SIX

As it came like a breath through the open window, the evening breeze billowed the shabby curtain. The light from a single candle fluttered slightly. A man’s low mumblings brought a rattle of giggling from a woman and then a gleeful laugh.

“Lawd, gov’na, you do play a word with a maid,” a woman’s voice said as she flopped the heavy comforter about a bit.

“God, I mean it all,” he argued.

The slamming of a door below and heavy footfalls on the stairs caused them both to sit upright. Charlotte ran one hand through her tousled curls and clasped the cover to her breasts with the other.

“Is that the man’s got you in keeping?” her panicked partner asked.

“Gor, he said he’d be gone hours,” she breathed.

“I’m hoping he rounds yer pretty arse and not mine,” the man said, easing quickly from the bed and searching for his pants.

“ ‘At’s a love,” Charlotte seethed vindictively. “One moment, you’ll give me the world, and next, sell me for a beating.” She threw her legs over the side of the bed and reached for a simple dress that had been hastily thrown to the floor and lay amidst apple cores and orange peelings. She gave it a shake. “Jackanape,” she muttered. “I hope he breaks your head.”

The door was thrown open with a bang and the intruder walked to the lone candle, using it to light another, brightening the room. He seemed not to notice the man struggling into his breeches or the toss-and-tumble bedding and naked woman until the room was more brightly lighted.

“Been amusing yourself very well, I see,” Perry said, eyeing the disheveled lovers.

“Don’t make no trouble, love,” Charlotte said easily, stepping into her dress. “He’s leaving.”

As she straightened herself and looked at Culver Perry, she actually took a step back from the furious gleam in his eyes. His fists were clenched at his sides and his face was reddening. “I told you to have no one in here.”

“He’s leaving, milord,” Charlotte said a bit tremulously. “I won’t do it again.”

Perry’s stare was fixed on Charlotte, and the man took the opportunity to gather what was left of his clothing—shoes, shirt, stockings, and jacket—and start to ease himself cautiously toward the door.

“Find a stallion in any gutter, eh, love?” Perry asked with a sinister sneer. He abruptly grabbed for the young man, catching him about the neck and hurling him out the open door. “Was it worth your time?” he asked the rattled fellow.

“No, milord—I mean, I didn’t know...”

“Don’t come here again, you hear? If I see you within a mile of her, I’ll kill you.”

“Aye, milord,” he said, trembling.

Perry gave him a shove and, with a firm kick in the pants, sent him rolling down the stairs, his clothing scattering along the way. Without looking to see if the man survived the fall, Perry came back into the room and slammed the door.

“Didn’t think you’d get yourself in a snit about it, love,” Charlotte said cautiously.

Perry walked briskly to the decanter of brandy he kept for himself and poured a stout portion into a dirty glass, downing the spirits more quickly than usual. He turned on Charlotte with a curse.

“I don’t give a damn that you’re a whore, but I can’t have you spending time in the taverns and bringing strange men here with you. Does he know who you are?”

“Of course not. I told him I was in keeping.” She laughed suddenly. “But then I’m keeping you, eh, love?”

The glass came flying through the air like a shot, smashing on the wall behind her. Charlotte ducked the vessel and rose again with wide eyes.

“You bloody whores are all alike,” he blustered. “You’d be naked walking the streets if I hadn’t dragged you from the worthless farm you were raised on, and brought you here.”

“Wrong, gov’na,” she said angrily. “I’d have Lord Seavers.”

“You’re wrong, bitch,” he shouted. “Seavers met his bride tonight at Whitehall. Lady Charlotte Bellamy. A beautiful and elegant woman, obviously Seavers’s own design. He’d not have spent a farthing to make you right for the title.”

“What?” she asked, aghast.

“There was a woman there tonight, the mysterious bride: Fergus Bellamy’s daughter.” He strode toward her, grabbed her by the upper arms, and stared into her eyes. “Tell me truthfully: was the knight your father or are you some farm wench who played a tale on me?”

“I am Charlotte Bellamy,” she insisted. “You know that.”

He released her abruptly. “Aye, you couldn’t have fooled me on that score. I was there to see where you lived and how you lived.” He walked away from her and spoke without looking in her direction. “Then it’s as I thought. Seavers couldn’t find his bride and so has an impostor playing the role.”

“Damn me, he won’t for long,” she huffed behind him. “And whether it suits you or not, I’ll not let another wench claim my father’s money. I’ll tell the—”

“You’ll tell no one!” he barked. He looked her over, from tousled head to filthy bare feet. “What d’ye think, darling? You’ll stroll into the king’s bedroom and tell him you’re the heiress—having come here with me to trick Seavers out of his fortune? Charles would have a good laugh on that, a filthy whore claiming the prize.” He picked up the decanter of brandy and took a long pull from it. “You don’t seem to understand, my dear. Lady Charlotte’s made a smash at Whitehall. She’s beautiful and appears to be gently bred.”

“Gently bred, by God,” Charlotte laughed. “In that barn I was raised in?”

“Fact is fact,” he said. “They’ve accepted her. And I can’t present you without giving myself a great deal of trouble from Charles.” He took a long breath, letting his anger and frustration cool. “We’ll have to find another way to get to Seavers. Perhaps a bit a planning can cause him to trip over his own lies.”

Alicia sat before the dressing table in her bedroom. Behind her Margaret Stratton, the woman Rodney had hired to be Alicia’s personal maid, fluttered about the room putting everything in order, chattering all the while.

Margaret, or Maggie, or Meg, whichever Alicia preferred at the moment, was a heavyset woman in her early forties. She had been widowed several years back and spoke frequently and with fondness of her late husband. She spoke also of the son who served in His Majesty’s Horse Guard.

And there were countless sisters, brothers, cousins, and others that she chattered about endlessly.

Alicia found her to be an absolute delight, a knowledgeable caretaker with an eye for fashion, though she wore nothing particularly fashionable herself. She showered Alicia with motherly concern that gave her a sense of being home that she had never before known. Alicia felt the woman’s immediate loyalty.

But this morning she half heard all of Mrs. Margaret’s chatter, and quite often, when she realized she’d missed a direct question, she would turn with a rather preoccupied “Mmm?”

“Not a thing, sweetheart,” Margaret would say. “You’re all caught up with that handsome lord you’re t’marry and can’t give me a spot of time. I know that. Old women cluck like old hens. Never mind me.”

“But you’re not old,” Alicia returned.

“ ‘Tweren’t much more than your age when I married Mr. Stratton and had myself a baby, to boot. I remember, love. I remember clear as if it was yesterday.” She shrugged and fluffed the pillows. “Couldn’t give the time of day to those bantering old hens myself.” And she would laugh with genuine amusement.

A knock at the door sent the woman rushing to answer for her lady and she accepted the quick message.

“His lordship is here to see you, love,” she relayed.

“Now?” Alicia asked in astonishment. “Oh, blast him, I’m not even dressed.”

Margaret laughed. “Barely out of bed, at that. Well, then, let’s get you in something comfortable and comb your hair. See him in here, if you like.”

Talking all the while, she picked through the wardrobe and finally pulled out a heavy scarlet dressing robe that was lined with white lace. “This will do nicely, eh?” And then, stooping, she retrieved a set of slippers from the floor of the wardrobe—a velvet pair that had tiny pearls sewn around the edges. “Aye,” her woman said. “This will warm his heart on a cold day.”

Alicia eyed the garment and smiled devilishly. In helping to choose Alicia’s clothing, Lady Castlemaine had selected gowns of daring and sensual design.

While Barbara was as friendly as any sister might be, and had been helpful during a confusing time, Alicia was wary and a little frightened of her. It was Margaret who explained the reason for Barbara’s almost dotish help. “Frances Stewart’s all but taken the king away from her. She’s been declared the most beautiful woman in England, you know. And if Castlemaine can pry his eyes away from Frances for even a minute, it’s worth her time. She’ll make you the competition. She’s not afraid to deal with you.”

Alicia could see the probable truth in that at the dinner where she was formally introduced to Geoffrey. Lady Castlemaine remained the center of attention only as long as she was able to take credit for Alicia—Lady Bellamy—and Frances did suffer a lack of recognition that evening.

The fact that Alicia received so many adoring remarks, her beauty being commented on loudly and frequently, did not cause her head to swell. She wanted to be considered beautiful and desirable. But when this play was done and the glitter of court life gone, so would the favor disappear.

She slipped into the dressing robe and slippers, sitting again at the table and handing a brush over her shoulder to Margaret. She pulled at the bodice and low neckline, satisfying herself that her bosom looked plentiful, yet demure enough to attract his curiosity and not a lustful attack. “This will do,” she told her woman. “But I’ll see Lord Seavers in the sitting room, not in here.”

“I should have known that, mum. It’s not fitting where you come from.”

Alicia struggled not to laugh. Where she came from, she had a difficult time keeping men from dragging her into their rooms at night—and not for a social call. She knew Margaret would not fawn over her had she known she was not the genteel lady she pretended to be.

She willed herself to be poised, and walked down the hall toward the sitting room without disturbing a curl. She moistened her lips repeatedly with her tongue, and she had pinched her cheeks to give them a flush—something she only had to do when apprehension caused her to go pale.

She could see Seavers’s back as he leaned on the mantel and stared into the fire, and for a moment she didn’t want to disturb the picture. His tawny hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon at the base of his neck. She took a moment to study his broad shoulders and thick-muscled legs, for when he turned, she knew she would be absorbed by his eyes and would search her memory later for his other features. Before she spoke his name she reminded herself again to be coy—he was not wont to be captured.

“Geoffrey?”

He turned and she watched his features. A slow smile touched her lips as she noted that his eyes warmed, his pupils dilating slightly, as he looked at her. With studied care, she turned and closed the sitting room door, turning back to him again.

“My apologies,” she said, her manners rehearsed and delightful to her. “I’m afraid I stayed abed longer than I should have.”

“Quite all right, my lady,” he said, looking around to be certain they were alone. “I should have asked permission to call on you.”

“There’s no need,” she laughed lightly. “This is as much your home as mine, since we are to be married soon.”

“That’s why I’ve come, Ali—Charlotte. I don’t want to be put off. I want the wedding to take place immediately.”

“Very well,” she said easily.

“I think it can’t be—” He stopped his argument abruptly and looked at her in wonder. “You are agreeable?”

“This is more your wedding than mine, milord. I am simply a bystander as you marry a fortune. I imagine you wish to begin building your ships.”

“I’ve already begun, madam. On a note. And that is why I cannot allow a delay.” He waved a hand about him, indicating her fine surroundings. “But you, it seems, hold all the cards.”

“Nonsense. I am only doing all I possibly can to bring credit to your name. I didn’t think it polite to look too eager to the king.”

Geoffrey relaxed somewhat, though not entirely at ease with the situation. He feared to trust her.

“Then let us discuss marriage plans. With your permission, I should like to rent a house on Tiller Street, a fashionable part of town. Likely you think this fine lodgings, but I prefer living someplace else.”

“Whatever you wish,” she acquiesced.

“The furnishings are at least as fine, most of the furniture having been brought in from other countries. It’s larger and you wouldn’t be under the constant surveillance of courtiers and ladies, a situation that no doubt makes you somewhat uncomfortable.”

“On the contrary,” she returned. “I find it easy enough to bear. But if it makes you uncomfortable, Geoffrey, do let’s move.”

He inhaled sharply, looking her over carefully. What plot is this? he asked himself. She seemed to be playing the part of every man’s ideal mate. “What is your game?” he asked her.

“Milord,” she breathed, her brows drawing into a frown, “I beg your pardon?”

“All this cooperation? What is it you want?”

“I only hope to please you,” she said quietly, the wind suddenly going out of her sails. This man was certainly the hardest to please, never happy with anything. If she was not groomed in dress and manners, he was upset; if she did her very best, he was suspicious. She felt the insult and it stung. “Would you have me confine my good manners to public dinners only and behave as a tavern wench in private?”

Geoffrey’s scowl remained. “No, of course not. I’m sorry—but you’ve changed so greatly, so quickly, I’m not prepared at all.”

“But I haven’t,” she argued softly. “I’ve only learned to speak more appropriately, and I’ve learned what might be expected of me at court. I thought you’d be happy and here you’re—”

“Don’t go to tears over it, Charlotte,” he commanded none too gently. “Let’s just sit down and get on to the business about the wedding. I’ll hear your ideas on it, since you’ll have to do the planning.”

“Very well,” she sighed, walking the short distance to the settee and dropping gently onto the cushions. “It’s getting late in the year and I think it best not to have a fuss. Truth is, I’ve talked to some of the women about weddings and it seems there’s too much detail to remember, so I’d rather have it small with only a few present. Mrs. Stratton, the woman Rodney employed for me, can handle the arrangements.” She shrugged and looked down. “I’ll only botch it if I try.”

“Somehow I don’t think you would,” Geoffrey commented dryly from his standing position. She looked up at him hopefully. “I should commend you,” he continued. “You’re coming off looking like the genuine article. Just don’t become too confident.”

Inside, Alicia knew there was little hope of that, but she hid it well and demurely replied, “I shall take the greatest care.”

“Is a fortnight too soon?” he asked her.

“It needn’t be that long if you’re in a rush,” she told him.

“I think you ought to ask for that much time,” he said. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be controlling this, since you’ll have to tell the king when you’d like to be married. Can I trust you to do it at once?”

“If you’ll tell me the time and place, I’ll speak to His Majesty. He’s promised to see me this week for that very purpose. I think he’s eager to be done with it.”

“Good, then, we’ll keep it small and trim in money, entertain only a few, though they’ll be a rich few and will cost something magnificent to entertain. We’ll take a short holiday—that will be expected, though I can’t see how I can spare the time—and settle on Tiller Street at once. I think you’ll appreciate the lodgings. I chose the house carefully.”

As he spoke, Alicia watched him with something akin to disappointment in her eyes. His marriage was such a business affair, and something told her it would not be terribly different if she were Charlotte. In fact, she wondered, would he be very different if he loved his bride?

There was a brief tapping at the door and Margaret poked her head in. “Beg pardon, madam,” Margaret imposed. “You have a visitor. What excuse would you have me give?”

“Who is it?” Alicia asked, considering the possibility that it was the king, though later she realized Margaret would surely have said so.

“Lord Perry, mum.”

Geoffrey immediately stiffened, an action that drew Alicia’s eyes to him at once. She had no idea what brought the ill feelings Geoffrey had for Perry—she had her own, and with good reason. She instantly feared the worst; that Perry had recognized her and would expose their plan.

She looked back to Margaret and steadied herself. There was no need to face the prospect alone; no need to hide from Geoffrey the fact that she was a maid pulled out of a country ordinary.

“Did you tell Lord Perry that I am with my betrothed?” she asked Margaret.

“No, mum, but I’ll be happy—”

“No,” Geoffrey said sharply. “No, indeed. Show his lordship in. You needn’t even tell him I’m here. I’m curious with his coming.”

Alicia looked up at Geoffrey. It was clearly hate and nothing less that Geoffrey felt. It occurred to her that if she confessed that Perry not only knew her, but had stolen her virtue, it might lead to Geoffrey’s hatred of her, too. She was not sure how well she could lie. And for how long.

“I wonder what Lord Perry has done to you,” she said softly.

“He was betrothed to my sister.”

He did not look at her, and for a moment she saw something of pain cross his features.

“I know nothing of your family,” she prompted.

“There is none—now.” His gaze dropped to her, and for a moment there was a gentleness mixed with remorse in the soft gruffness of his voice and in the way he looked at her. “He was betrothed to my sister—a contract made without the consent of either me or our mother. I’m certain he thought the Seavers family enjoyed wealth, as in the days before the Commonwealth. I think even Andrea thought we would have our lands restored and with them a sizable amount of money.”

“And there was nothing?” she asked.

“Nothing restored, and worse; a near guarantee from Charles that it could not be gotten back.”

He turned from her and seemed to speak into the mantel of the fireplace. “We were cast to make our fortunes back, as were many others. No money for Perry to wed, and my sister dead, quite suddenly, of a fall while she was riding with her betrothed.”

He turned back to her. “He did not grieve.”

His eyes grew hard and impassive. “And further, he argued heartily for the hand of the orphaned daughter of our knight, Fergus.”

As he finished his statement, the door to the sitting room opened and Culver Perry took a step in, halting suddenly as he spotted Geoffrey. The two studied each other brazenly, rather heatedly, as if the hostility from being in the same room was mutual.

Alicia quickly took note of them; they were equal in many ways. Perry’s handsomeness was dark and somewhat sinister, but pleasing to her female eye nonetheless. Geoffrey was fair of hair and his eyes glittering green, but his skin more bronzed than Perry’s. Perry was taller; Seavers more solid and muscular. They both commanded with their eyes, but Perry’s command seemed plotting, while Seavers dealt from strength.

She understood Geoffrey’s reason for hate, for she knew Perry to be a user. He had, after all, used her.

But then, she could not say Geoffrey was innocent of that very flaw.

Perry bowed elaborately, first toward Alicia, speaking with a lilting grace. “Your servant, madam.” And then, oozing melodious charm, he turned to Geoffrey and said with familiarity, “Greetings, Geoff.” Alicia nearly jumped at the shortened version of his name; it was a first to her ears.

Geoffrey bowed, though stiffly, and made no verbal greeting.

“I was not aware you were here,” Perry said to Geoffrey, his eyes gleaming somewhat, his smile almost believable.

“I thought not.”

“I called to ask your bride to select her wedding gift, since I’d like to make it something special.” He turned his attention to Alicia immediately. “It’s not that he’s spoiled a surprise, only that I’d have given the choice to you. It seems fitting that the bride make the selection.”

“No gift is necessary, Lord Perry, but I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“Unnecessary? I protest, madam, I—”

“The fact is that we’ve only just decided the wedding will be a private affair, since neither of us comes from a large family. Aside from His Majesty and whoever he wishes to attend with him, there will be no guests. I apologize.” Alicia forced a smile. “I do hope you’re not offended.”

Her smile became more natural as she realized he certainly was. Mortified, in fact, as she judged from his shocked scowl. “I see,” he said rather blandly. He took up another pose, his acting ability nearly matching Alicia’s. He would not be offended, but gracious to a fault. “Certainly, madam, I understand. Of course you would choose such a wedding. But then, my gift cannot be discounted because of the circumstances. I wish to give you something in any case.”

“How very nice. Well then, what is it I am to choose from?” Hands folded in her lap, she watched his gaze settle on her bosom and heard him nearly stutter.

“There are a few things I would offer: a silver service, a chest of great value made in India and lined with the finest silk from the East, or a collection of rare gems taken off a Dutch vessel and brought from Africa.”

Alicia looked up at Geoffrey and found he glared at Culver Perry still, but looked to be more in control.

“Geoffrey?” she questioned.

“ ‘Tis your choice, Charlotte,” he replied easily.

“Very well, the chest then,” she said quickly. “I think I would be envied to have such a treasure in my home.”

“The chest it is, madam,” he promised. “It shall be delivered to you posthaste. Am I to assume the wedding will be soon?”

“Very soon,” she fairly crooned, making the most adoring eyes toward her intended. “And with all due respect, sir, hereafter you must give me some warning of your visits. It just isn’t right for a new bride to entertain a man without a chaperone.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he smiled. “Of course, madam,” he said in a strained voice. “Then, I’ll be going.” He turned and quit the room.

A stillness prevailed as neither moved, each contemplating what had just taken place. Alicia gave a barely audible sigh, a silent vow that never again would a man to whom she gave herself forget her so easily. She felt a strange emptiness; an ache that grew within her. She could not bear to think of herself as a passing fancy to be used and tossed carelessly from a man’s mind. And yet the culprit had done just that. And he would never know how deeply she hurt.

Seavers simmered inside. He had seen Perry’s attention to Alicia’s full figure, the light in his eyes as he studied her delicate features. There was no question that his disappointment at not having won the maid was now intense, for she had become a greater prize than any at court imagined she could be.

All the ladies and courtiers had expected Charlotte Bellamy to be most unpretty and crude of manner. Alicia acted the part as a beauty with delicate etiquette and gracious bearing.

Geoffrey looked down at her. Aye, she was perfect. Pity she was an impostor. But then, no one would know…

“It’s clear, madam, that he was here to woo you. His offer of a choice of gift was a ruse.”

Her soft blue-gray eyes rose to look at him. “Perhaps not, milord,” she said.

His hand came out to point at her attire. “Have you nothing more modest to wear?”

She self-consciously gave a tug at the lace bodice. “I’m afraid not. Lady Castlemaine chose most of the gowns. Mrs. Stratton tells me it is her plan to keep the men from staring at Frances Stewart.”

“Aye, and I’m certain you are greatly pained to have their eyes on you.”

“I don’t mind that they find me pretty,” she replied.

“Pretty?” he laughed. “ Tis not the way of the courtiers to look and not touch, cherie. Even Perry,” he said, raising a hand toward the closed sitting room door. “Had I not been here, your virtue would not have been protected.”

“There are servants in the house, milord. He would not have been allowed to hurt me.”

Geoffrey turned away and grumbled. “I doubt what he had in mind resembled pain in any way.”

“Is there something I have done to offend you?”

He turned back to her, and, as he looked her over, he wore a mixture of lust and anger. “I would see you more suitably gowned, Charlotte, once the wedding has taken place and you live with me.”

She laughed suddenly and stood up, walking casually around the settee, thus putting it between them. “I thought the marriage purely a means to an end for you, Geoffrey. How I dress and what I do should not matter to you as long as I appear as the wifely sort.”

“And you think exposing most of your flesh wifely?” he countered. “Charlotte, it is dangerous to appear too inviting.”

Her head dropped and she looked down.

“You see what I say is true?” he asked.

She raised her eyes to meet his. “I don’t mind what I do for you—this marriage thing.” She took a slow breath. “I don’t like the name.”

“Name?”

“Charlotte.”

“It’s only a name.”

“But not mine. I feel as though you’re talking to someone else.”

“I thought it was understood it would become yours, even—”

“Never mind,” she interrupted, bolstering herself for a more serious subject. “The clothing,” she said, returning to the cause for his ire. “I’ll wear whatever you like if you’ll have it made for me. But pray don’t be too dotish in your style. I should not have to suffer too greatly in this position.”

His jaw set. “You enjoy the attention.”

“Aye,” she returned enthusiastically.

“And how can you play wife to me while the men ogle you?”

“As planned. Let them look; it should not matter. You will have your ships. And the envy of the court.”

He moved closer to her, looking at her over the settee. “And with that I would have respect. I won’t be laughed at, nor will I wear a cuckold’s horns.”

“You are a jealous fool!”

“And you act a harlot.”

“No. A woman—and you cannot appreciate it.”

“A wife is modest and loyal.”

“A husband is loving.”

“Love? This has nothing to do with love.”

“Then there is no cause for your rage,” she said, turning her back abruptly.

Geoffrey’s heart began to pound. He felt certain he’d lost control of her, for she showed the greatest contrasts: warm and cooperative one moment, sassy and presumptuous the next. He walked around the settee and, grabbing her shoulders, turned her around to face him.

Surprise was etched on her features and he relished it. Her mouth was half opened in astonishment and she watched him in stunned silence as he spoke.

“We have a bargain and you will play my wife for the court, for the world. And you will play it by my rules or not at all. Do you understand me?”

He noted her expression of fear and not just surprise. “Please don’t hurt me, milord.”

A puzzled expression came over his face. Nothing akin to fear possessed her moments ago; why now? He wondered if she expected a beating. Her past was much a mystery to him. Perhaps beatings were a regular part of her life before now.

He loosened his grip on her arms but his gaze was intense. He saw her features relax somewhat.

“Is that how you are controlled? By beatings?”

She shook her head. “I do not wish to be beaten, milord.”

“There is a better way to teach you what I expect,” he said hoarsely, and, with no hint of his intention, he slipped an arm about her waist and covered her mouth with his.

Alicia’s eyes flew open wide and her hand instinctively pushed against his chest, trying to resist him. But he seemed to enjoy her resistance and held her closer, pressing against her, molding her velvet-clad body to his. Her pushing ceased, but she dared not embrace him lest he become aware of her immediate defeat.

She could not be captured.

Her lids gently dropped and she tried to resume the fight, but he must have thought her weak or foolish, for happily, she did not succeed in moving him a breath away.

His lips released hers and he dropped a kiss to the rounded knoll of her heaving breasts. Then his mouth was poised close to hers again.

“While you live with me as my wife, whether in truth or by bargain, you will do my will.”

“In truth, your will,” she whispered. “By bargain, our will.”

“I will return you to your tavern lovers,” he warned.

The jibe dug deep. He truly believed her a whore.

“You cannot,” she breathed. “You love your ships too well.”

“I will not fight you long, Alicia. I will win.”

He released her and strode quickly away from her. At the sitting room door, he paused and looked at her.

“Set the wedding date with His Majesty. And have a care with your behavior.”

She pursed her lips and would not reply. He left without another word and she stood still, but for the transformation her lips made from a stem pucker to a lazy half smile. Trembling still possessed her and her fingers brushed the place on her bosom where his lips had branded her. She was profoundly aware that as he had touched her so intimately, so passionately, he had called her by her given name.

“Perhaps the fight will be longer than you expect, milord,” she whispered to the empty room. “But I think you unclear as to the winner.”