The stab of pain that met that theory caused her to feel ill.

Lady Richards approached her moments later, and they prepared to leave. "I promised Lady Applewhite we would appear at her card party," Charlotte said.

Catherine followed, all the while glancing over her shoulder. She must have made a mistake, she thought. Wishful thinking had conjured his image.

She spoke little during the ride to Lady Applewhite's party. Charlotte did not press her, and for that Catherine was grateful as she suspected her altered mood was evident.

Shortly, the ladies found themselves standing in another parlor surrounded by another mob of men. And oddly, many of them were the same fellows who had hounded Catherine in Lady Mortimer's home. In fact, the door chime had rung nonstop since the ladies' arrival, and now the parlor overflowed with guests from the musicale. One look at her flustered hostess confirmed Catherine's suspicion that these latecomers were not expected.

"My, my," Lady Richards teased, "it would seem you've acquired an entourage."

"It isn't funny, Charlotte. Lady Applewhite looks upset. I hope she doesn't regret having invited me."

"Oh, silly. Most of the intruders are eligible bachelors. When she begins to realize her good fortune, she'll be grateful to you for deigning to attend."

Catherine eyed her companion doubtfully.

At that precise moment, the door chime rang out again and, for reasons Catherine did not fully understand, her breathing froze. She watched paralyzed as the butler reached for the knob and pulled the door open.

*****

The earl rang the chime at the Applewhite residence, and Daniel and he were met by a sober-faced butler. "I would like to speak with your mistress," Adam said.

Lady Applewhite approached them at that moment, a radiant smile of welcome on her lips. "Lord Ashworth! Lord Wimberly! How wonderful. Do come in."

"Are you certain, madam?" the earl asked. "I realize we are not expected."

"An unexpected pleasure, I assure you, my lord." His hostess simpered at him as she slipped her arm through his and drew him into the parlor. "I was disappointed when I received your letter of regret. I'm pleased you changed your mind."

Adam felt Catherine's presence before he saw her, and his heart began to thud as he became aware of her nearness. He raised his head and, turning to his left, pinned her with a look. She was staring at him in open fascination. If the expression on her face indicated her interest, he need not worry that she had forgotten him or would dismiss him out of hand.

He was close enough to observe the throbbing of a tiny pulse in her throat, a physical clue to the agitation she must be feeling, and he moved instinctively toward her. He became aware of a warning hand on his arm, and he glanced at the viscount.

"Be careful," Daniel cautioned under his breath. "People will remark. You'll be doing her harm if she becomes the focus of rumors."

The earl hesitated. The one thing he did not want to do was hurt her. She was an obvious success, and he had to admit that jealously tempted him to act rashly. But then how did he approach her discreetly?

Fortunately, fate decided to give Adam a helping hand. Sashaying in elegant self-confidence toward Adam was none other than the honorable Sir Sidney Alcott.

"Sidney, my good man, how do you do?"

The dandy stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened. "Ashworth, I do well. Yourself?"

"Better if I could find some kind soul who would introduce me to that incredible creature over there." Adam cocked his head in Catherine's direction.

"You and every other man in the room," Sidney said dryly.

"You don't know her then?" The earl felt deflated.

"Matter of fact, I do." The dandy gave him an assessing look. "I could help if you like."

"Would you?" Adam boomed eagerly. He clapped Sir Sidney on the shoulder with such force, the little man staggered.

Adam and Sidney drew abreast of the gathering around the baroness and stood to her right, waiting for her to recognize them. The earl did not mind the delay. He watched Catherine, intrigued with her every move. What a perfect countess she would have made him. That thought caused a poignant ache to rise in his chest.

When she at last turned to meet the newcomers, she focused her gaze on Sidney. Adam suspected the focus of her awareness was another matter altogether.

"Sir Sidney, what a delight to see you again this evening," she said in a tone that indicated she and the little man were on very friendly terms.

Sidney blushed a bright pink. Several silent moments brought a nudge in the ribs from the impatient earl.

"Oh, oh...y-yes, Lady Bourgeault," the dandy stammered, "I should like to introduce you to the Earl of Ashworth."

Catherine raised her gray eyes to the gentleman standing behind Sidney and, if she were in some way moved by seeing him, her expression did not reflect it.

"It is a pleasure, my lord," she stated simply and gave the earl her hand.

Without taking his attention from her face, he brought his lips to her fingertips. "The pleasure is mine," he murmured.

As his mouth touched the satiny surface of her hand, Adam was drenched in a warm bath of erotic memories. For a brief second the encroaching party disappeared, and they were all alone. The arrested expression in her eyes left no doubt that she also was remembering. The color rose in her cheeks.

Someone nearby coughed tactfully—Sir Sidney?—bringing their shared reverie to an end. The earl was startled as he dropped her hand, for it was unlike him to forget his surroundings.

"I'm pleased to meet you at last." His tone was brisk as he fought to regain his composure. "You've taken London by storm."

"There are daily storms, my lord. I am a cloudburst that will quickly disappear."

"Unpretentious—what a ladylike quality."

She raised one delicate brow at him. "One would expect nothing less in a lady, now would one?"

He chuckled. "Do you attend the Farthington ball tomorrow evening?"

Catherine glanced at Lady Richards. "Charlotte...?"

Charlotte, who stood nearby, wearing a watchful expression, merely nodded.

Adam was elated, but outwardly he kept his manner droll. "I hope you will save me a dance, Lady Bourgeault. I would like the opportunity to lead you out before your brilliant star dims."

"Rogue." Catherine's lips twitched. "I shall try to make room on my dance card for one more."

Aware their conversation was most likely being noted for possible retelling by those within hearing distance, Adam thought it best to withdraw.

"I shall count the moments until we meet again."

For those listening, his words were the insincere mouthings of the socially adept, but he meant what he said. Bowing slightly, he retired from the group. He strode across the room to Lord Wimberly and, after a brief exchange, the two gentlemen left the party.

*****

If Lord Ashworth hoped his tactics had been subtle, the question Lady Richards posed to Catherine as the women watched him retreat showed his efforts had failed.

"Do you know Lord Ashworth?" Charlotte inquired in a careful voice. The crowd had dissipated briefly, and they were able to converse privately.

Catherine hated to lie. "Why do you ask?"

Charlotte, evidently acknowledging the evasion, changed her approach. "It's a coup that Lord Ashworth made an effort to be introduced to you. He is elusive when it comes to the ladies."

"Is he?" Though secretly pleased, Catherine responded neutrally.

"Absolutely. I don't have to tell you how handsome he is, but he's also ridiculously wealthy. He has frustrated the hopes of more debutantes than I have hairs on my head. I admit I was one of them," Lady Richards said with a smile. Here she paused as she gave Catherine a curious look. "He's also careful regarding the married ladies."

The baroness had nothing intelligent to say. She knew what her friend was asking, but how should she respond?—My yes, Lord Ashworth and I spent one marvelous afternoon in a wooded glen defying all that is rightfully moral, and I would do it again and again given the opportunity. Though the utter truth, she could hardly admit this to anyone, even the kindly Lady Richards.

"It is very noble of him to respect the institution of marriage," Catherine managed weakly.

The conversation had reached the point of being uncomfortable, and she sighed with relief at the approach of two swaggering young lords.

*****

"Be honest with me, Edna. Is the lack of color too youthful?" Catherine glanced uncertainly at her reflection as she surveyed herself in the looking glass.

"White is most often chosen for unmarried girls, but the style of your dress is not too young."

"I hope so. Tonight is special."

The gown was a strikingly simple one of white silk with a Grecian influence. The fabric crisscrossed the bodice, and bright gold trim enhanced the outline of the bosom. A train, secured by golden clasps at the shoulders, dusted the floor and completed the effect.

Catherine's hair was piled high on her head, and a shiny gold ribbon threaded the soft curls. The result was at once both charming and sophisticated.

"I think you look dashing, my lady."

"But it is not the usual style. I should be wearing lace and bows."

Edna smiled at her mistress. "Ladies who set fashion wear what looks good. That's not always the usual style."

Catherine sighed. "You're right, of course. I suppose I'll just have to risk appearing different."

She left the suite and made her way downstairs to wait for Lady Richards. An unpleasant surprise met her as she entered the parlor. Her inebriated spouse lounged in one of the fancy Chippendale chairs. She halted in the doorway.

"Edgar—" she blurted. "I didn't expect to see you."

"What's the matter, wife? Trying to avoid me?" He had been drinking heavily, as his words were slurred and his attitude belligerent.

"Don't be silly. You're usually not here by this time in the evening, that's all."

Grasping the chair arm heavily, the baron rose from his seat, teetering to and fro. On uncertain feet he crossed the room to where she stood, coming to a stop not a nose-length from her face. The stench of brandy overwhelmed her.

"I wanted to see you all dressed up in your finery, love." He leaned closer and his bloodshot gaze took on a keenness that belied the drink. "You look good enough to eat," he said, breathing on her.

Catherine's stomach cramped. She knew her features reflected her distaste, for his expression turned even nastier.

The baron brought his index finger to the swell of her breast, never quite contacting the soft skin. At first, she thought his action was an attempt to disconcert her, however, the sudden pain that entered his eyes told a different story. She realized he wished to touch her, tried to touch her, but could not bring himself to do so. Sweat beaded his upper lip as his effort intensified. How long they stood thus she could only later wonder, for the episode seemed interminable.

He dropped his hand then and withdrew from her. "Get out!" he rasped. "Now!"

His voice came in a low-pitched growl, and Catherine recoiled in alarm. She gathered her skirts and dashed toward the front door, refusing to look back. Fortunately, Lady Richard's carriage could be heard arriving in the street below.

*****

Lord Bourgeault watched as his comely young wife flew from him in fright, and his chin fell to his bony chest. He lifted his head and bellowed, "Willie!" and then again, "Willie!"

He turned to the fireplace and, leaning his elbows on the mantle, placed his forehead in his hands. That was how Willie found the baron moments later as he answered his master's call.

"My lord?"

"Watch her, Willie." The baron's voice was hoarse with emotion. "I think the situation is ripe for success." He raised his head to stare at his faithful servant. "Pray it happens quickly, for if it does not, I may lose her before I can get her out of this godforsaken place."

Edgar cringed as he saw the look of doubt on the servant's face. Even Willie Gant, though not known for his astuteness, could be given credit for understanding the obvious—one cannot lose what one has never had.

*****

"You haven't forgotten our dance, have you?"

Catherine started at the seductive words spoken close to her ear, and she turned to see the face that went with the voice.

"Lord Ashworth," she said breathlessly, "you startled me."

Adam glanced at the man currently paying court to Catherine, and some masculine communication she could not quite fathom passed between the two men. The younger lord sketched a swift bow and retreated. Evidently, there was little to be gained in challenging someone as powerful as the earl.

"My goodness, he left in a hurry."

Adam grinned. "Seems he's clever enough to understand when his presence is unnecessary. Do you know how long I've been waiting to approach you?"

Catherine shook her head.

"I've been here longer than you have."

"You have? Then why haven't I seen you?"

"My dear Lady Bourgeault, to have a word with you one must breach a veritable wall of males. It's disheartening." Adam looked at her through raised eyebrows.

"It's not as though I encourage them." She was defensive. "Frankly, I don't understand what all the fuss is about."

"I knew you would take." Was that pride in his voice?

"What?"

"It occurred to me when we first met, given the opportunity you would be a monumental success. I'm glad to see I was right."

Catherine's cheeks flushed with pleasure. "Oh," was all she could think to say.

"You didn't answer my question." He gave her a lazy smile.

"I...what was your question?" When he turned that hypnotic smile on her she could not think clearly.

"Did you save me a dance?" he whispered huskily.

She threw caution to the wind. "As many as you like. All of them if you wish."

Adam's bantering attitude evaporated in an instant, and his eyes blackened with desire. "I'll settle for my one allotted dance—for now." He paused. "I'll come for you after supper."

She could only nod her agreement.

"I want to stay with you, but that will cause talk." His gaze turned enigmatic. "We will have to be careful."

He left with those tantalizing words hanging on the air.

Within the blink of a lash Lady Richards arrived at Catherine's side. "What did he say?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing really. He wanted to confirm our dance." She could not look her friend in the eye.

"Uh huh, I see," Charlotte said, a hint of skepticism showing. "From the looks of it, it was an intimate tete-a-tete. Nearly everyone in the room was watching the two of you."

Catherine was dismayed. "Don't people have anything better to do than spy on the innocent?"

"No, they don't have anything better to do. That is why indiscretion is so dangerous. People will talk. The wrong thing said can ruin a reputation in a night. Once one is ostracized, there is little chance of coming back."

"Why are people so suspicious? I've not done a thing to warrant this scrutiny."

Charlotte patted the Catherine's arm. "It's not you, not really, except you are beautiful and have set most of the male population on their collective ears. There's been some jealously."

"What is it then?"

"Lord Ashworth arrived directly as the ball commenced. That is out of character. He's known for making an appearance for appearance's sake, late in the evening. He never, and I mean never, shows a particular interest in any one woman. On two consecutive nights he has singled you out."

"That's not my fault," Catherine said.

"No, but there is a rumor circulating which suggests you and the earl are not newly met."

Aghast, the baroness stared at Lady Richards. "How could anyone possibly know that?"

The stunned silence that followed left little room for speech. Catherine had given herself away, and she was horrified by her inadvertent admission.

"Charlotte, you are my friend, are you not?"

"My dear, of course I am," Lady Richards said. "I'll not ask you to satisfy my curiosity, although I admit my interest is piqued. Maybe someday you will trust me enough to confide in me. For now, I want you to be aware of the pitfalls should you cease to be careful."

Lady Bourgeault smiled feebly at the intimation that she had something to hide. "Naturally, I shall heed your warning," she agreed.

*****

Supper proved to be an extended affair, lingering long past the hunger of the crowd. Catherine sat in the middle of a group of young people and listened with growing impatience to the inane prattle flowing around her. For the first time she began to wonder about the idle lives of these pampered aristocrats. Did they have nothing better to do than gossip about their neighbors?

Probably she had been brought to an awareness of the shallowness of her contemporaries by Charlotte's advice. Yet to listen to the malicious dissection of one poor individual after another truly depressed her. Their cruel attitude left no room for forgiveness, either.

Lord Ashworth lounged at a table on the far side of the room and, if his expression were an indication, he felt as bored as she. Catherine had caught his gaze on her more than once, and the rich promise in his eyes made her pulse leap.

When the music in the ballroom finally signaled the resumption of the dancing, Catherine sprang from her chair in relief. She had promised the first dance after dinner, a country reel, to a nervous young man who came promptly to claim her.

As she lined up for the dance, an image of the earl enfolding her in his arms before leading her onto the ballroom floor teased her thoughts, and her body shivered deliciously. She must have had a particularly inviting look on her face, because her partner gaped at her in obvious delight. The reel came to an end, and she graciously thanked the flustered gentleman as he escorted her to Lady Richards.

When she arrived at Charlotte's side, Catherine knew her features were flushed from the recent activity, for her cheeks felt warm. She laughed gaily. This was the face moments later she turned on the earl.

*****

Adam waited on the sidelines for his dance with Catherine. He had remained at the ball all evening—something he would not normally have done—just so he might dance with her one time. It would be worth it.

He had not bothered to partner anyone else. Hardly seemed worth the time, although it would have made his dance with Catherine less conspicuous. Feeling too irritated to think about that now, he concerned himself instead with the way Catherine had flirted with that young fool. The earl approached the lady, a thundercloud darkening his brow.

"You must be careful how you encourage these young puppies," he said, scowling. "Most do not have the discretion to come in from the pouring rain."

The smile on Catherine's mouth faded. "I'm certain you are right, my lord," she stated coolly. "It is well known the older a man becomes the more discreet he becomes."

Adam paused at the gentle rebuke. His glance shifted to Charlotte Richards who watched him in open fascination, confirming his own lack of subtlety.

"Touche," he acknowledged, a sensual grin slowly easing his lips as he stared at Catherine in approval. He bowed in deference to her astuteness and, offering his arm, led the lady onto the dance floor.

Catherine stood opposite the earl as they waited for the music to the Cotillion to begin. Shyly, she kept her gaze averted. Adam could not help staring at her. She was so beautiful his throat tightened with passion. That dress made her appear like an angel. When she finally raised her gray eyes to his, she took his breath away.

The routine steps of the dance broke the mood, but the respite was short-lived. As the last notes of the music died away, Adam took her elbow and adroitly led her away from the other guests and onto the vacant balcony. Once there he took her in his arms.

Adam knew he was homing in on Catherine just as he had done in her little glen. He wanted her and nothing must stand in his way. If he had stopped to think, he might have been surprised by his single-minded determination to pursue the baroness regardless of the cost. But countless sleepless nights had brought the unbearable yearning to a head, and his good sense deserted him.

He felt her shudder, clinging to him as if she needed the support.

"Are you all right?" Adam asked anxiously, his arm tightening around her waist as he steadied her.

"No. No, I'm not," she replied in an agitated voice. "If you do not stop looking at me that way, I'm going to melt right here on the spot."

"I'm sorry, love, but I can't think further than my desire to make love to you." He flashed her a crooked grin, so at odds with the message in his statement.

Catherine didn't respond at first and, when she did, she took him by surprise.

"Do you like me?" she asked.

"What?"

"You've made it clear that you find my face and figure to your liking, but how do you feel about me?"

His grip on her increased and he stared severely down at her. "Don't you know how I feel?" he rumbled.

She shook her head, uncertainty reflected in her eyes.

"Then I think it's time I showed you." Adam dragged her into the far corner of the balcony where an alcove provided more privacy. Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her to him and kissed her almost brutally.

The pressure of his mouth was painful, a foolish effort to make his point. He drew back from her, and she clamped her lips as if keeping them from trembling.

"God!" he groaned. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He lightly took her face in his hands and brought his lips back to hers. This time there was a gentleness in him, a need to persuade. And he was winning. Her hands crept up his chest to entwine in the hair at the nape of his neck. At the same time, Adam wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

When at last he raised his head, his breathing was ragged. "There," he said unsteadily, "do you understand how I feel?"

Catherine reached up to brush a lock of hair that had fallen across his brow. "What I understand, my lord, is your desire to bed me," she murmured. "That is passion, not necessarily anything more."

"That is where love begins, Catherine." He smiled. "I like my sister, but she has never inspired me the way you have."

"I see." Her disappointed gaze slipped from his.

"Do not misunderstand." Adam placed his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him again. "You are in my blood. I came home from Bath a man changed, and I've been unable to forget you no matter how hard I've tried."

She stared at him wide-eyed and shivered as he brought his face closer to hers.

"You invade my dreams," he whispered hoarsely. "I see the most magnificent woman imaginable, and she is exposed by the moonlight. She is there for me to touch, to love, but she is just out of reach. I dread to wake for I am never satisfied." He paused as he continued to hold her captive with his gaze. "I do not sleep well of late."

"If it's only passion," she said, clearly still uncertain, "then any woman to whom you are attracted would do."

"My mistress has tried."

Catherine flinched away from him as though Adam had slapped her. "You have a mistress?"

He could not believe he had made such a blunder. "I did," he hastened, "but she turned me aside. I'm no good to her."

"What do you mean no good?"

"I mean, my lady," he said in self-mockery, "it is you or no one."

He had come as close to a declaration as he could without falling on his knees and begging for her hand. Pain clogged his chest as he realized the futility of such a notion. They might make love, might actually fall in love, but there it would end. No happy future awaited them—the baron would see to that.

"So be it," she said, as if coming to a decision. "When left with life's crumbs, one feasts nonetheless."

"I'm sorry?"

"What shall we do to ease your pain?" She spoke in a feathery whisper laden with erotic implication.

His gut twisted in fiery response and he drew her near again. "I knew you were a witch," he growled, "else how do I explain the power you have over me?"

"The power belongs to you, my lord," she said, flirting with him through her lashes. "I am yours to command."

He turned suddenly urgent. "Do you have a servant you can trust?"

"Edna."

"You're certain your faith is not misplaced?"

"Yes."

"I'll have to make arrangements. Tell Edna to expect a message to be delivered by a Mr. Sims. He is my man."

Catherine nodded.

Adam hesitated then. "There is danger involved, love. Are you certain you wish to take the risk?"

"I don't have the will to resist." She looked at him squarely without guile.

They stood several minutes thus, neither speaking because nothing more need be said. He moved his head slowly toward her and dropped a lingering kiss on her lips.

"Be waiting for me," he demanded in a thick voice. "It won't be long, I swear, for it already seems an eternity." Adam backed away from her and drew in a shaky breath. "Damn these tight breeches. I'm not certain I can walk through the gathering without disgracing myself."

Catherine giggled her surprise.

"Right," he snorted as he straightened his coat. "Nothing will get a bloke's passion under control quicker than to be laughed at by his ladylove."

"Oh, Adam." She smiled gently. "I can't wait, either."

He grinned his elation at her response. "You stay here," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll send Charlotte to you. Perhaps there is a dim hope we have not been noticed." He turned, strode the length of the balcony and disappeared into the crowded ballroom.

The earl passed arrogantly through the throng in search of Lady Richards. He came upon the little woman unprepared for the blast of temper that awaited him.

"Lord Ashworth, how dare you show such little regard for Lady Bourgeault's reputation!" she demanded.

That dispelled any hope he had with regard to his meeting with Catherine. He was so taken aback, he stared in slack-jawed amazement at the infuriated lady. Charlotte took him by the arm and dragged him unceremoniously to an empty sitting room at the far end of the Farthington mansion.

"Aren't you worried about your own reputation, my good woman?" the earl managed, his tone turning sarcastic as he watched Lady Richards close the door none too gently. "After all, alone with me and all that."

Charlotte stood, hands on hips. "If it amuses you to avoid the purpose of this conversation, then please, my lord, feel free to do so. I have all night."

The earl, unused to having his actions called into question, found himself fighting a sudden burst of annoyance. "You have something you wish to impart," he said tightly. "It might be best if you just said it."

Charlotte gave him a terse nod. "I've taken a personal interest in Lady Bourgeault. Though our acquaintance is of short duration, I'm fond of her and would be displeased if anything happened to upset her." Lady Richards eyed the earl, a speculative light in her gaze.

"Come, Charlotte, ask me the question outright." Adam was relieved to feel his equilibrium resurfacing.

"All right then—I wish to know what your intentions are toward Catherine."

Adam stared at her for a moment without responding. "Do you wish to know my feelings for the baroness, or do you want to know what I intend to do with regard to those feelings?"

"Both, actually."

"I love her," he stated baldly, "and with regard to that love, I intend to make her my mistress. Do you have some objection to this course of action?"

Charlotte must have been struck dumb by the earl's overt admission, for rather than speaking, she clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock.

"Now, now, Charlotte, I have difficulty believing a woman as sophisticated as yourself would be surprised by something as mundane as an affair. It happens all the time." The earl raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.

"To others perhaps." Lady Richards' expression had turned solemn. "Virtuous ladies were considered safe in your company."

"Damn what people think they know!" he responded in irritation.

"She deserves better than to have her name bandied about in the clubs, Adam. If you love her, you can't want her reputation destroyed."

"What makes you think that will happen?" Now she had his attention.

"Gossip, my lord—you know, that nefarious sustenance which keeps polite society well fed."

Adam winced in dismay. "What would you have me do?" His patience was running thin but, though he hated to admit it, he knew Lady Richard's worries were justified.

"There is no hope you might simply let the lady be?"

"Let's think of an alternative, shall we?" he said grimly.

Charlotte sighed and then nodded as if conceding defeat. "You must stop carrying out your pursuit of Lady Bourgeault in public. It is bad ton and you know it."

"I wasn't aware I was so blatant." He was chagrined by her criticism.

"You've been casting moon-eyes at her for all the world to see."

"I've done no such thing!"

"You have." Charlotte shook her finger at him, emphasizing her point.

Silence filled the room as the earl brooded on this unwelcome observation. "I don't wish to cause her harm," he said quietly. "Is it truly a problem?"

"My lord, when you took Catherine out on the balcony just now, the buzz of conversation in the ballroom rose to such intensity, I felt I'd entered a beehive."

His turned morose. "Then the situation is already irretrievable."

"Quite possibly, but you can minimize the damage if you take heed quickly. Become indifferent—people will wonder, but they won't know. I don't have to tell you, that makes all the difference."

The earl shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet. He felt like a lad who had been taken behind the stable and rightfully chastised. He was crestfallen.

Lady Richards reached out and placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. "Adam, I'm not making a judgment, I swear. But no matter what happens, being an influential man you will come out of it unscathed. It won't be that easy for Catherine."

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I was so happy to see her, I just didn't think. You will continue to sponsor her, won't you?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course, but I can't create miracles. If you don't behave, all is lost. So it is agreed, the public displays will cease." It was not a question.

Lord Ashworth nodded curtly and bowed to the lady. "Forgive me for making this little chat necessary. Catherine is waiting on the balcony, and I would be grateful if you'd go to her." At the door, he turned and paused. "I meant what I said, Charlotte. This is not a passing fancy. For good or ill, I intend to see this thing through to its end. I have no choice—I've not been in love before."

*****

"Sims, do not mistake the maid. Edna is her name." The earl passed the folded piece of paper to his valet.

"My lord, I can assure you, this missive will not fall into the wrong hands," Sims said.

"See it does not. The repercussions could be dangerous."

Sims sniffed his disapproval.

Aware of his man's distaste for the business at hand, he ignored the valet's attitude. The situation was worrisome enough without having to soothe the ruffled sensibilities of a reproachful servant.

Adam had not slept in nearly thirty-six hours. He came home from the party the previous evening exhausted, but try as he might he was unable to sleep. He tossed fitfully for most of the night before abandoning the effort. Crawling from the rumpled sheets, he paced the floor until daylight mercifully ended his torment.

He still could not fathom how he had come to disclose his feelings for Catherine to Lady Richards. Why, he'd not even been able to admit as much to Catherine—or himself, for that matter. Somehow it seemed when Charlotte had put the question to him, Adam knew for the first time what dwelled in his heart. With that knowledge came a tidal wave of hopelessness.

Hell and be damned! Was the most important issue in his life to be reduced to an exercise in frustration? Catherine was amenable to an affair, and that would ease some of the immediate craving he felt for her. But he didn't like the subterfuge. And in the long run, a few clandestine meetings would not satisfy his less earthy needs.

Catherine wanted to know if he liked her. Lord, what a question. He envisioned bringing her home as his wife, with all the pomp and ceremony that entailed, and enshrining her in the bridal suite. Could there be any doubt he liked her? Was the painful ache in his chest whenever he thought of her a physical sign of his devotion?

Adam had wasted little time once the sun had drifted over the horizon in making the necessary arrangements for his meeting with the baroness. First he had to procure a room in an inconspicuous yet respectable part of town. The jangle of heavy coins was persuasive insurance that the landlord would hold his tongue. With Lady Richard's strictures the preceding evening, that particular detail had taken on added importance.

Now that he had begun to fit together the pieces of his little scheme, the earl was anxious that no problems should arise. He was irritated at Sims for passing judgment, for it nudged the guilt Adam was trying to suppress. Rather than think on the right or wrong of what he was doing, he focused on what could have been had fate taken a more satisfactory turn.

One other reality put the matter into perspective. In the past when he formed a bond with a woman, there were financial matters to consider. Now the only thing being wagered was an emotional ante, and that made the stakes much dearer.

And so Adam's thoughts continued to taunt him as the hours passed into dusk. Tonight would not be the night, he thought miserably, and he wondered how to endure the wait. As he had done countless times that day, he began to pace.

With the last vestiges of daylight ebbing, Adam decided that sitting at home and festering was a futile occupation. He forced himself to dress for the evening.

There came a light tap at the door and Sims entered.

"Sims, where have you been? I've worn a path in the carpet waiting for your return."

The valet's attitude was impassive. "These things take time, my lord."

"Did you make contact with the maid?" the earl asked impatiently.

"Yes, my lord, but it took some finessing to get the deed done."

"Explain yourself."

The valet inhaled a deep, stoical breath and began his tale. "A description of the woman would have been helpful." He paused as if to emphasize his criticism. "Since I had none, I found it necessary to approach every serving girl who emerged from the Bourgeault residence."

"My God, man, you weren't indiscreet, were you?"

Sims drew himself up, plainly offended. "My lord, I hope I have never given you reason to doubt my discretion."

Adam sighed. "Please, forgive me, but don't keep me in suspense any longer. If you knew the strain I've been under, you'd put me out of my misery."

"My lord," the servant began on a more conciliatory note, "I took the stable boy with me. I stayed well out of sight and allowed him to do the prospecting. Every time a maid left the Bourgeault mansion, our boy called Edna's name. Eventually his ploy was successful because a young woman turned and answered him. Apparently, this Edna had been told to expect your missive, for she came immediately when the lad beckoned."

"What if Edna had not chosen today to make a foray into the outside world?" Adam asked on a smile.

"Then I assume, my lord, I would be making a repeat visit to find Edna tomorrow," came the valet's dignified response.

"At the very least." The earl chuckled. "Tell me, was there a message?"

"Yes, my lord. The communique is a verbal one."

"Proceed." Adam's heart began to thump expectantly.

"Tonight at ten o'clock would be a convenient time. The lady asks that the carriage wait for her around the corner—"

"Tonight?" the earl interrupted excitedly. "Are you certain she meant tonight?" He grabbed Sims by the arms, beaming at the man in delighted anticipation.

The valet politely disengaged himself from his lordship's eager grasp and pulled at the front of his coat, restoring his disheveled countenance. "It would seem Lord Bourgeault is indisposed this evening and the lady is free to go abroad."

"Was this part of the message?"

"Not exactly, my lord," Sims said dryly. "Miss Edna is quite the talker when she warms to her subject. She detests her master and does not hesitate to say as much. Evidently, the baron follows a pattern. Lord Bourgeault is a habitually heavy imbiber, but on occasion he will drink copious amounts of alcohol over many hours, possibly days, and then sleep for an equal number of hours or days."

"And...?" Adam pressed.

"And," the valet continued, "the baron began drinking yesterday. This afternoon he became unconscious and was taken to his bed by his man. He is not expected to awaken until late tomorrow at the very earliest."

"Wonderful! Best news I've heard all day. Come, we have some plans to finalize."

*****

Catherine stood at the top of the staircase to the servants' entrance and adjusted the veil covering her face. Dressed in a nondescript ensemble of varying shades of brown, she hoped her clothing adequately disguised her aristocratic heritage, preventing unwanted attention. Of course, the hour being late, she was in danger of being accosted simply because she was a female alone. Pray the carriage was waiting at the designated location, she thought. Drawing in a deep breath, she made her way down the stairs and into the night.

*****

A door at the far end of the corridor closed on the darkened hallway. The spy turned to his employer. "She's gone, my lord."

The oppressive gloom of the chamber hid the occupant who lay in a brandy-induced fog on the massive bed. "You are positive it was she and not a maid?" Lord Bourgeault's tremulous voice croaked plaintively, slicing through the blackness of the room.

"Aye, my lord, it could be no other."

Silence followed Willie's confirmation, and the servant tiptoed lightly across the plush carpet to stand over the prostrate baron. Curious, he opened his mouth to speak, but shock caused the words to stick in his throat.

Drink had forced his master to slumber, but Lord Bourgeault's ravaged face told a story of secret grief. Moisture pooled in the hollows of the baron's shuttered eyes and dripped salty tears from the edges of his lids onto the pillow cradling his head.

Willie, though not a man given to the finer feelings, was of a sudden overcome by a surge of pity. He walked across the room to retrieve an old rocker. Retracing his steps, he placed it near the head of the bed. He settled himself into his seat, sighing in regret at his selfless act, and prepared for a night of sleeplessness as he stood watch over his stricken lord.

*****

CHAPTER 7

"For God's sake, man, would you hurry? I'm already thirty minutes late."

Lord Ashworth stood at the edge of the street next to his disabled carriage. His impatience was growing steadily with each passing minute as his coachman tried to reattach the wheel that had lost its hold on the axle and gone spinning several dozen yards down the road.

"Beg pardon, Lord Ashworth, but I'm working as quickly as I can," grunted the harassed driver.

"I know, Shivers—carry on."

The earl stepped into the busy avenue to hail a hackney, and for the first time in recent memory there was none to be had. One vehicle after the other rolled past him and not one was a rented transport.

"Bloody hell! She's going to think I've forgotten her." Adam walked back to the carriage, expletives spewing from his tongue like water off a hot griddle.

Shivers straightened and stared at his master. "My lord, I'm impressed." The coachman grinned and doffed his cap.

Acknowledging his indecent verbal skills, the earl smiled wryly. "Ahem...right you are."

"I have an idea, my lord."

"And that would be...?" Adam asked, ripe for any suggestion that would speed him on his way.

"Take one of the horses. I'll repair the wheel and rig the equipage so one horse can get the carriage home."

"It can be done?" The earl looked at his servant in sudden hope.

"Don't see why not. Be a bit clumsy, but I'll manage."

Adam cast a sidelong glance at Shivers. "I'll have to ride bareback."

The coachman smirked. "That could be a problem, I suppose. I can give you a leg up if you think it would help, my lord."

"Blast your old hide!" Adam laughed aloud. "I can manage. I like your idea—let's get to it."

*****

No one was about as Catherine approached the door at the far end of the dimly lit hallway. She knocked once and then again, but her summons went unanswered. Reaching into her reticule, she blindly searched the contents. She withdrew a key, given to Edna by the earl's man, and placed it into the lock with a hand that shook.

Her breath whooshed through her mouth in relief as the key slipped the bolt and the door slowly opened inward. Catherine stepped over the threshold and the magic of another world washed over her, soothing her with the warmth of welcome.

The baroness was not given to fancy, but at that moment she was consumed by a sense of tranquility. She sensed peace in this room, and it beckoned like a siren in the mist. Given another time and other circumstances, undoubtedly it would have been just a room. But for her, for now, this was her Eden and that seemed miracle enough.

Someone had been there preparing for her arrival. The lamps were lit and the counterpane on the bed had been pulled back. A small table laden with covered dishes was ready for a midnight supper. Her only real complaint was the blaze in the fireplace, for the sultry evening was too warm to support the added heat. She moved to the window and threw the shutters wide in an attempt to cool the stuffy apartment.

She turned back to the room. Adam had not arrived yet, and she was uncertain how to proceed without him. Catherine glanced at the valise she had left by the door. Embarrassment warmed her face as she thought of the nightdress she had hastily stuffed into the small leather bag. Somehow bringing the lingerie seemed so, well...premeditated.

What a foolish notion, she thought, since she hadn't come here to play a game of whist. Yet it was hard to dispel the inhibitions. Her fall from grace on her previous "outing" with the earl might be forgiven on the grounds nothing illicit had been intended. But she could hardly plead spontaneity when, in the future, she reflected on this evening.

Catherine felt the old rebellion that appeared whenever she allowed her misgivings to get the upper hand. She had made her choice, so why castigate herself over a situation she wouldn't change even if she could?

She retrieved the valise and, snapping open the catch, pulled the nightdress from the bag. Catherine grasped the garment by the neck and shook it free of wrinkles. It was white cambric and a touch of lace, sleeveless with a drawstring neck. Quite simple, really—plain if she were honest. One thing for certain, no one would mistake it for the alluring gown of a lady who "entertained" gentlemen friends.

Suddenly, she wished she were more worldly-wise and less naive. Lord Ashworth would expect a woman who knew what to expect. From his point of view, her marriage would have given her an understanding of the carnal side of wedlock. However, except for that wildly exciting episode in the glen, she was as untried as a newborn babe. She feared the earl's tastes might be sophisticated, a thought that had not occurred to her until he had made the mistake of telling her about his mistress.

Catherine could not completely erase the hurt that had followed Adam's disclosure of the other woman, although it came as no surprise. He was youthful, a wealthy aristocrat, and he'd had a life before he met her. What she refused to acknowledge was the conclusion of her own romantic journey with him. For every beginning had an end, and therein lay the pitfall. She must continue to remind herself that one did not enter into a love affair with long-term planning.

She donned the homely nightgown then reached for her valise again, removing her brush. Crossing to the small vanity that occupied one corner of the chamber, she pulled out the bench and sat down.

Catherine began removing the pins from her hair. She started at the crown of her head and drew the brush through the thick mass, repeating the process until the air around her crackled with static.

Outside the mad dash of a horse's hooves on the cobblestones disturbed the stillness of the night. Someone's in a hurry, she thought absently. The ormolu clock on the mantle chimed the hour, and Catherine glanced at it in curiosity. Eleven o'clock—he will be here soon. Strangely, it never occurred to her that he might not come. She smiled serenely and resumed her brushing.

*****

Adam took the stairs two at a time, his heart pumping from exertion. He reached the landing and paused to catch his breath. Sighting the apartment at the end of the corridor, he moved toward it, his heart turning over in his chest for an entirely different reason. He placed his hand on the knob as he drew abreast of the room, but the latch must have been undone, for the door moved silently inward on its well-oiled hinges. Adam entered the chamber.

Across the room from him, Catherine sat at a dressing table brushing her hair. She was not yet aware of him, and he took the rare moment to observe her when she thought herself alone.

She bent her head forward, exposing her slim neck as she pulled her gilded tresses over her shoulder. Closing her eyes, she hummed tunelessly while continuing the hypnotic movement of the brush. Adam was captivated by the utter loveliness of the feminine routine. It occurred to him that he could watch this delightful ritual every day for the rest of his life if they were wed. The intensity of the ache that accompanied the wistful observation surprised him.

*****

"You should lock the door, my dear."

Catherine jerked around. "My lord! I didn't know you were there."

He was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest, looking more handsome in his casual attire than ever he had before. He stared at her with such intensity she stood and moved toward him in concern.

"Is anything amiss, my lord?"

Adam's gaze drifted down her figure.

"My lord?" she ventured again, suddenly unsure.

His attention continued to linger on the frumpy gown, and now Catherine knew for certain the garment had been an uninspired selection. She was thoroughly unnerved when at last Adam chose to look into her face, his expression avid with undisguised lust. Perhaps, she thought with sudden insight, it was not such a bad choice after all.

"Come here," he growled.

Catherine put her hand to her throat and traveled the short distance that separated them, her emotions a potent mixture of anxiety and excitement. He continued to watch her, his nostrils flaring, his respiration visibly accelerating.

As she drew near, he placed his hands on her shoulders while pulling her roughly against him. He stared into her pale features, his own face inches away. At last his gaze dropped to her parted lips and, slipping his fingers into her hair, he began to ravage her mouth.

He rained kisses on her eyelids and cheeks before bringing his tongue to the tender hollow at the base of her throat. Adam ran his hands down the small of her back to grasp her buttocks. He pressed her tightly against his pelvis, and a groan exploded deep in his chest.

Catherine felt overwhelmed by the onslaught of Adam's passion and completely unprepared for her own violent response. "You go too quickly, my lord," she managed weakly. "Please..."

He lifted his head. "Adam," he demanded, his breathing harsh.

"Wh-what?"

"My name is Adam. When you call me 'my lord,' you place a wedge between us I cannot like." He lowered his voice to an erotic whisper. "I would have nothing between us—not even this gown."

Adam deftly released the string that held the top of her nightdress together. He ran his thumbs along her collarbone while easing the thin cotton garment from her shoulders.

The pulse in her throat began to throb unbearably, and she crossed her wrists over her breasts, forestalling his efforts.

Adam frowned. "Are you fearful?" he asked gently. "I've not perceived that as a problem before."

"No," she said, shaking her head, "uneasy, perhaps. It's simply that...well, we've hardly spoken. A supper's been prepared. Aren't you interested in eating?" She indicated the small dining table with the covered dishes.

Adam drew her into his arms again and placed his mouth next to her ear. "Ah, Catherine," he ground out, "there is only one appetite I feel compelled to satisfy. We'll talk, I promise. But don't make me wait. I beg you—it's been so long." He pulled back and, taking her face in his hands, forced her to look at him. "Love me now, sweeting, lest I splinter into a million wretched pieces."

Surely the good Lord had never intended a flesh and blood woman to resist such an exquisite entreaty. The man knew about seduction, no doubt about it. A pleasurable heat unfurled in her belly and radiated throughout her lower body.

Catherine gave the neck of her gown one good yank, opening it completely. As she dropped her arms to her sides, it flowed in a wispy rustle down her naked form to pool at her feet.

Adam went very still, the sudden tenseness around his eyes and mouth revealing a barely controlled fire. He did not ogle her, however, instead scooping her up into his arms and striding toward the bed. He laid her atop the quilted coverlet with the deference accorded fragile glass. Only then did she see him take a sidelong glance down her exposed length, lingering briefly before bringing his burning gaze back to hers.

Leaning over her, he placed his hands on either side of her body, his expression serious.

"Before we begin," he said, "I think I should tell you something I've only recently discovered for myself." He paused and drew in a deep breath. "I'm in love with you, Catherine. What we do here is in honor of that love. I would have you feel no other way."

He was wooing her with every wile at his command, reassuring her of his devotion, yet she detected vulnerability in his confession. He need not have worried. A sense of well-being drifted over Catherine, and a caressing warmth seized her heart, long frozen from disuse and despair.

"Oh, Adam, I knew anything was possible in this room." She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into her embrace. "I do perceive one problem, though." She bit her lower lip, watching him coyly.

"What might that be, love?" he asked, seemingly bemused by her quicksilver temperament.

"I think it unfair that you are overdressed. After all," she murmured, "I'm more ready to proceed than you are."

That provided all the encouragement he needed. The Earl of Ashworth disrobed in record time, flinging his garments willy-nilly about the tiny apartment in his haste.

Catherine watched in fascination—and something more—as his handsome body surfaced from beneath the layers of discarded clothing.

Adam stripped off his drawers and looked up just in time to intercept Catherine's wide-eyed gape of astonishment as she became aware of the physical results of his arousal. Her gaze shifted to his face and a pregnant silence filled the room. A sudden merry twinkle lit her eyes as she noted his embarrassed expression.

"Should I be afraid?" she asked.

"Witch!" He laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls and dancing over their heads. He fairly leapt upon Catherine as he joined her on the bed. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled on his back, pulling her on top of him.

Catherine gazed down at him, heavy tresses trailing over her shoulders and onto his chest. Her cheeks felt flushed as she watched him, and a slow smile touched her lips.

"My God, you're ravishing!" He spoke in hushed tones.

She was acutely aware of the taut masculinity of his nakedness where she lay pressed against him, and her breathing intensified. Leaning forward, she set her mouth to his and ever so slightly touched her tongue to his bottom lip.

It was as though she released the cork on a bottle of champagne. Adam's rigidly controlled emotions erupted, spewing forth to overwhelm them both. And, like the uncorked wine, there would be no turning back.

Adam grasped the back of her head, pressing her face firmly against his own, so her lips parted beneath the urgency of his kiss. Grabbing Catherine around the waist, he brought her onto her back, covering her with his body.

"Look at me!" he rasped.

She glanced at him, only to be riveted by the passionate frenzy transforming his face. His dark eyes flashed wildly with unchecked desire. At that moment he took her, and Catherine was sucked into a maelstrom of exquisite sensation. She felt no pain this time, just burgeoning arousal promising the ecstasy of release.

Adam pushed into her, penetrating the slick, tight passage completely. He paused at once, clearly shaken as though he fought to stave off a climax that came dangerously close before he was anywhere near to being ready. He inhaled a quivering breath, seeming to steady himself, and chanced the thrusting again. He withdrew then plunged deeply, shuddering.

Catherine reveled in his passion, a passion she sensed had gone nearly out of control. This time she knew what he sought and she wanted it, too. She wanted to be closer to him, to intensify the sensation. All she could think of was where his body was joined to hers—the hypnotic motion, the pressure.

Mindless now and panting breathlessly, she wrapped her legs around his hips. Straining hard against him, her movements became as intense and frantic as his. That was all it took. She came immediately, her gratification so violent she opened her mouth in a silent scream.

At that moment, Adam slipped his hands beneath her hips and, drawing her even tighter to him, he buried himself in her one last time. Rearing up, a low, guttural rumble tore from his throat. He rocked back and forth, as though wringing the last of the feeling from his climax. Then he slumped, exhausted, on top of her. He groaned into the heated flesh of her neck.

"I'm sorry. I left you behind. I swear I'm not usually so selfish."

Catherine cradled his damp brow next to her breast. "I was with you every moment."

Adam raised his head, sudden hope lighting his gaze. "Are you certain? You are not just trying to console me?"

She pursed her lips, considering the weighty matter. "No, no. I'm fairly certain," she said, amusement tingeing her words. "It's a difficult thing to mistake, you see."

The earl chuckled. "True, true..."

She hesitated then, suddenly shy. "There's something I forgot to mention." As he hovered over her, Catherine traced a pattern on his chest with her finger before looking at him through her lashes.

"Yes?" he encouraged her gently.

"I love you as well."

The Earl of Ashworth was plainly undone, the emotion flooding his features revealing how much her confession meant to him. Easing off her onto his side, he pulled Catherine into his arms with her back to him. His touch was no longer sexual, instead tender as if seeking something else, something he had not even known he needed.

"I should be leaving," she mumbled, her voice drowsy.

Adam drew her closer. "Stay with me awhile, sweeting," he implored her. "I cannot bear the thought of you leaving me so soon."

Catherine nestled deeper into his embrace and allowed herself to be persuaded. Within moments, she slept.

*****

"Where are you going?"

"It grows late, Adam. I risk discovery if I wait any longer." Catherine stood in the middle of the room dressed only in her shift and drawers.

"What is the hour?"

"Nearing five o'clock. If I hurry I can be home before dawn breaks."

"Damn, I don't like this part of the arrangement."

Sitting up in the bed, Adam made an effort to rub the sleep from his bleary eyes. When last he glanced at the clock it was half past three. Rest had been long in coming, but now it did not want to release its hold on him.

Catherine nodded. "I had the devil of a time forcing myself from under the covers. It was very pleasant there." She smiled regretfully at him, before reaching for the drab brown gown and stepping into the voluminous skirt.

"This is unacceptable," he grumbled as he leaned against the headboard. "I want you again, and now you are leaving me."

The last catch on her bodice in place, Catherine put on her shoes, and climbed back into the bed to sit next to the earl. She took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder.

"This is not nearly as bad as when you left me at the castle," she reasoned with him. "Then I thought I would never see you again. At least now I know I can see you all the time, and occasionally we can be here together. That gives me comfort." She placed a kiss on his cheek.

Adam gathered her into his arms, sighing heavily. "I'll not be approaching you in society anymore."

"Oh...?"

"Your very good friend, Lady Richards—and mine, I might add—has deemed my public displays dangerous to your reputation. She gave me a tongue lashing at the Farthington's ball last evening after I took you onto the balcony. It seems we caused quite a stir."

"I don't care what people think of me," she said, attitude defiant.

"I do, my dear. You're a fine, honorable woman. I'll not have the cats shredding your character because of my indiscretion. We have the ton guessing. I suggest we not compound the error by confirming the gossip." Though he was apologetic, she sensed his resolve was steadfast. "I disliked Charlotte's lecture but, I must admit, she was right."

"When will I see you again?"

Adam cupped her chin in his hand as he turned her to face him. "That's up to you, my darling. Night or day, I will be eagerly awaiting your summons." He bussed her lightly on the lips. "Please do not make me wait too long."

"I'll send Edna with word when I'm able." She climbed off the bed and headed for the door.

"I would accompany you, but I don't think we should chance being seen together," he said. "I told the driver to stay in the hall and escort you to the carriage."

"He's been out there all night?"

Adam grinned. "He's been duly rewarded, I promise you."

"Well, then..." Catherine paused in the doorway, her smile sad as she gazed at the man who was now her lover. "This isn't going to be easy, is it?"

"No, love, it's not going to be easy." Adam wanted to tell her differently, but he knew it would be a lie.

She continued to watch him for a moment more then slipped into the hall, pulling the door behind her.

The earl listened to her footsteps until they faded from hearing before easing back under the coverlet. He stared into the pre-dawn dimness, unable to resume his rest. He missed her. Her fragrance clung to the pillow, and where she had slept the bedding had turned cold and forbidding.

No, it wasn't going to be easy—not easy, at all. Trouble is, he thought, it's a bit like sticking one's foot in quicksand. One did not sense the danger until it was too late. By then, of course, the struggle only served to ensure the outcome.

Had he been warned of what lay in his path when he consented to the baron's invitation, would he have accepted so readily? He wanted to believe sanity would have prevailed, but when he thought of his sweet lady he knew foresight would have made no difference, no difference at all. Destiny had determined his future, and he might as well enjoy it because he damned sure couldn't change it.

"Right then, I give up," he said in disgust.

The bed ropes creaked under his weight as he hauled himself off the mattress. With Catherine gone, the roomed seemed empty and sterile and he had no wish to stay.

Five minutes found the earl donning his coat. He glanced at the bed wistfully as he remembered his last hours there. Strangely, it wasn't the passionate lovemaking that filled his thoughts but the comfort of time spent in the arms of one more dear than life itself. Adam fervently prayed Catherine would send word soon.

*****

"I tell you, my lady, Emily swears she saw him."

Arriving from her assignation with the earl, the baroness was confronted by her harried servant. "You're giving me a headache, Edna. Who is Emily?"

"The new parlor maid—you remember."

"Oh yes, I do. What is it Emily thinks she witnessed?"

Catherine sighed inwardly. She did not want to deal with domestic problems right now. All she wanted was to climb into her bed and allow her thoughts to dwell on her evening with Adam as she drifted into sleep.

"Emily doesn't understand what she saw, but I do."

"Edna, I'm exhausted. Please get to the point."

That was enough to subdue the little woman's enthusiasm. "Yes ma'am," she said contritely and swallowing began anew.

"I overheard Emily telling Cook that the baron went upstairs early yesterday afternoon. He was very drunk and swearing like a sailor. Mr. Gant attended him. It shocked me so I made her repeat her story."

Puzzled, the baroness said, "I don't think there is a person in this house who did not realize my husband imbibed most of the day. The big surprise would have been if he had not been drunk."

"Don't you see? Mr. Gant told me Lord Bourgeault had become unconscious and had to be taken to his room. He said he expected his lordship to sleep for hours. If the baron went upstairs without help, he was not passed out. Maybe he never was."

Catherine looked at her maid. "Why do you suppose Willie would purposely misrepresent the situation?" she asked slowly.

Edna shook her head. "I don't know, my lady, but having had most of the night to think on it, I believe he made a special effort to do just that." She eyed her mistress before continuing. "I'm certain he expected me to come to you with the information."

Catherine sat down on the nearest chair and stared into space for several moments before bringing her gaze back to her maid.

"It's hard to believe the only person to witness this charade was Emily."

"Of course, his lordship did not wish to be seen, so he waited until no one was around."

"Except Emily."

"Except Emily," Edna agreed. "Although I'm sure he didn't mean for her to see him, either."

"Do you think he's spying on me?"

The maid shrugged. "It did occur to me. I just don't see how Lord Bourgeault could participate in a hoax, him being so drunk and all."

"Don't let that fool you, my dear. Edgar is at his most cunning when he is in his cups." The baroness stood up. "I think I'll step across the hall and see how the baron is getting on."

Opening her door, Catherine slipped into the corridor and tiptoed toward her husband's room. Loud snores emanated from within the baron's den, and she felt a sudden panic as she reached for the doorknob. He sounded as though he slept, she thought. Perhaps she should leave well enough alone.

On a whim she twisted the knob and eased the door open slightly, peeking through the ensuing crack. The early dawn did not penetrate the darkened apartment, and several seconds passed before her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She pushed the door wider.

At that moment, the baroness caught sight of Willie Gant sitting upright in a rocker by the head of the baron's bed. He stared at her from across the murky room, and it took all of Catherine's self-control not to screech with alarm.

The little man's eyes gleam malevolently in the blackness, but he neither moved nor spoke. He watched her like a ruthless serpent, unhurried, as if waiting for the precise moment to strike. A prickle of foreboding slithered across her backbone, and Catherine turned and fled.

She dashed back into her own room and, closing the door, leaned against it as if the hounds of Hell were soon to follow. Her heart drummed painfully, and Catherine clapped her hand over her breast in an effort to still the erratic motion.

"My lady...?" Edna stepped forward. "Has something happened to upset you?"

"Willie Gant! He's in Edgar's room."

The maid looked nonplussed. "Is it unusual for Mr. Gant to spend the night in Lord Bourgeault's quarters?"

"How should I know?" Catherine snapped. "I'm not in the habit of visiting my husband in his bedchamber at night—or any other time of the day for that matter." She drew in a deep breath before continuing. "It was just too strange. I have no idea why it frightened me so."

And it should not have, for confrontations between Willie and her were normally fraught with rancor and contempt but never fear. Yet she sensed something under the surface, something not quite clear. She was having trouble putting her finger on a problem that insisted on shifting at the very moment she thought she might have found the answer.

Seven years she had lived with the baron, and she had come to rely on certain constants when dealing with her enigmatic husband. Now she had no idea what he wanted from her. Did Edgar know of her liaison with Lord Ashworth?

In the past Catherine had actually wondered if her husband had encouraged her dalliance with other men, though recently his hostility in that regard was palpable. Still, he demanded that she socialize, mingling not only with the ladies but with the gentlemen as well. Through it all she could not shake the feeling of being watched, and she felt certain Willie was the instrument by which the spying was done. This gave the skulking little toad power, undoubtedly explaining her sudden fear of him.

"I need to sleep." Catherine sighed wearily. "My head feels as though it might burst from my shoulders. Perhaps a few hours of rest will put a different perspective on the thing."

One look at Edna confirmed that the diminutive maid needed sleep, also. Dark circles embellished her heavy-lidded eyes, and she yawned grandly, emphasizing her fatigue.

"Pardon me, my lady," she mumbled, stifling the yawn behind her hand.

"Edna, go to bed. I don't want to see your poor, tired face until this afternoon. Tell the staff I am not to be disturbed and neither are you."

"Are you certain? If you have need of me, I would be most happy to..." The servant's voice trailed off in drowsy confusion.

"The only thing I have need of is rest and a lot of it. Leave me now before we both topple to the floor and find ourselves sleeping on the carpet."

Alone at last, Catherine quickly removed the brown dress and climbed into her bed, petticoats and all. Within moments she fell into a deep slumber punctuated by dreams of a sensuous, ethereal quality but containing no real definition. When she awoke many hours later, Catherine felt well rested, and for no reason she could fathom, a kernel of hope had been planted in her breast where previously only despair had thrived.

*****

"Judith! What are you doing here?"

Adam was surprised and delighted to find his sister lounging on a settee in the drawing room as he arrived in the early dawn from his evening with Catherine.

"Waiting for you, of course." She skipped across the room as lightly as her increasing bulk would allow and flung her arms around her sibling's neck. "You've been so long, I almost gave up on you."

"Ho! What is this?" Pulling back from her, Adam surveyed Judith's swollen stomach and grinned. "It would appear my nephew is beginning to make himself known."

"Actually, that's why I've come to town. Your niece," she corrected him, "has made it necessary for me to visit the dressmaker. I have to purchase a new wardrobe. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Indeed it is. Nothing more exciting than a credible excuse for emptying your husband's pockets. And speaking of Walter, has he accompanied you?"

"Naturally. The dear man does not allow me to take two steps without him. I fear he will smother me before I can bring this child into the world."

"Not so unusual for a fellow to be concerned for his wife if she is in a delicate way. When a man's in love..." he trailed off, aware suddenly that he was giving himself away.

Judith sent him a measuring look. "I see."

Uncomfortable with the tone the conversation had taken, he cleared his throat. "Why have you chosen such an early hour to accost me? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I think it's all in how one looks at it, don't you?"

"Pardon me?"

"Dawn is that odd time of day when it can be either very early or very late. I admit it is early for me. Can the same be said for you?"

Judith continued to study him in that peculiar, assessing manner, and Adam felt the color suffuse his complexion.

"You aren't going to let me wiggle free of this are you?" he asked.

She smiled at him gently and placed her hand on his arm. "Is it serious?"

He licked his lips. "You want to get right to it, I see."

He crossed the room and plopped on the settee, still warm from his sister's tenure there. Adam ran his fingers distractedly through his hair and emitted a weary sigh.

She followed him, her slippered feet moving noiselessly across the carpet. Sitting down next to him, Judith eased her hands through his crooked elbow, drawing him close.

"I'm not looking for a confession, dear," she said. "But, of course, I'm worried about you. Thing is..." she floundered then as if considering how best to tell him something unpleasant. "Mother has heard the rumors."

"My God," Adam groaned, "this is all I needed."

Judith nodded. "She's not happy, I can tell you. And if ever the messenger came close to losing her precious life, Lady Pennington was that person."

"Lady Pennington told Mother?"

"She did and rather gleefully, I might add. Our dear parent looked as though she had been chewing on chain mail by the time the talebearer finally departed. You have no idea how frightening it was."

Adam chuckled. "I think I can imagine well enough. I assume this happened last evening?"

"Just after I arrived," she concurred. "Walter immediately disappeared, leaving me to tend to the situation. Can you believe he chose that moment to no longer be protective? I told him if he loved me and our unborn child, he would never have left me in the middle of such a bloody battlefield." She shuddered.

"I'm sorry, it's really my fault."

"I'm not trying to make you feel any worse than you already do, but I did think you ought to be prepared for the evening to come."

"Are you saying Mother is lying in wait for me?"

"Like a Bengal tiger with hunger pangs."

Adam winced. "You do have a way of making your point, dear heart."

They sat for several minutes in comfortable silence, the only sound disturbing the silence being the mantle clock as it chimed the hour.

"Six o'clock—I suppose we should consider seeking out our respective beds for a quick nap before the storm breaks," the earl said while in the throes of a mammoth yawn.

"Don't you want to tell me about your lady?" Judith asked quietly.

He hesitated, unsure how to respond to the question. "Not much to tell, really," Adam admitted at last. "I love her, simple as that."

"Is she married as I've heard?" Judith queried in a horrified whisper.

"Irretrievably." He placed his face into his hands, pressing his fingertips against his eyelids. "Loving Catherine is the greatest of joys and the severest of aches," he stated in anguished accents.

"My poor darling. What are you going to do?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. One moment I'm in the clouds and anything is possible—the next I'm in total despair." His voice cracked, and he lifted his head to look at her. "I can't continue on this way indefinitely, I know that. But it's as if I'm in a carriage barreling down the road at great speed, headed in an unknown direction. I'm aware I must get off the treacherous vehicle for my own sake, but it's more than my not wanting to end the thrilling ride—I don't think I can."

"I don't believe I like this woman," Judith declared indignantly. "She's caused you entirely too much pain."

"She suffers also."

"She cares for you as well?"

"She says she does. I trust her."

Judith stood up and stalked several feet across the room before twirling about, looking remarkably like a round, wooden top spinning on its pointed tip.

"Who is this lady? I can't remember ever hearing of her before."

"I can hardly believe Lady Pennington did not mention names. What would be the point of repeating all that juicy gossip if the guilty parties could not be identified?"

"All right, she did mention a name but I was so busy being nervous, I didn't take note of it."

"Sweetheart," he began patiently, "do you remember the ball Mother gave many weeks ago?" When Judith nodded, he continued. "Do you also remember a very strange gentleman who attended the party uninvited?"

Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Lord Bourgeault? Your lady is married to that man? Oh my..."

"Just so," the earl acknowledged wryly. And truthfully, what more could he say? A reflective hush filled the room.

"How did you meet her?"

"We met when I accepted the baron's invitation to visit his home." He was exhausted now but lack of sleep was not the cause. He exhaled audibly.

"Perhaps Mother was right," she offered.

"What do you mean?"

"She said visiting the baron posed a danger to you. What she didn't know was in what form the danger hid."

"I would not change anything," her brother averred mulishly.

"I know, dear. I wouldn't suggest otherwise." She held out her hand to him. "Come. I think some rest will keep the situation from appearing so hopeless."

He stood and, closing the distance between Judith and himself, placed an arm around her. "I know you won't believe this, my being so full of self-pity and all, but you've made me feel better."

"If that's true, it is no more than you deserve. I cannot count the times you let me weep my heart out on your brotherly shoulder. Tit for tat and all that."

"Seems a lifetime ago," he murmured with regret as he hugged her tightly.

She smiled. "Everything will be all right, you'll see."

"I don't expect sleep to be a panacea for what ails me, but the thought of facing Mother this evening makes me wish I could hibernate with the bears for the winter. It really ought to be against the law for a harridan to give birth."

"Adam!"

"You disagree, sister dear?"

"Of course not." Giggling nervously, Judith glanced over her shoulder. "But I should be very careful not to let the harridan overhear my views on the matter."

The earl's booming laughter preceded them up the stairs.

*****

CHAPTER 8

Perhaps anticipation can be blamed for the inevitable outcome of a circumstance approached with foreboding and distaste, Adam thought twenty-four hours later. Certainly, his expectations for the evening were grim and, sad to say, he was not disappointed.

The dinner hour began pleasantly enough. Adam felt well rested and his spirits were much improved. He had dressed carefully and despite his angst was determined to pretend nothing ominous hung in the air. Of course, he was under no illusion that simply because he wished it, his parent would cooperate.

He entered the salon as the hour stuck eight, seemingly oblivious to the discontent that awaited him. Strolling casually across the room, he greeted his family.

"Good evening, Mother." He dropped a chaste kiss on the cheek the countess presented to him.

"Good evening, Adam," she returned in a cool voice from her seat on the sofa. "As you see, your sister and her husband have come to visit."

"Yes indeed," Adam stated heartily as he grabbed his brother-in-law's hand. "It's wonderful to see you, Walter. Hope all goes well with you?"

Walter looked taken aback by Adam's enthusiasm, but he answered in kind. "Couldn't be better, old man. I'm just working on this father thing, you know. Judith insists it's not nearly as easy as it appears."

At the mention of his sister's name, the earl turned in Judith's direction. "It's been much too long." He gave her a conspiratorial wink.

"And you, dear brother, I've missed you as well."

Lady Ashworth's displeasure was pronounced. "If this little charade is being played out for my benefit, I suggest you both end it now. The boisterous laughter billowing through the halls this morning was enough to wake the dead. I had no idea my children were so inconsiderate."

"Now, Mother," Judith said, "we were having a bit of fun. Nothing wrong with that."

"I recommend you two find a more appropriate way to amuse yourselves. It does not escape my attention that you two have been sharing secrets." She took a delicate sip of her ratafia. "What is to be said will be said."

"Naturally, Mother," Adam stated dryly. "You have some spleen to vent. Over the supper table is as good a time as any."

"Flippancy does not become you, Adam," the countess said severely. She rose from her seat and, clucking in disapproval, led her reluctant family to the table.

"Don't incite her," Judith whispered furiously to Adam as she settled into her chair.

He smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but she will have her say. I'm not good at waiting to be ambushed, and I'd like to have it done with. Forgive me?"

"Always, you know that, but you'll appreciate my wish that I didn't have to witness this battle."

Adam patted her hand while glancing across the table at his brother-in-law. The usually tepid Walter wore an expression of misgiving as he surveyed his wife's comely features. His regard shifted to the earl, and the two men shared an unspoken moment of concern.

"If we have finished our private dialogue, perhaps we can commence our meal," the countess offered.

That effectively put an end to all idle chatter, and the first course was accompanied by an uneasy silence. Only the countess appeared unmoved by the tension, her steely-eyed inspection slipping from one individual to another as she slowly and very deliberately chewed her food.

The second remove complete, Lady Ashworth set down her fork and cleared her throat. Had she trumpeted her intentions, she could not have been more obvious.

"Adam," she began, "certain rumors are circulating through society which, if true, are very disturbing."

"Perhaps you would like to be more specific, Mother," Adam answered her tightly. "I dislike innuendo. It is difficult to give a clear answer when the question is not clear."

Lady Ashworth stared at her son for several moments, obviously deciding how best to continue.

"I see. You wish for the unvarnished truth."

"That would be refreshing, yes."

"Then you shall have it," the countess stated emphatically. "It seems a young married woman, quite beautiful I'm told, has come to town and created quite a stir." She paused as if to emphasize her next words. "A certain well-known nobleman has begun courting this unsuitable lady openly and in a most unseemly manner."

"I see nothing harmful in an innocent flirtation," Adam drawled.

"Adam, refined people do not act out their love affairs under the noses of a prurient public. Have you no shame?"

"I have done nothing for which I need be ashamed."

"If that is true, all you have to do is reassure me that the talk is grossly exaggerated. Then I will advise a little discretion, and the subject will be dropped."

Adam had a choice at this point to make it easy on himself. He could simply lie and repudiate the scandalmongers, but an intrinsic need to be honest robbed him of the opportunity to put the matter to rest. Somehow it seemed, if he negated the gossip, he negated Catherine. This he would not do.

He glanced at his sister and Walter, both of whom were watching him in what appeared to be dreaded anticipation. Judith shook her head imperceptibly, her eyes begging him to reconsider. He ignored her appeal, but he did suffer a pang of remorse when her face fell in disappointment.

Adam turned to his parent. "I suppose I could tell you what you want to hear, Mother, but that would be a cowardly response and, frankly, I don't want to compound our difficulties with a falsehood. My feelings for Lady Bourgeault are very sincere."

At this direct announcement, Lady Ashworth's temper flared. "Do you have any idea the pain and disillusionment that awaits you if you persist in pursing this course of action? Only a fool allows himself to care for an individual who is out of reach."

"Sometimes rational consideration has little to do with it."

"Bah!" Lady Ashworth countered in disgust. "Since when does a man ever choose a woman with his brain? It is another part of the anatomy which does the choosing, that I can guarantee."

"Mother!" Judith gasped as a sound suspiciously akin to choking seized the mild-mannered Mr. Barrow.

Adam's felt his face flush a dull red at the coarse observation, and he drew in a deep breath in an effort to control his anger.

"I don't like the direction this conversation has taken. It implies disrespect for Catherine."

"A married woman who commences an affair with a man not her husband does not deserve respect."

"Catherine is a fine person, Mother." Adam struggled now to maintain his composure. "Meet her and judge for yourself."

Lady Ashworth puffed up wrathfully. "How dare you? I have no intention of meeting your paramour."

A truly awful silence filled the dining room as the reluctant witnesses sat frozen with shock. The earl placed his hands on either side of his dinner plate and leaned forward, his jaws clenched and his narrowed eyes black with fury.

"Do you wish, madam, for us to remain on cordial terms?" His voice, deceptively quiet, made his barely controlled rage all the more clear.

Though Lady Ashworth appeared indifferent, she did not completely mask her sudden unease. "You know I do not want an estrangement, my dear." Her tone was cautious.

"Then you will not speak ill of Catherine."

"But, Adam, please have reason. What of your political career? A scandal at this time could put your hopes on hold for years to come."

"We both know they are your hopes and not my own, Mother. I've made no decision regarding my future."

"You would disgrace the family for your own personal desires?"

"I've been allotted one life," he said. "I'm not certain I wish to waste it living according to someone else's wishes."

The countess blanched. "What are you trying to say?"

Whether it was in retaliation, or whether Adam actually had been considering the outrageous, he did not know, but his next words stunned even himself.

"I want to make a life with Catherine."

"How can you have a future with this woman?" his mother screeched. "She's married."

"There are ways to get around that," he said.

"Divorce?" The muscles in Lady Ashworth's face began to quiver in her distress. "Lord Bourgeault will never cooperate."

"Divorce is one answer, but I believe you are correct. The baron does not strike me as the sort of man who would willingly give up his wife." Adam stared at the countess without recognition, for his thoughts were elsewhere. His eyes refocused. "There is one other alternative."

Everyone at the table exchanged wary glances, the tension perceptibly mounting as they waited for the earl to share his latest inspiration.

A devilish grin slowly eased Adam's mouth as he turned to his sister. "Will you and Walter visit us on the continent?"

"Us?" Judith posed tentatively.

"Why, Catherine and me, of course."

"Adam, you cannot be serious. I will not allow it," Lady Ashworth interrupted imperiously.

The earl pushed himself away from the table and stood up. "Mother, it would seem to me there's not a damned thing you can do to stop me."

On that parting shot he left the room.

*****

The Earl of Ashworth was bored, but it was a nervous kind of boredom brought on by circumstances beyond his control. There were times when he enjoyed the opera, but tonight was not one of them. He wished he hadn't come.

The performances were more than adequate, yet for all his effort to concentrate on the stage, his attention wandered. Across the opera house, occupying the box of Simon Fitzgerald, Marquess of Sutherfield, sat the lady who had stolen his heart. Catherine Bourgeault, laughing and flirting with her host, was making a complete spectacle of herself. Adam's boredom turned to anxiety and then to irritation.

It had been ten days, ten long days since Catherine and he had been together, and the tension was beginning to tear him apart. In recent weeks Adam realized his affair with the baroness had reached unmanageable proportions. He felt emotions he had never felt before, did things he would never have contemplated in the past.

He had taken to attending any and all functions where Catherine might make an appearance. Where he did not see her, he did not tarry. Should Adam discover her presence, he took up a solitary position along one wall, watching her in brooding silence until she departed for other locales. He would be a fool to believe his activities had gone unnoticed, but he seemed unable to prevent himself.

Adam knew that Catherine's apparent lack of interest in him was the only element keeping the gossip-hungry at bay. The baroness had maintained their bargain to avoid one another in public, pretending to be indifferent. The earl, on the other hand, had found it increasingly difficult to feign aloofness when his emotions churned painfully just below the surface.

Lady Bourgeault's popularity did not help the situation, for the gentlemen hounded her constantly, all clamoring for her attention. Adam was consumed with jealously. He was restricted from approaching Catherine and yet must watch her socialize and dance with any number of other fellows.

And then he had to consider the unsupportable possibility that Catherine performed her wifely duties in the marriage bed. They did not speak of it, but he knew she did not desire her husband, and that made her supposed compliance more bearable. Truth was, Adam had grown possessive. He demanded what was not his, and he no longer cared how it came to him.

The falling curtain signaled the intermission, and the earl stood as he stared across the opera house at Catherine, willing her to look in his direction.

*****

Catherine glanced over at Adam's box, and her eyes widened in recognition as she met the Earl of Ashworth's insistent gaze. Ordinarily, Catherine would never have allowed the eye contact to continue more than a moment in so public a place, but he was sending her a silent message she found impossible to disregard.

She saw him turn purposefully and stalk through the drapery of his box into the corridor beyond. From his posture she assumed he was headed in her direction. A mistake, she knew, but a thrill of excitement seized her, nonetheless.

"Would you care for some refreshment, my dear?" Lord Sutherfield leaned toward her, his solicitous attitude a bit too encroaching for comfort. He placed his hand on her knee and looked longingly into her startled eyes.

The draperies rustled and the two occupants of the box swiveled in their seats. Adam stood in the entrance, his face expressionless as he gazed at Catherine's leg where the marquess' fingers still lingered.

Lord Sutherfield's regard slid back to his companion, and his handsome features broke into a languid smile. With seeming deliberation, he removed his hand from Catherine's knee and crossed his forearms in his lap.

"Ah...Ashworth, what brings you to our intimate little corner of the theater?" the marquess asked. Though the greeting was meant for Adam, Lord Sutherfield's eyes never left her face.

Catherine did not miss the sly insinuation in the marquess' speech. A challenge had been advanced. How much Lord Sutherfield actually knew, she could only hazard, but she could tell by Adam's stance that he felt the need to protect his claim. Though she found the earl's jealousy endearing, she wished he had not chosen tonight to object.

"Sutherfield, you've been monopolizing the company of the most beautiful woman in London. I thought it time you share." The words were spoken easily enough, but a steely edge underlined the pronouncement.

"I suspect you mean relinquish," the marquess said shrewdly as he stood and joined his guest.

"If you insist," Adam agreed.

"You surprise me, Ashworth. I thought you secure enough to allow a lady the liberty to choose."

The earl shrugged. "I hate to be the bearer of sad tidings, but you are mistaken. Let us say, there's never been a time before this when the issue was important enough to pursue. Believe me, that has changed."

A deadly quiet filled the alcove, and Catherine held her breath. Even though the words were civilized, she knew the men were arguing over her and the situation came close to being dangerous. The polite veneer masking the potential violence was part of the ritual, she surmised, but she found the slightly demented quality of the confrontation appalling.

"I make you no promises, Ashworth," the marquess stated at last.

"Nor did I suppose you would," Adam said. "But don't misjudge the situation, Simon. You will not like my response."

The earl swung in Catherine's direction then and bowed. Angry with him for having initiated this uncomfortable scene, she merely nodded coolly. But when he lifted his gaze to her face, her heart turned over in her breast. He was hurt! She perceived the pain in his hypnotic blue eyes and was filled with remorse.

"My lady, as always," Adam said by way of farewell, and he placed a kiss on her knuckles. He looked at her again, and this time she sensed a covert communication as he released his grip on her hand. In her palm he had deposited a small scrap of paper. She gingerly wrapped her fist around the missive and indicated her understanding with a slight motion of her head.

Lord Ashworth straightened. "I wish you both good evening." He did not wait for a response, but left hastily, the draperies closing with a swish behind his retreating form.

Lord Sutherfield returned to his seat, sighing heavily as he slumped down in his chair. "This is a disappointment, I must say. I had hoped the rumors were overstated." He set his finger aside his nose, watching her through piercing black eyes.

Catherine returned his look nervously. "I don't know what you mean, my lord."

"Come now, Lady Bourgeault, you don't take me for a fool, do you?" He sounded incredulous. "A man does not barge into a private party, making veiled threats, unless he feels he has the right to do so. Is it serious—for you, I mean? Frankly, I couldn't care less what Ashworth's stake in all this is."

She hesitated. If she told him the truth, she risked being exposed through the gossip that would surely follow. Her weeks of carefully nurtured indifference to Adam would be lost, and she had no reason to believe this man would protect her reputation should she be honest. On the other hand, to lie would only encourage Lord Sutherfield, which could complicate matters further.

Uncertain how to respond, she decided to change the drift of the conversation. "You are impertinent, my lord."

He straightened and leaned toward her, his face so close she became uncomfortable. "Right then, I won't force the issue." His voice dropped seductively. "But hear me, sweet lady, should you ever find yourself in need of a special friend, I would appreciate if you would keep me in mind."

Oh, he knew, she thought, he knew. "I never said..." she began.

He patted her arm. "Not to worry—your secret is safe with me. Now, would you like to finish the opera, or would you prefer to read that note in your hand before making a decision?"

The message was short and to the point:

I shall be at our place this evening.

Please do not disappoint me.

Adam

Catherine folded the scrap of paper and slipped it into the bodice of her gown. "I hope you will forgive me, my lord, but it does seem I must leave."

She would be forever grateful Lord Sutherfield obliged her, withholding judgment as he placed her in a hackney a few minutes later. She leaned out the window to bid him adieu.

"You've been most kind," she said.

He gazed up at her. "I find myself consumed with an emotion reserved for the callow and the insecure," he stated, a wry twist to his mouth.

"My lord...?"

"Jealousy, dear heart," he said. "I will be watching to make certain my friend does not forget his good fortune."

"You are so gallant, my lord, you almost make me reconsider." Catherine beamed at him. "Thank you."

Lord Sutherfield doffed his hat as the carriage pulled away from the curb.

*****

Catherine sat up in the rumpled bed, pulling the covers with her as she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. Her naked back was exposed, and Adam stroked the supple flesh along her spine in a soothing motion. Her eyes drifted shut, and a soft smile curled her lips in feline satisfaction.

"You do know, of course," she purred, "I will never ask you to stop."

The earl chuckled. "Feels nice, does it?"

"Heavenly."

"If I had my way I'd rub your back every day."

Her eyes flickered open and she turned her head to look at him where he lay next to her on the down-filled mattress. "I know. It's been more difficult than I thought it would be. When I'm not with you, I languish. And when I am with you, it is never long enough. I can honestly say these past weeks have taught me the meaning of frustration."

"You seem to have found a way to console yourself."

Uh oh, here it comes. She knew they would get around to discussing her conduct at the opera earlier this evening. Perhaps she should feign ignorance.

"I don't understand."

"I think you do, Catherine," he contradicted her. "How long have you known Lord Sutherfield?"

"I met him last week at a soiree given by Charlotte Richards. Lord Wimberly introduced us at Simon's request."

"So it's Simon, is it?" he blurted angrily. "On familiar terms, aren't we?"

"Now, Adam, it's not like that—"

"He put his hand on your knee!" he continued, plainly incensed. "I consider that familiar. And Daniel, I thought he was my friend."

"What would you have had him do? Is Lord Sutherfield a pariah who must be avoided? It would have been rude for Lord Wimberly to do anything other than what he did."

"But Daniel knows how I feel about you. It is a great disservice to me for him to present you to the most notorious rake on the town."

"The marquess? Oh my." Catherine's eyes widened in fascination. She stretched out on her side and, propping her head on her hand, stared at Adam avidly. "What has he done to deserve such a delicious reputation? Does he deflower innocent virgins?"

"Good God, woman, what silly novel have you been reading?" He snorted in disgust. "I didn't say he was a devil, but he has been known to ruthlessly pursue any woman who interests him. And take my word, he is interested in you."

"Surely not." She dropped her gaze, suddenly uneasy.

"Are you going to lie there and tell me he made no push to engage your affections?"

"All right, I admit he did. But, Adam, you need not have run to my rescue in such an obvious manner. I had control of the situation. Once I made it clear to him that I was not available, he very graciously backed away." She smiled. "He did indicate your feelings in the matter held little importance for him."

"Indeed." He glared at her. "That would be completely in character."

"You took a risk exposing our relationship the way you did. It's a good thing he is gentleman who knows how to keep a secret."

"Simon? Of course, he does. The man's as honorable as they come. That's why I chose the direct approach." He sounded surprised by her lack of understanding.

"Lord Ashworth, I do believe you admire the gentleman. In fact, I suspect he is your friend."

"I don't deny it, and we shall continue to be friends as long as he has the sense to stay away from you. I will expect you not to encourage him."

"I had no idea you didn't trust me," she said indignantly. "For your information, it didn't take much encouragement on my part to get his attention." She pulled away from him with every intention of vacating the bed.

"Oh no, you don't." Adam grabbed Catherine around the waist and, pulling her to him, rolled on top of her body gone stiff with wrath. He brought his face close to hers and stared into her eyes. "I've waited many days to be with you." His voice had turned husky. "I'm not letting you go no matter how angry you are with me."

"You know I love you, Adam, regardless of what you think you see in public," she said, misty tears clouding her vision. "That ought to be enough."

"I know, sweeting—please forgive me. It seems a nasty demon overtook me when I saw you flirting with that dangerous fellow."

"I was not flirting." When he raised his brows at her skeptically, she said, "All right, a bit perhaps but it was harmless enough. The next time I see you plying some female with that masculine charm of yours, I'll remember how you feel about all this."

Laughter rumbled in his chest and burst forth in an explosion of merriment. "Oh, love, I should know better than to take you on. Come, I can think of something more satisfying than arguing."

He covered her mouth with his, increasing the pressure until she let her lips part in acceptance.

Running her hands up his shoulders and into the crisp dark curls at the nape of his neck, Catherine sighed blissfully. Ah well, she thought, when he was right, he was most definitely right.

*****

"This is the part I hate the most. Lord, it's depressing to know we may not see each other for days and days." Adam was struggling into a defiant Hessian, his mood turning blacker as the boot continued to evade him. "Damn!" he swore in irritation.

It would be morning soon, for the first vestiges of the approaching dawn had begun to filter into the fuzzy grayness of the room. One lone candle sputtered uselessly, casting little illumination as its flickering life ebbed inexorably away.

Catherine sat at the dressing table brush in hand, attempting to bring some order to her chaotic tresses. "This is an imperfect arrangement, Adam, but I can't think of a better one."

"How long do you suppose we can go on as we are?"

She turned to face him, squinting across the dimness. "Do you propose to end it?" she asked. He could hear the fright in her voice.

"Good God, no!" He gave the stubborn boot a vicious yank, and it slipped into place. "How could you ask me such a question? Is that where your thoughts have been?"

"No," she said after a moment. "I admit when I try to visualize the future, I'm unable to do so with any real optimism."

He stood and walked across the room to stand over her. "What would you say if we did not allow our future to be governed by fate?"

"Aren't we doing what we can?"

"Not at all," he declared. "As I see it, we have two options. Firstly, we can continue on as we have these past weeks with no hope of ever being together except for an occasional rendezvous. But then we live by the whim of the baron. If he should decide he has had enough of our affair, he may take you from the city, and legally he has the right to do just that."

She gulped. "Do you really think he knows?"

"There is no doubt in my mind," he stated emphatically. "It's been too easy for him not to have cooperated. Or should I say, for him not to have interfered."

"What is the second option?"

"We leave the country."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Adam, surely we need do nothing so drastic."

"Think, love. What other choices do we have?" He shook his head regretfully. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life meeting you illicitly. I want you for my wife."

"But I can't marry you if Edgar and I are still wed. Leaving the country will not alter that fact."

"We will exchange our names for new ones. No one will ever know our true identities."

"Where will we go?" she asked in a small voice.

The earl shrugged. "We have the entire European continent from which to make a choice. Wherever pleases you—perhaps America."

"America?" Catherine stopped then as though struck by a sudden notion. "What of our families, Adam? We'll never see them again."

"I've thought of that," he conceded. "It's a painful choice, but I can't imagine my life without you." He paused, eyeing her closely. "Perhaps you don't feel as strongly as I do about all this."

"But I do. I'm just not ready to make a decision that is so unalterable. Please understand." She reached out a hand to him.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her off the stool and into his embrace. "I know," he said against her hair. He leaned back and took her face in his hands, searching her lovely features for some clue to her inner turmoil. "Just promise you'll think about it, that's all I ask."

"You've made certain I won't be able to think of anything else." She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into the lapel of his coat.

A situation that had seemed so simple, so straightforward by virtue of its inability to lead anywhere was, all at once, headed at lightening speed toward catastrophe. It will be a miracle, he thought, if the fates don't hand them their heads on a platter.

*****

Catherine bolted off the bed as though propelled by a spring and dashed for the chamber pot. She was just in time as the contents of her stomach erupted forth, stripping away her dignity. She moaned wretchedly, rocking on her haunches as her belly continued to convulse painfully despite the fact it was now empty.

"Not feeling well, my dear?"

"Oh!" she shrieked.

The baron stood in the doorway. So startled was she by his unexpected presence, her legs shot out from under her, and she landed unceremoniously on her rump. Catherine scrambled to her feet, but her sick stomach left her reeling as she tried to right herself.

"Why are you always sneaking up on me?" she snapped in irritation. She brushed the back of her hand ineffectually over a damp curl that had fallen into her eyes.

Edgar stared at her for several moments, but he did not seem angered by her attitude. Instead, he continued to watch her in a manner so penetrating, she found herself at once wary.

At last he spoke. "When you are able to compose yourself, I would like you to meet with me in the library. There are some things I think you and I need to discuss." He turned then and left the room.

Damn the man, she thought. Would he always be leaving her dangling on tenterhooks? What did he want from her now? Apprehension added to Catherine's dismay for, try as she might, she could no longer ignore what she feared most.

She was increasing. At least she assumed that must be the case, unless there was a mysterious stomach ailment that attacked only in the morning and lasted for countless, miserable weeks. Since she had never heard of a disease that chose to strike at a particular time of day, she was forced to acknowledge another reason for her puny health.

When Edna entered the suite a few minutes later, it was to find her queasy mistress reclining in white-faced misery on the chaise lounge.

"My poor lady, are you ill again?"

That's a foolish question, Catherine thought, for the odor emanating from the general direction of the chamber pot left little doubt as to her condition.

"Edna, you remembered the tea." Catherine managed a weak smile of gratitude as the servant set down a tray laden with edibles, all of which were supposedly bland enough to calm a digestive upset.

Edna reached for the bell pull. "Let's remove that chamber pot," she said briskly. "Are you ready to try a few bites of something?"

"Just the tea for now," the baroness croaked, her voice unsteady.

The maid busied herself pouring the warm beverage, but she bit her lip, plainly nervous as though she had something to say. She cleared her throat as she handed the cup and saucer to her mistress.

"My lady, have you thought what might be causing your illness?"

"Yes, I have," Catherine said dryly as she sipped her tea. "But just to see if we are both dreading the same thing, I want you to be frank with me." She carefully placed her cup in the saucer and eased into a sitting position. "What do you think is my problem?"

Edna looked at her lady, speculation in her eyes. "I think you are going to have a baby," she stated baldly.

Catherine blanched as though the thought had never occurred to her before this very moment. "I see." Her voice quavered emotionally.

"Forgive me, my lady, but you did ask."

"It's not your fault, Edna. I did want your opinion," Catherine said. "I don't suppose it is a condition that, if ignored, it will simply go away."

The maid giggled. "No, no, my lady, I don't suppose it is."

"Now the question is, what am I going to do?" Catherine sighed nervously. "It's not as though I can fob the child off on Edgar. With his affliction being what it is, I have no alternative but to tell the truth. It's just as well, I suppose. I'd hate living a lie."

"Do you think he'll leave you?" Edna inquired in hushed accents.

"If only it were that easy," Catherine muttered. "I wish he would file a petition for divorce and give me my freedom, but he'll never do it."

Her servant looked horrified. "My lady, you can't mean it. If you are divorced, you'll never be accepted in society again."

The baroness shook her head, contemptuous at the very thought. "As if I cared. I've had enough of the shallowness of the 'polite world' to last me a lifetime." She took another sip of her tea before continuing. "Lord Ashworth wants me to go away with him."

Edna opened and closed her mouth several times, but seemed unable to provide a coherent response. Finally, she simply stared at her mistress, eyes wide with shock, her stunned silence speaking eloquently for her.

Catherine shrugged impatiently. "It's not as though I've made a decision. Although it is an enticing proposition, now especially since I know Lord Ashworth and I are going to share a child."

"Have you told him?—Lord Ashworth, I mean?"

The baroness shook her head. "I didn't want to say anything until I knew for certain. And it changes everything, you know," she said sadly. "These have been the happiest weeks of my life. Whatever I do now, there's bound to be turmoil."

The maid remained mute.

Catherine nodded her understanding. After all, why respond to the obvious.

"I have a premonition it is about to begin." She stood, her equilibrium finally restored.

"What do you mean, my lady?"

"Edgar has summoned me to the library. Says we have some important things to discuss. His manner was odd, and I don't have a good feeling about it."

A knock at the door ended the dialogue as the upstairs maid entered the room to remove the chamber pot, and Catherine reluctantly began her ablutions prior to getting dressed. She delayed the inevitable as long as she could, fussing with her hair and fretting over which frock to wear until she could put it off no longer. She descended the stairs shortly after the noon hour, a lump of dread knotting her already tender belly.

The baron was waiting for her, his feet propped on his desk, a snifter of brandy at his elbow. Her heart dropped when she realized he was drinking, for alcohol, rather than smoothing his rougher edges, enhanced them.

Catherine approached the desk. "You wished to speak with me, Edgar?"

He did not acknowledge her greeting at once. His gaze traveled in an appraising way over her figure, although she detected nothing lewd in his manner. He brought his regard back to her face.

"Have a seat, my dear," he said quietly, his words almost kind.

She was at a loss to understand why his gentled mood should disconcert her, but had he yelled obscenities at her she could not have been more frightened. His attitude was out of character, and Catherine knew she would not like what he had to say.

He pursed his lips. "Have you enjoyed your sojourn in the city, wife?"

"Yes, I have, Edgar," she answered eagerly. "It's been lovely. I've met so many interesting people and done so many exciting things—I can't tell you how wonderful it's been."

She stopped when she realized she was babbling nervously as though having lost control of her tongue.

"I'm glad to hear it." He paused then. Why, he actually seemed uncertain.

Edging forward, Catherine perched on the end of her seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her stomach had begun to churn again, and she prayed he would not prolong the agony needlessly.

Finally he said, "We're going home."

Here was the very thing Adam had predicted, she thought in panic. This couldn't be happening—not now. She lifted her head and looked him directly in the eye.

"I don't think I'll go just yet, Edgar."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I want to stay a little longer, if you don't mind. Summer is ending and most everyone is coming back to the city. If I leave now, I will miss all the excitement."

On the surface she appeared quite calm, but beneath the composed exterior, fright waged a fierce battle with her courage. She was defying his authority, and she could see her husband did not like it—not one little bit. The scowl that transformed his face was a scary thing indeed.

The baron put his feet on the floor and, leaning his elbows on the desk, met her gaze with a shrewd, intelligent stare.

"It occurs to me that your reason for wanting to stay has more to do with someone who never left town."

"You speak in riddles, Edgar."

But she understood perfectly what he meant. Adam had been correct. Her husband knew the truth, and the time had come to make a clean breast of it. Dear lord, she was going to be ill right here on the carpet.

"The only riddle is how you could be so dense," he accused acidly. "You carry on an affair for these many weeks, and you don't think I'm aware? You must believe me a fool."

"How long have you known?" she asked in resignation.

"Ha! How long have I known she asks." He laughed aloud. "From the outset, my dear, from the very outset." He sobered then. "I planned it all, you know."

"Planned what, Edgar? What did you plan?" This was not what she had expected. Had he gone daft?

"Why, your little affair, of course. Did you think it was your idea?" He grinned at her maliciously.

"My God, this is sick. Why would you contrive such a thing?" Bile collected in her throat as the nausea threatened to overwhelm her.

"There's no mystery. I need an heir. Since I can't get one on you myself, I had to find a surrogate. You were not, ah...shall we say, cooperative at first, but I knew it would take only the proper bait and you would come around." He sneered. "Lord Ashworth has quite a way with the ladies, so I hear."

"You never told me," she whispered in disbelief.

"Would you have helped me?"

"Never!"

"There you have it." He shrugged. "I chose the only course open to me." He leaned back in his chair and inhaled a loud gulp of brandy. "There is a child, isn't there?" His attitude was now sly as he rolled the mouthful of spirits over his tongue.

A deep down bone-chilling fear seeped into her soul. She was horrified at the very thought of Edgar playing father to her child. Finding it impossible to answer his question, she posed one of her own.

"Why is an heir so important? You have family who can inherit."

"My brother," he spat, "or his son? I'd as soon hand over my estate to the devil himself."

"The child won't be of your blood, Edgar. How can he inherit?"

"Who's to know that but you or I?"

"I'll tell Adam."

"I wouldn't advise that, my dear."

"Perhaps I've already told him," she said.

He sighed. "It doesn't matter, not really. You are my wife and I own you. By virtue of that fact I own the child you carry as well. I'm taking you home with me."

Catherine panicked as she saw her happiness, fragile as a silken web, dissipating before her eyes. "I'll not simply hand this baby over to you."

"You haven't a choice. Make no mistake, wife. The law is on my side. My decision stands."

"Lord Ashworth will come after me."

"It will do him no good." He continued to watch her, seemingly unperturbed.

"Adam is an influential man with many friends. You are neither of those things," she taunted him. "He will find a way."

"You put great store in his commitment to you." To her surprise, he held his anger. "But when push comes to shove, you might find his will is less than you imagined. For your sake, I hope you are not disillusioned."

She would be an idiot to believe he hoped anything of the sort. She stood from her chair. "Is this all you wanted of me?" she asked woodenly.

"You may go. We leave in three days," he said in an emotionless voice.

Catherine paused in the doorway, a sudden thought occurring to her. "Can a daughter inherit, Edgar? What if the child is a girl?"

He sent her a humorless smile. "The child must be male, as you well know, and perhaps," he suggested darkly, "it would be a good idea if you pray that nature does not disappoint me."

*****

Edgar stared at the door as his wife slammed it shut. Damn! He had hoped it would go more smoothly than this, he thought morosely. He hadn't meant to let his temper get the better of him, but as was usually the case when he dealt with his lovely wife, wisdom was quickly forgotten. If only she would see reason. So be it—desperate times called for desperate measures, and he still had one trump card at his disposal. He supposed now would be as good a time as any to put it into play.

*****

CHAPTER 9

The butler approached the guest, his expression neutral. "Lady Ashworth says there is nothing she wishes to discuss with you." He reached for the doorknob to usher the man from the premises.

Why, that spiteful harpy, the baron thought. He should have known. He pushed the door back into place and turned to the butler.

"I will give your mistress one more chance to prevent a catastrophe," he said tightly. "Tell her that her son is about to make the mistake of a lifetime."

The servant looked at Lord Bourgeault, his indecision clear. He must have decided in the Edgar's favor, for he nodded at last.

"I will try again, my lord."

Irritated, the baron watched the butler leave the entry. He was used to the lack of respect he received from society, so it came as no surprise that the countess did not offer him a gracious welcome. Still he felt mistreated. He assumed what he had to say was as critical to her well being as it was to his own. Surely, she knew of the affair between Catherine and her son, he reasoned. If the old woman's participation were not an absolute necessity, he would gleefully watch her interests sink like a ship with a rotten hull.

He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the servant to return. Glancing up, he found the dowager countess herself standing on the landing above him.

Still a handsome woman, he watched her in reluctant approval as she descended the staircase. Lady Ashworth had been a beauty in her youth, and time had not yet robbed her of her good looks.

She reached the entry hall and approached the baron, her expression one of undisguised dislike. "You sent my servant to me with some very disturbing information, Lord Bourgeault. I'm assuming you have more than conjecture to back up your words."

A rush of anger seized Edgar. His hackles stood at full mast, but to give into his ire now would ensure his ultimate defeat. He swallowed his pride with great difficulty and doggedly continued.

"Wouldn't you prefer to have this conversation in private?" he asked ingratiatingly, and he forced a smile that he suspected more closely resembled a toothy grimace.

The dowager glanced at the butler, who stood nearby, and nodded. "Ames, see we are not disturbed."

She led the way into the parlor.

"Don't you think a little refreshment would be in order, madam?" the baron posed hopefully.

"You'll not be getting drunk in my sitting room, sir," Lady Ashworth snapped. "I've allowed this meeting against my better judgment, but there will be no socializing here."

Forgetting his resolve to remain unruffled, he barked back, "You are the same Friday-faced prude you were thirty-five years ago. Have no idea why I thought I could have a conversation with the likes of you."

Much to his surprise, she laughed. "Ah, Edgar Bourgeault, that's the man I know and understand—not that toad-eating fool who doesn't have a sincere bone in his body. Come, you have something you wish to discuss with me, and I'll admit I want to know what you have to say." She sat down on the velvet settee and pointed to the chair opposite her.

Somewhat mollified, Edgar took a seat where she indicated, dangling large hands between his knees.

"I believe your son is trying to convince my wife to leave the country with him."

"Do you have proof of this?" She appeared detached.

"My wife all but admitted flight was being considered."

"Seems to me, sir, this would be a good time to remove Lady Bourgeault from the path of temptation," she said coolly.

"That has occurred to me," the baron conceded, "but think. Let's say I do as you suggest and leave London with my wife. Then I have two individuals, pining for one another and probably plotting against me. How do you think your son will react to your proposal?"

"I...see your point."

"When I leave with my wife—and make no mistake, I intend to do just that—I want Catherine to know it is over." He paused to emphasize his next words. "I want your son to know it as well."

"I suppose you also want me to intervene on your behalf with Adam." She eyed him shrewdly.

"Come, come, my lady, you cannot be happy with the liaison between Ashworth and my wife. It reflects badly on him, and by virtue of his connection with his family, it reflects badly on them, also. You're a stickler, and I'd bet my last sou this situation has been lodged in your craw like a wedge." He lifted his brows at her, challenging her nonchalance.

Lady Ashworth sighed heavily. "All right, I don't deny what you say, but I've already approached Adam on the subject, and he made it clear that I was not to interfere. My son may appear amiable, but he can be formidable when he is crossed. And I must tell you, he is not taking this affair lightly."

"There is one more little circumstance I have failed to mention," he murmured slyly.

The countess looked suddenly wary. "And what might that be, Lord Bourgeault?"

"A child has been conceived."

Lady Ashworth's hand flew to her mouth. "There is the chance Adam is the father?"

"There is the absolute certainty Ashworth is the father."

"How can you be so certain?" she asked, plainly horrified.

"Take my word for it, madam," he stated grimly. "There is no doubt."

The dowager leapt from her seat, her fist clutched at her throat. She paced to the window before swinging swung around to face him.

"Then all is lost," she wailed. "How can you give me hope only to snatch it so cruelly away?"

Lord Bourgeault paused for a moment as he watched her from the corner of his eye. "I don't think your son has yet been informed of his impending fatherhood." He studied a nonexistent blemish on his fingernail.

Sudden excitement lit her features. "What do you want me to do?"

Her capitulation was now complete.

"I want you to speak to my wife, for I do not have the power to sway her. If you go to her as a concerned mother, who is worried for her son, she may listen to reason." He looked at the countess directly now. "I intend to talk to Lord Ashworth and plant a few seeds of doubt in his confidence in my wife. Of course, my motives will be suspect and he will not believe me."

"Then what have you accomplished with that ploy?"

"If you can convince Catherine that it is in your son's best interests for them to abandon their effort, she will not denounce me. Her cooperation is essential."

"It may not work." The dowager countess sounded doubtful.

"That is certainly a possibility, but it is all we have." He smiled then. "Somehow I feel the odds are in our favor."

*****

The early evening dusk seeped into the room, slipping under the door and around the shutters to absorb the remaining daylight. Catherine languished in misery on the great four-poster bed, nausea her constant companion the day long, accompanied by a liberal dose of pessimism. She thrashed restlessly in the semidarkness and, no matter how often she repositioned herself, she could not get comfortable. For some odd reason, the turmoil in her brain seemed directly connected to the nervous agitation in her limbs.

How had she come to this muddle, she wondered? One innocent thing had led to another maybe not so innocent thing, and suddenly her life was in shambles. Her existence up until now had been wretched, but at least she had known what to expect. In fact, she had expected nothing. That left little room for dashed hopes, and there was a perverse comfort in the notion.

In the last few weeks she had permitted herself to dream, wandering into dangerous waters almost against her will. If Edgar had his way she would drown in them. Why had he given her hope only to brutally tear it from her? Did he hate her that much, or were his own aspirations so paramount he had no time to consider how she might be affected by his scheming?

Truth was, Catherine had always been confused by her husband's attitude toward her. One moment he was possessive, even jealous, and the next he was cool to the point of indifference. At least now she began to understand why Edgar had acted so strangely these last years. Little pieces of the puzzle were falling into place to form a picture of the whole.

He wanted a child. All this time he had brought one man after another home with him under the guise of providing male companionship for himself. Instead, his hope was to entice her into a relationship that would produce the son he so desperately desired. He forced her to dress like a strumpet because, she assumed, it made her appear more available to his guests. Her face burned at the thought.

Most bizarrely was her husband's unfathomable reaction to the part she had played. By some twisted form of logic, Edgar believed she had deceived him. As remarkable as it seemed, he felt wronged. He had manipulated and coerced her into doing his will and, when she had complied—albeit unwittingly—he was incensed by her deception. It seemed, having done all the right things, punishment was to be her reward.

Underlying it all was the baron's affliction. Inexplicably, he could not bear to be touched. It did not carry over into inanimate objects or even animals, but contact with human flesh caused him severe distress. He told her once that he had hoped her exceptional beauty would cure him of his ailment, for he truly desired her. That had been his sole reason for wedding her, that and his wish for an heir. But his repeated failures to consummate their marriage had proven so humiliating, he had finally given up the effort. Catherine's only sentiment at the time had been profound relief.

Naturally, that meant there would be no children, a fact with which she was forced to come to terms. She was freed from her wifely duty, but there was a price to be paid. For no matter how one chose to look at it, the fact remained the sexual act was a prerequisite to giving birth.

Her life stretched before her dull and unfulfilled, lacking any warmth or meaning, and she was hard pressed not to give into despair. Therefore, despite the frightening aspect of her present condition, Catherine could not stop the exhilaration that consumed her. She was to have a child! And not just any child but Adam's child.

A premonition flashed in her mind, and she knew a moment's fear. A feeling of impending doom caused her to sit up in the darkened chamber, a need for action overcoming her. Though she did not understand why, Catherine knew she was in jeopardy.

She had to see Adam.

In a panic she groped in the gloom for the tinderbox on the bedside table. The single candle sent a myriad of eerie, dancing shadows bobbing and weaving across the walls and ceiling. Ordinarily, she would have thought nothing of it but, with the portentous mood that had taken hold of her, the ghostly atmosphere frightened her.

Catherine stopped at the mirror to straighten her hair and was shocked by the face that stared back at her. Dark circles underlined her tired eyes, and the strain of battered emotions showed in her pale features. Although she did not consider herself vain, she wondered if she should refrain from seeing Adam until her looks had been restored. But no, she must see him now. She was beginning to feel foolish by her sudden fright, but the vague suspicion that something was wrong would not abate.

Reaching for the bell pull, the baroness gave it a quick tug. She would have Edna deliver a message to the earl requesting a meeting at their place. She hoped Adam would not be long in coming, for her anxiety had grown unmanageable. Several minutes passed with no response from the reliable maid, and Catherine impatiently yanked the bell pull again.

Still no answer.

She hastily snatched up the reticule with her precious key and marched to the door. She would just have to find a way of contacting the earl on her own. She drew in a shaky breath and placed her hand on the knob.

Catherine peeked around the edge of the door and stopped abruptly, her tender belly dropping with a sickening thud. Willy Gant sat on a chair, leaning against the wall opposite her room, an oily smile smeared on his dried-up features. She pushed the door wider and stepped into the hall.

"Willy, what are you doing there?"

"Merely doing what I've been told to do, my lady." His tone was insolent.

"My maid did not answer my summons. Would you know anything about that?"

He smirked at her. "I think the baron has her running some errands for him today."

Why, the little rodent was enjoying himself.

"I see. Am I to assume by your presence here, I am not free to go abroad?" She already knew the answer but felt compelled to ask anyway.

Willy sucked his teeth as he watched her. "His lordship did say he would prefer you wait for him until he comes for you."

"I don't suppose you have any idea when that might be?" The dread flooding her chest made breathing painful.

"Haven't a clue." He shrugged indifferently and yawned as if to emphasize his lack of concern.

The baroness stared at him for several moments before stepping back over the threshold of her room and closing the door. In numb resignation she crossed to the chaise lounge and, sitting down on the edge of the seat, clasped the reticule tightly in her tense hands.

It was too late. Edgar had bested her and, though she did not know what he had done or how he had done it, she knew it nonetheless. The tiny fragments of hope lurking in her heart were now completely vanquished. Her fear of the darkened room was gone at last, and in its place resided an aching emptiness. The only thing she need wonder was how long Edgar intended to make her wait. To her surprise it was no time at all.

There came a sharp rap and the door eased slowly inward, outlining Edgar's gaunt frame in the doorway. He walked into the room and glanced around as though his eyes were not yet accustomed to the gloom. He spotted her where she sat on the lounge and moved in her direction.

"It's rather morbid in here, is it not, wife?"

"It suits my mood, Edgar."

"Now, now, I see no reason to be upset. Do you wish to tell me what is wrong?"

His voice sounded so normal, Catherine wondered if she had allowed her imagination to run away with her.

"Now you ask, Edgar, I don't like being locked in my room. And that awful little man—he is always impertinent."

"It's not my intention to make you feel imprisoned, but I did have a request of you, and I hope for your cooperation." His narrowed eyes glistened alertly as he watched her.

The moment had arrived. One way or the other she would know what he had done. Catherine had not the slightest hope that she would be pleased by the outcome. She sighed.

"Enlighten me," she said.

He nodded. "There is a person waiting in our parlor I want you to meet."

"Is this person's visit connected to our talk earlier today?"

"I don't deny it."

"It won't change anything, Edgar."

"And I didn't suppose it would, my dear. But I do think you owe it to me to at least have a listen."

"All right, what can it hurt, anyway?"

She was to remember those careless words many times in the following months.

"Now there's a good love. Come then," he responded cheerfully and he walked back to the door.

Catherine rose slowly from her seat. Already she was regretting saying yes. But maybe she did owe him that much. After all, they had a shared history of sorts, for what it was worth. She moved past him into the hall. The baron accompanied her in silence, not speaking until they had reached the parlor.

"Do what is right, Catherine."

"What is right for you, Edgar," she asked him softly, "or what is right for me?"

"One would hope, my love, the two are not mutually exclusive."

His gaze bored into hers, his determination seeming so strong, Catherine felt he was trying to make her do his bidding by sheer force of will. He turned away then and left her to cogitate on his enigmatic statement. She watched him until he disappeared down the corridor and out of sight.

*****

What, or more accurately, who waited for her on the other side of the parlor door? What could this person have to say that would alter her plans? For that was the purpose of this meeting, was it not? The door stood ajar, and Catherine noiselessly pushed it open as she stepped into the room.

At first she believed the parlor was empty, for the winged back of the chair facing the fireplace kept the lone occupant of the room hidden from view. Catherine must have made some noise that announced her presence because, with a flurry of skirts, a tall, stunning woman appeared from the confines of the leather seat. She and her guest stared at one another across the space that separated them, each clearly taking the other's measure.

The woman was gowned in a simple beige walking dress trimmed in forest green cording, and her black hair, shot with silver, was pulled severely back into a chignon at the base of her neck. She oozed "old money" from the tips of her elegant kid boots to the remarkable gems that dripped from her delicate white fingers. She looked vaguely familiar and Catherine was puzzling over the woman's identity, when her guest's first words ended the mystery.

"You are beautiful, I'll give you that." She pursed her lips as she glared at the baroness. "Though, I must say, I'm disappointed. I had hoped my son would have more sense than to allow himself to be bewitched by a comely face." She pulled a lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her mouth. "I should not be surprised, I suppose. For all he's my son, he's still a man."

Lady Ashworth! The resemblance to her son was remarkable.

"You are Adam's mother." She spoke to the obvious.

"This is true, and as his only living parent it has become my duty to see to his interests. I do hope you understand me."

If Catherine did understand she had no intention of admitting it. "I'm afraid I'm confused."

She stared at the countess wide-eyed, making certain just the right amount of bewilderment shaded her features.

"See here, madam, I have no desire to bandy words with you. You know exactly what I mean. You and my son have been the on dit of the summer. That has been bad enough, but now it comes to my attention that you two irresponsible fools are considering leaving the country. What can you be thinking?"

"I assume my husband has told you this."

Catherine was stalling, for she could not bring herself to admit the truth to this cold, unpleasant woman.

The countess waved her hand in disgust. "The baron, bah!—horrible man." She shuddered. "Believe it or not I pity you, but I can't see sacrificing my son to ease your burden."

The dowager's attitude was so condescending Catherine bristled. "I don't think Adam considers our being together a sacrifice."

"Come now, my dear, you have little to lose and everything to gain from a liaison with my son. The same cannot be said for Adam. His life will be destroyed."

"Destroyed...that's a very strong word."

"Not too strong, however," Lady Ashworth countered. "Adam has a political career waiting for him. He is a well-known man and highly respected. He cannot do this thing without creating a tremendous scandal."

"Talk dies down in time," Catherine said, but her words sounded unconvincing even to herself.

"And meanwhile Adam's family will suffer. I'm not just speaking for myself, although I would find the situation horrifying. He has a sister and an extended family. What of them? Are you more important than all those people?" By the look on the dowager's face, she did not think so.

"We just want to be together. Is that so hard to understand?" Catherine asked plaintively.

Lady Ashworth clasped her hands under her considerable bosom, her expression unyielding. "One's duty must come first. You were not born a peasant—you know this."

Perhaps now was the time to confess just how far the situation had gone. "It is not only I. There is more than myself to consider."

"I know about the child," the dowager snapped.

"I see." Obviously, it would not make any difference. "Edgar has been busy this day."

"Your husband wants to do the noble thing. He should be given credit for his finer instincts. Most men would toss you out on your backside. You should be grateful for his restraint."

Grateful? What would this unfeeling beldam know about it? Maybe Catherine ought to tell her how matters really stood, but what good would it do? This woman was not sympathetic regardless of what she professed.

"It is your grandchild."

Lady Ashworth drew in a self-righteous breath and her nostrils flared indignantly. "Let me make myself clear, young woman. You carry a bastard, nothing more. I will grandparent the legitimate offspring of my children. I have no intention of acknowledging a tragic mistake."

Tears stung the back of Catherine's throat as she fought not to cry. She was outraged at labeling her precious child with such a foul name.

"I am certain Adam will not feel that way," she whispered brokenly. Her control had begun to slip.

"Spare him the decision," the countess urged her. "If you love him do not make him choose. Do not rob him of his heritage, for he will come to hate you for it. He should expect to pass his title on to his own son. He cannot do that if he does not wed legally."

Catherine was too stunned to speak.

The dowager countess, apparently sensing the advantage, struck quickly to seal her case.

"You have a home waiting for you and a husband who wishes to care for you and your baby. Take the child as a parting gift from my son and let him continue on with his life. I ask this for Adam's sake."

As much as she might detest Lady Ashworth, Catherine knew the woman was right. Adam must not be allowed to toss everything away on a momentary obsession. Not that she mistrusted the integrity of his feelings, for she knew the earl loved her. But he would love again and more rightly.

"I promise only to think about it," she said, struggling to regain her composure, too proud to allow the countess more.

"You do that, Lady Bourgeault." On her way from the room, Lady Ashworth brushed past Catherine, leaving a faint scent of lavender soap. She paused at the door and turned. "Let us hope for all our sakes you have the moral fiber needed to make the correct decision. Good day to you, madam."

Long after the countess had departed, Catherine stared at the spot where the woman had stood in the doorway. Her mind was awash in conflicting emotions, not the least of which was grief. Already she had put her fledgling hopes for a brighter future to rest. Now she saw it as simply a matter of going through the motions until all the threads could be sewn up right and tight. Oh, she dreaded having to tell Adam they must part. The real challenge would be forcing him to accept the inevitable.

"My lady, I'm so glad I've found you. I've been searching for you everywhere." Edna rushed into the room, obviously relieved at having found her mistress. She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of the baroness' face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Catherine lied. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you, also."

"My lady," the little servant wailed, "I heard you ring for me, and I tried to answer your summons, I swear, but Mr. Gant was in the corridor and would not let me pass. Said something about the master's orders. I'm so sorry."

"It's nothing to worry about," Catherine reassured her. "I wanted you to take a message to Lord Ashworth."

"I can do it now. Where is it?"

"It's a verbal message. Tell Lord Ashworth I need to see him at our place as soon as possible."

"Wouldn't you rather I speak to his man, my lady?"

"It doesn't matter. Go to the door and ask for the earl. If he's not there you may speak with his servant."

Edna looked surprised by this lack of intrigue.

The baroness smiled gently. "Discretion is no longer important," she said in a weary voice.

"Oh..." was all Edna said. And then, "Are you certain you are all right?"

"Yes, yes, please just go," Catherine said impatiently as she pressed the maid to leave.

Another lie that, for she would never be all right again.

*****

"My lord, may I have a word with you?"

"Of course, Ames. Come in."

Lord Ashworth stood before the mirror in his bedchamber as he shaved the shadow of his course, dark beard. He had only recently returned home and was busy making preparations for the evening ahead.

"There is a gentleman in the foyer who would like to speak with you."

"Who is it?" the earl asked without much interest.

He took the corner of the towel hanging around his neck and dabbed at the excess shaving soap still clinging to his chin. Pity he had to go through this routine twice a day if he were to stay clean-shaven, he thought. He glanced in the mirror at the butler, his eyebrows raised in question.

"It is the man who attended your mother's ball last spring without an invitation."

Adam swung around. "Lord Bourgeault?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn! What is he doing here?" The earl began to scrub the soap from his face in earnest.

"I don't know, my lord, but this is his second visit today."

"He must be determined to see me."

"Actually, he requested a meeting with your mother when he was here earlier."

"Really?" Adam asked, surprised. "Did she receive him?"

"She did."

"You wouldn't know what it was about, would you?"

"He said something about averting a disaster."

"Put him in the study, Ames. I'll be down as soon as I can get dressed."

The earl was uneasy about this new turn of events. He considered it a bold move for the baron to appear on the Ashworth doorstep although probably not out of character. Up till now Lord Bourgeault had not interfered in Adam's relationship with Catherine. He wondered if the baron's benign neglect was about to come to an end.

Ten minutes found Lord Ashworth entering his study. He walked briskly across the room to confront his guest.

"Bourgeault," he greeted tersely, "what can I do for you?"

"I do like speech with you, Ashworth." The baron's tone was snide. "You never make me sashay through the niceties before getting down to business. So refreshing."

"And you, sir, can be counted on to bog down the conversation in sarcasm," the earl countered. "I have a feeling this meeting will be unpleasant. What say we get on with it?"

"As you wish." The baron ran his thumb and index finger along the corners of his mouth as he watched the earl. "I'm taking my wife home in a few days."

A tense quiet filled the room. "And...?" Adam's voice sliced the silence like a whip.

"I do not want you to interfere."

"What makes you think I would try to stop you?"

"Come now." The baron sounded exasperated. "I thought we had decided to make a clean breast of it. We both know what this is about, so don't play the fool."

"Why don't you elaborate, Bourgeault?" Adam was content to hold his cards.

The baron's eyes narrowed to steely slits. "You are having an affair with my wife that began months ago when you visited my home." He paused, his attitude dramatic. "I invited you there for that very purpose."

The earl went rigid with shock. "You goddamn bastard! What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's not that hard to understand, really," the baron murmured in silky accents. "My wife and I have had trouble conceiving. I thought a younger man might prove to be more, ah...shall we say, potent."

"You said you wanted to sell me your horses," the earl ground out in disbelief.

"Yes, well, it was a ruse, I admit it." The baron shrugged as if it were an unimportant detail. "You never really believed it anyway, did you?"

"Why would you do such a thing?" Adam asked, appalled.

"I need a son to inherit. Not such an unusual thing if you give it some thought." Lord Bourgeault sighed. "Such a pity the experiment has failed. I fear Catherine may be barren."

"Are you saying you used me like a stud to service your wife?"

The baron grinned as though the analogy were apt. "I suppose you could put it that way."

"How could you debase your wife in such a manner?"

"She agreed it was necessary."

Adam advanced on the man, fists clenched in knots at his sides. "That's a lie! I ought to break your bloody neck for such a vile accusation."

Lord Bourgeault held his ground, but something shifted in his opaque eyes, revealing his sudden apprehension at the threat of violence.

"Do you believe I could accomplish this without her cooperation?" he asked in a rush. "Think. It would have left a great deal to chance, don't you see?"

Adam did see and he did not like it one bit. He refused to accept that Catherine could be so coldly calculating. She loved him—he knew that to be true. This evil man merely wanted Adam to doubt her, and that wasn't going to happen.

"You sicken me, Bourgeault," he snarled. "Get out of my home before I have your bony carcass thrown into the street." As a sudden thought occurred to him, he added, "And leave my mother out of your scheming or I will come after you, I swear it."

"I'll go but make no mistake. My wife goes with me."

Lord Bourgeault edged toward the door and into the passageway beyond with the earl in angry pursuit.

"We'll see about that, won't we, Bourgeault?"

As the two men reached the main hall the door chime rang, echoing through the rooms on the bottom floor of the mansion. Ames appeared from the direction of the dining hall and in a dignified manner answered the summons. A tiny voice on the other side of the door asked to be directed to Lord Ashworth, if you please, and the butler permitted the person to enter.

Edna Fielding stepped across the threshold, her curious glance plainly taking in her surroundings. When she spotted her master Baron Bourgeault glowering at her from a distance of only a few feet, her expression turned to panic.

"Oh! Oh!" seemed to be all she could manage.

She lurched backward in an attempt to retreat and brought the heel of her foot down on the toe of the unfortunate butler. Ames hid his pain in a muffled grunt. He reached out to steady the maid but not quickly enough to prevent her from toppling to the floor as she staggered away from him. He was rewarded for his efforts by losing his own balance and landing in a heap next to Edna on the marbled entry.

"Bah!" Lord Bourgeault tossed his arms up and stalked to the entrance but not before throwing the earl a look full of meaning. "Hear what I say, Ashworth. Don't stand in my way or you will have cause to regret it." He left without bothering to close the door.

Adam stared at the two servants as they lay on the floor in limb-tangled chaos, and a sense of the ridiculous took hold of him. Probably he needed to release the suppressed tension that had him in its grip but, whatever it was, he began to howl with mirth. He backed up to the staircase and, grabbing hold of the banister, lowered himself to the bottom step where he continued to roar uncontrollably until tears gushed from between his swollen lids.

In the meantime Ames had managed to regain his feet, and he offered a hand to poor Edna. "I'm glad I could provide you with a good laugh, my lord," he stated as he straightened his coat.

"Ames, I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself." Catching sight of the butler's frosty expression, the earl burst loose with another guffaw.

"Indeed, my lord, so I gather." And with that Ames turned with what remained of his pride and disappeared down the hall.

Adam dabbed at damp eyes with his fingertips and chortled again despite himself. Oddly, the laughter held no amusement. In fact, he felt more like weeping in despair.

"My lord?"

"What? Oh, I forgot. Miss Fielding, isn't it?" The earl stood up as his attention came back to the maid.

"Yes, my lord," she answered timidly.

"Did your lady send you?" he asked, swallowing down a dichotomy of feeling that threatened to overwhelm him.

"She did. She said she needed to talk to you at your place as soon as possible. She said I should come straight to the door and ask for you. I didn't expect to see Lord Bourgeault though," she whimpered.

"I wouldn't worry. I suspect he hardly noticed you."

"But he looked so angry."

"He was angry all right, but it had nothing to do with you." Despite his laughter of moments earlier, he now had to force a smile as he looked at her encouragingly. "You'll have to excuse me. Thank you for bringing the message."

He turned then and took the stairs two at a time, the little maid already forgotten.

*****

Catherine paced back and forth across the worn carpet, too nervous to sit. She wanted the earl to come, but at the same time she dreaded his arrival. If only she had been able to leave home before she had been forced to confront the countess. Now she had no choice but to face reality. So much nicer to remain blissfully ignorant.

Of course, she had only herself to blame. She should never have allowed herself to think beyond the present. Adam's words had been so persuasive, seductive really. How could she resist the temptation to hope? The countess had certainly wasted no time giving her the bald truth. Catherine Bourgeault was not good enough for the Earl of Ashworth, not nearly, and she never would be.

In all fairness she found it difficult to blame Lady Ashworth for feeling as she did. Adam was her son and she wanted the best for him. Catherine did have a problem visualizing the dowager countess in a maternal fashion, though, for a less motherly female was hard to imagine. But the woman's ruthlessness regarding the baby, though unsurprising given the aristocracy's attitude toward illegitimacy, still struck her as unnatural. It was her beloved son's child after all.

Catherine went still when she heard a key slip the lock, her heart fluttering against her ribs like a frail bird in a cage. She held her breath as the door swung open and Adam entered the apartment. He looked at her across the space that divided them. For several moments neither spoke, and Catherine sensed a hesitation that wasn't there before.

"I missed you," he said at last.

She smiled tentatively. "And I, you."

"I came as soon as I received your message."

"Thank you." She could think of nothing else to say.

"Was it urgent?" he asked in a puzzled voice. "Your maid indicated that you wanted to see me as soon as possible. She had a terrible fright," he continued, not waiting for her answer. "Your husband was in my foyer when she arrived, and she was so alarmed she nearly harmed herself in an effort to get away."

Catherine blanched. "Edgar came to see you?"

"He did. I take it you were unaware of his visit." He watched her closely.

"I had no idea he intended to see you. What did he want?"

Adam pushed the door into place, and she had the distinct impression he was stalling. He walked to where she stood by the window and took her chilled hand in his.

"Catherine, I told you I believed he knew about us. He came today to warn me off."

"What did you tell him?"

"Not much, really. He did most of the talking."

Still he watched her, searching her features as though he were looking for something that bothered him.

"Where does this leave us now?" she asked, for the probing expression in his eyes made her nervous.

"I don't know, but he put forth an accusation that has troubled me."

Uh oh..."What did he say?"

Adam clenched his teeth and a muscle in his cheek jumped. He swallowed. "According to him you and he have been trying to have a child without much success. He felt the problem might be his and thus decided to provide a surrogate in his stead. He assures me that he contrived this scheme with your complete knowledge and cooperation."

Now she understood. This was where it all had been leading from the very start. Edgar would not be satisfied with merely separating her from the earl. He wanted to rend her relationship with Adam irrevocably. He wanted to cause a rift that left no ambiguities for future contact. In short, he wanted it ended.

Naturally, she could deny the baron's words. She could see by the look on Adam's face he hoped—no—expected her to do just that. He would believe her, she knew. But this was the perfect excuse and Edgar had known it all along. If she agreed with her husband there would be no lingering over what to do. Catherine understood instinctively that Adam would detest the deception and abandon the effort.

She hesitated for a fraction too long, and Adam's brows drew together in a deep frown. "Catherine...?"

She opened her mouth then closed it again. She could not bring herself to admit that her husband was right, and yet this might be her only opportunity to truly set the earl free. Instead she settled on a half-truth.

"It only began that way..." she trailed off, the lie robbing her of speech. She could not bear for him to think she had not cared at all.

It didn't matter, for the repulsion that transformed Adam's features said everything. He looked appalled. Tossing her hand from him, he backed away as though he had come in contact with something wicked.

"You used me?" He barked the question.

"It wasn't like that."

She wished desperately that she could renounce her statement, but she was in too deep. She must see this through to the bitter end for his sake.

"Then what was it like? Answer me! Explain to me how all these weeks you could profess to love me when you were simply doing your husband's bidding. You are a damned fine actress, I'll give you that."

"Men do it all the time," she said feebly, hoping somehow to explain the unexplainable.

"What is it they do, Catherine?" he bit out.

"They choose a woman for her appropriateness for bearing progeny. The aristocracy has a penchant for it."

"I see, some men do it so all men do it? Well, there are no absolutes in life, darling, and I can tell you for a fact I don't do it. If I'd wanted a wife to bear me children, I'd have married a long time ago. I wanted something more." He stared at her accusingly. "I thought I'd found it."

"Adam, I think it's best this way." She held out her hands to him in supplication. "I'm not right for you. You can do so much better."

"How can you say this to me? I didn't care about the right or wrong of it. I would have given up everything for you."

And that, of course, was why she must send him away. It was too much for him to sacrifice.

"I wanted to marry you," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"I know," she whispered brokenly.

She was undone and her resolve, a tenuous thing at best, was stretched to the breaking point. Even now she could tell him the truth and he would believe her. The temptation to do so was unbearable.

He swung from her and crossed the apartment, but he turned at the door. "It need not have been so much trouble, you know. With that face and body you're a fancy piece, no doubt about it. I'd have been happy to oblige you without all the lies." He turned then and slammed from the room.

A parting shot meant to wound, and if words were fatal, she would have perished on the spot. Catherine went lightheaded as she felt the blood drain from her face. She would never forgive Edgar—never.

She glanced around the tiny apartment, recently her haven and now her hell, and her eyes filled with tears. Until today she had managed to keep the baron out, but no longer. He permeated every aspect of her life, tainting her with his poison. She hated him—for the first time, she truly hated him.

A nervous quivering began deep in her body and moved with a purpose to the surface of her skin. She reached out to grab the bedpost in an effort to steady herself, but her knees gave way and she slipped to the floor. Too weak to move, she lay there as a great wave of grief overwhelmed her. And then she wept in earnest, wrenching sobs of total despair.

Midnight came and went before she found the strength to leave for home.

*****

Charlotte Richards entered Catherine's bedchamber, her manner brisk. "You haven't been seen on the town in two days, and I'm here to see why you've been hiding." She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of her friend's face. "My dear, are you quite all right? You look terrible."

Catherine's eyes were nearly swollen shut from hours spent crying. Though rarely given to tears, she had been unable to stem the unending flow. She smiled at Charlotte sadly.

"I'm glad you've come, Charlotte. It gives me a chance to say good-by."

"Good-by? What are you talking about?"

"Edgar has decided it is time for us to go home. We leave in the morning."

"Tomorrow? But you can't. Everybody's coming back to town next week. There will be wonderful parties. You'll be expected everywhere. You were quite a success, you know."

"Be that as it may, I won't be here."

Lady Richards moved in a rustle of skirts to the chaise where Catherine sat, plopping down beside her friend.

"Now then, something's wrong—confide in me," she demanded.

Catherine shook her head. "It's nothing, really. I have to go home and I don't want to."

"What of Lord Ashworth?"

Catherine's gaze dropped to her hands resting in her lap.

"It's over," she stated grimly.

"What happened?"

"Edgar happened. Oh, Charlotte, please don't make me talk about it. I cry until I think I can't possibly produce another tear, and then I cry some more. It's been the most horrible two days of my life."

"You poor dear." Charlotte patted Catherine's hand. "You really cared for Adam, didn't you?"

"I love him and I always will." She gulped as the tears threatened to erupt once more.

"There is no hope?" Charlotte asked.

"None, and I wouldn't change it if I could."

"Why not?"

"I'm married, Charlotte. There is no future for Lord Ashworth and me. He needs to forget and move on with his life."

Lady Richards nodded at this obvious truth. "I will miss you. I've come to think of you as my very best friend," she said, her expression full of regret. "Do you think you will ever come back?"

"I have no way of knowing. Maybe as a widow." Catherine shrugged.

"Now there's something to hope for," Charlotte muttered.

The baroness gave her first genuine smile in two days. "Oh, Charlotte, I'm going to miss you, also."

The two women sat in companionable silence for quite some time, enjoying their final moments together. When Lady Richards departed at last, Catherine could not remember ever having felt more alone.

*****

CHAPTER 10

"Hello, little one. How are you today?"

Catherine placed her hand on her swollen belly with something akin to reverence. She watched in fascination as a tiny unseen limb moved under the surface of her stomach, creating a rolling lump that was visible even through her gown. Smiling, she ran her fingers over the movement in unspoken communication with her sweet babe.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She was weary, so weary. Spring had arrived and not a moment too soon. Catherine had endured the bleakest winter she could remember. The castle, never warm, seemed frozen, the stone walls harboring the damp cold like an enormous block of ice. The chill had seeped into her very bones, and Catherine had feared she would never thaw.

With the spring had come the impending birth of her child and with it all the uncertainty and burgeoning hope that momentous event entailed. She was frightened, and yet her joy could not be contained. It seemed appropriate that the awakening of new life in the fertile earth should herald the new life she would soon bring forth into the world.

Her pregnancy had not been a difficult one, although she had now reached the time when she felt physically uncomfortable. Her feet were puffy and her middle had grown to colossal proportions.

The baron had been oddly indulgent these last months, going out of his way to make her more comfortable. Sometimes it meant avoiding her altogether, which he seemed to understand instinctively. He kept a watchful eye on her, though, and she was wise enough to understand the priceless cargo she carried motivated him. His solicitous conduct told her more than words ever could how important this child was to him.

She had taken over the parlor in recent weeks with Edgar's blessing, it being the warmest room in the house. He said navigating the stairs more than absolutely necessary posed a risk. "After all, a woman increasing is not as certain on her feet," he insisted. And so she would come downstairs in the morning with Edna's help and not return to her chamber before she retired for the evening.

She liked the arrangement, and for the first time since she wed the baron she almost felt at home. Even Willy did not dare upset her, apparently choosing to follow his master's lead—or orders. She had a glimpse of what life with Edgar would have been had he been more stable. It would never have been a passionate union but it could have been companionable.

All and all, Catherine would have been content with her lot if she could forget the earl. It was impossible, and the harder she tried the more difficult it became.

She loved him and her heart hurt in a way she could not have imagined possible. Coupled with that pain was an overriding guilt she could not put aside. He believed she had deceived him. Even though she was innocent, he would never be aware of it, and that was the most difficult thing of all. She could come to grips with not seeing him again, but knowing he would always despise her was a crushing blow.

Catherine eased herself off the settee she occupied and winced as she set her feet on the floor. They always ached so when first she used them after a long rest. She hobbled to the hearth in lumbering fashion to stoke the fire. It might be spring outside, but the castle always felt chilly.

She did not feel well today. Her lower back ached, and the baby had been particularly restless the last hour or so. She pulled a rocking chair closer to the fire with the intention of sitting down but decided to walk instead. Perhaps she should exercise a bit. She had been prone to unpleasant leg cramps. Several turns around the room did not produce any relief.

"Are you unwell, my dear?" The baron had entered the room and now watched her clumsy progress as she paced the parlor.

Catherine looked up at her husband. "I'm not certain. It's been some time since I've felt well, so I don't expect that. All I can say is, I feel different somehow."

"Should I send for the midwife?" he asked anxiously.

"Surely, it's not time for my confinement. The doctor seemed to think it would be another two weeks."

"Perhaps you should sit down."

"I'm not comfortable sitting down." Did that shrewish voice belong to her?

"Yes, well, I'm going to send for your maid."

"Oh dear! Oh dear!" Catherine shrieked suddenly, and her eyes widened in astonishment as a gush of water sluiced down her legs, drenching her petticoats and then the carpet beneath her.

"What is it?" Her scream must have unnerved him, for he jumped like a startled cat.

"I'm not certain, but I think this is what's called the 'water breaking.'"

"You don't know?"

"Why should I know?" she snapped.

"You're a woman," he said as if that explained everything. "I just thought you would understand what was happening."

"Well, I don't. I've never been at a birthing. I've spent my entire adult life in this damned castle. What do you think, because I'm female, I'm born with this information conveniently locked in my head for use when I need it?"

"Catherine, I have no idea."

"I'll tell you this much, there are supposed to be pains and I haven't had a one."

Strange how mentioning a circumstance can invoke that very thing, for suddenly a rather unpleasant pang gripped her middle, causing her to gasp for air.

"I guess that was not entirely unbearable," she breathed when finally she could speak.

This last sent the baron into action. "That tears it! I'm sending for the midwife." He raced to the door. "Willy!" he bellowed.

Immediately Willy Gant's footsteps could be heard pounding down the hall. "My lord?" he wheezed as he rushed into the parlor.

"Lady Bourgeault's time is upon her. Have a footman carry her upstairs. Then fetch the midwife and be quick about it."

Willy disappeared and moments later a burly footman entered the room.

"Carry your mistress to her quarters," Lord Bourgeault commanded.

Catherine found herself whisked up into the strong arms of the servant, and she held on for dear life as he moved swiftly to the stairs. Another contraction seized her and she moaned into the young man's shoulder.

"My lady, I'm so sorry. Am I hurting you?"

The concern in the footman's voice caused her eyes to sting with unshed tears. "No, no, just nature giving me a little nudge," she said unsteadily.

They reached her apartment, and Catherine could feel the servant's words rumble in his chest as he spoke. "Edna, lass, our lady's pains have started. Pull back the blankets on the bed so I can make her comfortable."

"Aye, Robby."

Something in Edna's tone caused the baroness to turn her head and glance at her maid. For a fleeting moment she saw a look of pure adulation on Edna's face when she answered the footman. Catherine wished she had time to ponder this interesting turn of events, but unfortunately, she had to give her attention to more pressing matters.

Robby carefully placed his mistress on the mattress and, as he backed away, he looked into Catherine's flustered features.

"Our prayers are with you, my lady."

Why that small kindness should mean so much, she could not say, but as she took in the anxious expressions on her servants' faces, she knew they cared. For a young woman who felt isolated from all affection, that caring provided a gentle balm for a lost, lonely soul.

"Edna," Catherine said as Robby withdrew, "I'm frightened. I don't want to do this. Do you think it's too late to turn back?"

The maid giggled halfheartedly. "My lady, I wish I could say you have that choice, but I'm afraid you must go through with it. But don't worry, it's been done before. And I can promise you will think it worth while when you hold your sweet babe for the first time."

"Have you been at a birthing before?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll take good care of you, and the midwife will be here soon."

To be sure that turned out to be the case. The midwife arrived in short order and, after an abbreviated but intense labor, almost one year to the day she first made love to a handsome earl in a secluded glen, Catherine brought his child into the world. The squalls of a healthy infant pierced the air, and a collective sigh of relief was felt throughout the castle.

"My dear, sweet lady, you were brave." Edna squeezed the water from a damp cloth and placed it on Catherine's forehead.

"You're being charitable and you know it," the baroness croaked, her voice so tired she could barely speak.

"Giving birth is quite a chore," the maid insisted. "You should be very pleased with yourself."

At that moment the midwife approached with the baby. "All cleaned up and ready for a mother's arms. What a precious bundle you have, my lady." She placed the swaddled infant across the baroness' chest.

Catherine gazed into the tiny, wrinkled face of her child and a sense of ecstasy burst free within her, warming her body from its very core.

"Hello, my little baron," she whispered. "I've been waiting so long to make your acquaintance." She glanced up and caught the two women exchanging a look of surprise.

"There seems to be some confusion, my lady," Edna ventured.

"What is it? He's all right, isn't he? Tell me nothing's wrong with him," Catherine demanded anxiously.

"It's nothing like that. It's just, well..." Edna paused as she looked at the midwife again then continued. "The baby's not a boy. You've given birth to a girl, my lady, a lovely, beautiful girl."

Dear Lord, her deepest fear realized. All the elation of the moment vanished only to be replaced by a terrible feeling of foreboding. Not even now at the birth of her child would she be allowed to enjoy the fruits of her labor. What would Edgar say? More to the point, what would he do?

Her dismay must have been apparent, for Edna rushed to reassure her. "A girl is as fine as a boy, my lady. Don't let anyone tell you different."

Catherine was too exhausted and heartsick to explain to the little maid how things really stood. She had never bothered to share her husband's preference in the matter, and now with the midwife in attendance, this did not seem to be the time. Later would be soon enough. She drew the fragile newborn to her breast and closed her drooping eyes. Within moments she fell into a dreamless sleep.

*****

Catherine came awake in the early morning. Her lids blinked open in the sun-brightened room, and she stared without recognition at the dust motes that floated on the incoming beams of daylight. She ached all over, and she groaned aloud as she gingerly shifted her battered body beneath the coverlet. Awareness came to her as she remembered the events of the day before. Her breath caught in her throat.

She abruptly sat up in the rumpled bed, alert to a plaintive mewling that came from somewhere in the room. Her gaze traveled the chamber, seeking out the faint noise, when she saw...the baron! He was occupying the rocking chair by the fireplace, and next to him in a small wooden cradle lay her child. Edgar sat very still, arms folded over his chest as though he had been waiting a long time.

With difficulty she managed not to let her agitation show. "Good morning, Edgar. What are you doing here?"

"Why, my dear, I'm getting to know my little daughter."

His voice was devoid of emotion, however, there was no mistaking his mood. He was angry, dreadfully so.

Catherine licked her lips. Some response was required, but for her very life she could think of nothing to say.

When she did not speak, her husband continued. "You've failed me, Catherine. Unequivocally and without doubt you've let me down. I cannot verbalize the disappointment I feel at this moment."

"You seem to be doing quite well so far, Edgar," she said with some asperity.

He didn't address her remark, instead saying, "Do you have any idea where this leaves us?"

"Where?"

"At the beginning—at the very bloody beginning," he snarled. He leaned forward in the rocker. "There's nothing for it, we're going to have to do it all over again."

"You can't mean it! Lord Ashworth will never agree now that he knows what you have in mind."

"I have no intention of allowing you within a country mile of Lord Ashworth, so don't give it a second thought. We'll have to find another gentleman. I doubt it will be difficult."

"Edgar, please don't ask this of me," she begged him.

"What of me?" he shouted. "Do you think it has been easy for me to stand by and watch my wife lie with another man? I must have an heir and it will not end until that need is satisfied. Do I make myself clear?"

"Why can't your brother inherit? What has he done that is so terrible you must cut him off?"

"Let us just say," he stated darkly, "he deserted me when I needed him most, and I will never forgive him."

"What makes you think I will cooperate with you now when you were certain I would not do so before?"

A slow, sinister smile altered his ugly features, and the light of madness touched his gaze. His regard drifted to the fussy baby who was oblivious to the sudden danger that threatened her.

"I believe I have more leverage with you now than I did before," he said. "Do you think I've the right of it?"

A stab of fright quite unlike anything she had ever experienced before pierced Catherine's meager defenses. He had chosen her one great vulnerability. He had the right of it, yes, he did. He knew it and she knew it.

"You wouldn't hurt a helpless child, would you Edgar?" She began to struggle from the twisted covers.

"Calm yourself, my dear. I don't eat innocents for dinner. But there is nothing to say I won't grow weary of her presence, for she is no use to me. She is another mouth to feed, excess baggage. Whether or not she stays with you depends entirely on how you choose to respond to my request." He eased back in the chair and began to rock to and fro.

"What would you do?"

"It's nothing to find a childless couple who would be pleased to raise the by-blow of an earl—for a price, of course."

"I hate you, Edgar!"

The baron's lip curled in disdain. "I can deal with your hate, wife. It's your affection I wouldn't know how to handle, so don't fool yourself into believing it makes any difference."

The infant, as if sensing the malevolent undercurrents that pervaded the room, began to wail pitifully. Catherine's gaze darted to the cradle, and she watched in apprehension as two tiny fists waved spasmodically in the air. She managed to sidle off the bed, finding her feet with some difficulty. Oh my! She felt sore, especially her nether regions.

"I need to feed my child. Won't you please call Edna? I think I'm going to need her assistance."

"I've summoned a wet nurse."

"Why would you do that? I intend to nurse the baby myself."

"A lactating woman does not easily become pregnant," he said crudely. "Give me a son and you shall have that chance."

She wanted to scream with frustration. "I'm in no condition to have another child, Edgar. Please, have reason."

"I mean to let you heal, my dear. No need to worry on that head. You've several weeks before I'll expect you to perform." He smiled as though pleased with his generosity.

"Thank you," she said through gritted teeth.

The baby was squalling loudly now, her frantic cries carrying far beyond the confines of the bedchamber. A persistent tapping at the door caught the baron's attention, and his head snapped toward the sound.

"Who is it?" he barked.

The doorknob twisted slowly, and Edna peered into the room, her face pinched with misgiving. "I know you told me not to bother you, my lord, but I heard the child crying. I thought maybe you would like me to take her to the wet nurse."

"Yes, yes, get that bawling brat out of here. How can anything so little make such a racket?" He waved his hand in dismissal.

The maid dashed to the cradle and, scooping up the distraught infant, threw her lady a look of apology as she quickly exited the chamber. Catherine watched Edna depart with her tiny daughter then turned to glare at her husband.

The baron stood and straightened the cuffs of his coat. "One other thing," he said, his manner offhand, "I'll be choosing your next lover."

"You chose the last one," she spit out.

"Actually, in a round about way I allowed you to do the choosing. That was a mistake—one I won't be making twice." He glanced at her sideways. "You have a tendency to form attachments, and that is a complication I will not tolerate."

"I don't care any longer, Edgar." And she truly believed she did not. "But don't separate me from my baby or I will become very difficult to control."

He looked at her directly. "I don't like threats and, anyway, it's a moot point if you do as I ask. I can count on your cooperation?"

"Yes, I will do my best," she said in clipped accents, and he nodded his approval.

Why did she feel she had just made a pact with Lucifer himself?

*****

The Earl of Ashworth peered into the flawless face turned in his direction. Lady Alice Chesterton gave him her full, rapt attention as he expounded on and on about nothing in particular.

What a beauty, he thought, with her ice-blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had a lovely, willowy body that tempted the imagination and a vivacious disposition that added greatly to her popularity. A most desirable specimen—and she wanted Adam. He suspected it was the challenge that attracted her, but whatever it was, she made no secret of her aspirations.

He knew he was the envy of the majority of his contemporaries. So why was he not interested? He realized that he had been assessing Lady Alice in an analytical way, devoid of emotion. She was exquisite and he liked her, but he did not desire her. It angered him that he was so anchored to the past a beautiful woman could not stir him. Adam excused himself from the lady. Though she clearly was disappointed, he had no wish to tarry.

Another party, another wasted evening, he thought—what was the point? He ambled through the crowd, irritated by the festive atmosphere. A footman carrying a tray with glasses of champagne came into his vicinity and he reached out and took one, downing the contents in a single gulp. He took another. Already he'd had too much to drink, something he was prone to do of late, and yet it was not enough. He needed more alcohol to soften the memories, to dull the pain.

Perhaps he desired a more experienced woman. Lady Alice, for all her beauty, was a chaste woman looking to make an exceptional match. He did not feel ready for a commitment, and he believed it unethical to pretend otherwise.

His mind drifted back to before the previous year, to his life before Catherine. How simple and uncomplicated it had all been. He had lived each day in relative peace, ignorantly assuming the future would take care of itself. Helen had been there to see to his needs, undemanding in her love. And she had loved him, he knew. Adam wondered if she had suffered after their separation as much as he had after his separation from Catherine.

That's what he ought to do, go see Helen. They could commiserate together, offer each other comfort—and maybe more. He had no idea what she did of late, but now seemed as good a time as any to find out. Though the hour was advanced she had never turned him away. If he had been less inebriated his good sense might have warned him off, but such is the purpose of spirits, he would reflect later. When one needs a reason to be foolish, overindulgence can be counted on to provide the perfect excuse.

Adam felt better now that he knew what he intended to do. On his way out he located another footman with another tray of brimming champagne glasses and had one more quick drink—just for added fortification. The bubbly liquid warmed his stomach and further dimmed his judgment. Loaded to the gills with false courage, he retrieved his coat and entered the night.

*****

The earl's movements did not go entirely unnoticed. Across the crowded ballroom his best friend Lord Wimberly was engaged in deep conversation with Lady Richards.

"Lord Wimberly," Charlotte ventured, "does it seem to you that Lord Ashworth has not been himself lately?"

Based upon long acquaintance with the lady, the viscount was not averse to being candid. "You are correct, Charlotte. To be honest, I'm worried."

"What does he tell you?"

Daniel snorted. "Not a thing, which is his way of telling me to mind my own business."

"It's Lady Bourgeault, isn't it?"

He paused. "I believe it is," he said cautiously.

"Do you know what happened?"

"No." He shook his head. "There was a falling out, that's all I know. It's had a terrible effect, though. He stays up all hours, gambles—which he's never done—and he drinks too much. Tonight is no different as you can see. I ought to follow him to make sure he's safe, but he has become so touchy of late, I'm reticent to do it."

"I believe it was a real love match." Lady Richards glanced up at her companion through her lashes. "At least I know Catherine loves Lord Ashworth."

The viscount frowned at her. "Are you positive? I had the impression that Adam felt deceived by the lady in some way."

She looked at him squarely. "I saw her before she left town. She was in a dreadful state. Something had happened, but she wouldn't confide in me. Frankly, I've suffered a great deal of guilt wondering if I should have done more to help her."

He nodded and for several moments they fell silent.

"I'm going to Bath in a fortnight," Daniel said at last.

"Are you now?" Her eyes lit up with hope.

"Yes. My father's not been well. He seems to think the waters might provide him some relief for what ails him, and he's asked me to join him there."

"Go on."

"I don't suppose it would be much trouble to stop at the Bourgeault residence when I return to London. It's on my way."

"Daniel, would you?" Charlotte cried. "If I only knew she was all right, I could stop worrying."

"Right then, it's settled. It won't be immediately. Can you live with that?"

"Yes, of course, you're too kind." She gave him a mischievous smile. "You know, Daniel, you really ought to settle down. You're denying some lady a wonderful husband."

Lord Wimberly flushed, and he felt the heat travel to the roots of his wavy blonde hair.

*****

Helen lounged in languid contentment on her sofa, legs tucked under her as she devoured the pages of a novel from the lending library. She giggled as the hero of the piece shouted "hark" repeatedly while wielding his mighty sword in an effort to do away with the dastardly villain. The heroine, on the other hand, cowered ineffectually nearby as she waited for her love to save her. Helen was reminded of a rich chunk of chocolate confection—it was completely unnecessary to a good diet, and probably inadvisable as well—but oh, how satisfying in the end.

A series of quick raps on the door brought Helen back to reality, and she frowned as she put the book aside. Who could be calling at this late hour? She pulled her silk wrapper more closely to her throat, and ran her hand through her hair as she slipped the latch and peeked through the crack.

As she lived and breathed, it was Lord Ashworth! He stood reeling on her threshold, a ridiculous grin creasing his handsome features. She pulled the door wide.

"My lord, why are you here?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in, Helen?" he slurred. The foolish grin continued unabated.

"I...yes, come in." She stepped back so he could enter.

He lurched through the doorway and turned to face her. "It's late, isn't it? Well, nothing for it—I wanted to see you, so here I am."

"Should I be pleased?" she asked him quietly.

"Haven't a clue. Mind if I have a seat? I'm not feeling quite right." He lunged for the sofa and plunked himself down. "That's better. Come, talk to me—I need a friend."

"I think what you need," she said, closing the door, "is a cup of strong tea." Before he could protest, she moved to her tiny kitchen and began to heat some water. Minutes later she returned with the hot brew and placed it in his drunken hands.

"You're not happy to see me, are you?" His cloudy gaze had cleared somewhat, and the intelligence behind the impaired reason seemed to be reasserting itself.

"To be honest, I'm not certain how I feel at the moment."

He nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if you hated me."

"I don't hate you, my lord."

"I've missed you, Helen, and that glorious red hair."

She ignored his flirtatious behavior. "Why have you come here now?—now when..." she trailed off, unable to hide her impatience.

"When what?"

"When I've begun to forget. When I've put my life back together. What can you be thinking?"

"I thought we could comfort one another," he said.

"You're not here to make me feel better. You're here to make yourself feel better." She was angry. "And what would that comfort entail? A quick tumble? There's one big difference between your situation and mine, Lord Ashworth. You are the source of my pain. You can offer me no comfort."

"I made a mistake, I see that."

He looked sober now, whether from the tea or the weighty conversation, she could only wonder. Perhaps it was both reasons.

Helen sat down next to him. "I loved you, my lord...Adam. I love you still. It is not something that disappears simply because the object of one's affection disappears. At least, it's not that way for me. But I've had to learn to survive without you. If I allow you back in my life, the hurt will be unendurable because you don't love me and you never will. Can't you see you ask too much?"

"I'm a selfish bastard, I know. I wanted to be cosseted and pampered and told everything will be all right."

He was so forlorn she took pity on him. "It's been hard, hasn't it?"

He looked directly at her, and the misery she saw lurking in the depths of his intoxicating blue eyes made her want to hold him to her breast and will the suffering away. Helen wanted to run her hands through his thick, curling hair and put her lips to his brow. But then, would she be giving or taking? Some sense of self-preservation forced her to acknowledge the trap she set for herself. No, he must go this one alone and, because she loved him, she prayed his agony would not be prolonged.

"You are not surprised by my predicament. I suppose it is common knowledge?"

She could hear the hurt pride in his voice. "Only that you courted an unsuitable lady. She's left town and you are displeased by her absence."

"We fought before she went away."

"Oh," was all she could think to say.

"You are the only person to whom I've admitted that."

"I'm sorry I could not be of more help to you, my lord," she said, her tone turning impersonal. She stood up and moved away from him. His confidences created an intimacy that was difficult to bear.

"Yes, well, it's time I was on my way. Please forgive my insensitivity. Mix a little self-pity with a great deal of wine, and you have a sorry fellow to be sure." He smiled sheepishly at her as he rose to leave.

Helen patted his arm. "You'll come about, my lord."

Adam brought her slender hand to his lips and gazed into her face. "You are wrong about me not loving you, my dear. Were it not for Catherine...who knows?"

Lord Ashworth would never be aware of the bittersweet longing he left behind when he departed a moment later.

*****

"Is this moldering place inhabited?" Lord Wimberly said aloud as he sat astride his mount and surveyed the scene before him. He had approached the baron's castle from the circular drive in front, and he could not imagine a more unpleasant sight—which is not to say there was a better angle on the structure, for it looked unsightly from all directions.

The place was weedy and unkempt, and pieces of loose stone lay strewn about, having fallen from the outer walls. Daniel wondered why anyone would choose to live in this worn-out relic.

He dismounted and, since no servant greeted him, he tethered his horse to an overgrown bush growing alongside the drive. Picking his way through the broken stones, he climbed the steps and reached for the knocker. Several minutes passed, in fact so many minutes, Daniel thought he must have made a mistake. At that moment the heavy door eased back on its creaking hinges, and an ugly little man stuck his head out at him.

"What do you want?" the man barked rudely.

Taken aback, the viscount blinked. "I say..." He cleared his throat. "I'm an acquaintance of Lady Bourgeault. This is her residence, is it not?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Daniel Evans, Viscount Wimberly. I was in the vicinity and thought to stop in and see how your lady faired. Is she home?"

The servant looked Daniel over from head to foot before answering. "I'll have to see," he said. "Wait here."

Not even the courtesy to invite him in off the doorstep, Daniel thought. What kind of household is this? He looked over his shoulder at his horse. If he left right now, he could be down the drive and out of sight before that horrible little person returned. If he had not promised Charlotte to undertake this mission, he would have done that very thing.

The servant returned after only a few minutes. "Come in." His manner was grudging. "My master will be with you shortly."

The viscount stepped into the darkened hall. A quick glance told him the interior was in no better condition than the outside had been. It was chilly and dark and, quite frankly, a bit spooky. He tried to imagine the beautiful baroness thriving in this dreary place, but the image eluded him.

"Lord Wimberly, good to see you." Lord Bourgeault appeared, smiling in welcome. "What brings you to our humble abode?"

"I was passing by and I thought to say hello to Lady Bourgeault. I told her I might do so if the opportunity ever arose. I hope my visit does not pose an inconvenience."

Daniel had never told the baroness any such thing, but he didn't know how to explain his presence here. He prayed she would not expose his little untruth.

"Good, I know she'll be happy to see you." The baron was positively jovial. "You'll join us for supper, of course."

"Of course."

Daniel was surprised by his host's effusive reception. The viscount could not remember having met Lord Bourgeault, yet the baron acted as though they were old friends. And something predatory gleamed in the man's eyes that was altogether unnatural. Strange, Daniel thought, very strange.

The baron turned to the wizened servant who still skulked in the shadows. "Willy, show Lord Wimberly to a guest room where he can freshen up."

*****

"Catherine, let me in."

"Why are you shouting, Edgar?" The baroness opened her chamber door so her husband could enter.

"Wouldn't you know it?" He chuckled gleefully. "I've been wondering how to begin anew, and the answer falls in my lap."

"What are you talking about?"

"We've a guest, my dear, a man and he's come to pay a call on you."

"You must be jesting. Who would come to see me?"

"A young lord by the name of Wimberly."

She looked blank. "Lord Wimberly? Here?"

"You do know him, don't you?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

"Yes...I simply can't understand why he would visit."

"He said something about having told you he might do so if he were in the neighborhood."

"Now you mention it, I remember him saying that."

She turned from him, moving to the cradle where her child slept so he could not see the confusion on her face. She had spoken to Lord Wimberly on a very few occasions, and she was positive he had never told her such a thing.

"This is the moment we have been waiting for, wife."

A nuance in his voice caused her nerves to vibrate with alarm, and she whirled around to stare at him.

"Edgar, you can't mean it!"

"What do you think I've been talking about since I came in here? Certainly, I mean it."

"But I'm not ready yet."

"If I left the matter in your hands, there would never be a right time. This is a perfect opportunity, and I don't intend to let it slip away."

"I can't do it. He's—" She stopped suddenly. She had started to say that Lord Wimberly was Adam's good friend, but she wondered if it might be a mistake to reveal that information.

He wasn't listening to her, anyway. "You promised me, Catherine. Our bargain was that you keep your daughter if you provide me with a male child. I've not changed my mind."

"I don't know how to go about this!"

"You'll think of something. Hurry now and dress. He's staying for supper." He smiled then. "It will be your job to see he stays the night."

"I'm not wearing one of those hideous gowns."

The baron waved his hand at her. "As you will. You know, though," he said, smirking at her as he prepared to leave, "a little bosom would not be out of order."

"Oh!" she screamed. She rushed forward and kicked at the door as it closed behind him. There might have been some pleasure in venting her temper, but the baby decided to be disturbed by the ruckus and began to holler as well. And worse, she could hear Edgar's delighted laughter as he made his way down the corridor.

"My poor darling, what an inconsiderate mother you have."

Catherine moved to the cradle and, lifting the babe into her arms, gazed into the tiny face. The infant looked back at her through Adam's blue eyes, and a lump of emotion lodged in her throat. She felt guilty for having brought this child into an uncertain world, yet her love for this little person was so intense, she could not find room for regret.

She shook her head in resignation. Edgar was at it again. But Lord Wimberly, why had he come? She tried to control the excitement that seized her when she thought of what this could mean. Perhaps he had news of Lord Ashworth. Perhaps Adam no longer hated her and the viscount had come to let her know. That seemed a remote possibility, but she could think of no logical reason why Lord Wimberly would call on her.

The baby had calmed and was sucking on one dimpled fist.

"I suppose this is your way of telling me it's time to eat. Come on then." Catherine entered the hall in search of the nursemaid.

*****

"Lord Wimberly, what brings you to our little corner of the realm?" Catherine entered the shabby parlor and extended her hand.

Daniel, alone in the room, rose from his chair. He was sipping on a glass of port.

"As I explained to your husband, I was in the vicinity and thought I would stop in and say hello. It was on impulse. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."

"We have so little company it's a welcome break from the monotony. It's a pleasure to see you. You bring good news of all our friends?"

From the look on Lord Wimberly's face, she suspected he knew about whom she actually inquired.

"Everyone does well, and yourself?" he returned.

"I go on," she said—a vague reply, carefully noncommittal.

"I see. Is your husband to join us this evening?"

"He was called away unexpectedly, and I'm not certain when he will return. I hope you are not disappointed."

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised, and Catherine felt her face burn with embarrassment.

"On the contrary," he said gallantly. "I shall enjoy the company of a lovely lady. It will give us a chance to catch up on all the latest gossip."

"I would like that."

They proceeded to the dining table and a substantial if unremarkable meal was served. The viscount kept his promise to reveal all the news. Catherine enjoyed the telling, for he stressed the humorous in his stories, but his words were never unkind. As the dessert plates were removed, they returned to the parlor to partake of tea and more congenial conversation.

Catherine glanced up as she took a seat on the settee next to Lord Wimberly, and she saw Willy lurking in the hall outside the parlor door. She felt a fissure of alarm quickly followed by indignation.

"Willy," she called to the servant.

"My lady?" The servant moved into the room.

"I would like you to close the door and go about your duties."

"Yes, my lady." He started to leave.

"Willy."

He stopped and looked at her again.

"I will be unhappy if I find you have been trying to listen in. I do not want to be spied on, is that clear? I'm capable of telling my husband what he wants to know. I have my own informers if you choose to ignore me."

Willy stared at her for a moment as though weighing her words, then shifted his regard to Lord Wimberly. The viscount viewed him without expression save for an impassive watchfulness. Willy looked at his mistress again before lowering his gaze.

"I will see you are not disturbed, my lady," he said and withdrew, pulling the door shut behind him.

An uncomfortable silence followed his departure. Catherine had brought a sticky problem out into the open—not something she had wanted to do. But what choice did she have? Edgar expected her to woo the viscount, however, she had no intention of carrying out his demands with Willy's salacious ear plastered to the keyhole.

Daniel was the first to speak. "You do not trust that man?"

"He's Edgar's servant, not mine. I don't care for him. The feeling is mutual."

She was not thinking about what she said, for her mind was occupied with the frightful prospect of trying to seduce her guest. She had played the "come-hither" game with Adam, but she had been powerfully attracted to him, and her effort was more instinctual than calculating.

The viscount proved another matter entirely. Not that he wasn't handsome. He was. And he appealed to her with his kind, gentle nature and genuine concern for others. Given a different set of circumstances, she might have been tempted. Still, Daniel was the earl's closest friend and it did not seem right.

Unfortunately, she must give it a go. She peeked through her lashes at the viscount and smiled prettily. "Let's not talk about that awful man. There are so many more interesting things we could discuss," she purred.

Lord Wimberly's jaw fell open and his eyes glazed over. He swallowed several times, clearing his throat. "I say, I'm not certain what you mean."

Whether she was encouraged by his confusion or simply had a need to get on with it, she couldn't decide, but suddenly she turned her face to his and kissed him directly on the lips.

The deed was clumsily done, but Lord Wimberly must have found the contact pleasant enough, for after a moment's hesitation, he drew her into his arms and took the initiative. For several moments he held her captive then leaned away from her, clearly taking her measure.

His breathing was ragged as he gazed at her. Evidently satisfied with what he saw, Daniel moved to take her mouth again and, as he did, peered into her eyes. He pulled back as though someone had dashed cold water in his face.

"Why?" he whispered in a pained voice. "You don't want to, I can see it. So why?"

Catherine felt her cheeks burn with mortification. Her lip began to tremble and she took it between her teeth.

"I can only imagine what you must think of me." She stared down at her hands, too shamed to look at him.

"I think you one of the loveliest women I've ever met," he said, and he sounded as if he meant what he said. "I admit you've taken me by surprise."

"I knew it wouldn't work. I'm no good at this sort of thing."

"You're very good at it, my dear." His tone was rueful in acknowledgment of his recent weakness.

She did not answer, continuing to watch her fidgeting fingers.

Daniel leaned his head down and looked her directly in the face. "I know we are only casual acquaintances, and you might not feel you can trust me, but I would like to help if it is in my power."

"It's hopeless—no one can help." She shook her head as she raised her gaze to his.

"Wouldn't you at least like to speak of it? I would be happy to listen if that is all you require. Sometimes unburdening one's soul can be a tremendous relief."

To her horror she began to cry. The kindness in Lord Wimberly's voice unleashed a torrent of tears, and despite her best effort she could not stem the flow. The gentleman took her in his arms, his manner brotherly now, and he spoke in a soothing monotone until her weeping was reduced to a few watery hiccoughs.

"I've ruined the front of your coat," Catherine lamented as she pulled away from him and surveyed the damage.

"Never lost a coat to a better cause." He smiled and sat back, plainly waiting.

"It's Edgar—always has been, right from the start." She swallowed. "It's such a long story. Are you certain you want to hear it?"

"I would be honored if you would confide in me, my lady."

Why she should trust him, she did not know. Perhaps she wanted his understanding. She had no idea what Adam had said about her, but Daniel didn't seem suspicious of her conduct, and that gave her hope. The opportunity to talk to someone was irresistible, and she found herself pouring out years of suppressed anguish. He listened wordlessly, without judgment, until the clock had traveled through most of the night.

The couple emerged from the seclusion of the parlor just as the gray of dawn lit up the shadows.

"Come with me," she said. "I have someone I would like you to meet."

Catherine took the viscount by the hand and led him to the staircase. They attained the second floor landing and, putting an index finger to her lips to signal the need for quiet, she pulled him to a little room at the end of the hall. A plump nursemaid dozed in an overstuffed chair in one corner of the nursery, and she jumped as they entered.

"My lady, you surprised me," the nursemaid whispered, coming to her feet. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"No, Mary, I want to show Lord Wimberly our little darling. Please, give us a moment."

"Aye, my lady, I'll be close if you need me."

Catherine nodded absently and turned to the crib that occupied one wall. Daniel peered over her shoulder as she looked down into the small bed at the tiny person who lay nestled there. A great pair of shining blue eyes stared back at them in the semidarkness, and the baroness smiled in pleasure.

"Why you little scamp, I was certain you'd be asleep," Catherine said in hushed tones, and she reached into the crib and plucked the warm, sweet-smelling infant from the blankets. "Since you're awake, come and meet our guest. Lord Wimberly, I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Annabelle."

"Charmed, I'm sure."

Daniel clicked his heels together and bowed slightly, and after a moment's hesitation, the baby rewarded him with a toothless, dimpled grin. The viscount beamed hugely in return.

He sobered then and turned his gaze on the child's mother. "She has her father's coloring—his eyes for certain."

"Yes," Catherine said after a moment.

Even if she had not said that Annabelle was Adam's child, how could Daniel not be aware of it? The evidence was right in front of him.

"He has the right to know of her existence, Catherine. You do him a grave injustice to leave him ignorant."

For the first time, she noted censure in his voice. "Why do you think he would want to know? If he were to care, it would only make him miserable. And to be honest, I don't think he would care. He hates me, you see."

"He doesn't hate you," he stated impatiently. "He's angry and rightly so. You've not let him make his own decision."

"Lady Ashworth told me it would be the kindest thing not to give him a choice."

"You spoke with Adam's mother?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did she know there was a child?"

Catherine nodded. "I think that's what upset her most. She called the baby a bastard." She swallowed.

"My God!" He shook his head. "No wonder you gave up. She's a formidable old witch when she wants her way."

"I still think it would be best not to burden Adam with all this—after all, what can he do when all is said and done?"

"Perhaps nothing, but he is a grown man, and I believe he should be given the facts."

She turned from him and placed the baby in the crib. "I don't know what to tell Edgar," she said over her shoulder.

He looked confused. "About what? Oh, you mean regarding our tete-a-tete of this evening? You tell him all went swimmingly."

"Do you really think I should?" She straightened and faced him again.

"Absolutely. Don't give it a second thought—self-protection and all that."

She shrugged. "It only grants me a little time. The snare is loosened for awhile, but it doesn't release me."

He took her by the shoulders as he searched her features in the growing light. "I'll not desert you, I promise. I will come back. We'll keep the pretense up as long as we can, and then we'll think of something else. You must not give up hope. It is your most unswerving ally."

Catherine felt the ever-present tears sting her eyes. "Why would you do this for me?"

"Because the man who is like a brother to me is in love with you, and I know he would want me to help. And," he admitted in a wry voice, "I think I'm a bit in love with you myself."

Taken aback, she could think of nothing to say.

"No need to worry." He grinned engagingly. "Adam and I always did have the same taste in women. You take care now, do you hear?" He dropped a kiss on her cheek. "I will not forget, trust me."

And then he was gone.

*****

CHAPTER 11

Daniel did not sleep after he left Catherine. As the sun came over the horizon, he slipped from the castle and headed for the stables. He was grateful that he didn't have to bid his host farewell for, he was so repulsed by all he had seen and heard, he did not know if he could be civil to the man. Daniel consoled himself with the hope that his furtive departure would lend credence to the suggestion that Catherine and he had commenced an affair.

He stepped into the murky stable and signaled his horse with a short, sharp whistle. The animal whinnied nearby. Within moments the horse was saddled and, grasping the reins in one hand, Daniel strode out of the building.

"Lord Wimberly?"

Daniel jerked his head up and his gaze lit on an elderly man who stood a few feet away. "Yes—who wants to know?"

"I'm Brown, my lord, Lord Bourgeault's groom."

"What can I do for you, Brown?"

"Word came from the house that you paid my lady a visit yesterday."

Daniel eyed the man curiously. "This is true."

"Do you wish my lady well?"

"Of course, I do."

"I would ask that you take a message to the Earl of Ashworth. He said he would help if ever I feared for my lady's safety. Do you know of him?"

"She's in danger?" Daniel asked in sudden alarm, ignoring the man's question.

The groom took a moment to answer. "The master, he's strange in the head. Most times he seems right enough, other times I'm not so sure. He's been having 'spells' of late."

"Spells? Explain."

"Starts with drinking, actually. He works himself into a state and can't be reasoned with. And then he turns on her."

"Lady Bourgeault?"

Brown nodded. "He's mighty jealous of her. I'm afraid one day he's going to hurt her and the babe."

"I thought the baron had an affliction which kept him from getting physical."

The groom snorted in disgust. "It don't take nothing to pick up a poker or hurl an object, my lord."

"You make a good point," Daniel admitted. "I do know Lord Ashworth, and I intend to see him. I also sense a threat to your mistress, and if the earl does not come I will return. I've no intention of allowing anything to happen to Lady Bourgeault."

The hour was advanced when the viscount reached London. For the second night he had gone without rest, but worry kept him from seeking the comfort of his bed. He turned his horse in the direction of Berkeley Square.

Ames answered the door and, though he obviously had been sleeping, his usual unperturbed dignity was firmly in place.

"Lord Wimberly, it is good to see you," the butler greeted, his affection unmistakable after long years of association.

"How do, Ames? I'm sorry to barge in so late, but I really must see your master. Is he in?"

"His lordship usually does not arrive home until daylight. Perhaps he came home earlier and I was unaware. Make yourself comfortable in the library, and I will see if he has returned."

Daniel wandered down the hall. Upon entering the library, he spied the brandy decanter resting on a mahogany table next to the sofa. He poured himself a measure. Probably a mistake considering his extreme fatigue, but he was wound as tight as a spring and needed to relax. He took a big slurp, and the alcohol burned a trail all the way to his unsuspecting stomach. It was an amazingly fine feeling, and he sighed with pleasure.

"Lord Ashworth has not yet arrived, my lord."

The viscount turned to the butler who had reappeared in the doorway. "I'll wait," he said in resignation.

"I will direct him to you when he arrives."

Daniel waved him away. "Go back to bed, man. I'll listen for him myself. I apologize for disturbing your sleep."

Daniel made himself to home in an old leather chair, clearly kept for its comfort and not its beauty, in preparation for how ever long it might take. The brandy made the inevitable interlude tolerable. Three glasses of the fine liquor found him slumbering, his snores echoing about the empty corridors of the bottom floor of the mansion.

*****

"My God! It sounds as though a herd of cattle has decided to make its way through my house. No wonder you're not married yet—no woman could sleep with that racket."

"I say...what?" Lord Wimberly sat up, shocked from the peace of sleep. He shook his head, obviously trying to clear a lingering grogginess, and stared bleary-eyed at the intruder.

"Daniel, what are you doing here?"

"Adam?" Daniel squinted at the earl. "I've been waiting to see you. Don't you ever come in at a decent hour?"

"Well, see, the thing is..." Adam chuckled. "No, I 'spose not."

"Seems as though you've had a great deal to drink this evening as well."

"From the looks of my brandy decanter, it would appear you have been doing some sampling of the spirits yourself."

"I'm not drunk, Adam." There was no smile in Daniel's voice.

The earl turned serious. "The implication being I am? I'm in no mood for a lecture, my friend."

"That's too bad, I'm afraid, because that is exactly what you're going to get."

"I see. What if I leave you here to stew in your righteous indignation and I simply go off to bed?"

"I'll follow you, I swear it. Might as well take your medicine like a man. You deserve every last word I'm about to lay on your head."

The earl nodded in mock obedience. "Right, I'll just pour myself a glass of that brandy to swallow with your sermon."

"You're not going to have any more of that, either. I want you to listen to what I have to say with a clear head."

Adam perched on the edge of his desk, his ankles crossed and arms folded over his chest. He stared at his friend through deceptively lazy eyes and lifted his brows.

"I'm waiting," he said coolly.

"At any other time I might be intimidated by this show of irritation, but there's more at stake here than a spoiled gentleman's overindulgence due to pique and disappointment."

"Really?" Adam drawled.

"Have you taken a good look at yourself lately?"

"Last time I bothered, it had been many years since I'd reached my majority. Don't think I have to answer to you or anybody else."

"Come on, Adam, you don't live in an isolated world without responsibility. You're not handling this thing very well."

That was the first guarded reference to Catherine.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Adam ground out. "You have no idea what I've been through, and I'll be damned if I'll stand here and listen to this sanctimonious rot. I'm going to bed, which is what I should have done the moment I knew what you had in mind." He stood from the desk with every intention of doing just that.

"I've talked to her."

The earl went very still. "Who?" he asked after a moment.

"Lady Bourgeault."

"She's come to town?" His voice was barely audible.

Daniel shook his head. "No. I paid a visit to her home."

"Why would you go all that way just to see my old mistress?"

"Actually, I went to Bath to be with my father and, since I was in the vicinity, I decided to pay her a call."

"You still have not said why." The earl watched his friend, struggling with a growing sense of distrust.

"Charlotte Richards asked it of me. She has been worried ever since Lady Bourgeault left the city. Charlotte said something was wrong there. I wanted to see for myself."

"And what is your conclusion?" Adam asked grudgingly, although he could not completely hide his curiosity.

Daniel leaned forward in his chair, his expression one of deep concern. "She needs us, my friend. I don't know how we can manage it, but we have to help her."

"Oh no, not me. I have no intention of going anywhere near that woman." When the viscount did not reply, Adam asked, "Do you know what she did?"

"I know what you think she did," Daniel answered. "Maybe you were too quick to believe the worst."

"You speak in riddles." Adam's voice rose in frustration. "If you have something to tell me, get on with it. I grow weary of the subject."

"You'd better hold your tongue until I reach the end," the viscount said. "This isn't easy for me, either."

Adam hesitated briefly before moving to the chair opposite his friend. He took the seat and ran his fingers impatiently through his hair, but he did not speak.

Daniel cleared his throat. "As I mentioned, I went to visit Lady Bourgeault to check on her. It's an odd household, but I can't say anything out of the ordinary happened in the beginning. The baron invited me to stay for the evening meal. Catherine joined me at dinner, though she said her husband had been called away. That did seem strange, but we had a convivial time without him, and then we adjourned to the parlor."

Here Daniel paused and, clearing his throat once again, he looked uneasy.

Adam knew his own expression was not encouraging. He watched his friend through hard, wary eyes and, though alert to the heightened tension, he felt no obligation to relieve it.

The viscount continued. "Catherine let it be known that my advances would not be unwelcome, and in a matter of moments we were in each other's arms. I'm not going to make any apologies, Adam. I was taken by surprise and I acted abominably. If it had not become painfully clear that she was not into the spirit of the thing, I would have taken her right there on the sofa as I was undoubtedly meant to do."

"Why are you telling me this?" Adam snarled through gritted teeth.

"Because it is pertinent, and I want to be honest with you. For one insane moment I forgot honor and friendship and culpability. I wanted her and, truth is, given the right conditions my feelings could be deeper. I tell you this in fair warning, for if you won't help her, I will."

Adam leapt from his chair, his fists clenched at his side. "You fool! Have you no idea what she wants from you? No man of pride would allow himself to be used in such a way."

"You surprise me," Daniel stated calmly. "I knew lady Bourgeault only superficially when she resided in London yet, in the short time we spent together last night, I realized I could trust her. As close as you were to her, you still did not know what was in her heart."

"What is to know? She deceived and lied to me. I thought she loved me—she did not."

"Ah...but there you are wrong, Adam. She loves you even now. She has suffered dearly because of the baron's scheming. It shocked her as much as it did you. He brought many men home, dangling them in front of her, hoping she might find one to her liking. You were the first one she chose—and the last."

"Why should I believe that?"

"Because it is true. In fact, she came to you untouched."

"A virgin?" Adam asked incredulously.

"She didn't put it that way, but yes, a virgin."

"How could a woman married seven years remain untouched? Impossible, especially a woman with Catherine's beauty. I can't believe he does not desire her unless he's a sodomite."

"He desires her, all right, from what I can gather, but he has this phobia Lady Bourgeault refers to as his affliction. Seems he is repulsed by contact with human flesh. He can't tolerate being touched. He married her hoping her beauty would circumvent his difficulty, but it didn't turn out that way. That's when he resorted to finding his wife a lover for procreation purposes—without her knowledge, naturally. She swears she would never have cooperated had she known."

Two very striking memories assaulted Adam simultaneously as he listened to the viscount, two curious circumstances long forgotten. The first one involved the baron donning gloves to shake hands. At the time Bourgeault had said he disliked casual contact and, though it had seemed peculiar, beyond the moment the earl had not given it much thought.

The second situation had been more troublesome. Catherine had bled after making love with Adam that first time, and he had feared having hurt her. If she'd been a virgin, there was little doubt she had suffered some discomfort. Though he knew he should be feeling remorse for hurting her, his first reaction to her chastity was a purely male exaltation at the knowledge she had been his and his alone. Selfish and egotistical, he knew, but for the life of him he could not stifle the surge of elation that enveloped him. He turned a hopeful gaze on the viscount.

"Let's suppose I accept everything you have told me. That does not explain why she would throw herself on a man to whom she knows I am close."

Daniel looked smug. "There is a simple answer to that, my friend. The baron now has the power to coerce his wife into doing his will. Catherine gave birth to a daughter about ten weeks ago—beautiful child, black curly hair, big blue eyes—looks much like her father."

Adam stared at the viscount, mouth agape. When he could speak, he asked, "You've seen the baby?"

"Yes. You're a father, no doubt about it. But I'm worried. Bourgeault has threatened to take the infant from his wife if she does not make an effort to produce another child, hopefully male. He's so desperate for an heir, he told her to lie with the gardener if that is what it takes."

"By God, I'll kill him, the filthy bastard!"

"Settle down, Adam. You won't accomplish anything if you lose control. We have to put our heads together and devise a plan to free her from that madman."

Adam drew in a deep, calming breath, his nostrils pinching with the effort as he took several agitated turns around the room. He came to a halt in front of Daniel.

"I'm about as composed as I'm going to get, so tell me what you propose we do."

"I see one clear possibility, but it will mean enduring the worst kind of scandal. Are you up to the challenge?"

"Yes, yes." Adam nodded impatiently. "Tell me."

"Seems to me that Catherine is entitled to a divorce on the grounds her marriage was never consummated."

A speculative light entered the earl's eyes, and the hint of a grin touched his mouth. He took his seat again and leaned the back of his head against the cushions, lost in thought.

"It could be hard to prove," he said at last.

"Perhaps," Daniel agreed. "You will have to publicly pronounce Lady Bourgeault chaste when she came to you."

"But I didn't realize. How could I be unaware of such a thing?"

The viscount shrugged. "It happens, I'm told. It was the last thing you expected, and she didn't want you to guess. It doesn't matter. We know the truth and that's what is important. I don't think it will be difficult to find witnesses who will testify as to the baron's aversion." He paused. "It can go another way, though."

"How so?"

"Given the choice of airing his very personal concerns in public, the baron may decide it would be better to seek a divorce on the grounds of his wife's infidelity. It might be wise to give him that option to save face. Either way your affair with the baroness cannot be hidden, and if you are able to free her from her husband your ultimate goal will be achieved."

Adam nodded slowly. "Another point—what of Catherine's family? Will they be supportive or will they disown her? I think I ought to approach them before I do anything else."

"It would be appropriate, but I don't envy you the task."

"Daniel, I wish you to be honest with me." Adam leaned forward in his chair, now feeling uncertain. "Will she welcome my intervention? Are you certain she still cares for me?"

"There is no doubt, dear boy. She loves you absolutely. If you do not trust me on this, speak to Charlotte Richards."

"Then why did she send me away?" Adam asked.

"She thought it for your own good. She was made to feel she would be a burden, and you would fare better without her."

"Who would feed her such tripe? Bourgeault?"

There came a long silence as Daniel doubtlessly considered how best to answer. "I really wish I didn't have to tell you this," he said. "In fact, I had contemplated not saying anything, but I think you deserve to know it all. The baron enlisted the aid of your mother."

The earl's eyebrows snapped together. "Explain yourself."

"Bourgeault did not feel he could make his wife listen to him. Catherine had decided to leave with you, and the baron was about to watch all his carefully laid plans crumble at his feet. When you think about it, it took a bit of dexterity to make everything come together. But in the end the baron still required some cooperation from Lady Bourgeault if he was to succeed. The one intangible he could not control was the sex of the infant. I take it he was livid when your daughter was born."

"Of course," Adam stated darkly. "Where does my mother fit into all of this?"

"Lady Ashworth visited Catherine. Your mother spoke of your career and progeny and the terrible toll flight would have on your reputation and future. The countess can be intimidating when she wants to be as I'm sure you know. Catherine was made to see that she would be destroying your life."

"So that is why Bourgeault visited Mother," Adam said, another memory assaulting him. "Did she know about the child?"

Again, a silence as the viscount waited before replying. "She said she would not play grandmother to a bastard." He uttered the words, his sadness for his friend palpable.

Adam came to his feet in a blistering rage. He was consumed by an anger so savage and malevolent, it frightened even himself.

"Are you all right, Adam?" The viscount also stood, and he awkwardly patted his companion on the shoulder.

"What?" The earl was startled that Daniel was still there, for he was grappling with the anguish of betrayal.

"All will be well. I feel it in my bones," Daniel said.

Adam smiled grimly. "Perhaps there is hope for saving what I feared was lost to me forever. Wish me luck, my friend, for I think I'm going to need it."

*****

Adam slept for a few hours and, upon rising, bathed and dressed before packing a small leather valise. The aching in his head from overindulgence the previous evening had begun to abate, and with the easing of the pain came clearer reason.

He had swallowed a late breakfast, more from necessity than desire, and he now sat sipping a strong cup of tea as he pondered the future and lamented the past. He had only one more order of business to complete in preparation for the most important journey of his life.

He wanted to forgive her, he really did, but every time he thought of his mother's perfidy he was infuriated anew. How could she have done it? How could she have interfered when he had gone to such pains to make her understand the importance of his relationship with Catherine? He cringed when he thought of his mother using her rapier tongue on the baroness.

His thoughts drifted to Lady Bourgeault where they lingered, a divergent mixture of elation and guilt. On the one hand, faith had been revived. Catherine had not deceived him. Her protective instincts, however misguided, had been aroused, and she had made the ultimate sacrifice. The notion sent a warm glow of pleasure to his bruised heart.

Being a man he had not believed himself vulnerable to such poignant yearnings, but these last months had taught him much about being in love. It was not an emotion that could be willed away when it became too arduous to bear. It clung tight with the tenacity of a stubborn clam, forcing its victim to face the pain.

Naturally, that brought him to his own failings. Daniel was right—Adam had been very quick to believe the lies. He remembered that terrible scene when he had last seen Catherine. He might as well have called her whore, for that was surely what he had meant. She had taken the tongue-lashing all the while aware of what her silence would cost her. He felt more ashamed than he thought possible.

And he had become a father—what an amazing revelation. Yet he could not quite comprehend it. How much he had missed, was missing still. He felt as though he had been robbed of these last months—robbed by his mother's deception and his own stupidity. Adam knew he didn't deserve Catherine's forgiveness, but he hoped fervently that Daniel had not misjudged the situation. And if the viscount had been too optimistic, Adam would press his suit until she relented. Catherine would be his, of that he was determined.

*****

"Good morning, dear. Lovely day, isn't it?" Lady Ashworth greeted as she entered the sunny dining room and approached the sideboard. Not receiving an answer, she turned and looked at her son where he sat at the dining table.

Adam was staring at her, an unfathomable expression on his face. She could see he was displeased about something.

"Are you recovering from a heavy head?" she ventured.

"Why do you ask?"

"Seems to be your normal condition this time of day."

"Then you'll be pleased to know I've decided to begin a new regimen. I'll not be imbibing as much anymore."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said severely. "In fact, you've been doing entirely too much drinking of late."

"Really? Why do you think that is?"

He watched her through narrowed eyes, and something in his manner made her uneasy.

"I have no idea, I'm sure."

"Come, Mother, it can't have escaped your notice that I've been unhappy recently."

"You've not been yourself, I admit." She took a seat at the table, carefully arranging her skirts.

"Do you also admit that you are in large part the reason why this is so?"

She stiffened. "I have no idea to what you are referring. And I resent being made the excuse for your dissatisfaction."

Adam leaned his arms on the table from elbow to wrist and leveled a penetrating glare on his parent.

"I will ask you this once only and, for your sake, I hope you can be honest with me. Did you go to Catherine Bourgeault and convince her to put an end to her relationship with me?"

The dowager countess blanched. Suddenly nervous, she set down her teacup in its saucer, and the china pieces rattled precariously, one against the other.

"I don't deny it," she admitted finally.

"Why would you do something that would so badly hurt me?" His voice rose barely above a gravelly whisper, for he plainly strove to keep in check a temper spiraling dangerously out of control. "If you were a man, I would horsewhip you for your wicked meddling. Have you no idea what you've cost me?" He brought his fist down on the table with a loud bang.

"I did plead with her for your interests, but nothing more. What of the baron? Do you deem him innocent in all this?"

"I want his wife!" he yelled. "He has provocation for wishing me ill. What is your excuse?"

The dowager, too stricken to speak, took her napkin and dabbed at the corners of her mouth as she fought for command of her emotions. A proud woman, she was unused to having to defend herself in so humiliating a fashion.

"I love you," she said, feeling as if it were a confession. "I wish only what is best for you, can't you see?"

"You want me to fill a prescribed mold, one to your exact specifications. Not once have you asked me what I want."

"It's not I. I'm sorry you were born with obligations you detest, but they are yours, nonetheless. You head a large family that looks to you for direction. What of them?"

"Mother, I cannot think of a single individual who could not survive without me leading the way. But Catherine needs me and, I might add, so does my daughter." His eyes glinted menacingly. "Did you call my child bastard?"

She believed it a testament to her courage that she did not crumple on the spot. Squaring her shoulders, she looked her son directly in the face and boldly met the question.

"She is the offspring of parents who are not married to one another. The term is correct."

"Indeed?" he asked in an awful voice. "It also indicates a careless attitude. What do you think? I litter the countryside with my illegitimate children just for the pleasure of it? My child was made in love, and I want her as I want her mother."

"But Adam..." The countess fairly wrung her hands. "How can it be?"

"I'm going to convince the baron to divorce his wife."

She gasped aloud. "She will never be received anywhere, and your lot will not be much better than hers."

"Be that as it may, I intend to marry Catherine and legitimize my daughter if it is the last thing I do. And be forewarned, Mother, I will brook no more interference. If I so much as catch a breath of your scheming, I'll send you to the dower house at Ashworth Hall, and you'll never see another sunrise in your beloved London. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Adam," she returned stoically, "I understand that you are hell-bent on destroying yourself, and there is little I can do to stop you. So be it."

Adam pushed back his chair and rose from the table. "Remember, Mother, love cannot stifle nor can it dictate. Either of those circumstances will turn a tender feeling into something ugly. We have much to overcome, you and I. It is an altogether good thing we have a lifetime to work on it."

Lady Ashworth waited until the brisk footsteps of her only son died away into the depths of the quiet mansion before continuing to sip her tea. If her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly as she lifted the cup to her mouth, who was to see?

*****

Adam brought his mount to a halt on a small rise as he took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the panoramic scene before him. He had been on Lord Eddington's estate for the better part of an hour, and only now had the main house come into view. Trimmed hedges and a neatly clipped lawn surrounded a lovely Georgian manor home dating from early in the previous century.

The structure appeared to be undergoing an extensive renovation, for there was a flurry of activity on the grounds as busy workmen bustled to and fro. Scaffolding clung to the outer wall of the east wing to expedite repairs on the brick of the second and third stories, and liberal doses of paint were being applied to all the external woodwork.

The earl kicked his horse and descended the slope, entering the front yard by way of the drive. Dismounting, he handed the reins of his horse to a young boy who appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Adam approached the entrance.

An ancient butler, bent nearly double with age, opened the door. "Now then, whom do we have here?" he fairly shouted as he gawked blindly at the caller.

Adam hid a smile as he handed the man his card. "I would like to speak with your master."

The servant squinted at the card, moving it up and down in a clear effort to find that one precise place where his cloudy vision still focused. He must have succeeded for he gave a satisfied grunt and allowed the visitor to enter.

"Wait here," he said cordially though continuing to speak in a very loud voice.

Adam stepped into the hall, and the smell of paint filled his nostrils. Obviously, the repair work was not restricted to outside the structure. He glanced around the entry and was surprised by the lack of furnishings. No pictures graced the walls, and a hole gaped in the ceiling over his head where once a chandelier had hung. Odd for an established household to discard everything when starting anew.

Adam had only a brief wait. The butler returned, ushering him into the study. As in the entry, everywhere Adam looked the house had been stripped bare. The study did contain a few pieces of shabby furniture, including a much-abused desk, but aside from that there was nothing, nothing at all.

A muffled footstep brought the earl's head around, and he looked into a face so like Catherine's, he gawked in amazement.

"Good Lord, you do resemble your sister." The words were blurted before he could stop himself.

A tall, blonde man approached the earl, his handsome features alight with interest. He offered a firm handshake.

"You must be referring to Catherine. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Ashworth. I'm Jeffery Traynor, Catherine's brother. Please, have a seat." He indicated a chair facing the desk. "Would you care for some refreshment?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I apologize for dropping in without warning, but a problem arose rather suddenly and it necessitated immediate action."

Jeffery nodded agreeably as he settled his slim frame into the chair behind the desk. "I hope it is nothing serious?"

"I'll let you be the judge of that," Adam hedged. "To be frank, it's a delicate matter and you may wish to put a gun to my head after I've told you everything."

"Your words are not reassuring, sir," Jeffery said, looking doubtful. "Perhaps you had best explain."

Adam, now in the position of having to do that, felt awkward. This young man might feel honor bound to avenge the corruption of his sister. Of course, that was not how Adam perceived the situation, but then he was not looking from the perspective of an outraged brother.

"I'm here because of Catherine."

"Yes?" was all Jeffery said, but his attitude became discernibly cooler.

"This is harder than I thought it would be." Adam shifted in his seat then leaned forward, hoping his expression conveyed his sincerity. "I'm in love with Catherine," he blurted.

"Are you, by God!"

Now that he had gone this far, the earl continued before his courage failed him. "I believe she leads an unhappy life with an unstable husband and would be better served if I took her away from that wretched existence." When Jeffery did not answer, Adam rushed on. "I'm not asking, mind. I'm going to do this thing with or without your consent. But I thought I ought to let Catherine's family know what my plans are."

"Can you do it quietly?"

"Excuse me?"

"It would be nice if you could minimize the scandal, although," Jeffery said as he shrugged, "I've learned there are worse things than a few wagging tongues."

The earl brightened hopefully. "Do I understand you correctly? You will not oppose me?"

"I've spent eight of the longest years of my life regretting that I did not step forward and do something to prevent my sister from sacrificing herself to that man. If there is the slightest chance she could find happiness, I will not stand in her way."

"What of your father? I had been told he was instrumental in forcing the marriage in the first place."

"We buried my father three weeks ago," Jeffery said without emotion. "He can no longer influence our lives."

"I'm sorry—I had no idea."

The new Lord Eddington leaned back in his chair and, clasping his hands behind his head, pursed his lips before sending his guest an assessing glance. "The death of my father is a blessing. He won't be missed, sad to say. Look about this house. Do you see anything odd?"

"It's being redone, it appears," Adam said slowly.

"But there is nothing in it." Jeffery's voice rose as he stated the obvious. "My father sold everything he could lay his hands on, everything—pictures, furniture, family heirlooms, all gone. When he ran out of things to sell, he sold my sister."

"I was aware Lord Bourgeault paid a marriage settlement."

"Yes, a monstrous sum," Jeffery agreed. "That's gone as well. Fortunately, my mother had her own monies which she left to me, or I would have to sell my home instead of restoring it."

"Have you kept in contact with Catherine?"

"I've tried repeatedly, but the baron has isolated her from anyone who might have influence over her."

"So you are not aware of how things are with her?"

Lord Eddington shook his head. "I would be grateful if you would tell me."

"Several weeks ago Catherine made you an uncle."

Jeffery beamed. "By Jove, that's jolly good news!"

"The child is mine," Adam announced baldly.

The smile slipped from Jeffery's face. "This relationship has progressed beyond the bounds of propriety. Catherine cares as strongly for you as you do for her?"

"Last year she told me she loved me. I've not seen her in months, but I have been assured by someone who has spoken to her recently that her feelings have not changed."

"Does she know you are coming for her?"

"As far as I know, she is unsuspecting," Adam said.

"Do you have a plan? Surely, you don't propose to dash in, snatch her and the baby from the baron's clutches and simply ride away," Jeffery said. "It's tempting and quite dramatic but not at all practical."

Adam laughed. "And put that way it sounds foolish. Actually, I had hoped to convince Lord Bourgeault to divorce Catherine—you know, infidelity and all that."

Jeffery breathed heavily. "There goes any hope of doing the thing quietly."

"What else is there?" the earl said, frustrated. "If the baron conveniently died, that would be the easiest solution. Should I smother him in his sleep?"

Lord Eddington perked up. "Well now, I like the sound of that. I'd be happy to lend a hand if you've a mind to do it."

The two men stared at one another in silence before they both broke into amused laughter.

"Perhaps I will take that drink." Adam chortled as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Could use a little something myself." Jeffery reached for the brandy decanter. Having done the honors, he leaned back in his chair once more, watching the earl and sipping his brandy.

"This has come as a shock, hasn't it?" the earl asked.

Jeffery did not respond at first. Finally, he said, "Since my father died, I had decided to fetch Catherine home. And frankly, I didn't care how I accomplished it. If I thought it were best for her to stay with her husband, I would load that gun you mentioned. I might as well be honest with you—as favorable as my first impression is, I take nothing for granted. When you leave here I'll be sending my agent to London to verify your claims. My sister has suffered enough, and I will fight the very devil himself before I'll allow her to be hurt again."

Adam lifted his glass in salute to the man on the other side of the desk, and his eyes narrowed in appreciation. "I believe, Eddington, you and I will be fast friends in the years to come. For you see, we both have a goal in common. Catherine's happiness is my ambition. Nothing else matters."

*****

"It's my best room, my lord. I hope it will do."

The earl looked around the tiny space and indicated his satisfaction. "This is fine. I don't know how long I will need it, but I will pay for the next sennight. Agreed?"

He reached into his purse and extracted the necessary coins needed to seal the bargain. The innkeeper eagerly took the money and walked through the door backwards, bowing as he went.

Adam removed his coat and tossed it on the one chair in the room. He studied the small cot against the wall, tempted. He was weary.

Last evening Lord Eddington had invited the earl to dinner and to stay overnight. Thus he had spent a congenial few hours getting to know the man he hoped would eventually be his brother-in-law.

He spent a restive night and bid his host adieu after an early morning breakfast. Before leaving he gave a letter of introduction to Jeffery. "Have your agent present this wherever he goes. I promise he will be treated well, and hopefully the news he brings back will be to your satisfaction." And then Adam had begun the grueling trip to Bath.

Now it was late evening, and he found himself ensconced in a tiny room in a tiny inn only a few miles from the baron's castle. As tired as he was, he was nervous, for tomorrow he would attempt to see Catherine. He still did not know how to approach the baron, and he had few illusions the man would simply step aside. They would have to prepare for the worst in the event Bourgeault chose not to grant Catherine her freedom.

He shook his head irritably, as he didn't want to think about that. Much more agreeable to imagine his first words with Catherine. He wanted to hold her and tell her he loved her and beg forgiveness for his lack of understanding. He wanted to see his daughter. What was her name, anyway? In all the excitement he had forgotten to ask, and now the not knowing made him daft.

Maybe a warm meal and a tankard of ale would smooth the rough edges. He ambled down the stairs to the dining area, where more drinking than eating was going on, and proceeded to sup adequately on boiled beef and potatoes.

"What say, gov'nor?"

Adam glanced to his left to a nearby table and met the curious stare of a very common fellow, indeed.

The earl grinned. "Whiling away an evening, my friend."

"Are you one of them gents what goes up to the castle?"

"I intend to visit there tomorrow," Adam said slowly.

"You be careful, hear? The baron, he's touched in his upper works. Somethin' mighty wrong wif him—everybody says so."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Not rightly sure. But he's married to an angel—most beautiful woman you ever did see. Few weeks back she made 'im a papa—don't nobody think it's his."

"Why is that?" Adam hated the gossip, but he felt compelled to listen.

The man shrugged. "Don't know. Some say the devil shriveled his member."

"I see. Well...ah, thank you. I'll certainly heed your warning."

Adam turned back to his ale, smiling to himself. Daniel was right. It wouldn't be difficult to find individuals willing to testify against the baron. The thought was cheery enough to send him up the stairs to a good night's sleep.

*****

CHAPTER 12

The hour was just past dawn, but the light filtering through the dusty window gave promise of a glorious morning. This was Catherine's favorite time of the day. She had taken to retiring early and rising early as the baron could be counted on to do neither of those things. This reduced the amount of time she spent in his company, and lately that had become very important.

Edgar was on a rampage. For the first time in her marriage, she had begun to fear for her physical safety. That troubled her not nearly as much as her concern for Annabelle. Edgar's veiled threats had become more specific, and she believed it might be necessary to spirit the baby away.

Catherine could see a tremendous deterioration in the baron's mental state. Perhaps his condition would stabilize if he would stop drinking, but that seemed unlikely. Two nights prior he'd had a frightful fit, trembling from head to foot and screaming about demons and the like. She knew everyone who had witnessed the scene had been horrified.

During her pregnancy Edgar had shown more restraint, going out of his way to appear congenial and solicitous. If he drank to excess, he spared her the results of his overindulgence. The birth of Annabelle had changed all that. Catherine hated to admit it, for she loved her child dearly, but it would have been far easier had the baby been born a boy.

The baron's temperamental outbursts had been frequent over the last weeks, but the situation had not come to a head until the appearance of Lord Wimberly a few days earlier. Catherine had done as Daniel had advised and lied to her husband. Foolishly, she had thought Edgar would be pleased.

Again, just as when he had confronted her about her affair with Adam, she sensed his outrage. He demanded she take a lover, and then despised her for doing that very thing. She suspected he was of two very different minds—determined to accomplish his goal, but in an agony of despair over what he must give up to reach it. She could almost have pitied him if he had not made her the recipient of his misplaced anger.

She thought of Daniel's kindness to her. She hoped he meant what he said when he promised to come back, for she was hoping Lord Wimberly would help her if she decided to leave. She hardly dared wonder if he had spoken to Adam. She had asked him not to, but the viscount had made no promises.

Having completed her ablutions, Catherine stepped into the corridor. Her first order of business this morning and every morning was a visit to her daughter. Knowing that child resided in the nursery at the end of the hall brought her a joy almost painful in its intensity. A dreamy smile spread across her face in anticipation.

"Dear wife, where are you going this bright and early day?"

Catherine groaned inwardly. Edgar stood at the door to his chamber, a wearing a sloppy grin. Drunk. Why was he awake? He look horrible, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, and a strong odor emanated from his filthy body. She knew he was wearing the same clothing he had worn for days. She wished she could walk past him and pretend he did not exist.

"I thought I'd have my morning meal and then take a ride," she said. She made no reference to seeing the baby because mention of Annabelle invariably caused him irritation.

"Where do you ride?" he asked, staring at her through suspicious eyes.

"I don't know. I just wanted to bask in the sunshine." She tried to sidle passed him, hoping he would let her continue on her way.

"Perhaps I'll join you."

Damn him, she thought. How could anyone so drunk be so calculating? Now she would have to avoid the nursery altogether. He knew what he was doing. She knew he did.

"You are, of course, free to do as you please," she managed calmly as he finally allowed her to pass.

But the baron's perverse nature would not let her escape so easily. He trudged behind her to the dining hall, his unsure steps a constant reminder of his despised presence. Catherine ignored him as she poured herself tea, took toast from the sideboard and sat down. Edgar shuffled to the sideboard also and put an obscene helping on his plate before joining her.

He plowed into his food, eating so quickly she wondered how he had time to taste his meal as it moved from his mouth to his gullet. He seemed oblivious to his own disgusting manners, gobbling mindlessly as remnants of his breakfast dribbled from the corner of his mouth, down his chin and onto his shirt.

He glanced at his wife who stared at him in appalled silence, and he gave her a food-filled grin. "Good, ain't it?" he said pleasantly, and then his efforts continued unabated until his dish was eaten clean. He stood from the table, refilled his plate and, sitting down, repeated the process from start to finish.

By this time Catherine was so completely disgusted, she could not even contemplate tasting her toast. She took a sip of tea, hoping to clear the bile that had gathered in her throat.

"Not hungry?" he asked innocently, although she could see he watched her more closely now.

"It would seem not."

She spoke carefully as she became aware of the shift in his mood. Her nervousness escalated in response. His bleary vision had sharpened keenly, and she realized he was not as drunk as he had appeared. Perhaps the meal had sobered him somewhat.

"Are you pregnant?"

The question came like a shot out of nowhere, and Catherine jumped as if the imaginary bullet had found its mark. She took her courage in hand and answered him.

"Since Lord Wimberly left here only days ago, it's too soon to tell. But then, you knew that didn't you, Edgar?"

"You don't take easily, do you?" he asked in a snide voice.

"It's not as simple as it would seem. It either happens or it does not. It's not my fault regardless of the effort."

"No, suppose it's not." He sighed heavily, and for a moment he seemed almost reasonable. He brought his moody gaze to her face. "Get me the brandy."

"Edgar, don't you—?"

"Get me the bloody brandy!" he bellowed.

What difference did it make anyway if he poured more of that poison down his throat? Maybe he would finally go to sleep, and she could go see Annabelle. She retrieved the decanter and placed it before him. Without benefit of glass, he raised the heavy crystal container to his mouth and took a deep swallow.

Catherine stood uncertainly to one side of the table, wondering whether it was prudent to leave. He had not dismissed her, but he seemed to have forgotten her presence.

The baron glanced at his wife. "Sit down."

She thought to argue but squelched the whim as unproductive. She took her seat once more.

"I admit I don't know how to accomplish my aim." His words had already begun to slur again. "How am I to do it?"

"Lord Wimberly has promised to come back, Edgar."

"I don't want you to see him anymore," he barked drunkenly, spittle forming on his loose lips.

"Why, oh why, Edgar? I like him. It makes it easier."

"That's the very reason—you like him."

He drank the liquor as though it were water, one slug after the other, until he was reeling in his chair. He tried to speak again, but the words were unintelligible.

Catherine sat quietly, hands folded in her lap and watched her husband not figuratively but literally drink himself under the table. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slipped from his chair, bringing the brandy decanter crashing down beside him. Luckily, it did not break. The whole process could not have taken more than twenty minutes. She picked up the bell next to her plate.

Robby appeared in the doorway. "Yes, my lady?"

"Your master requires some assistance in attaining his room. I would like you to get Willy and see what can be done."

Moments later the baron's servant entered the dining hall.

"We'd best leave him where he lies, my lady." Clearly worried, his gaze darted to his master. "If he should find out we touched him there will be the devil to pay."

"It's simple, Willy," Catherine said smoothly. "Tell him he attained his chamber under his own power. He'll never be able to prove differently." Try as she might, she could not keep the contempt out of her voice.

She rose from the table and left the two servants with an unenviable task. Upstairs, she rang for her maid.

"Edna, I've come to a decision."

"My lady?"

"We have to leave. I can't wait in the hope that Lord Wimberly will return. I'm afraid for Annabelle."

Edna stared at her mistress, wide-eyed. "How do we do it?"

"We can't take much with us, that's for certain. Do you think your young Robby will help us?"

The servant blushed. "He's not my Robby—" she began.

"Do you think he will help?" Catherine asked impatiently.

"Yes, my lady, I do."

"Pack a few things and be ready at a moment's notice. It may take a day or two before we can leave without being accosted, but my husband is drinking heavily again and it's only a matter time. While he is in one of his stupors is the time to leave, though I want to be certain he will be unconscious for more than a few hours. Willy on his own can do little to stop us, and I don't think Edgar has any other servants he can fully trust."

"Where are we to go, my lady?" Edna asked in a small voice.

"Home, Edna—back to Eddington. If my father won't help me, I know my brother will. And now I think I'll visit Annabelle. After that I'm going to take that ride I promised myself."

*****

Catherine breathed deeply of the scented air. Stepping into the bright light from the dankness of the castle, the warmth of the sun flowed over her body like a soothing cloak.

She had no idea why she felt so euphoric. She had seen Annabelle and that was cause for celebration, but it was more than seeing her child. Edgar lay in a drunken slumber in his upstairs bedroom, however, that knowledge only produced relief. Perhaps just making a decision was what she needed, for she had come to believe her world would finally be righted. Whatever the reason, she basked in the glow of optimism.

She crossed the yard in a near-skip and entered the stables. "Mr. Brown," she called to the old groom.

Brown materialized from the gloom of the building, a furtive expression on his deeply lined features. "My lady?"

"I'd like you to saddle my mare. This is too beautiful a day to waste on the indoors."

"Yes, my lady."

The groom set about doing as he was bid, and quickly her horse was ready. He led the animal into the yard and assisted his mistress in mounting.

Catherine smiled down at him cheerily. "I won't be overlong, Mr. Brown," she said, as she turned her mount.

"Ah...my lady?" the groom ventured in a tentative voice. "Would you be willing to share your direction with me?"

"Don't worry." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm just going for a short ride." Catherine urged her mount forward, kicking up a hailstorm of tiny pebbles as she galloped from the stable yard.

As she disappeared from sight Brown returned to the stable, muttering to himself.

*****

"Is she gone?"

"Aye, but she wouldn't tell me where she was going," Brown said. "I'm sorry, my lord."

"Nonsense, I know exactly where she's headed." The Earl of Ashworth stepped out of the shadows of the stable into the light and, in the greatest good humor, clapped the servant on the shoulder. "What luck she has decided to leave the house today."

The groom did not smile. "I'm glad you've come, my lord," he said simply.

Adam sobered. "I've been a fool, Brown, but no longer. Thank you for watching over her until I came to my senses."

The old man did grin then. "My pleasure, my lord."

Adam nodded, but his confidence was tempered with a healthy dose of caution. Before he became too cocky, he had better talk to Catherine. And presently that exceptional lady rode forth, increasing the distance between the earl and herself with every passing second. And he still had to retrieve his horse hidden behind a small outcropping a couple hundred yards from the castle.

The earl eased out of the building and dashed across the yard. He prayed his movements went undetected by anyone who might not wish him well. Although, if Brown were an accurate example of the prevailing attitude among most of the inhabitants of the castle, Adam was in no danger of being exposed.

He reached his horse without incident and mounted quickly. His first inclination was to dash after Catherine as fast as his steed could carry him, but on reflection he decided to trail after her at a more judicious pace. He followed the path he knew she had taken, using the short ride to collect his thoughts.

His heart was racing with such expectation, he wondered if the muscle intended to fail him altogether. Hope is a bewitching emotion, he realized, leading one on with outrageous promises of better things to come, and he could not quite grasp the notion that his fondest desire was finally within reach. If only Catherine would forgive him for his obtuseness, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. Strangely, he had stopped considering the baron an obstacle to his happiness.

Adam broke into the now familiar glen, his eyes scanning the area for signs of Catherine. Had he been mistaken? No, there she sat, perched on a smooth rock at the edge of the tiny brook that flowed through the clearing. She had pulled her skirt to her knees and was dangling her long, slim legs over the bank as she teased the water with the tips of her bare toes.

She was humming as she was prone to do when she thought herself alone, and his heart turned over in his breast. He stared at her, overcome with desire and something more, something so soul-stirring he did not comprehend until that moment how much he had missed her. He should have known, for these last months had been hellish. It was disquieting to admit such vulnerability, and Adam felt as uncomfortable as any man forced to acknowledge so strong a dependence on another human being.

Whether Catherine heard him or merely sensed his nearness, he could not tell, but suddenly she turned her head and looked directly at him. She seemed neither surprised nor disconcerted to see him standing there watching her. She eased around on the rock, pulling her skirt over her damp limbs.

"You spoke to Daniel," she said after several tense seconds.

"Yes," he admitted.

"You did not have to rush to my aid, Adam. I've made some decisions. Edgar is deteriorating and I'm going to leave him."

How could she sound so detached when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and hold on with all his might?

"You need my help, Catherine, whether you admit it or not."

"I need more than that, my lord."

Her words wavered softly across the still air of the copse, and for a moment he did not know if he had heard her correctly.

Adam closed the distance that separated them in an instant, coming to rest on his knees next to her where she sat on the rock. He gathered her roughly into his embrace, and he heard the air squeeze from her chest.

"Why did you send me from you?" he asked in a tortured voice, his mouth pressed against her throat. "Why?"

"It was the hardest thing I've ever done, I swear." She gasped, sounding as though she fought for her breath. "I thought it best for you."

He pulled back to look at her. "Didn't you think I had the right to choose for myself?"

"I was so frightened and confused—can you forgive me?"

Adam was ashamed. He had come to plead with her, hoping she would give him another chance, and instead she was apologizing.

"My love, it is I who should be begging pardon, not you. I should have realized something was wrong, but I allowed the lies to turn my head. I should have trusted you."

"I'm grateful to Lord Wimberly, though I asked him not to involve you. If it weren't for him you would not be here."

"What did you do to him?" he asked severely. "He came after me like a knight on a white charger. Said either I must see to the situation or he would do it himself."

"Then he did mean to keep his promise."

She smiled so prettily he felt his irritation rise.

"Indeed he did. I think the man's half in love with you. It was disheartening to hear that the woman I adore had tossed herself into the arms of my closest friend."

Catherine blushed. "He told you that, did he? Luckily, love does not happen after only one kiss—that is unless one is meant to fall in love as I did with you."

He was only somewhat mollified. "I'm relieved to hear it."

"I admit, though, it wasn't an altogether unpleasant experience," she said on a throaty laugh.

"What?" he thundered, his brows lowering ominously.

"I pretended he was you."

"Did you, by God!" he ground out and suddenly aroused pulled her from the rock to the soft ground, rolling her on her back and covering her with his body. He lowered his face until his nose touched hers.

"Then there won't be any more need for pretense, will there?" he said.

He covered her mouth with such intensity his senses went reeling. Lifting his head, his respiration came in ragged gasps. Now was not soon enough. He wanted to assuage the desire, but he detected a sudden hesitation in her.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked huskily.

"Edgar's man witnessed our last encounter here. I find the possibility of it happening again too appalling to ignore."

"Bourgeault told you that?"

"Yes. He ruined a beautiful memory for me. I think that was his aim."

Adam rolled off her into a sitting position. "Bloody hell!" he blurted in frustration. Running his hands through his hair, he tried to control his rampaging emotions. He bent his legs, resting his forearms on his knees as he surveyed the surrounding woodland.

His gaze returned to Catherine where she still lay on the spongy ground. She watched him, a dreamy expression on her beautiful face. Her eyelids were heavy with desire and her lips were curled in a sweet, alluring smile.

His groin tightened in response. "If you don't stop looking at me like a temptress, I will not be responsible for the consequences. There might be an army of spies lurking among the trees, and I won't be able to resist."

She sat up, linking their arms together and placed her head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here," she said. "I fear I will ruin your life, but I haven't the courage to send you away."

"It's too late for that, my love. We are committed to the end." He placed a reassuring kiss on her forehead.

"What are we to do?"

"You really were going to leave?" he asked.

"I told Edna to be ready at any time."

He sighed. "I've come to the conclusion that running away is the avenue of last resort, so we must meet the problem head on. I intend to speak to your husband as soon as possible."

"What good will that do, Adam?"

He turned to look at her, "Your marriage was never consummated, was it?"

"No, it wasn't," Catherine whispered, and she dropped her gaze, clearly embarrassed.

He placed his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "It's not exactly your fault, is it? As for myself, I find the idea of your virginity excruciatingly agreeable. I admit the sentiment is not very noble, but I can't seem to help myself. Let's not question what I consider a gift, what say?"

She nodded and sent him a smile of gratitude.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked her gently.

"I was afraid you would think yourself responsible for me. It wasn't fair to you."

Adam winced. "You make me feel very humble, love." He paused for a moment then continued. "There might be an added benefit, however."

"How so?"

"If I can't convince the baron to divorce you, perhaps we can force his hand by threatening to reveal the true nature of your marriage."

"But that will cause an awful scandal. You will be ruined. I can't allow you to do that. There must be another way."

"If there is, I haven't thought of it," he said in resignation. "We're just going to have to bear up under the weight of society's censure. Frankly, I don't give a damn what anyone thinks anymore. I'm more concerned with the effect it will have on you."

Catherine shook her head. "I don't matter—it's Annabelle who is my main worry."

Adam grabbed hold of her arm. "Is that my daughter?"

"Daniel didn't tell you about Annabelle?"

"He did, but I was so busy trying to absorb everything, I forgot to ask her name," he admitted. He smiled. "I like it."

"You don't mind...about the baby, I mean?"

"Absolutely not. But I feel cheated out of this last year. I wish I'd been there for you."

They had both been cheated out of the wonder of starting their young family together. At least, he was here for her now, he thought, and she could take comfort in knowing she no longer had to face this thing alone.

Catherine and Adam mounted their horses for the return journey to the castle. They had spent some time discussing how best to approach the baron but, no matter what the strategy, they could not predict how the man would react once they cornered him. The only thing of which they could be certain was that they had a fight on their hands.

*****

Brown beamed at the couple a short while later as they entered the stable yard and climbed down from their horses.

"I see you found her, my lord." Brown winked at the earl meaningfully.

"Brown and I have been working closely together on a matter of grave importance." Adam's words were directed at Catherine.

"And what might that be?" she asked.

He grinned. "Why you, of course."

A soothing warmth settled around Catherine's heart. "Thank you, Mr. Brown," she said. "It's good to know you have been watching over Annabelle and me. I realize now that even when I thought myself alone, I was not."

The old servant nodded solemnly.

She took the earl's arm and they proceeded around the castle to the front entrance. As they reached the step, the door was flung open. Willy Gant stood on the threshold, glowering.

"What's he doing here?" He pointed at the earl.

"Lord Ashworth has come to speak to my husband, Willy. Let us pass, please."

"No!" Willy yelled. "You make him leave—the baron won't talk to the likes o' him."

The earl strode up to the little man and grasped him by the collar. With a strength clearly born of anger, he lifted the servant off the ground.

"Now you listen carefully," Adam said through gritted teeth, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "I have business with your master, and you're going to shut your trap and let me get on with it. Do you hear?"

Willy, whose eyes had grown quite large, nodded as best he could considering the trussed up condition of his neck.

The earl loosened his hold, and the servant dropped like a sack of grain onto the stone floor. Adam held out his hand to Catherine and guided her gingerly around the fallen man.

"He's still asleep," Willy whined in a hoarse voice as he scrambled to his feet. "He may not wake for hours—maybe days."

"I have nothing but time," Adam said coolly. "Come, my dear, this is a good opportunity for me to make the acquaintance of my daughter."

Catherine could have hooted aloud in delight. To see that nasty little beast receive his richly deserved comeuppance was more gratifying than she could have thought possible. Willy Gant had done his part to make her life miserable, and for a few guilty moments she allowed herself to wallow in the sinful pleasure of revenge.

She led the way up the stairs, with Adam following closely behind her. They entered the nursery and the nurse, casting a surprised glance at the gentleman accompanying her mistress, quickly exited the room. Catherine reached down into the baby bed and scooped up the sleeping infant.

"Give her to me," the child's sire demanded.

The Earl of Ashworth gripped his baby daughter around her chubby middle and held her up as he studied her. Annabelle's black-lashed lids fluttered open, revealing an enormous pair of midnight blue eyes from which she gazed at her father, tiny pink features mirroring exactly his searching attitude. Evidently satisfied the man was a benign entity, the baby stuck her fist in her mouth and burbled at him.

Adam turned to Catherine, his expression transformed with wonder. He broke into a boyish grin. "I believe she has the look of me," he said.

Catherine nodded, all at once unable to speak through the emotion that tightened her throat. Somehow she had known today held something wonderful, but never could she have imagined being witness to this miraculous event. She was so overcome with thankfulness, she feared her heart would burst from her chest.

A sound outside the room brought their heads around. Edgar stood in the doorway, and by the look of him he sported an ugly mood.

"You're not welcome here!" he shouted. "Get out of my house before I run you through." He wielded a broadsword, manner threatening, although he was unsteady on his feet.

Adam thrust his daughter at Catherine. "Stay back," he ordered as he moved forward, stepping in front of the baby and her. To the baron he said, "I've merely come to talk, Bourgeault. No harm in that."

"There's nothing to talk about—you trespass."

"All right, but you can't expect me to leave with you standing there waving that sword in my face. I want you to back away and let me pass."

"You will go?"

"Yes."

Edgar withdrew from the room and sidled down the hall, keeping a wary if bloodshot eye on his opponent who followed at a discreet distance. He continued to hold his sword in readiness until he came abreast of the staircase. He pointed the weapon at the stairs, his way of showing the earl how to find the front door. Crudely done but his meaning was plain.

Adam placed his foot on the first downward step before turning to look at the baron. "You do understand, Bourgeault, this is not the end of it. I can't allow things to go on as they have."

"The devil you say! Just what do you think you can do to change them?"

"For one thing, I intend to claim my daughter."

"You want the brat? She's yours," Edgar sneered. "I have no use for her."

"That does put one problem to rest, I admit, but you don't really expect me to leave Catherine with you, do you?"

"She's my wife!"

Adam raised his brows as though considering the point. "I would have to differ with you on that score, Bourgeault. Any man who would call a woman wife must surely have intimate knowledge of that woman."

The baron froze. "What are you saying?"

"It's obvious isn't it? You have never made love to your wife. You have a phobia that precludes that. Personally, I find that revelation very pleasing, but the important issue is whether or not your marriage is truly a marriage. I think it is not. I feel certain there are those who would agree with me."

"Catherine told you that. You cannot prove anything," Edgar blustered.

"Come, come, Bourgeault, I can find any number of people to testify about your problem. In addition, I will publicly swear she was untouched when I first made love to her and that in the seventh year of her marriage to you. Do you want this? I know I would prefer to do it another way."

Edgar did not respond at first, for he obviously dealt with a fury so intense his body began to tremble. "What do you suggest?" he asked when he seemed able to bring forth the words.

"Divorce Catherine," Adam said. "We can't avoid a scandal, but you can come through it nearly unscathed if you put the blame on her—infidelity, don't you see?"

"Do you think I care for that? I've lived through talk before. I'll live through it again."

The earl shrugged. "As you wish. I merely thought to spare your pride. Married to a woman most men would give their right arm to possess, and you can't bear to touch her." He shook his head as though he pondered the unfathomable.

Sweat beaded on the baron's upper lip, and undoubtedly the effort to stand had become an ordeal. "What would you know of it? Do you think I've not wanted her? I still have hopes."

"You're too old," Adam stated baldly. "She deserves better than an aging, impotent bastard. Do you really believe Catherine wants you to get better? She'd have to be a fool."

Catherine, watching from the doorway, gasped at the plain speaking, for she knew this insult was the ultimate blow to her husband's disintegrating vanity.

Edgar bellowed, an expletive rolling off his tongue as he lunged forward, intent it seemed on skewering the earl on the tip of his sword. Adam jumped back up on the landing, dodging the blade and kicking his adversary's wrist. The sword flew down the stairs.

"By God, you'll fight me like a man," the earl snarled, and he advanced on the baron.

An irrational fear contorted Edgar's features. "Don't touch me!" he shrieked.

He fell back, arms flailing. The baroness, having followed the men onto the landing, could see what was to come next. But she felt helpless to intervene, for it seemed as if the world around her had slowed to a near stop and she with it. A scream rose in her throat as she saw her husband lose his balance and flip over the banister.

The only thing keeping Edgar from falling was that he had managed to catch hold of one of the balusters in the railing. He clung with his right hand while clawing frantically with his left in an effort to grab another baluster. Even had he been successful, he would never have had the strength to pull himself up and over the banister. Adam ran to the edge of the landing and leaned over the railing.

"Give me your hand, man!"

The baron stopped struggling as he looked at the earl's outstretched hand, and suddenly his gaze lost its focus. Then he exchanged a brief glance with the earl, and in that poignant moment Catherine read the message in her husband's eyes. Below was oblivion and it beckoned, promising to provide the final relief. The cards had been played, the score tallied and someone else had won. Edgar loosened his hold and silently plunged to the ancient floor of the great hall below.

There came a sickening thwack as flesh and bone made contact with the unyielding stone. Although a considerable drop, the fall need not have been fatal save for the unfortunate fact that the baron landed on his back. He might have forestalled that as well had he made an effort to break his fall in some way, but it seemed he had given up the fight.

Catherine relinquished Annabelle to the nursemaid, who had materialized from the shadows, and came to stand at the head of the staircase, horrified by what had just occurred. She raced down the stairs to her husband's side, skinning her knees as she fell to the floor beside him.

"Edgar," she cried, "I didn't want this to happen."

She went to touch his face, and even in his agony he flinched away from her.

"No," he moaned.

"Won't you let me offer you comfort even now, Edgar?" Tears of remorse gathered at the edges of her eyes and slipped unheeded down her cheeks.

"If I could not take a hand to save my very life, how can your touch comfort me now?" He gasped the words slowly, one at a time.

Catherine could think of no response, for in the end his affliction would finish his wretched existence.

An eerie rattling began in his chest, and a trickle of blood bubbled on his lip, oozing from the corner of his mouth. He turned sightless eyes on his wife, clearly aware of her although she believed he could no longer see.

"I did love you," he croaked faintly, his voice as frail and brittle as old tissue paper.

Then he was gone, and with him went the demons that had plagued his so mercilessly.

His wife put her face in her hands and wept for the pathetic person who had passed into another world. She did not love him, never had. Her grief did not stem from the loss of someone dear, but for the futility of the baron's unnatural life. To exit this world leaving no one who cared was an utter tragedy.

She watched as Robby and another footman removed the body, and she was overcome by the irony of the situation. Now, only in death would Edgar have the warmth of human touch, and he would never know. More's the pity.

*****

Tender hands lifted Catherine from the cold floor, and she looked into Adam's face.

"Come, my love," he said gently, "there's nothing more you can do." He whisked her up into his arms and moved to the stairs. "Where's your lady's room?" he asked Edna Fielding, who stood nearby.

The maid led the way and Adam strode behind her, clutching his precious load. "Thank you," he said in dismissal as he entered the chamber and kicked the heavy door into place.

Adam set Catherine on her feet. The tears had ended, but she appeared to be in a state of shock. With unsteady fingers he undid the hooks on the front of her gown, easing the garment from her shoulders. She wore only a shift and he tried not to notice her shapely limbs as they came into view, for this was not the time to suggest lovemaking.

He refrained because of her sensibilities, not his own. In Adam's estimation, with the baron's death they had cleared their greatest hurdle. He would have been a hypocrite to pretend otherwise, and he had no intention of doing that.

And gone was the sense of urgency that had always accompanied their relationship. She was his now—nothing stood in his way. He would wait for a more appropriate opportunity. He still had not spoken of her father's death, but with all that had happened this night, he could not bring himself to mention that just yet, either.

He escorted her to the bed, and she followed without demurring as he helped her climb between the crisp, cool sheets. He supposed if he did what he ought, he would leave her to sleep. Certainly, for appearance's sake he knew it was the thing to do, but it simply did not seem to matter. He disrobed down to his skin and joined her beneath the covers.

Adam drew her into his arms, and she nestled her soft body into his embrace. Already Catherine slept, for he could feel the gentle, warm puffs of her even breathing on his throat. Certain this intimacy would never allow him to rest, he closed his eyes, prepared to play the martyr. Within moments he was unconscious.

*****

A rising cloud of dust in the distance alerted Catherine to the impending arrival of her company. She stood at the entrance to the castle, waiting for her visitor. Her stomach was knotted with apprehension, and it dropped in panic as a horse-drawn vehicle rounded the lane and came into sight. Why, oh why had Adam chosen today to talk to the magistrate? She wished he were here to help her get through this frightful meeting.

The carriage came to a stop at the base of the walk on the circular drive, and the coachman leapt down from his perch to open the door for the lone passenger. Catherine pressed the front of her skirt with nervous fingers and forced a smile of welcome.

She stepped forward with the intention of offering her hand but when the gentleman straightened and looked at her, she screamed in terror and fell back from him. Edgar! But that's impossible—Edgar was dead.

"Are you all right?" the man with Edgar's features asked, concern furrowing his brow.

"Who are you?" she implored, stricken.

"Why, I'm Edward Bourgeault. Oh, I see," he said, his eyes lighting with understanding. "My brother did not tell you we were twins. This must be rather shocking."

Understatement that, she thought. She felt as though she had been dropped off the side of a cliff.

"I'll recover," Catherine said as she drew in a shaky breath. "Won't you come in, sir?"

He smiled congenially and followed. "It would be like Edgar not to mention such an important detail. I'm somewhat surprised he spoke of me at all."

"He did so reluctantly," she admitted as she escorted him to the parlor. She asked him please to be seated and offered him refreshment.

"No, no thank you." He paused for a moment, watching her. "You are as beautiful as I have heard." The words were complimentary and without insinuation.

She smiled graciously as she sat down across from him. "I appreciate how kind you've been. Your letter was very reassuring."

"And why not?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "You've had a terrible time of it, I'd be willing to wager. If you think I hold you responsible in some way, disabuse yourself of the notion immediately. I loved my brother, but I suspect he is the cause of his own demise."

"I think he was very ill toward the end," Catherine agreed. "He was irrational at times."

Edward did not speak for several minutes as he studied the landscape outside the window, and then he brought his gaze back to hers as though he had come to some weighty decision.

"First, let me say, Edgar was always complex. He could be moody and difficult but not unstable, I would swear to that. I've tried for years to determine exactly when he became different, and one incident stands out very lucidly in my mind." He paused and cleared his throat. "The subject is delicate, you must understand. Forgive me if I offend you."

"If you think you know how Edgar came to be as he was, I'd like to know."

"I'll take you at your word. When we were boys, around about eight summers, a distant cousin came to visit. We were very fond of him, looked up to him, especially Edgar. He was older, but he spent a great deal of time with us. One afternoon I went fishing with him alone and, to put it as politely as possible, he made improper advances toward me."

"Dear lord!" she gasped.

Edward nodded. "As you say. I told my father and the cousin was gone within the hour. I never thought much on the incident after that—it left no scars of which I'm aware, but about that time my brother began to change. I've come to believe that my cousin must have been more successful in his attempt to seduce Edgar than he had been with me."

"How sad."

"Yes, indeed. Edgar did not alter all at once, you understand. It was a gradual thing, but by the time he reached adolescence he could not tolerate anyone touching him. He was a very angry young man."

"Why was he angry with you?"

He sighed. "When we were about nineteen or twenty, I can't quite remember, he became part of a group of aristocratic youths who were involved in some very unsavory goings on. They drank and gambled, which was not unusual, but I also think they committed some illegal acts. What angered the countryside was the ravishing of a local village girl.

"Of course, I knew Edgar could not be part of that, but he refused to acquit himself of the charges so ashamed was he of his disability. Thank goodness my father was dead by that time, for I don't know how he would have stood the disgrace. But my mother still lived. I told Edgar he must clear his name and forget his friends. He would not, therefore, I packed our belongings and took Mother back to her people in Cornwall. I met my future wife there and decided to stay."

"Is that what he meant when he said you deserted him?" Catherine asked.

"I'm afraid so. He felt our leaving gave credence to the rumors surrounding him, and we'd left him here to bear the brunt of his supposed crimes. The talk eventually died down, but Edgar vowed never to forgive me, and he was nothing if not spiteful. We did not heal the rift between us," he said in obvious regret.

"I'm sure recounting this history has been painful, but I appreciate your candor. It helps me to understand Edgar better. Much of what he did was baffling to me."

"No doubt," he concurred. "When do you leave?"

"This evening after the funeral."

"Your young man is here?"

Catherine was uncomfortable for the first time. "You know of him then?"

"I have contacts on the estate who keep me informed." He smiled at her. "I am not unaware of what has been happening."

She gazed at him sadly, unable to think of anything to say.

Edward pulled forward on his seat and took her hand across the short distance that separated them. "My dear, I was sincere when I told you I did not hold you responsible for Edgar's predicament. He should never have taken advantage of your unfortunate situation to force a marriage. What he hoped to gain, I can't imagine."

She noticed humor lines around his eyes as he spoke, and all at once he did not look like Edgar at all. Mesmerized by the kindness she saw reflected on his features, she realized that a gentle mind behind Edgar's homely face would have made all the difference.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate your understanding. I won't lie—it has been a trial."

"Is there anything of value on the estate that has come to mean something to you? I want you to feel free to take whatever you wish."

"Oh, absolutely not," she said. "It would not be right."

"Come, come, there must be something after all these years."

"I can't think of—" She stopped as a sudden thought struck her. "Well, perhaps..."

"Tell me," he encouraged her.

"If you should ever decide to sell Edgar's grays, I would like first crack at them."

His broke into a brilliant grin. "Ah, yes, the twin grays—my brother was obsessed with them, I'm told. I always thought it interesting he named them Cain and Abel. Somewhat ironic, don't you think? They are yours," he said magnanimously.

"I couldn't possibly." Startled by his generosity, Catherine regretted having made the suggestion.

"It's settled," he insisted as he came to his feet. "I'm not much of a horseman, so it causes me no pain to part with them. I thank you for making it so easy for me. Now, I think it's time I became reacquainted with my home."

He did have a trait in common with his brother, she thought ruefully as she watched him leave. He could bully one into doing a thing that seemed totally unsuitable. Truthfully, though, she was secretly pleased.

*****

The funeral had been dreary and Catherine felt drained. Her heart went out to Edward Bourgeault, for she sensed real grief there. He had done his best to remain aloof, but clearly he was having a difficult time of it. She suspected all the years and all the miles had not been enough to destroy the special bond that had existed between the brothers. And for Edgar's sake she was glad there had been someone at that dreadful little ceremony who had sincerely mourned his passing.

"Are you ready, my dear?"

Adam joined Catherine at the foot of the staircase where she stood in the middle of a virtual sea of traveling bags, giving last minute instructions to a weeping Edna.

Catherine nodded in his direction then turned back to the maid. "Come now, I told you it is only until we are settled. We'll send for you just as soon as we are able."

"But who will care for Annabelle?" Edna bawled as she clutched said infant to her breast.

"I think I'm up to the task," Catherine said kindly, reaching for her baby. "I must take the wet-nurse, and with all this luggage there simply is not enough room for one more. Now buck up. The time will pass quickly."

"Yes, my lady." The maid sniffed mistily as she ran the back of her hand across her pink nose.

"Besides," Catherine whispered, "Robby's still here."

"Oh, my lady!" Edna turned an alarming shade of red, but she gave a watery giggle in response.

The next Lord Bourgeault joined the group at that moment, and he smiled congenially. In all the years Catherine had been married to Edgar, she had never seen him wear an expression as pleasant as the one Edward now wore. Once again she was struck by how differently she would have felt about her husband had he been more like his brother.

"I regret seeing you go, my dear," Edward said as he took his sister-in-law's hand. He cast his gaze about the great hall before bringing it back to rest on her. "I have some memories to face before my family arrives, and I'd better get on with it. Solitude is the best justification for forcing a confrontation with one's conscience."

Catherine could see that he was suffering and her heart welled with pity. "I'm sorry."

The party moved out the front door to the drive where a phaeton drawn by a magnificent pair of matched grays awaited the travelers. The earl's horse was tethered to a second carriage that was being loaded with the luggage.

"Sir," Adam said to Edward, "there must be some mistake. I appreciate the use of the carriages, but surely you don't wish to loan your brother's grays. They are too valuable to risk."

"There is no mistake, Ashworth," Edward corrected him. "The grays are a gift."

"No, no, we couldn't possibly accept such a gift." The earl was adamant.

"I see we have a misunderstanding," their host murmured, a twinkle lighting his black eyes. He winked at Catherine. "I gave the grays to your future wife. Since she is Edgar's widow I felt it the least I could do. I offered her more. She would take nothing."

A rather protracted silence ensued as the earl absorbed Edward's words. Catherine could see Adam was torn between ecstasy at the mere thought of having access to such magnificent beasts and the certain knowledge he should not allow this thing to happen. But as Edward had so aptly stated, she thought in amusement, it was not Adam's gift to refuse.

The earl must have come to the same conclusion, for he nodded reluctantly. "You are most generous, sir. I'm certain Catherine will enjoy them."

"Of course, she will." Edward laughed aloud as he took the younger man's hand and pumped it up and down.

Adam smiled a sheepish smile. He took his daughter from Catherine and went to assist the wet-nurse and Annabelle into the second carriage. Returning, he helped Catherine into the phaeton and then climbed into the driver's side of the vehicle.

Catherine put her hand on his arm to stay momentarily their departure, and she turned to Edward. "I'm glad we were able to meet one another, even if was only for a short time."

Edward moved closer to the carriage. "I'm glad, also, my dear. Do let me know how you fare," he said, his tone sincere. "And Godspeed."

With that, Lord Ashworth snapped the reins across the backs of the "most beautiful pair of matched grays in all of England," and the caravan pulled into the lane, leaving the dilapidated castle and its sad owner behind.

"We're going to talk about this tonight," Adam said severely several minutes later as the phaeton moved onto the main road.

"About what?" Catherine asked innocently.

"The grays, of course."

"You don't like them?"

"That's not the point!"

"All right then," she stated primly, "If I'm to listen to a lecture, I should be allowed to choose the venue for that lecture."

"Meaning...?" Adam asked in a cautious voice.

Her gaze slid to his face, and a sensuous smile curved the edge of her mouth as she reached over to grip his thigh with one gloved hand. She felt a muscle leap beneath her fingers.

"I choose to listen to your displeasure with me in bed this night," she said, goading him in a provocative whisper.

The smooth rhythm of the ride was interrupted as Adam's hands jerked uncontrollably on the ribbons. "Witch!" he growled huskily, and his eyes blackened with lust. "You would use my desire for you against me?"

"Naturally, my lord," she teased as she moved closer to him on the seat. "Though, to be honest, I'd rather use it in a more positive manner. So much more satisfying, don't you agree?"

The Earl of Ashworth, caught in the web of her bewitching spell, shouted with laughter as he gave over and admitted defeat.

*****

EPILOGUE

"When will we be there, Mummy?"

"It won't be long now, darling," Catherine reassured her fidgety daughter.

She dropped a motherly kiss on the toddler's cheek before turning back to stare out the carriage window at the shops they passed. Her interest was not engaged in the scenery, though. Rather, she was occupied by the somber mood that had overtaken the passengers of the traveling coach.

The morning had begun festively enough but, once they had reached the outskirts of London, the atmosphere had turned grim. Adam sat in one corner of the carriage, a baleful expression on his handsome features.

His wife reached over and touched his hand. "It can't be as bad as all that."

"I still think it's a mistake," he muttered dolefully.

"We can't stay away forever. It's been more than two years as it is."

He sighed. "It's time to test the waters and see how forgiving society will be, I know that. We need to make a place for Annabelle if it's possible. But that is nothing compared to having to face Mother. When I left the city to come for you, I was convinced I never wanted to see her again. My feelings are very ambivalent at this moment."

Catherine understood how he felt. If she could find some way to avoid seeing her mother-in-law, she would do so. But she had decided that Adam's attitude was an unhealthy one. He needed to make amends. Long-term anger could be a very destructive thing—Edgar was a prime example of that.

For two years Catherine and Adam had traveled the continent, taking life a day at a time, enjoying their child and basking in their love for one another. Now the time had come to face reality. However, there was no way to gauge society's reaction to their reappearance on the town, for the ton was hypocritical at its very best.

The talk had been rampant after Edgar's death, most of it unkind, yet they still had their champions among the elite. Judith reported in one of her many letters that Viscount Wimberly had nearly come to blows with one drunken gentleman who could not be persuaded to keep his opinions to himself. And Lady Richards had been known to give the cut direct to anyone who had the effrontery to question Catherine's character.

Still, the real surprise had come from a certain little dandy by the name of Sir Sidney Alcott, not one known to challenge the system, who had very vocally defended his "close" friends, Lord and Lady Ashworth. Catherine smiled at the memory.

The coach pulled up to the curb, and she saw her new home for the first time. "It's quite grand, isn't it?" she said.

"It's a house like any other," her husband stated in an uncompromising tone as he helped her from the carriage. His attitude softened when he reached back and lifted his tiny daughter to the ground. He leaned down and took Annabelle's chubby fist, and the trio proceeded to the entrance of the mansion.

The front door was cast open. "My lord! It is so good to see you," an ebullient Ames greeted his master, ushering everyone into the foyer.

"And you, Ames," Adam returned, looking pleased by the butler's animated welcome. He introduced his family to the servant and then appeared to hesitate.

"Your mother is in the library," Ames said in a tactful voice, correctly interpreting his lordship's silence.

The earl picked up his baby and trudged behind the butler, leaving his wife to bring up the rear. At the door Adam stopped so abruptly Catherine crashed into him, doing damage to her new poked bonnet.

"Your son has arrived, my lady," Ames intoned.

A long pause ensued as the dowager, seated primly on a metal-studded leather chair, exchanged glances with the new arrivals. At last the old countess came to her feet, her manner stiff and unyielding, but the discerning eye could perceive that she was uncomfortable.

"I'm glad to see you, Adam."

There was no reply and Catherine glanced uneasily at her husband. He looked as though he were having a time of it forcing a response over his frozen tongue.

"Down, Papa, I want down."

All eyes turned to the toddler. Annabelle, struggling from her father's embrace, provided a welcome diversion, for the tension in the room had begun to mount. Adam allowed his daughter to scramble down from his arms, and the child sent a dimpled grin to the haughty woman across the room.

The dowager countess watched her granddaughter in open fascination.

Clearly pleased at being the center of attention, Annabelle raced across the carpet, not stopping until she had reached her grandmother's side. She grabbed hold of the woman's skirt and gave it a tug.

"Hello," Annabelle said by way of greeting.

She was a beautiful little girl, her head covered with a mass of shiny, near-black curls. The dowager countess stared down into a pair of enormous, liquid blue eyes before raising her gaze to the child's parents. Her inspection shifted to her son as if trying to make some critical connection then looked at the baby again.

"How do you do?" the dowager answered politely.

Annabelle beamed at her, displaying a mouthful of tiny white teeth. "My name is Annabelle," she said in a most grown-up fashion.

"So it would seem. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." The dowager glanced at the couple who watched from the doorway as she continued speaking to the child. "I suggest your mother and father take a short rest before dinner so you and I can become acquainted."

Annabelle appeared more than agreeable to the plan just so long as the resting did not include herself. As for Adam and Catherine, they grasped the excuse to escape and quickly retreated to their rooms in a transparent show of cowardice. This first tentative meeting had been awkward in the extreme.

"I didn't handle it well, did I?" Adam asked a short while later as he removed his neckcloth. He flopped down on the small sofa facing the fireplace.

"It won't happen in a day, but you've made a start, and that's what is important." Catherine, now wearing a sapphire blue wrapper, sat brushing her hair until the soft, gleaming waves crackled with static life.

"Do you think we did right to expose our baby to my mother's tyrannical ways?"

Catherine stood up and moved to his side. "Adam, she can't be as bad as all that. She did marvelously with you and Judith. And she does care, I'm sure of it, even though she tries very hard not to let on."

Adam looked up at her, a gratified smile touching his sensuous mouth. He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap.

"I do believe you become more beautiful with each passing day. How do you tolerate my temperamental moods?"

Snuggling into his arms, she placed a warm kiss on his jaw. "Each morning I wake to the amazing revelation I am your wife. There is no difficulty in tolerating the best thing that has happened to me. You gave me Annabelle—for that alone I would forgive you anything."

"That reminds me, my love, how is the newest member of our family?" His hand came to rest on the slight swell of her belly, his long fingers exploring the tender lump that cradled his second child.

"I felt movement yesterday for the first time."

"You did?" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Quite honestly, you were so preoccupied with today's visit I didn't want to share the news with all the other things cluttering your mind. It's a moment that should be savored all by itself." She smiled then. "It is exciting, isn't it?"

"It is," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

He brought his eager mouth to hers, kissing her so thoroughly her heart began to rattle in her chest like a die in a cup. She moaned softly against his lips.

"Do you suppose you might feel inclined to share something else with me?" His hot breath tickled her neck as he spoke, sending erotic shivers sluicing down her backbone.

Now he mentioned it, she thought perhaps she did feel so inclined.

*****

Lord and Lady Ashworth made a fashionably late entrance to dinner later that evening and, though neither one was rested in the least, they in no way felt their time together had been misspent.

###

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Joan Reeves is a multi-published author of fiction, in the United States and Europe, and a successful freelance writer with more than 20 years experience. She writes smart, sassy, sexy contemporaries imbued with romance and humor.

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Excerpt: JUST ONE LOOK

Jennifer Monroe shivered and rubbed the goose-bumped flesh of her arms. A meat locker would feel warmer than a doctor's examining room, she thought. Why do they have to keep it so cold? And why do they act as if you have nothing better to do than sit around, clad only in a piece of paper and your birthday suit, and wait?

She drummed her fingers on the paper covered examination table. The rustling tissue sounded abnormally loud. Abruptly she stopped and checked her watch again. Great! Just great, she thought, crossing her right leg over her left.

Quickly, impatiently, her right foot swung back and forth. When she was finished here, she might as well call Alva and cancel their lunch date. Due to the doctor's lack of punctuality, she'd never be able to make it downtown to meet her friend at the Dallas Epicurean.

Jennifer's sigh in the quiet room sounded resigned, even to her own ears. Alva was going to read her the riot act if she canceled again, she knew. But what could she do? This time it wasn't her fault.

Another doleful sigh slipped past her lips. Sometimes, old friends could be a real pain in the neck, she thought sourly. Especially when they decided that they had to save you from yourself. As Alva Hernandez, her best friend, had.

With an irritated mutter, she looked at the silver watch on her left wrist again. I was on time, she thought grumpily. Why isn't he?

Jennifer had spent a half hour in the outer reception area before being taken back to the examination room. She looked around the tiny room. If she hadn't been so irritated, she would have laughed at the room's decor. It looked as if someone had gone crazy with a bottle of America's most popular stomach relief medication. Everything in the room was nauseatingly pink. Even the giggly young nurse wore a hot pink uniform.

The nurse, who looked as if she'd been granted her diploma yesterday, had handed Jennifer a paper gown. The great leveler, Jennifer thought, glaring at the offensive pink disposable garment. She'd assured Jennifer that Dr. Penrose would be with her in a moment.

A moment? His definition of a moment must be different from hers, Jennifer noted in exasperation. She'd been sitting on the tissue-covered table for thirty minutes. A whole hour wasted, not counting the drive time from her office on Forest Central out here to north Dallas. Didn't this doctor realize that Jennifer had patients also? People waiting to talk to her. Adolescents who wanted, no, needed, to pour out their problems, she thought with a sigh, recalling the afternoon appointments she had scheduled. So many kids. So many problems.

Lately, her thoughts had too often followed that line. Alva complained that Jennifer had turned into a workaholic who had forgotten how to have fun. When questioned about the last time, she'd had a date, Jennifer couldn't even remember the occasion.

"You know what they say, Jen, about all work and no play," Alva had remonstrated, with a shake of her head which sent her rich brown curls dancing. Alva never seemed to have a problem remembering the occasion of her last date. In fact, she had so many that her only problem was keeping track of all of them. Jennifer half-suspected that her computer-intensive friend probably kept a detailed summary of them on a Lotus spreadsheet.

"Maybe you're right, Alva," Jennifer said aloud, stretching and shifting uncomfortably again. She tried to listen to the soft music coming from the ceiling speaker but the crunch and crackle of the disposable paper gown intruded, reminding her of the passing minutes.

The door popped open and the nurse chirped, "Doctor will be with you any moment now."

Jennifer rolled her eyes in disgust. That's what bubbly Nurse Giggles had been telling her for an hour now. She started to ask for a blanket, a pillow, and a wake up call, but the nurse closed the door before she could utter the sarcastic words.

I should have just canceled my appointment when I found out Sylvia was out of town, she thought. Sylvia Haddad, who had been her gynecologist for the last four years, never kept her waiting this long. Today though she was stuck with the new doctor in the office.

Apparently, the new guy who was subbing for Sylvia, a man who'd just moved here she'd been told, wasn't nearly as concerned with his patients' time. Dr. Joseph Penrose was as slow in arriving as autumn had been in chasing away the summer heat from the Metroplex. That was strike one against him.

Strike two was his last name. Penrose. Jennifer grimaced. She'd known only one other person by that name, and her experience with Matt Penrose hadn't enamored her of that particular surname.

For a moment, Jennifer allowed herself to think of the black-haired, blue-eyed king of Lake Grayson High School. She remembered the first time she'd seen the handsome senior. Zing! Love at first sight.

Unfortunately, she also remembered – quite clearly – the last time she'd seen the dirty snake. Hate at last sight! He'd turned out to be worse than all the boys she'd had to contend with since her chest had gone from flat as a board to fully-inflated in less time than it took to learn how to shave her legs without causing bodily harm.

All those adolescent throwbacks who couldn't have said what color her hair or eyes were if they were standing right in front of her since they never raised their eyes beyond her bustline hadn't affected her as deeply as Matt's actions.

Thank heavens that whole situation was another lifetime ago, she thought. She hadn't seen Matt Penrose since that December evening fifteen years ago. Her under-employed mom, bless her dear heart, had moved them from Michigan to St. Louis, Missouri, in search of a better job over Christmas break. It hadn't been the first time they'd moved, following opportunity, but this had been the only time that Jennifer hadn't minded. In fact, the move to St. Louis had been the best thing that had ever happened to her and her mom.

Funny, she hadn't thought about her troubled adolescence – nor her first love Matt Penrose – in ages. She tried to picture Matt as he probably looked now. Let's see, he'd be in his early thirties, she thought.

For the first time in the last two hours, Jennifer smiled. Matt, the heart throb of high school, was probably starting to lose his hair by now. More than likely, he had a beer gut. Poor guy. He was probably still stuck in Lake Grayson, unless he'd had to move to get a job in one of the auto assembly plants. Jennifer shrugged. Either way, she'd never see him again.

Just when she'd decided the doctor had forgotten her existence, the door opened. A whisper of aftershave that brought to mind the vacation she'd had last summer at Puerto Vallarta teased her senses. Ummm, she thought, breathing deeply. Suntan oil and muscled bodies baking in the summer heat. The scent accompanied the tall man who entered.

The cordial smile on Jennifer's lips froze. The man had Matt Penrose's curly black hair. Her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. He also had Matt's dreamy blue eyes. And Matt's face. Had she conjured him from her over-worked imagination?

Jennifer shook her head to clear it, closed her eyes tightly, then opened them again. The man still looked like Matt Penrose. Finally, her brain registered the white lab coat he wore. For the first time in her life – no, Jennifer thought, make that the second – she thought she was going to faint. Or maybe throw up. Oddly enough, both times had been caused by the man standing in front of her.

Over the buzzing in her ears, she heard the giggly nurse breathlessly announce, "Dr. Monroe, this is Dr. Joseph Matthew Penrose."

Just One Look, Available March 26, 2011

Excerpt: OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER

Prequel to The Good, The Bad, and The Girly

You know what they say about the best-laid plans of mice and men going astray? Well, Stormy Clarkson decided, the best-laid plans of women old enough to know better didn't just go astray. They went into some kind of hyperspace wormhole, and, when they came out the other end, they landed on your unsuspecting head like Dorothy's house crushing the wicked witch.

What was she going to do? She was in over her head, and she knew it.

Her hands shook as she pulled the shimmering red silk dress from the hanger. She stepped into the dress and pulled it up, slipping her arms through the straps. A lot of women her age avoided showing their arms, but sagging triceps was the least of her problems tonight. Besides, she'd made exercise her addiction of choice years ago. Not only was it a way to deal with stress but also it helped fill the empty hours of the life she'd chosen.

Chosen?

No. Stop it! With fierce determination, she reminded herself of certain truths. Now was not the time to fall into that old mental debate. Not tonight. She owned her decisions. She'd moved on. She liked the person she'd become when she'd finally grown up.

You're just scared, she told herself. When she got scared, the temptation to brand an L for loser on her forehead was overpowering. Put a sock in it, she scolded herself.

Stormy zipped her dress then studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. She was lucky. Sure, she had some tiny lines around the corners of her eyes, but her throat was still firm, as were her legs, and the aforementioned arms. Her boobs didn't droop. Yet. And her stomach was still flat. Not bad for a woman who turned fifty today. But was it good enough to be naked later with a man younger than she?

No, she couldn't do it. She was insane to even be thinking about it.

Her hands shook as she pulled the pins from her hair. If only she hadn't let Libby talk her into this Wine Country Weekend. If only she was at home, alone. Like all the other nights for as long as she could remember. If only she could stop thinking about sex. Sex with him. With his large hands touching her. Everywhere.

If only she hadn't kissed him. But the heat in his eyes had drawn her. She felt like a moth that had already made the acquaintance of the flame and was over-heated from the encounter.

Stormy groaned. Heaven help her, but she wanted to be naked in his arms.

What was she going to do? If she had a brain in her head, she'd pack up and leave. Or at least stay in her bungalow and not answer the door.

Run away or stay?

The mirror reflected her indecision. Stormy sighed and smoothed the red silk over her breasts and down her body. A body that seemed to have grown a few million more, ultra-sensitive, nerve endings since she'd met Jack Butler, the owner of the winery. What would it feel like if Jack touched her like this? A shiver of sexual awareness raced up her spine. The dress made her look as blatantly sexual as she felt.

A knock on the door made Stormy jump. A heavy pulse beat between her legs. Decision time.

Hide or open the door?

Old Enough To Know Better, Available April 1, 2011

*****

Excerpt: DESIGNING WOMAN

by Elaine Raco Chase

"I don't understand you," Griffen ground out through clenched teeth. "You seem perfectly normal." He picked up a meat fork, jabbed at the platter and slammed food onto his dish. "Maybe you need professional help."

Brandy smiled at him, her tone one of patient forbearance. "Actually I'm a product of my environment." She picked up a rolled linen napkin containing silverware, moved out of line and headed toward a private table in the corner of the large dining room.

Her emotions ranged from deadly calm to seething turmoil. No matter what she said or what she did, that insufferable man would see only what he wanted. And he so wanted a nymphomaniac!

"What the hell do you mean, you're a product of your environment?" Griffen slid into the chair next to her. "For the last four weeks your environment has been filled with hard work. If anything, you should be too exhausted to even think of entertaining a male hooker like Pierre."

Brandy exhaled an airy, musical sigh. "What you have to realize, Griffen, is that my whole world revolves around sensuality." Her long fingers stroked the slender column of throat down to the low V of her neckline. "Interior design and architecture are very erotic occupations." She picked up a carrot stick, studied it for a moment, then placed it in her mouth, her teeth snapped off the end. "Phallic symbols abound—look at the skyscrapers, chimneys, pole lamps, and don't forget all those groin vaults."

A lazy smile curved her lips, she watched his skin turn gray beneath his tan. "And, Griffen, what about geodesic domes?" She reached for a Spanish olive. Her tongue circled its green skin several times before poking out the red pimiento. "They are very mammary-oriented in their design."

Brandy leaned forward, staring intently into his glazed eyes. "Now tell me the truth, Griffen—" her finger zigzagged along the curve of his cheekbone to the edge of his tight, compressed mouth "—don't you lust in your heart every time you drive through a tunnel?

"Erotic symbolism is everywhere." Brandy studied his tray, then picked up her fork. "Just look at your lunch." She neatened the blob of cottage cheese on his dish and centered the cherry. "And doesn't that sausage look right at home snuggled between those two halves of baked potato?

"Griffen." Her voice was low and infinitely inviting. "Women have needs and those needs have to be answered. I would have never had to put in that call to Pierre if you hadn't been so stingy."

VIDEO VIXEN

by Elaine Raco Chase

Hands behind his head, Dan lounged back into the chair. "So you're all nice. I wonder..." His dark gaze centered on her anger-flushed features; his voice was low, suggestive and goading. "Even you, Victoria Kirkland? Has today been one of your more memorable performances as Vixen Mallory?"

Fire-tipped fingers curved like elegant talons, reached out, gripped his tie, and turned it into a silk noose. Vikki hauled a startled Dan Falkner up from his chair stopping only when his face was nose-to-nose with hers. "Oh, no, Daniel Webster Falkner, I'm for real." Ruby lips spoke heated words against his mouth. "I'm the spice you're looking for. The only thing you have to wonder about is how much seasoning you can handle." Vikki released her hold on his tie; her hands pushed against his shoulders and sent him sprawling backward. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tangle and seduce another man."

Raw nerves fueled by pure adrenaline propelled Vikki to the sound stage. "Charlie—" her breathing came in jerky gasps as she spoke to the bald, casually dressed director "—Steve and I faxed this scene on Friday, and I'm really primed, so can we just go ahead and tape it?"

Charlie stared at her for a long moment, nodded and began issuing final taping orders as Vikki took her marked position on the office-furnished stage set and spoke to her costar.

Shielded to the left of camera three, Dan quietly watched an unobstructed view of the actors. The scene was between Vixen Mallory and her husband's business partner. A spectacular verbal battle ensued between two stunning performers.

Dan became mesmerized by Vikki's every word, gesture and movement. The scene was choreographed so slickly that when the climax came and Vikki was the recipient of a slap that sent her head reeling in a powerful whiplash, Dan jumped toward the stage.

A grinning cameraman halted him and jerked a thumb toward the effects man, who produced the sound that made the blow so realistic. Uncurling his balled fist, Dan had to again remind himself this was all illusion.

With a sharp shake of his head, he moved toward the exit door. Looking back at the actress, Dan wondered if illusion and reality weren't one in the same. And if Vikki Kirkland was more Vixen than Victoria—why in hell had he tried to come to her rescue?

*****
