"Don't be a twit. You're under my protection. Naturally, I'll take you and my son back to Chesleigh."

She looked as though she'd argue, then shook her head. "Thank you," she said again, turned on her heel, and went into her bedchamber. She closed the door quietly behind her.

He stood there, staring at that d.a.m.ned door. She was on the other side. All he had to do was open that door and go to her. He knew if he did, he would make love to her, probably make love with her until they were both unconscious. His hand was on the doork.n.o.b. Then he drew it back.

He would see her in the morning. He planned to see her every day for the rest of their lives. But first, he knew, he had to find out what was holding her back from him. What was wrong? He shrugged. He would find out everything he wanted to know about her. The problem was probably something niggling and insignificant, and he would fix it. Even if it was something more than insignificant, he would fix it. Wasn't his son always telling him that he was the strongest papa in the world, and the smartest?

He was whistling at he walked to his bedchamber.

"You don't have to return with us, your grace. Surely there are so many more interesting things for you to do here."

He gave her a lazy grin. "No, not this time. I've decided you need my guilding hand, Evangeline. I've decided that whenever I let you out of my sight, you flounder, nearly get yourself seduced, and then when I come to save you, you don't want to let me go."

She hadn't slept well, had dreamed of Edgerton slipping into Edmund's bedchamber, a length of rope in his hands, or a stiletto, or just his hands, his fingers, that could squeeze the life out of a child. She wanted only to leave London.

"I won't rise to your bait," she said. He let her be. She didn't look at all well.

Marianne Clothilde said as she held Edmund against her side, "My son will take care of you two, Evangeline. Leave everything to him. You look tired, my dear. Just beg Edmund to let you sleep. Perhaps he'll be good enough to allow it."

"If she promises to make the weather warm again, Grandmama, then I'll let her nap with me."

"You are a sainted child," Marianne Clothilde said, kissing her grandson. "I imagine Evangeline will be able to deal with something as easy as England's weather."

"That's what I thought," Edmund said. Marianne Clothilde kissed him again. "Thank you for your kindness, your grace," Evangeline said. "I hope I will see you again."

"Oh, you shall. I fancy you and I will be seeing quite a lot of each other in the future. Now, dearest, may I speak to you for a few moments?"

When Evangeline had taken Edmund from the drawing room, Marianne Clothilde said, "I wish you luck. There is something wrong here. Leaving with no warning, it makes no sense. I haven't a clue to what it may be. Do you?"

"Not as yet. If there is something bothering her, I shall wring it out of her."

"I'm glad that Edmund is so very fond of her. I don't suppose you'd ever use your son as a lever, would you?"

Her handsome, very confident, sometimes arrogant son raised an eyebrow and said, "d.a.m.nation, Mother, do you think I will have to stoop to such a level as that?"

"It's possible. Evangeline is a strong-willed young woman."

He started to say that she would do what he told her to when he realized that if he said those words, his fond mother would likely laugh at him. Actually, he'd probably laugh at himself. "I'd even use Bunyon if it would gain me," he said. Marianne Clothilde said as she turned to look up at the portrait of the late duke, "It's a shame that she was just a child when your father wanted you to marry. I fancy that things would have turned quite differently had she been Marissa's age."

"Father liked to tell me that if I always looked to the future and didn't whine about the past, only corrected my past mistakes, then all would work out and I would be a better man." The duke swept up his mother in his arms and hugged her tightly. "I miss Father as do you. Do you know that he was right? Do you know I fancy that a widower and a widow are well matched?"

"I believe," Marianne Clothilde said, "that you and your father are two of the best men who have ever graced the earth. I loved him with all my heart. I don't expect Evangeline to feel any less about you."

Chapter 32.

The duke's face was perfectly straight, his voice perfectly even as he said, "... And then Bunyon swore to my father that the bully did indeed fall off the bridge. He also swore that I'd been standing at least ten feet away, that I couldn't have been responsible. To which my father said, 'I already know that my son's a devil, Bunyon. That he's also a magician comes as no surprise.'"

Evangeline laughed. "Did the bully know how to swim?"

"As I recall, Teddy Lawson was torturing other children the very next day." "Whatever happened to him?" "The last I heard, he was a vicar somewhere in the Cotswolds. Life is interesting, is it not?"

Her head went down. She drew stillness over her as if it were a shield to protect her. He frowned at her bent head. "You didn't answer me," he said. "Don't you agree that life is interesting? That life prepares sometimes very unusual dishes to put on your plate?"

"Yes," she said, raising her head again, still not looking at him. "Life is so unexpected that I sometimes want to die. No, I didn't mean that. How silly of me to say such a ridiculous thing."

It was a start, the duke thought. They'd been back to Chesleigh for only two days. He already knew that she'd suffered pain in her short life; the sainted Andre had departed this life, and her father and mother had also died. But there was something else, and it was different. He felt immense frustration. Why had she wanted to come back to Chesleigh, and with so little warning?

He leaned his shoulder against the mantelpiece, a gla.s.s of brandy in his hand, and looked thoughtful a moment. He said abruptly, "Perhaps you would like to come with me to Southampton. We could sail to the Isle of Wight. If it pleased you, we could remain at my house in Ventnor for several days. Edmund loves it there, as I already told you. It would be a rare treat for him."

She felt fear, panic, and a terrible regret well up inside her. The instruction given to her by Conan DeWitt was that she meet one of Houchard's men the following evening at the cove and he would have further orders for her. "No," she said quickly. She saw the puzzlement on his face and added quickly. "That is, I'm a dreadful sailor. I have a fear of boats, even big ones. I know it makes no sense, that it's stupid, really"-she fanned her hands in front of her-"I just can't help it."

He'd finally caught her in what seemed to him to be an utterly meaningless lie. He said, "Ah, a good swimmer, but afraid of the water." "No, just boats."

"You know, Evangeline, you don't have to lie in order to remain here at Chesleigh. Or is it Chesleigh itself that holds you? No, that isn't it. As I recall, you couldn't wait to leave here just a very short time ago. And now you're back again. It doesn't make sense, does it? Perhaps you just don't want to be in my company. Are you thinking I'll try to seduce you? Rid yourself of such a notion. That is something altogether different; our coming together is something that is between you and me. I truly believe you'd enjoy Ventnor."

A headache was building ferociously over her left eyebrow. "I'm not worried about seduction. I'm not worried about anything. I want to stay at Chesleigh. I love it here. I don't want to leave." "Until you beg me to take you to London again?" "I don't fancy I will want to go to London again." "Why the devil not?" She just shook her head, not looking at him, not saying anything at all. He pushed away from the mantelpiece, snapped down his gla.s.s, and strode over to her. He grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet. He shook her. "d.a.m.n you, we've been home now two days. You've done your best to avoid me. I wanted to go riding with you, and you pleaded the headache. You're skulking around like a d.a.m.ned shadow, that or a convict hiding from the magistrate. What the devil is wrong?" He eyed her with growing frustration. "There's nothing at all wrong." He let her go and began pacing. He said over his shoulder, "I hate games, Evangeline. If you find my company distasteful to you, then all you have to do is say so. I won't order you to leave Chesleigh. I won't kick you into a ditch. If you don't want me, d.a.m.n you, just tell me. I a.s.sure you that I've never forced a woman in my life. By G.o.d, every time I've touched you, you've gone wild for me. We've gone wild for each other. Now, tell me, what's going on?" In the next instant he pulled her up tightly against him, his arms wrapped around her, so close to her that he could smell her scent, feel the steady beat of her heart against his.

"Ah, Evangeline," he said. She looked up at him and saw all that he felt for her in his eyes, dark, dark eyes, the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen in her life. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no. She became aware that he was studying her, a curious expression in his eyes.

"Evangeline?"

She hated the tenderness in his voice, hated what it meant because she wasn't worthy. She wasn't anything that was good or wholesome or honest.

"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She stared at him, bereft of words. She couldn't move. He wanted to marry her? That meant he cared for her, truly cared for her; it wasn't just that he wanted her body. No. She licked her tongue over her bottom lip. She felt him tighten. "No," she said very quietly, so unhappy, so despairing, that she wondered how she'd go on. "I cannot. You don't mean that, surely you don't. You've just been thrown in my company too much. You like my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, that's all. That's it, isn't it?"

He brought his thumbs under her chin and pushed up her face. "I worship your b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They are divine b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Also, I just happen to adore your company. I don't want to spend time with any other woman, just you. I don't want to make love to any other woman, just you. I want you to marry me. I will be so faithful, you'll occasionally want to kick me off your hearth. And if you didn't hear me the first time, yes, I revere your b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

She pulled away from him, and he let her go. It was her turn to pace. She wanted to run but knew she couldn't. He'd catch her. He already knew something was terribly wrong. She had to convince him that she wasn't anything he could possibly want. His wife? Oh, G.o.d, no.

"You're mocking me. You are amusing yourself at my expense," she said at last. "It isn't well done of you."

"I suppose I did rush my fences a bit," he said. "And here I've always considered myself a bit of an expert on handling women. I wouldn't ever amuse myself to hurt you, Evangeline. Marriage is a serious business. I don't think I could jest about how I wish to spend my life."

She felt a nearly overwhelming burst of utter joy, but almost immediately she saw Edmund, dead, his lifeless eyes staring up at her. She saw her father, and he was dead as well, his white hands folded over his chest, his eyes closed, two copper pennies covering them, just as her mother's eyes had been closed with copper pennies in her death. She couldn't bear it, she just couldn't. She wanted to shriek. Instead, she felt tears sting the back of her eyes, tears of rage at her helplessness.

There was no choice for her. She forced herself to turn away from him. She forced herself to say in a faraway voice, "I thank you, your grace, but my answer to your gracious offer must be no. I don't wish to marry again. I don't wish to be at the whim of another man for the rest of my life. I'm sorry, truly, if I've distressed you-"

He laughed. "I've never before heard that phrase, but I know it's one that's supposedly popular with young ladies who want to be polite as they turn down a suitor. Is this the first time you've had to use it?"

She had to find something else, anything. "It's an English lady you must wed, your grace, not some half-French n.o.body without a dowry who has already been once married."

He laughed again, shaking his head at her. "No, Evangeline. I don't want an English lady. It's a lady who is half French, who is a thorn in my side, who is more stubborn than a stoat, who loves my son as much as he loves her. Ah, and don't let me overlook her tongue that flays me when she isn't kissing me or looking at me like she wants to leap on me.

"You must know that the last thing I need is a dowry. As to your having already been married, it makes no difference. How could you ever think that it would? Believe me, I've no interest at all in some young twit who's as ignorant as the winter is long. As to being at another man's whims, I promise you that if I ever become an autocrat, you can pound me in the head. Isn't that fair?"

"I don't want to," she said, and she knew that it wasn't enough, but her brain was blank, only emptiness remained. "Please, don't speak of it further."

"This is the most unusual experience of my life. Here is a woman I wish to marry. I know she wants me. I fancy that she cares for me. I'm not a blind man. You also care mightily for my son. I believe there is some sort of problem that is apart from the two of us. If you would but tell me, I'll do my best to fix it." Then his dark eyes widened. "No," he said, "oh, no. Your husband, the sainted Andre. He isn't still alive, is he?"

She was shaking her head even as she realized he'd given her a perfect reason. He held up his hand as he saw her mouth open. "Don't do it," he said. "Don't even try. Why won't you marry me, Evangeline?"

"I won't deny that I want you," she said. "But I don't love you. I don't want to marry you. I don't want you for a husband. And I simply don't understand why you, a man who told me he didn't even believe in love, should want to tie himself to one woman? Why?"

"Ask me again in three or four decades, and then we can discuss my obvious weakness for you."

She was drowning and he was offering her life, only she couldn't take it. One day he would discover what she was. On that day he would revile her. He would curse her. She was his enemy; he just didn't yet realize it.

"You've mistaken my feelings. I don't love you." He didn't believe her. She'd been silent for too long. He'd told her he wasn't a blind man. He'd seen the myriad expressions on her face, one leaving, another shadowing her eyes, and he'd seen more anguish than he could begin to understand. He wanted to shake her, yell at her, but something held him back. He said quite mildly, "Then what are your feelings for me that I have so misunderstood?"

She raised her eyes to his face, knowing that she must hurt him, and herself. She remembered Lady Jane Bellerman's insults, so childish, really, but she had no choice but to try them. She hated herself even as she said, her voice cold, "You don't have to offer me marriage, your grace. You asked me what my feelings for you are. I find you a very desirable man, as I suspect most women do. I would like to bed you, not wed you." She forced herself to shrug her shoulders indifferently. "As Lady Jane said, Englishmen don't wed ladies who have already known another man. You may admit it to me, your grace, it's my body you want, not interminable years in my company. Believe me, I'm honored that you would push for marriage just to get me in your bed. You may stop your marriage talk now. I'll come to your bed, willingly."

It was odd. He'd known her for less then two months, but he knew she was lying. Actually, she didn't lie all that well. What to do? To buy himself time, he said only, "I don't understand you, Evangeline."

She gave what he a.s.sumed was her rendition of a Gallic shrug, not a very good one. "If I were entirely English-one of you-and a virgin, no doubt I should view such an offer with far different eyes. But I've been married. I don't wish to do that again. Perhaps you were right that Andre was a clod with lovemaking. I know that you're not. I know that you'd be perfect about all of it."

What would he say? What would he do? Would she shortly see contempt for her in his eyes?

"So," he said, and there was simple amus.e.m.e.nt in his dark eyes. "So, now you appear to have found a use for me. At least now you admit that the dearly departed Saint Andre wasn't a magnificent, G.o.dlike specimen." He paused, and his voice lowered. "Did he abuse you? Did the b.a.s.t.a.r.d hit you?"

"No, of course not. Listen, I simply prefer my widowed life. I enjoy doing what I wish." No, that couldn't be right. "While it's true that I haven't much money, I do enjoy Edmund, I enjoy living at Chesleigh." Good G.o.d, she was digging a hole that would shortly land her in faraway China.

"And what you wish," he said slowly, "is that I become your lover and not your husband?" "I enjoy kissing you."

"Ah, that's nice to hear." What was going on here? He walked to her slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. She didn't back away from him. This was getting more interesting. He closed his hands about her shoulders and pulled her slowly against him. She tried to free herself, but he tightened his hold and brought her closer. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s touched his chest, and he knew he was hard as a stone. Then he felt all of her and wanted to howl with the overwhelming l.u.s.t and tenderness and urgency that were flooding over him. Would she always have this effect on him? He imagined so. He smiled at her as he forced her face upward. "You're mine," he said, his voice warm and light against her forehead. Then he lowered his head, slowly and deliberately, and kissed her. "You're mine. Now and forever, you're only mine."

"No," she said, and knew she wanted him so much she would shatter if she couldn't kiss him now, this very instant. "Oh, yes. No more playacting, Evangeline." "Please," she said, and he kissed her once, again, not forcing her mouth to open, but she did open her mouth, eagerly. His hands were in her hair, pulling out all the pins, freeing her hair, stroking his fingers through it, then down her back, cupping her b.u.t.tocks in his big hands. Then his hands were back in her hair, tangling it around his fingers, and he didn't stop kissing her. He said into her mouth, his voice not at all steady, "Do you remember when I told you your hair is exquisite?"

"Yes," she said, just the sound of her voice nearly bringing him to his knees. His hands were on her hips again, lifting her against him, pressing her tighter and tighter. He wanted more than anything to have her naked, pressed this tightly against him. She felt his lips against her temples, her cheeks, the hollow of her throat. He drew back, his hands still cupping her hips, and looked down into her face.

"What are you feeling, Evangeline?"

She didn't think it an odd question, for she had no experience with men. She opened her eyes, and for a long moment she found herself unable to say anything.

"I would give my life for you," she said.

He stared at her, even as he felt a surge of l.u.s.t so powerful that he nearly pulled her to the carpet beneath their feet. No, no, he thought. Not yet. He got a grip on himself. "Will you always surprise me with the unexpected? Would you tell me why a woman who merely has a wish for a lover would feel so strongly about her lover's well-being?"

He heard her breath catch, felt her go rigid in his arms, felt that resistance in her, and said, "I love you, Evangeline. It's far beyond l.u.s.t, if l.u.s.t it ever truly was. I imagine that I will love you until I c.o.c.k up my toes and pa.s.s to the hereafter. My father found his mate in my mother. I have found my mate in you. Come, are the words so very hard for you to say?"

She pressed her face inward against his shoulder and shook her head.

He kissed her temple, her cheek, smoothed a fingertip over her eyebrows, kissed the hollow of her throat. Then he closed his hands over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was trembling, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s heaving. She arched her back, pushing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his palms. "Do you want me, Evangeline?"

"Yes. Yes." She threw herself against him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head down so she could kiss him. He laughed. "I see that you do. Will you come with me now? Will you make love with me?"

She should stop this, now. But she couldn't bear the thought that soon she would have to leave him, that she would probably have to sneak away during a dark night very soon. She would live and die without ever knowing pa.s.sion with him. Surely it wasn't so wrong to show him she loved him, to give herself to him just this one night? Tomorrow night, when she met the man who was coming from Houchard, she would tell him that she was of no more use, and she would ready herself to leave. Perhaps she would go to London with him, never see the duke again after tomorrow night. She didn't want to deny him herself. And her body was all she could share with him. No, she thought, tell the truth. She didn't want to deny herself. She had to know him, she had to have this one night with him. She said, "Yes, I want to make love with you."

Chapter 33.

"After you, Evangeline."

She surprised them both by hesitating, her eyes wide and wary upon his face. He smiled at her, gently shoved her inside his bedchamber, and closed the door.

Her lips were dry. Suddenly she was very afraid. She was a fool. She would shame herself. She would disgust him. She backed away from him. "I don't think this is a good idea, your grace."

"That's a fact," he said, and he laughed. "But it doesn't matter now, it's far too late." He pulled her into his arms. "Open your mouth to me, Evangeline. You know it will heighten your pleasure."

She started to speak, but his mouth closed over hers, and he pressed himself hard against her belly. The knowledge that he would enter her, just as his tongue was possessing her mouth, frightened her and excited her so much she was shaking. She kissed him, so excited that she was clumsy in her awakened pa.s.sion. She clutched him, wanting more but having no idea what to do.

"What do you feel now?" His breath was hot in her mouth, and his tongue touched her bottom lip.

"Wild, but I don't know what it's all about. I don't know, just that I feel like there's so much for you to give me and so much for me to give you. Help me."

The image of her faceless husband rose in his mind. How could any man have cheated himself of her pa.s.sion? It was a good thing that the saintly Andre had made his way out of this world; else the duke would have been eager to a.s.sist him out.

He took over. He pulled her hard against him and unfastened all the tiny b.u.t.tons that marched up her back. They parted easily under his practiced fingers, and her gown slipped free from her shoulders. It fell softly to the carpet, billowing at her feet.

Soon she'd be naked. "I don't know about this," she said. "You must believe me, for I mean it. Oh, dear, what are you doing?" He untied her single petticoat and watched it fall atop her gown. He was on his knees in front of her, his hands on her leg. "I'm pulling down your stockings. Nothing alarming." What had that d.a.m.ned departed Andre done to her?

"I won't marry you, I won't." She was panting, her words tripping over each other. "You'll see, once you've had me, you won't want me anymore. I promise you."

He appeared to consider her words quite dispa.s.sionately for a moment, though he had difficulty suppressing a grin. So insistent she was even now. Well, they would both know soon what was to be. He pulled down her other stocking, then removed her slippers. She was wearing only a shift that came mid-thigh. He rose, looked down at her a moment, then gently eased away the lace straps and watched the soft muslin fall away from her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s to her belly. He tugged it again, and it fell from her hips, floating to the floor. She was naked, finally utterly naked, and she was his. He looked at her belly, wanting desperately to touch her deeply, to caress her with his fingers and his mouth, but something stopped him. He saw panic in her eyes.

She tried to cover herself. He gently pulled her arms away and stepped close. "Close your arms around me. Yes, that's it. I like that."

His hands were on her bare back, stroking up and down. When he cupped her hips in his hands, she realized that the feelings that were building deep in her belly were something she'd never before even considered could exist. It was remarkable. Then his fingers pushed slightly inward, and she felt his warm fingers touching her woman's flesh, flesh only she herself had ever seen or touched. She started to shake her head, started to pull away, then realized that the last thing she wanted was to pull away from him, pull away from his fingers. She raised her face. "Please. Give me more." He felt poleaxed. "Oh, yes. But there's no need to rush. Feel what you've done to me. Put your hand over my heart, because I'm not about to let your beautiful bottom out of my hands."

"Your heart's beating very fast," she said. "As is yours." His fingers went inward again, and one of them was eased inside her. "Oh, goodness," she whispered. "I never imagined, oh, goodness."

She was very small and very tight around his finger. He kissed her, his eyes closed against the power of it, against a need that would surely consume him if he didn't have her very soon. He felt her become moist as his fingers touched her, lightly stroked her. She was loosening, opening to him, wanting him. It was heady, it was almost too much. He had to pull away from her or spill his seed, and that wouldn't be at all good for either of them.