"Did I tell you that your hair is exquisite?" She opened her eyes to see him gently rubbing a thick tress against his cheek. A fleeting look of anger or pain-she couldn't be certain which-darkened his eyes.

"Your grace?" She closed her fingers over his large hand. "I'm not your mother. I have no wish to be your mother. I just want you to be happy. Is it the lady who wed another man? This Phillip Mercerault?" He pulled slowly away. She wished in that moment that she'd kept her mouth shut. She wanted him close, wanted him to touch her. She couldn't believe it, but it was true. Then she felt cold filling her. She was betraying him.

She watched him look into the fireplace. He was still holding her with his hand wrapped around her hair, but more loosely now. "Sabrina?" he said. "No, she didn't break me, Evangeline. There are other things at work here that make me crazed with helplessness." He sighed. "You're a romantic, like most ladies. No, I didn't love her. No, she didn't break my heart, whatever that means. I sometimes believe that such an emotion is quite beyond my ken. But I wanted her. I wanted to take her to bed, and that, Evangeline, is what most men want of women, nothing more, nothing less. Marriage is forced upon us so that we have an heir that springs from our loins and not from another man's."

"I can't believe you're saying that. Why would a woman do such a thing? There is love, at least I've heard that there is. I've read about it. So much has been written, so believably. Just because I've never felt it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist."

She realized in that instant what she'd said. She grew utterly still, her eyes locked on his face.

"Ah, we're back to the esteemed Andre, that superior man who was your husband. You didn't love him. What was it, a marriage of convenience? At least you have to know that I'm speaking the truth-a man weds a woman so that he can bed her whenever and wherever he likes."

"Andre wasn't like that. It wasn't a marriage of convenience."

"You didn't love him."

"Of course I did. I was speaking philosophically." "I believe," he said, and there was something intent in his dark eyes, something that held her and frightened her and excited her all at the same time, "that you lie more fluently that you doubtless speak French. I will have to show you, remind you how things really are between a man and a woman."

He lowered his head, and she felt his warm breath at her temple. She felt his hand stroke her throat, and when his lips lightly touched hers, she felt something she'd never felt before. It was hot and deep in her belly and spreading throughout her body and she didn't want it to stop, ever. His mouth was open, his tongue against her lips, pressing lightly. She parted her lips to feel his tongue. Without realizing it, she arched toward him, clasped her hands about his shoulders, drawing him closer to her. He released her mouth and rained gentle, caressing kisses upon her eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. He drew back a moment, and his eyes were on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He watched his fingers move downward. Then he watched them begin to mold her b.r.e.a.s.t.s through her cotton nightgown and wool dressing gown. It wasn't enough, and it was more than she could begin to imagine. "Oh," she said, and leaned into his hands. "So many clothes," he said. She didn't move, scarcely breathed when he pulled her dressing gown open. She watched him as he unfastened the ribbons of her nightgown. She knew this wasn't right. She didn't know this man. He was going to see her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She should stop him, but she wasn't about to. All she wanted was his hands on her bare skin.

She shuddered when his hands slipped into her opened nightgown and lifted her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She breathed in sharply through her nose. Her back arched. What she was feeling, she couldn't have imagined such a thing. It was too much, and, at the same time, not nearly enough.

"Yes," he said, "give me more of yourself. I knew you'd be beautiful. You're very white, Evangeline, and your b.r.e.a.s.t.s fill my hands. You like me touching you, don't you? You like my hands moving over your flesh."

He leaned down and began kissing her again even as his hands played over her, stroked her.

She was betraying him. She felt awash with bitter knowledge. She pulled back slowly. His hands stilled on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She felt heavy and, oddly, very hungry. She looked at his mouth, at his dark eyes. "I'm sorry, your grace. I shouldn't be here. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one to be sorry," he said on a sigh, but still he didn't release her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "You're so beautiful. I hadn't ever thought this could be so difficult." Again, he was looking down at his hands holding her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, feeling them, stroking them. "I must release you, I must." Slowly his forehead furrowing in near pain, he eased his hands away from her. He put his hands in his lap, folding them. He leaned his head back against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "I wouldn't dishonor you. You're under my protection. You're safe from everyone. In particular, you're safe from me. You have to be. Please, close your clothing, Evangeline. Please. I can't touch you again. It was hard enough for me to stop this time."

She stared up at him, mute, not moving. He wasn't looking at her, but she felt him, felt him throughout all of her.

He opened his eyes again and looked down at her. "You're a very responsive woman, Evangeline. The sainted Andre was a very lucky man to have you."

"No," she said, without thinking. "Really, this is the first time-oh, no. I'm sorry."

She still made no move to cover herself. The duke stared down at her bowed head. She was pa.s.sionate. What if she hadn't stopped him? He would have stopped himself, then. He wasn't an animal. Her words struck the wrong chord in his mind. He shook his head. He was drunk. Everything was strange, off key when he was drunk, which he was too often these days. He had to bring it all to a halt. It was time to return to his life the way it had been, before Sabrina, before Robbie's violent murder.

He would prove to himself that he was again in full control. "Close your nightgown."

Still she didn't move. It seemed that she couldn't move. He laced her nightgown together over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He pulled her wool dressing down closed. Then he sat back, his chin resting on his fist. His flesh tingled from touching her.

"Was your husband a selfish man who didn't care for your pleasure?"

Why had he thought that? She shook her head, trying to drag her wits back into her brain. "I don't know what you mean."

He stood up quickly, pulling Evangeline to her feet with him. "I mean that you wanted me touching you, pleasuring you. You were yielding and giving, and you enjoyed everything I did to you. Didn't you enjoy your husband touching you? Caressing you?"

She stared up at him, saying nothing. After all, what could she say?

He looked like he wanted to strangle her. He stepped away, his voice brisk, cold. "Such a thing will not occur again, as long as you are living under my roof. I wouldn't ever want you to fear me or take me into dislike."

She felt torn apart by guilt. How could she do this? She merely nodded, her head down.

He felt hot l.u.s.t twist in his groin. "You must go to bed, Evangeline. It's very late."

She stared at him silently for a long moment, then said in a curiously sad voice, "I could never fear or dislike you. That would have to fall to you. But you're right, it mustn't happen again. Good night, your grace." She picked up her candle with a trembling hand and walked quickly from the library, quietly closing the door behind her.

When the duke lay in his own bed some time later, he decided that this young woman who was dependent upon him, who would see to the care of his young son, had to be safe from him. He thought of tasting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and shuddered. He would leave for London as planned, at the end of the week. She tempted him more than any other woman he'd ever known. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, far from it. He had no idea what drew him to her, but something did. He would put distance and time between them to clear his mind of her. It was what he wanted.

Chapter 15.

Evangeline stood in the long picture gallery, the morning sun spilling down on her through the high, diamond-shaped window panes. It was just after eight o'clock in the morning. Already it was promising to be the second very warm day in the middle of February, a phenomenon that surely couldn't last after today. She looked up at a seventeenth-century Duke of Portsmouth, who looked out onto the world with a particularly stringent expression on his long, handsome face. She said to that long-ago duke, "Your grace, my father told me that all the young men I'd met were just that-young. In addition, they were woefully inexperienced. I pointed out to him that they were also possessive, like Henri. Goodness, Henri didn't want me out of his sight. He wanted me with him, always with him, as if he was afraid that I'd go haring off with one of his friends. My father laughed when I told him that and just shook his head. I remember he said that I was to be patient, that boys became men, just as girls become women." She paused and looked down at her slippers, not Marissa's. Marissa's were much too small. But the skirt that lightly touched those slippers was one of Marissa's, a rich forest green muslin with beautiful gold braid twisted beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and braided trim for the circular neckline. She looked up at the painting again. The duke still looked stringent and not one bit interested in what she was saying. After the previous night in the duke's library, after he'd had his hands on her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, well, there was a lot to think about. She said, her voice quieter, a frowning voice to match her thoughts, "But Papa wasn't right. I've met older men, men he'd call sophisticated, but there was nothing there, nothing at all, except perhaps boredom." She drew in a deep breath. "I must be going mad to stand here talking to you. I know it, but at least I know you won't give away any confidences. Oh, dear. What I did last night, what I allowed the duke to do, it was wondrous. It was beyond anything I could have imagined. But I shouldn't have ever followed him. I guess I wanted to go with him, to see what he would do, to hear what he would say-I can't lie to myself about that. You still don't answer, and I'm beginning to expect you to. Ah, I'm well and truly mad."

The duke drew back behind one of his mother's favorite antiquities, a white marble bust of some ancient playwright in Greece. He was smiling. He wondered how much of her one-sided conversation with a ducal ancestor he'd missed out on. What he'd heard made him halt in his tracks. Wondrous, was it? It made him sweat. He'd wanted to lay her out on the carpet in front of the fireplace. He wouldn't have cared if she was on top of him or vice versa, truth be told. He'd wanted to kiss her until she was whimpering, and then he'd wanted to come into that beautiful body of hers and- "Your grace. You are standing here seemingly without any particular purpose. A gentleman of your stature should always have a purpose. Is there some sort of problem?"

He turned to see Ba.s.sick, not a foot from him, looking for all the world like one of the dons at Oxford. Ba.s.sick was just standing there as well, also seemingly without purpose, looking as aloof and determined as that d.a.m.ned former duke who was being confided in by Evangeline. A lovely name, that. It was soft on the tongue. He liked the feel of it in his mouth, sounding in his mind. How long had Ba.s.sick been there? "You walk more quietly than a b.l.o.o.d.y shadow, Ba.s.sick." "One endeavors, your grace." "Is that sweat I see on your forehead?" "It is too early to sweat, your grace, but perhaps later I will have to dab my handkerchief to my brow. I believe we may regard this as very strange weather for February in England. It is weather that properly belongs to August. Now, may I a.s.sist your grace?"

"I don't need anything. I merely heard Madame speaking and wondered who was the recipient. It turns out to be one of my ancestors. I doubt he's much for conversation now. Go away, Ba.s.sick. I'll fetch Madame down to breakfast."

"Yes, your grace," Ba.s.sick said, turned on his heel and began his stately march down the long corridor.

The duke called out, a smile on his face, "Evangeline, are you here? I thought I heard you speaking to someone."

There was silence for two heartbeats, then she said, her voice deep and guilty-sounding, "Yes, I'm right here. I was just admiring the gold frames on the portraits. There is a lot of gold."

She was walking toward him, wearing one of Marissa's gowns that he remembered, and he wondered where Dorrie had found all the additional material to accommodate Evangeline's marvelous b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She looked splendid. He saw those b.r.e.a.s.t.s of hers clearly in his mind, bare and beautifully glowing in the firelight the night before. He drew in his breath. This would never do.

"If I ever lose all my money, why, I'll just sell some of those gold frames. Surely they'll support me for a good long time." He added, looking down, unable not to, "You know, they are rather fine."

"What's fine?" she said, knowing very well what he was doing, and staring at him until she realized what she was doing. She jerked her head away.

"The frames, naturally. Now, would you like to come with me to breakfast?"

"Yes, I'm quite hungry. Shall we get Edmund to breakfast with us?"

A thick black eyebrow went up. "I don't fancy Bedlam with my coffee and porridge. No, we will leave Edmund to Ellen. After breakfast he's mine for the entire morning. You have nothing more to do than resume your doubtless fascinating monologue to my ancestors. Don't worry about him."

Had he really overheard her speaking to his oblivious relative? The thought that he had made her nearly trip over her slippers. "Your head doesn't hurt this morning?"

"Oh, no. I'm one of those lucky men who rarely feel more than just a bit drowsy if they've imbibed too much. Ah, and just how do you feel this morning, Evangeline?"

She was silent as a stone, walking beside him, her eyes straight ahead. He added, his voice lower, "I can tell you how you felt last night, but I suppose you wouldn't take that in the spirit in which I would present it to you. There goes your chin, up a good two inches. No, I won't tease you, but it's tempting, very tempting. I will be a gentleman." He sighed deeply.

She was trying desperately to remember if she'd said anything to the portrait about betraying him. No, surely not, but she'd been about to. The guilt had been near to spilling out of her. She tamped down on it. Not now. She'd have to stew alive in the guilt, for there was simply nothing she could do about it. Yes, there was. She could make herself stop slavering over him with every other thought in her head.

He ushered her into a small breakfast room that gave onto the east lawn. Sunlight flooded into this charming, airy room.

"I see that Mrs. Dent did as instructed," he said, and pulled back her chair for her. The footman moved back to stand by the door.

"Oh, goodness," she said and stared with delight at the plate of croissants in front of her plate.

"Good morning, your grace, Madame," Mrs. Raleigh said, sweeping into the small room. This morning she was wearing a gown of the palest pink with beautiful Valencienne lace at the collar and the cuffs, banded with a darker pink satin beneath the bodice. She looked slight and beautiful, and a bit strange with the huge ring of keys dangling from a narrow leather belt tight at her waist, particularly since there wasn't a waist. "I see you've noticed the croissants. His grace ordered them especially for you, you being half French and all. Mrs. Dent hopes they're to your liking."

"It's wonderful, Mrs. Raleigh. Thank you, your grace. It is very thoughtful of you." She had a mouthful even before he was seated. He smiled down the table at her. "No, you don't have to say anything, just eat." He served himself toast, eggs, and kidneys.

Mrs. Raleigh seemed loath to leave. She said to Evangeline, "His grace said you don't care for hearty English breakfasts, and as he didn't want you to fade away, he believed the croissants to be just the thing." When Mrs. Raleigh said that, Evangeline looked at the duke. He wasn't looking at her face. "Yes," he said, taking a bite of eggs, "I wouldn't want to lose your, er, upper self."

Mrs. Raleigh was counting her keys, Evangeline saw, and didn't hear what he'd said. Evangeline tried to slump down, just a bit.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Raleigh said, and lightly patted her on the back. "Dorrie did magnificently with the gown. She told me she removed panels from the skirt to add to other places. Now, I will leave you to your breakfast. There is always so much to be done, you know. I can't spend the time talking to you, even though I should like it immensely." "She's remarkable," Evangeline said. "Yes. She and my mother have been friends for years. She also told me all about girls when I was about twelve. She's very knowledgeable. Eat, that's not enough."

She laughed. "You're disgraceful. You were only twelve?"

"Perhaps twelve and a half. I don't precisely remember. But Mrs. Raleigh told me what was what, at least in very basic terms, like don't ever touch anything above a girl's wrist, don't ever let a girl whisper in my ear, nervy things like that."

"Goodness, why ever not? What's nervy about whispering in the ear?"

"Evidently having a female so very close to a male, even a very young one, could lead to uncontrollable urges on the male's part. The girl's breath in his ear would shove him right over the edge." He rose, tossing his napkin down beside his plate. "You will have to excuse me now. I promised Edmund we would ride. We will see you later. Don't rush, Evangeline. I'll see you later, at luncheon."

He'd left half of his breakfast untouched on his plate. She slowly spread jam on another croissant. She closed her eyes as she bit into it. What had he heard her saying to his ancestor?

She felt John Edgerton's cool, dry fingers on her wrist. She shuddered, then realized that she'd crumbled the croissant into a ball. She put it on her plate and wiped her hands on her napkin. She was to meet him tonight at the cove for instructions. At the thought the croissant she'd been chewing turned to paste in her mouth. She swallowed with difficulty. She'd forgotten for just a couple of moments, not long, but remembering nearly brought her to her knees. What to do?

She waited at the table until she heard the duke and Edmund leave the house. Then she walked quickly up to her bedchamber. Although Houchard had described the private beach and the hidden cave, she hadn't seen the cave before, which meant that it wasn't at all obvious. She'd find it now. She had no choice. There was too much at stake to risk being late for her meeting. How would she manage to make her escape from the duke this evening?

She didn't know. She'd worry about that later.

She changed quickly into one of her old gowns and an old pair of walking boots. The morning was very warm indeed. It was very strange to have summer in the midst of winter. By noon it would be quite hot. She breathed in the tangy salt air. A light breeze ruffled her hair. By the time she reached the protected cove and walked carefully down the long zigzagging path, she felt sweat on her forehead and at the small of her back.

When she reached the beach, she shaded her eyes with her hand and looked to the south. The cliff jutted out nearly into the water, its nearly barren, craggy face shadowed from the morning sun. She made her way quickly toward it through the coa.r.s.e sand. She found the cave only when she nearly stumbled into it, overhung with scraggly bushes. It was immediately on the water's edge. Not more than a foot of sand between the cave entrance and the lapping waves. No one who wasn't looking specifically for the cave would ever see it.

The entrance was low, and she crouched down. Then it soared upward. Six more steps into the cave and she shivered. It was damp and the air was chill. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She saw that the cave was long and narrow, extending some twenty-five feet into the cliff. She pulled up short, realizing that the ground was wet beneath her feet. She reached up and ran her fingers along the stone walls, slimy with sea moss, to a level well above her head. At high tide the sea filled the cave. It wouldn't be a good thing at all to be trapped in here.

She retraced her steps to the mouth of the cave and stood quietly for a moment, lifting her face upward to the hot sun, breathing in the sharp salt air.

She stepped out of the cave, looked over the water, and stopped cold. Her breath whooshed out. She saw the duke, waist high in the water, carrying Edmund upon his shoulders, some thirty feet up the beach. She jerked back into the cave. Oh, goodness, what was he doing here? He was supposed to be riding. Yet he was swimming with Edmund. It was certainly warm enough, but she imagined that the sea water was still very cold. Yes, he'd spoken of swimming with his son the day before. But here? Now? With her staring at him?

What to do? She considered staying tucked away in the cave until the duke and Edmund had left the beach, but she saw that the tide was rising quickly. She didn't want to get wet. She didn't want to drown.

She couldn't walk south because the cliff jutted out into the water. Very well, north it was. Back from whence she'd come. She walked out of the cave, head up, whistling into the warm breeze. If she just kept whistling, she'd be all right. She didn't mean to look at him, truly she didn't. But she did. Evangeline hadn't ever seen a naked man. He was only twenty yards away. She could see him very clearly, more clearly than she deserved, really. She watched him lift Edmund above his head and toss him forward into the water. She'd never really been all that aware of men, until last night, in the duke's library, when he'd touched her and kissed her. And now he was here, all naked and unknowing, and she looked at him and nearly swallowed her tongue. She hadn't imagined that a man could look like him. Surely her father was very beautiful, but he was slight, no muscle to speak of, not like the duke, who was hard and long and hairy, hairy from his thick, wet black hair on his head to the wet black hair on his chest, to the wet black hair on his groin. Goodness, she could see all of him from his knees up. She knew she should look away. She shouldn't be here, looking her fill at him, wanting desperately to race to him and fling him onto his back on the sand, and flatten herself against him.

She knew that man had a phallus and that it stuck out from his groin. She hadn't known what to expect, but this wasn't at all frightening or strange. His s.e.x was against him, not sticking out or anything else to alarm her. No, he didn't look at all frightening, just different. She heard Edmund's shriek of delight and saw a tangle of arms and legs. When the duke stood again, Edmund was clinging to his back, his arms wrapped about his neck. She heard him say, "All right, Edmund, that's quite enough. Ten minutes, no longer, else we'll turn into blocks of ice."

She should leave. He hadn't seen her. Now, she should leave now. She walked quickly to a thick overhanging bush and stepped beneath it. And she continued to look. She watched the duke, Edmund still shrieking with laughter. Edmund said something, pointing toward a gull, and he laughed. She saw that both of them were shivering. Imagine even ten minutes in that water. She shivered just thinking about it.

She watched the muscles tighten and expand with his laughter, with his striding in the water, with his holding Edmund on his shoulders. She should leave. She still had time.

She had no shame.

Chapter 16.

"Papa," Edmund shouted. "Look, there's Eve." He was waving his arms wildly toward her. "She's here to watch us swim. I'm glad she came. I didn't think she believed that I was a good swimmer." The die was cast. She was trapped. She knew he was looking at her, but he didn't pause, didn't hesitate, just kept walking toward sh.o.r.e through the waves, some of them nearly knocking him down.

There was no hope for it. She ran past the cave to the south, only to draw up short. She'd forgotten that the land lunged out into the water, cutting any escape off in that direction. Slowly she walked back. She heard the duke shout, "I see her, Edmund. Yes, there she is, not more than twenty yards away from us. And just look, I believe she's now walking this way since she realizes she can't decamp the other way. Let's wait for her, Edmund. I'm sure she's going to tell us how much she's enjoyed our swimming exhibition. Yes, we've provided her quite a show, albeit a short one, since the water was so b.l.o.o.d.y cold."

Evangeline stopped in her tracks. How long had he known she was there, watching him, slavering as she watched him? He now stood ankle-deep in the water, the waves gently lapping around him, and he was changing. He hadn't looked at all frightening or alien before, but now he was changing, rapidly. He wasn't moving, just standing there looking at her, and changing and growing and sticking out more and more. If she had been the duke and she was changing like that, surely she would have done something, like run or turn around, but he didn't. He just stood there, Edmund still on his shoulders, smiling at her, and still changing before her eyes. Oh, goodness.

He laughed. He plucked Edmund off his shoulders and set his feet on the sand. "Fetch us towels, Edmund, and cover yourself well. I don't want you to catch a chill. Perhaps your cousin Eve would care to join us."

She didn't move an inch until he finally took a large towel his son brought to him and began to dry himself. "Eve," Edmund called, running to her even as he wiped himself down. "Did you see us? Papa threw me in the water, and I swam like a sea ba.s.s. Papa said I'd have to be careful because a fisherman might try to catch me because I swam so well. Then he'd fry me in a pan and eat me. Come and say h.e.l.lo to Papa."

What was a stunned and fascinated woman to do? She walked beside Edmund to where the duke was standing. Finally, he'd knotted the towel around his waist, and draped another over his shoulder. She studied that knot at great length. It looked well tied, but she knew she could have it unknotted in a second, two at the most.

"Papa said that ladies can't swim," Edmund said. He dropped to his knees and began scooping up sand, piling it up, patting it down, shaping it into conelike shapes. Castle towers? Then he began digging a trench.

"Your papa is quite wrong. Here, Edmund, put on your clothes, then I'll know you're warm enough. What are you building?"

"Papa's never wrong, cousin Eve. I'm going to build Chesleigh Castle."

"Perhaps," the duke said, "I can teach you how to swim even better."

"I don't need lessons. I'm a fish, just like Edmund. I'm more a lizard fish than a sea ba.s.s."

"Get dressed, Edmund," the duke called over his shoulder. "Tell me why you're here, Evangeline."

"It's February and it's very warm. I was out walking. Nothing more than walking until I happened to come down here and there you were and you didn't have any clothes on. At least now you have on a towel, and there's one about your shoulders as well, but that really isn't the same thing at all as breeches and a shirt and other things that men wear." "I see. You enjoy seeing the scenery, then?" "Certainly. I was raised in the country. There is always beautiful scenery in the country, particularly down on the beach, coming out of the water."

He knew he was very well made indeed, like his father before him. He also boxed at Gentleman Jackson's, as his father had before him. He was fit and lean and hard, as his father had been before him. He grinned at her like a thief with an eye on the silver. "I would certainly have enjoyed the scenery if I'd been the one out walking and come across you coming out of the sea."

Her tongue stuck in her mouth. Never would she have imagined such a thing, never. She, a young lady, raised properly, she was certain of that, and yet all she could think of since she'd met him was that she wanted to leap on him and kiss him until she expired. She thought he'd continue to tease her, because he was so good at it, baiting her and reeling her in more times than not, but oddly, after a moment his dark eyes searched her face, his expression thoughtful.

"You must go back to the castle, Evangeline," he said very gently. "I'll try to see that Edmund doesn't shout to the world that his cousin Eve watched both him and his father swimming."