"Quick thinking, Belmore. Now I can enjoy my ale without having to listen to that noodle-headed woman and her gaggle of gossips." The earl tossed an ale seller a coin, then paused and, in a completely surprising move, ordered a hot mulled wine and handed it to Joy with a gallant bow. Smiling at her stunned expression, he leaned indolently against the stand, sipping ale from a foamy tankard.

"I say, Downe, 'tis a small world-and fast becoming even smaller," Neil said, his voice suddenly amused. "Look there, over your right shoulder, by the skittle alleys. Isn't that..."

The earl turned, then finished in a groaning voice, "The Hornsby hellion."

Joy would have not have thought it possible for the earl of Downe-rake, cynic, and borderline drunkard-to panic at anything. But he did. His handsome and cool features became a grimace, and there was true dread in his usually shuttered eyes. He quickly stepped between the booths, trying to hide behind a swag of bunting and the shoulders of a puppeteer.

She followed the direction of Neil's amused eyes and saw the infamous Letitia Hornsby. The girl was one of the most harmless-looking women she had ever seen. Neither tall nor short, she had a bright and serious English face. She'd unfastened her rich blue pelisse and underneath was a pale blue cashmere dress with dark blue flounces and a bodice line of bright gold anchor buttons. To Joy she appeared to be completely harmless and totally incapable of creating the havoc of which these men accused her.

The girl turned suddenly, searching, her hand raised to shield her eyes as she swirled, the reticule on her wrist launching into the air like a Greek discus.

A nearby gentleman stopped it-with his open mouth. He yelped and wiggled a front tooth while he danced in ringing pain atop the ice, sprinkling ashes upward with each bootstep.

Poor Letitia gathered her startled wits and tried to apologize, reaching out to the flailing man. Like precisely aimed arrows two of her fingers poked his stunned eyes. His holler could have been heard in Glasgow. She grasped her cloak and stepped back, obviously fearful of the man's rage. With a dull thwack, he fell flat on his back, losing his beaver hat in the crowd of onlookers. His shiny black-booted feet-which had been standing on the hem of her cloak- were now pedaling the air in time to his bellowed curses.

"Oh, my goodness," Joy whispered, trying not to giggle.

"Good God!" Neil grabbed his good luck charms and stared at the supine man who was Letitia's current victim.

"What?" Alec and Richard said in unison.

Neil pointed at the man who was still lying on his back. "That's Brummell!"

Chapter 21.

The party of fairgoers arrived back at Belmore House two hours later. Laughing at the banter betweenthe viscount and the earl, Joy blew into the foyer in a flurry of wet snowflakes, followed by the bickeringlords and Alec, the only one of the group who was scowling.

"I say, Belmore," Neil said, while handing his outerwear to Henson. "You've been glowering since this

morning. No fun at all."" 'Twas bloody cold," Alec said, waving off Henson in favor of the drawing room fire where he stood fora few minutes of wanning before he removed his gloves. "See that the fire in the saloon is stoked up,Henson, and close those doors. This place is freezing."

"I'm not cold." Neil looked at the earl. "Are you cold?""No.""Been acting strange all day, Belmore."Alec didn't answer, just glared at the viscount and backed a bit closer to the fire."We weren't ready to leave, you know," Neil went on. "The fun was just starting.""Unless you were Brummell," the earl added, sinking into a wing chair and stretching out his long legs, his hands unusually empty of drink.

"I say, wasn't that the strangest thing you've ever seen? The Beau with no voice. One minute he wasbellowing at that chit and the next nothing but a croak and then silence.""Even I felt sorry for that hellion," the earl commented."Brummell can cut to the quick with that rapier tongue of his."Joy moved toward the door. "Well, I think I'll leave you gentlemen to your-""Wait." Alec's voice, sharp and cold as the sting of frost, stopped her just before she made her escape.

She turned.

His back was still to the fire, and the light glowed a golden outline around him. She couldn't see hisfeatures, but the stiffness of his stance, the angle of his head, told her exactly how he felt."I will speak to you. Alone."Joy didn't dare move. He knew, as sure as cream crowdy had rum, he knew what she'd done. She swallowed and tried to look innocent. She opened her eyes wider and hoped it worked. "Me?""You.""Whatever for?" She hoped that sounded innocent.

His silent look gave her the answer."Where?" How in the world had her traitorous voice cracked on a word of one syllable?"I say, Joy," Neil cut in, unaware of the tense exchange going on between husband and wife. "Before you leave you must promise me a dance at Prinny's ball.""A dance?" She turned to him with the eagerness of someone seeking shelter."A country dance or a minuet. Prinny still insists on opening and closing his balls with minuets. I turn a fine leg, if I do say so myself.""Turn an ankle would be more the truth." The earl gave him a smirk."I'm afraid I don't know those dances," Joy said quietly, reminded how out of place she really was."Bloody hell."She turned toward her cursing husband."Egad! How can you go to the ball if you can't dance? What are you going to do, Belmore?"Alec said nothing."She can learn now," Richard said. He flipped open his pocket watch and added, "We don't have to be at the club for a few hours.""Winning idea, Downe. We shall be her dance instructors."Surprised, she faced the earl. She would have expected such a favor from the viscount, but not the acidic earl of Downe. Unwittingly, he had saved her from an angry husbandly lecture. Joy could havekissed the man, even though she still wasn't sure she particularly liked him. He was a strange cynicalman, and she had thought he had a cruel streak of his own. Yet she had seen another side to him today.Today he'd been sober. And most uncharacteristically gallant.

Complain as he did about Letitia Hornsby, he was the one who had finally spirited her safely away fromthe ranting man who rang such a cruel and embarrassing peal over the poor girl. Joy had noted howLetitia's eyes had moistened and her face had flushed with the threat of tears, yet bravely the girl hadrefused to let herself cry.

'Twas then that Joy had twiddled her fingers, robbing the cruel man of his voice. She'd hoped Alec had

missed it. Now that hope was dead."I assumed you knew how to dance," Alec said to her, his voice still too controlled for her peace ofmind.

"What say you, Belmore? To the music room?"Alec crossed the room and stood next to her. The look on his face killed any hope she'd had that he'dforgotten about the incident at the Frost Fair. She wanted to step away, and he must have read herthoughts, because he placed his hand on her arm in a gesture that had nothing to do with husbandlyaffection and everything to do with keeping her within reach. "We shall follow you."

The two men left the room and went up the staircase. Joy started to follow, quickly, but Alec held herarm firmly so she could do little but walk by his side."Tell me, wife. What do you suppose happened to Brummell's voice?""Perhaps the cold weather. I heard once about-"His grip tightened on her arm. "I told you: no hocus-pocus," he whispered through a clenched jaw."He was humiliating that poor wee girl," she whispered back."That is none of your affair.""I couldn't stand by and watch that kind of cruelty, Alec."

"London thrives on cruelty.""The girl did not deserve such unkind treatment. That man should count himself lucky," she addedfiercely. "It could have been much worse."

"I don't see how.""I could have made him spit toads."He ground to a halt and turned, his face livid. He grabbed her shoulders, his face a mixture of anger and panic. "If you ever make anyone spit toads, I'll... I'll-""He was too cruel, Alec."He just glared down at her as if he couldn't believe she was arguing with him, as if no one ever argued with him."Sometimes words can cause greater pain than physical blows," she said with quiet seriousness.His mouth tightened into a thin line. Both of them remembered his own cruel words to her. She expected his face to tighten with displeasure. She was wrong. His eyes had narrowed, but not in anger. There was a distant look in his eyes, and he seemed to be thinking back far beyond a few nights ago. There was vulnerability in his expression- something she'd never thought to see in the duke of Belmore.

When he focused again, he searched her face, as if seeking something so elusive that he despaired of ever finding it. His eyes reflected defeat-now, that was something Joy understood. This was what she had first seen in him, this need, this vulnerable side to the cool aristocrat seen by the rest of the world. So she and Alec were both cursed by a sense of failure, only each dealt with it differently. She accepted it; he didn't. She tried to compensate; he fought it with a will so strong it formed his being.

She wished she could conquer his demons with her magic. But she couldn't even conquer her own. He had her heart and a part of her soul; she had his name and his protection. But she'd have given those away along with her powers, weak as they might be, for a loving smile from this man.

"Belmore! I can't remember which blasted room is the music room."Alec watched her a moment longer, then blinked once and answered, "Fourth door to the right." Heloosened his grip on her arms and silently led her up the second flight of stairs.

Two hours later, while Alec played the piano, Joy moved through a lively Scottish reel, partnered first bythe viscount and next by the earl. She finished the last step with a dainty spin and a merry laugh. Shedropped onto a brocade settee and said, "You've worn me out, my lord."

"The pleasure was mine, Your Grace." The earl bowed over her hand and held it just a bit longer than

seemed necessary."I say. We've taught her all the country dances-the ecossaise, minuet, contredanse. I believe that iseverything."

"Except the waltz," the earl said."Do you suppose there'll be any?" Neil asked. "You know Prinny prohibited the waltz at his last ball.""Our regent changes with the whip of the wind. Talk was that Cathcart's ball was a blinding success because Lady Jane dared to play waltzes all night. I suspect Prinny will have a waltz or two, and I'll behappy to offer my services to teach Joy to waltz.""Stuff it, Downe. You had the last dance. 'Tis my turn.""Stop!" The pianoforte keys banged in loud discord.Joy turned toward Alec, who had risen like an angry specter. "I will teach her."

No one said a word, but she thought she saw a look of pleasure cross the earl's face."You can play," Alec said to the earl, who sauntered over to the piano and sat down, clearly amused byhis friend's outburst.

Joy looked up at her husband, who stood in front of her so tall and rigid, and placed her hand in hisoutstretched one. His skin was hot, and she cast a quick surprised glance at their joined hands. He hadbeen strangely quiet since they'd entered the music room. She had assumed he was still angry and didn'twant to dance with her, partly because she was so unschooled in social graces.

"Put your hand on my upper arm." He slid his warm hand around her waist. "Come closer," he said,pulling her forward until she was too close. "'Tis three-quarter time, like the dance with the allemande.Do you remember?"

She nodded.

The earl began to play the loveliest melody she had ever heard. It caught her off guard and she turned towatch him play with more feeling than any musician she'd ever heard. "He plays wonderfully.""Yes, he does. It's one of the few things he still appears to take seriously." There was a look of pity in her husband's eyes that she knew would have sent the earl into another bout of careless drinking had he

looked up from the keys at that moment. Alec's hand squeezed her waist. "Ready?"She nodded, her head filled with music as wonderful as that at her beasts' ball, and a magical momentlater she was swirling across the marble floor in the strong and steady arms of her love.

"I say! You caught on quickly!" Neil called out.

The music played on, sweetly, gently, the notes flowing like satin ribbons in the air. She looked up at her husband, seeking his approval. His face was stone serious; the light in his eyes said he was fighting some silent battle, and losing. If this had been a dream, she would have hoped he was fighting a battle with his heart, but this wasn't a dream. Surely the battle was with his anger, or possibly with his shame at his choice of a wife. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

From the expression on his face, she knew her remark had confused him.

"This must be humiliating for you," she clarified.

"Why would you think so?"

"Because you've had to teach me how to act around your friends."

"The members of the ton are not my friends, Scottish."

"Oh," she said lamely and was surprised when he pulled her even closer, then closer still, until her breasts just grazed his chest with each swirling turn. His hand flattened against her back and inched downward until it rested scandalously low. His warm fingers tightened on hers, and his breath brushed her forehead.

She stared at the studs on his shirt, wanting to look up but unable to do so. The heady scent of him, the almost scorching heat of his hand, the sound of the music, and feel of his breath ruffling her hair filled her senses until there was nothing in the room but the two of them. She finally raised her gaze to his and saw a need that made her heart catch in her throat.

His silver hair looked like moonlight in the golden glow of the chandelier, the shadow of his beard showing just enough to make her remember the rough and erotic feel of it on her skin. His hand moved slightly, a mere inkling of a stroke across her waist. It was like dancing into a dream where the air was a living, breathing thing and the music a tune to make love by.

Her eyes drifted closed and in her mind she relived her intimate moments with Alec: his head bent as he took her breast into the depths of his mouth and his rough tongue over the tip of her, him above her, his skin damp and glistening from the thundering movements of his body inside hers; the feel of him filling her so full that she wasn't sure where her body ended and his began; that one magic moment in which nothing existed but the wonder of them together.

He pulled her closer and spun, then dipped, and her eyes shot open in surprise. He was looking at her mouth, intensely. She looked at his, remembering the feel of his lips and the taste of his tongue.

Kiss me, she thought, kiss me and end this yearning.

As if her wish had come true, he lowered his head slowly, watching her, daring her to break eye contact before his mouth met hers so softly, just a sweep of his lips, a tease. Her own lips parted in surprise, for she had expected passion of the same vibrant intensity that his eyes promised.

Silently he was asking her if she wanted more. She did, and her fingers tightened on the hard strength of his upper arm. A second later his lips, as hot as fire and moistened by a quick flick of his tongue, were on hers and he pulled her flush against him, never once breaking step, never once missing a beat.

If anything their spins were faster, their dips deeper, each anticipating the other's motion before it happened. The tempo of the music increased and the volume grew. With each turn, his tongue flickered over her lips, with each dip it sank into the depths of her mouth, filling her in a perfect imitation of the way his body filled hers. The mood of the music changed, the pitch descended. Then the melody changed, climbing higher and higher, swelling in volume and intensity until it reached a peaking crescendo.

It was the kiss of a lifetime, but it ceased a brief moment later.The music had ended."Scottish," he whispered her name in an aching plea.Joy opened her eyes.And Alec lost consciousness.

"The measles! Impossible!" Alec arrogantly raised himself up in the bed. "I cannot have the measles."Joy sat in an overstuffed chair near her husband's bed. She was terribly relieved, but her husband's sharp tone and scowling fevered face told her that he was not the least bit pleased with the physician'sdiagnosis."And take that bloody candle away from my eyes. You're going to blind me with that thing.""Does the light bother Your Grace?"Alec looked at the physician through bloodshot eyes that narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"With a small shake of his head, the physician pulled the candle away and gestured to his patient's chest and belly. "The rash is the measles. Once it spreads, Your Grace's fever will drop." He set the candle

down on the bedside table and picked up his case."I have never been ill a day in my life," Alec said to the room in general, as if by making thisannouncement he could make the illness go away.

"If Your Grace had had measles as a child, Your Grace would not have them now," the physician saidwith infinite patience. "This is a rather severe case, I'd say, considering the high fever and the widespreadrash." He closed his case with a snap. "Keep warm and stay in bed until the coughing ceases."

"I haven't been coughing." Alec's tone was so belligerent that Joy winced.

"You will. Your eyes will stop tearing, and your nose will stop running. Recovery will begin a day or solater." He turned to her and said, "In the meantime please keep him warm, Your Grace."She stood. "I will, thank you. We'll take fine care of him." She ignored her husband's unaristocratic snort and walked with the physician into the sitting room. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"No. As I said before, it is imperative that he be kept warm." He gave her a look of pity. "I suspect hewon't be a very cooperative patient""I'll make sure he stays warm." She gave him a warm smile, hoping to make up a bit for Alec's poor manners and thanked the man again as Henson escorted him out.

She reentered the bedchamber. Although she would have thought it impossible to look arrogant when one was ill, Alec managed it. He was enthroned among the monogrammed pillows, his chin up, his arms crossed in a manner that said, "I am a duke and therefore I am not ill." His expression, to say the least, was not pleased.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry you don't feel well."

He just glared at her.

She tried again. "I was very frightened, you know. One moment you were standing there and the next

you had collapsed."Silence." 'Twas the fever, I suspect."Brooding silence."You should get some rest.""I am not tired."She sighed and reached for the bellpull. "Should I have something sent up to you? Water? Soup? Are you hungry?"He coughed, once, twice, then tried to suppress the next one."Alec, you do have the measles."He blew his nose. "I know, dammit!""Are you warm enough?""No."She shook open a blanket and added it to the pile already on the massive bed. "There. Is that better?"He grunted a response she assumed was a yes.She stood there a minute, then shook her head and gave up. "Well, since you don't need me-""Don't go."She stopped and turned around, surprised."Read to me." He pointed to a book on the table.She picked up the book and read the title, The Gentlemen's Guide to Selecting and Breeding Prime Horseflesh. "This?""Yes, the page is marked." He leaned back into the wealth of pillows and waited expectantly.She opened to the marked page and began to read. Half an hour later, Joy had learned that horses can be cow-legged, bowlegged, or pigeon-toed, that a sloping croup means lack of power in thehindquarters and a straight croup means less power in jumping, and that horses suffered from suchafflictions as ringbone, seedy toe, and bog spavin-which sounded like something a witch might use tocast a black spell.

"I've been thinking," Alec said, cutting off the latest tidbit of information. "I realize I have been rather rigidabout your... your problem.""My problem?"

"Yes."Now he's going to bring up that incident at the Frost Fair again, she thought, deciding that if he did shewould not hit him with the stack of blankets Roberts had supplied.

"I realize you cannot change what you are any more than I can change what I am."She nodded and waited for the rest."I suppose if your magic can do some good, 'twould be acceptable, every so often, for you to use it."She clamped her gaping mouth shut."Not in public, of course, but in private, behind closed doors, when only you and I are present." He looked at her expectantly. "Like now.""I don't understand," she said."I am giving you permission to zap the measles away."For a second she had to think to make sure she'd heard him right. Then she burst out laughing. "Oh, Alec!" She collapsed onto the chair in a fit of giggles. "You can be such a hypocritical prig sometimes.""Me?"She bit her smile back. "Yes, you."He looked down his nose at her, then winced and scratched his chest. "I'm waiting," he said."I cannot.""What do you mean you cannot?""A witch cannot just zap an illness away.""Why the hell not?"" 'Tis not one of our powers.""Bloody hell," he muttered, then sank back against the pillows.Well, husband, she thought, you might never have been a child, but today you are acting like one. She forced herself to keep from laughing and asked, "Shall I continue reading?"

"Yes," he barked, then leaned his head back and closed his red-rimmed eyes.

Halfway into the next chapter he was sound asleep, and Joy was thumbing through the pages of the first interesting and enlightening chapter "What to Look for in a Breeding Stallion."

Joy's face haunted the duke's fevered dreams. Alec could almost feel her touch, the way her fingers combed his hair and tugged it when she became excited. Her finger grazed his ear, circling it with featherlike softness. He could feel her warm breath, feel her mouth nuzzle the back of his ear.

"Scottish," he groaned and turned toward her.

She wheezed.

He froze. His bloodshot eyes flew open.

Two beady brown weaselly eyes stared back at him.

"God Almighty... my hair!" He shot upright, grabbing his scalp, picturing in his mind the pink skin on the back of Henson's head. He bolted from the bed like a man crazed, not stopping until he reached the looking glass in his dark dressing room. He fumbled for a flint to light a lamp, his hands shaking from the heat of his fever. He struck the flint and lit the lamp, then leaned close to the mirror, turning his head this way and that.

Although it was tousled from a fevered sleep, his hair appeared to be all there. No bald spots. He picked up a hand mirror and turned, angling it upward so he could see the very back of his head. A second later he sagged in relief against the dresser.

Now more angry than ill, he turned and strode back into the bedchamber, plucked his wife's snoring rodent off his pillows, and crossed to the adjoining door. He opened it, crossed the sitting room, and went into Joy's bedchamber. The plump little weasel lay back in his arms and watched him through sly eyes that slowly moved from his face to his hairline. As if reading the duke's mind, the rodent licked its lips.

"Don't even think about it."