So impossibly gorgeous. His hand stole to her slim, curved hip, slid higher, wrinkling the cotton of her nightgown, slid lower. He pul ed her more firmly against his thickened manhood, leaned down, and nuzzled her jaw. She sighed.

"Grace?" he whispered, a hoarse, gravel y sound.

There was no response.

He rubbed his hips languidly against her, his eyes closed, his face contorted, pained. He bent over again, his mouth inches from her ear. "Grace?"

She pushed her backside against him.

He groaned and slid his hand up to cup her ripe breast. The nipple hardened instantly beneath his fingers. She shifted, stil asleep, pushing herself more ful y into his palm. He knew he was being a cad. He opened the ribbons of her gown and bared her beautiful breasts.

With his tongue, he touched one pointed nipple.

She whimpered, her lashes fluttering.

Rathe was clad only in his breeches, and they felt very tight and constraining. He wished he had taken them off, then instantly knew that would have precipitated a crisis. He pushed his thigh between hers, moving it back and forth.

Grace sighed, her lids drifting open.

His hand had its own volition. He found himself lifting the hem of her gown, sliding his palm along the smooth, firm yet soft contours of her thigh, her hip, to the soft, slight swel of her bel y. He raised himself up a bit more to watch her face as his hand traced smal , intimate circles on her stomach, roaming lower and lower. He watched the haze of sleep leave her eyes. Their gazes met, his bold, bril iant, hers soft, startled. His fingers touched the outermost edges of a soft, red vee. Grace gasped. Rathe threaded his fingers through the untamable curls. She shifted onto her back with a deep breath, her eyes closing, thighs opening. Rathe could barely breathe. His third finger slipped down between thick, slick folds of flesh.

She moaned softly.

He felt her swel ing beneath his hand. She arched slightly. Rathe couldn't stand it. But he couldn't, in al conscience, make love to her while she was half-asleep. Stil ...

He shifted onto his knees between her parted legs, kissing her navel, nuzzling her breasts. "Grace," he commanded. "Wake up, Gracie. Wake up."

"Rathe," she breathed, her lashes dark fans against her pale skin.

He bent lower and touched her pink, glistening flesh with his tongue.

Grace moaned and twisted languidly.

Rathe's arms went around her hips, locking them into place. With his tongue he began a delicate exploration. His heart threatened to pound its way right out of his chest. And he wondered if he might split his breeches, he was so ful . She lifted for him, toward him, with another whimper, a pleading sound that almost made him insane with desire. He lifted his head abruptly. "Grace, wake up."

Her eyes flickered open.

He bent to nuzzle with his mouth and stroke with his tongue.

She gasped.

He raised up. "Grace, look at me."

Her glazed, unfocused eyes met his.

He felt a hot bursting of triumph at seeing her like this, languid with desire for him. "Tel me what you want, sweetheart," he commanded thickly.

And, with strategic timing, he flicked his tongue against her again.

She writhed, fal ing back against the pil ows. Rathe licked and explored, pressing his own heavy weight hard into the mattress. He stil wasn't satisfied and it gnawed at him. He final y lifted his powerful body up and caught a hank of her hair, his face inches from hers. "Grace, dammit, look at me!"

She looked at him.

He kissed her deeply, dominatingly, rubbing the steel-hardness of his groin against her wet heat. She moved sinuously with him, seeking. He caught her chin. Her eyes locked with his. "Rathe," she gasped.

He didn't give her a chance, but was back between her legs, intent on devastating her. Grace touched his bare shoulders as his tongue sought, found, and conquered. She fel back, her grip tightening, her hips arching on a long whimper. "Please," she cried.

She arched violently moments later, crying out, and he felt the hard contractions against his face. He didn't mean to lose control. She was stil in the throes when he felt his own explosion as he lay grinding against the mattress, his face buried in her, his arms locked around her hips.

It took a long time for them both to subside.

Then he was rudely kneed in the face as she swung her legs over him in a panic. Stil recovering, Rathe wasn't ready to move. He felt her bouncing out of the bed. "Get up," she said furiously.

He realized he had made a mistake. He should have recovered instantly, pul ed her into his arms, and showered her with loving kisses. A not-so- soft blow landed on his bicep.

"Get up!"

Wearily, Rathe rol ed over and sat up.

She was enraged, and gorgeous in her Irish temper.

"Grace..."

"You took advantage of me," she hissed.

He couldn't exactly refute that. "But it was so good, Grace. You know that."

"The only thing I know is that you are despicable!"

"I don't seem to have any control around you," Rathe said, intensely. "And it's been that way since the moment we first met."

She turned her back to him, arms folded tightly.

"It's the truth." He came up behind her. "Dammit, Grace, stop fighting me-didn't I just give you a taste of how good it can be?" He reached for her shoulders.

She turned and her hand swung out. He didn't duck, not because he was feeling charitable, which he was, but because he had hardly slept at al last night, which made his reflexes slow. "Ow. That hurt."

"Oh, dear Lord," Grace suddenly said, her flaming cheeks draining of color. Rathe rubbed his jaw. "Grace, can we be calm about this? Let's order up some breakfast and talk this over."

Her hand was clasped over her mouth, her eyes huge. "I spent the night here!"

"You fel asleep."

"This is al your fault! You should have never let me stay! Why did you even bring me back here?" she wailed.

Rathe blinked. "You were hysterical, in shock..."

"You did this on purpose!" She whipped around and this time he ducked her right hook, but caught her wrist.

"Grace, stop it. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking clearly myself. It felt so right, holding you while you slept."

"You've ruined me!"

He felt a sudden, terrible pang. He had the dreadful feeling he had made a mistake. "Grace?"

She wrenched away and he let her go. "Clothes," she cried. "How wil I get to Harriet's in my nightgown and skirt? And where is my skirt? What time is it? I'm going to be late for school!"

"I'l run to Harriet's and get you a dress," he said, feeling guilt wel ing up in him. "Grace, I didn't think...when you fel asleep..."

"When have you ever thought with anything other than what's in your pants," she snapped.

That hurt. He went to the wardrobe stiffly and produced a shirt, then remembered the stain on his breeches. He shed them casual y, ignoring her gasp. As soon as he had changed pants and donned his boots, he left without another word.

Grace sank trembling onto the bed. She hugged herself. Her reputation was ruined. Natchez was a smal town where gossip traveled fast. She would never find respectable employment here-not now.

Her mind refused to dwel on that. Instead, it rehearsed in precise detail what he had done to her and her unabashed response. Grace was an intel igent woman. She understood the facts of life. But she had never, ever dreamed an act like the one they had practiced could exist.

An act? No, a perversion. She clenched her fists. Of course he would know al the perversions-even if they were wonderful!

She wanted to weep. She wanted to hit him. At the same time, she wanted, traitorously, to crawl back into bed and wait for Rathe to return, hold out her arms to him and welcome him into her embrace. He was so warm, so hard, so male. So handsome.

Such a bastard.

She closed her eyes, picturing him as he calmly shed his breeches, not even bothering to turn his back to her. His shoulders were broad and strong, his chest wel -developed and powerful-looking. He had arms and legs like the classical sculptures of Greek athletes. And his manhood...

She hadn't meant to look.

She hadn't been able not to.

She had to pul herself together before he returned, better yet, find a maid, borrow some clothes, and leave before he came back. Ten minutes later, Grace did just that.

It should have been a normal school day. Yet Grace didn't think her life would ever be normal again. As she stood in front of her students that day, Grace had great difficulty concentrating. He intruded upon her thoughts constantly. So did the events of the night before, the violence and the terror.

Because of the role she had played in them, she had become something of a heroine, with her pupils hanging avidly onto her every distracted word. She was also remembering the pointed look Rawlins had directed at her, its lingering threat. She began to wish that she hadn't run out that morning without seeing Rathe again.

He had said he would come to school every day to escort her home. Would he? Or would he be so annoyed with her for that parting insult that he'd decide she could fend for herself? More importantly, did she have something to fear from Rawlins and his cohorts? As the day ticked away, her feeling of dread grew.

The church and yard final y emptied at three-fifteen. Grace stood on the steps, glancing around. There was no sign of either Rathe or Rawlins. The knot of fear loosened slightly. Of course, Rawlins wouldn't appear-he had been shot last night. And as for Rathe, obviously he hadn't meant it when he had said he would take her home every day. Obviously he didn't care, which was fine with her.

It was a blatant lie. She could not keep pretending, even to herself, that she was indifferent to him. At the very least, she was disappointed that he hadn't come.

She was halfway home when she heard the horse approaching from behind her.

Every muscle in her body went stiff and she turned, clutching her books. It was only a farmer with a buck-board. He offered her a ride. Grace was about to accept when she saw Rathe cantering up the road on his big black stal ion. She froze, then quickly reached for the wagon, about to climb in. She had one foot on the sideboard when he spoke from behind her.

"I said I'd be here and I'm here." He moved the stal ion closer, reaching out his hand. "Get up."

"No thank you," she said rigidly. "This kind farmer has offered to drive me to town."

"He going to defend you from Rawlins' buddies?" Rathe asked coldly. "Get over here, Grace."

"That's okay, ma'am," the farmer said nervously. "I doan mind you ridin' with the gent'man." He raised the reins and clucked his mule forward.

Grace glared furiously. "You intimidated him!"

"He probably found the threat of Rawlins more intimidating."

"I'm walking," Grace said.

"Fine."

She didn't look at him again. He rode his horse at a slow pace right behind her, so close that once or twice Grace could feel the animal's warm breath on her nape. She kept her shoulders squared and her head held high. He was angry! Wel , she was just as angry-no, angrier!

When they arrived back at Harriet's she hurried ahead of him into the house. She passed several boarders on the veranda when she went in. One of them flashed her a grin, a very lewd kind of grin. His rummy-card partner, an older gentleman, gave her a clearly disapproving look and picked up his hand. Grace hurried inside.

She was stil smarting under both the censoring and the grin when she came face to face with Harriet. "Good afternoon, Harriet," she began warmly. "How-"

Harriet bustled past after throwing her a dark glance.

Oh dear, Grace thought. The story is out.

"Grace?"

She froze. It was Al en's voice; he was cal ing from his bedroom down the hal . He cal ed again. Afraid he would try and get out of bed, she hurried to his room. He was sitting propped up, looking much better. Her chest was tight with anxiety. "Al en, hel o. How are you feeling today?"

He didn't answer, just stared at her as she approached.

She made a fuss of fixing his pil ows. "Can I bring you something?"

"Is it true?"

She blanched. "Is what true?"

"You spent the night at the Silver Lady Hotel."

She went red. What could she possibly say? It was true. But it wasn't exactly what it appeared to be-or was it? They had been intimate, even if in some unusual, perverted way. Biting her lip, she sank onto the foot of the bed.

Al en looked away.

"It's not exactly what you think, Al en."

"You spent the night with him, didn't you," Al en said, distraught and hurt.

"I fel asleep," Grace said defensively.

"Is that al ?"

Color swept over her face.