My customers want to see pretty young girls."

Feeling like a cow at auction, Grace slowly pul ed the pins out of her hair and let the wild mass fal past her hips.

"Holy Christ," Dan said, picking up a heavy strand and fingering it. "I don't think I've ever seen hair like yours before."

"Do I have the job or not, Dan?"

"You got it. You can start tonight. You come by at five an' ask Lisa for something to wear." He looked at her as she blanched. "You can't work like that."

"I realize that," Grace managed. "How much do you pay?"

"Five dol ars a week and the tips are your own."

Grace was stunned at the generous sum. "Do-do the girls make a lot of tips?"

He gave her a look. "If they work hard enough." He grinned. "In fact, take the customers upstairs and you'l make a fortune."

"I think I already made myself quite clear on that point," Grace said.

He chuckled. "You real y are pretty. But honey, you talk like some spinster schoolmarm and you won't make a cent. Take my advice. You got to be sweet and soft and make the customer feel like he's special."

"I'l try and remember that," Grace said stiffly, then escaped back into the street.

By that evening, Rathe had calmed down over Grace's attempt to col ect money from him. Of course, he stil felt an urgency, a restlessness, a barely containable need-and it al centered around her. He couldn't go on much longer like this. He wasn't used to this kind of treatment. He was used to women who wanted him and leapt at his beckoning finger.

But Grace-Grace was an entirely different story. He knew her wel enough now to know that he could beckon from now until doomsday, and she wouldn't give in. Even if he had deflowered her last night and brought her to the heights of ecstasy, she would stil refuse him. He could not wait until doomsday. As far as he was concerned, he had waited long enough. His patience was gone. He wanted Grace at his side.

Which was why he was sitting here thinking about marriage.

He had always intended to get married eventual y. Maybe now was the time for him to think about settling down, building a home, raising a family.

A wonderful image came to him suddenly of Grace cradling their baby in her arms. It moved him.

He would gladly give her anything and everything she wanted. The finest home, in New York, London, Paris, anywhere she wanted. Silks, furs, jewels, horses, paintings, sculpture...Then he grinned. Am I thinking about Grace O'Rourke?

He tried to imagine being married to Grace. He figured she would be perfectly content with a cottage and modest clothes. Rathe knew he didn't have a modest bone in his body. He imagined spending a lifetime trying to teach her to be immodest-it was a wonderful thought.

He would probably spend the rest of his life extracting her from danger, too. For some reason, the idea tempted him immensely. God knew, someone had to look after her!

Rathe grew excited. He was truly sorry that he hadn't been thoughtful enough to send her home the night before last. But now, now he couldn't help being a bit pleased with the way it had turned out. He knew that they were the gossip of the town. That suited him just fine. Now it was his responsibility to marry her, after being the instrument of her downfal . He grinned. The idea of marrying her was appealing to him more and more every minute.

Then he thought about Al en. His smile disappeared. Apparently, Grace had rejected Al en. A niggling thought invaded: she might reject him, too!

Rathe refused to entertain it. It was one thing for her to reject his proposition, another for her to reject his proposal. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, handsome, wealthy, and successful. No woman could possibly turn down his suit.

Rathe, his mind made up, went directly to the finest jeweler in town, to purchase the biggest diamond he could find. Stern's was renowned for its jewelry, having catered to the great Natchez planters for the last fifty years. There he found a twelve-carat yel ow diamond that was nearly flawless. He tried to imagine her expression when she saw it. She would gaze at him out of stunned violet eyes. Then she would smile. Tears might appear. She would bite her lip in that nervous manner she had, then fling her arms around him, crying, "Yes, oh yes!"

That evening Grace did not join them for supper at the boardinghouse, and no one knew where she was. Rathe found himself unable to eat and thoroughly distracted, a hundred thoughts racing through his mind. Knowing Grace, he figured she was in some kind of trouble. He final y excused himself early and went straight to Al en's room.

Al en was reading, and he laid aside the book to greet Rathe quietly. Rathe nodded back. "Al en, have you seen Grace today?"

"Yes, twice," Al en said.

Rathe felt a surging of jealousy. He hadn't even seen her once. "When?" he asked, quite calmly.

"This morning and this afternoon," Al en said, trying to straighten further. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not real y," Rathe said, not wanting to worry him, not when he was bedridden.

"Isn't she at supper?"

"I forgot," Rathe lied. "There's a ladies' meeting tonight."

"Of course," Al en said, smiling fondly. "Grace would never miss a ladies' meeting."

If only there was a ladies' meeting. Rathe prowled about the front and back parlors. His feeling of imminent disaster grew. No one, including Harriet, knew where Grace was. Frustrated and anxious, Rathe final y slipped out the door and headed to town, hoping to run into her. He final y stopped in at the Black Heel for a badly needed drink.

He was in that establishment for exactly three minutes when he heard the news. His friend and fel ow card sharp, George Farris, bought him a drink with the funniest twinkle in his eyes.

"Thanks," Rathe said with grim preoccupation.

"You look like you need it."

"I do." He downed it in one swal ow.

George chuckled. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Rathe scowled. "George, how come I get the feeling you're just dying to spit something out? What day?"

"The day one of your women wears the pants in your household."

Every nerve ending in his body went on alert. "What?"

"Or maybe she isn't your woman-is that it?" His grin widened. "I can't imagine you letting her work like that."

"Are we talking about Grace?"

"Yeah. If she's not your mistress, I sure wouldn't mind a crack at her myself."

The words weren't out of his mouth when Rathe was standing and hauling George to his feet, about to slam a punch into his face. George raised his hands in surrender. Rathe realized he was about to hit a friend, and released him. "Spit it al out. Where is she?"

"Down the street at Max's."

The dress-if it could be cal ed a dress-was much, much worse than she expected. The skirt consisted of black lace over red satin. It came to her calves in the back but only to her knees in the front. The bodice was unadorned except for black pearl buttons and seams of inlaid black lace. It was most certainly too smal . She knew she didn't dare bend over or reach down for fear of losing what little cover she had.

She didn't know if she could go through with this. It was not just that it was the height of hypocrisy. She was against saloons and the excess consumption of spirits. But...five dol ars a week. It was a fortune, enough to pay her mother's bil s. And if she made tips...

The problem was, she was scared. Scared to walk down the stairs in this costume. Scared of this job. Scared of those men. Just plain scared.

The high, narrow heels were treacherous to walk in. Grace descended the stairs with difficulty. She could not control the flaming of her face. She reminded herself that this was business; she was desperate for the money; and these men were ignorant wastrels, greatly inferior to herself.

She did not feel better, especial y not when whistles and catcal s greeted her.

Dan came over, his gaze admiring, repeatedly returning to her voluptuous breasts. "Jesus," he said. "You sure know how to hide your looks, don't you?"

He was the boss, but she hated the way he was regarding her, so she ignored him. Unfortunately, as she sailed past, she caught her heel between the planking and fel on her face.

Ten men rushed to help her up before she could even move.

As they lifted her to her feet she checked her bodice-thank God it was stil where it was supposed to be-and she tugged it up. She stared at the floor and whispered, inaudibly, "Thank you." She was in dire jeopardy of crying.

"You al right?" one of them asked.

"Honey, you look like you need a drink," another commented.

"You like to dance, gal?" came yet another hot, breathy voice at her ear.

The barrage was endless. Grace summoned up every ounce of determination she had. She lifted her eyes and managed a smile, a fragile one.

She could feel that her cheeks were burning. Someone groped at her thigh. Grace sucked back an angry cry. The men dispersed, looking as hungry as starving wolves, none of them able to take their eyes off of her. Dan grabbed her arm. "Go to that table and get their orders," he said.

Grace was grateful to have something to do. She approached, very careful of her heels, avoiding al eye contact. She realized she was lucky she hadn't broken her ankle. It was just another example of female slavery, she thought. Put them in high heels so they can't walk-that wil keep them in their place!

She was serving a tableful of admirers sometime later, careful not to bend over too far, ignoring a few indecent proposals, sidestepping groping hands the best she could, when a hushed silence fel on the saloon. Grace looked up...and held her breath.

Rathe stood in the doorway absolutely red in the face.

Her very first reaction was one of relief-she half-hoped he had come to rescue her. Then her chest grew tight with humiliation. She didn't want him here. She didn't need this on top of everything else. And why was he so angry? She had never seen his color so high. Then it dawned on her-she had enraged him by being here-and she felt a little thril at her ability to provoke him so.

But then it hit her. They al know, she thought. They al know we shared a room in the hotel. They al think I'm his mistress. Oh, no!

Rathe walked stiffly to a table, pul ed out a chair and sat down. He looked right at Grace. "I want service," he said, his voice ringing out.

Everyone started talking at once.

Rathe wasn't sitting at her table, and even if he was, she had no intention of waiting on him. She smiled at the men in front of her, despite the hol owness she was feeling. "Can I get you al anything else?" Her voice was octaves too high.

Rathe scowled at the pretty brunette who came to his table. "I want the redhead," he told her in a tone that was completely uncompromising.

The brunette tried for a smile. "But honey, she's busy. "Sides, this ain't her table."

Rathe rose abruptly and pointed. "That her table?"

"Yes," the woman said, eyes wide.

A look of deadly satisfaction crossed his features and he changed tables, once more hushing the saloon. He sat facing Grace, and looked directly at her. "A double bourbon, the best in the house."

Grace clenched her jaw. She was not going to wait on him. He was doing this on purpose, to demoralize her. She turned her back and sailed away, forgetting her heels. Once again she went down on her face.

This time over a dozen men leapt to her aid, but Rathe didn't move.

Before she could catch her breath they were fighting for the honor of helping her up.

Meanwhile Grace yanked her bodice up to cover one almost bared breast, her face flaming, stil sitting sprawled on the floor.

"You al right?" asked the man who seemed to have won the right to help Grace.

Grace blinked back tears. She didn't dare look at Rathe. She could feel his gaze burning on her. "Yes, fine," she whispered, letting him pul her up.

It was a mistake. The man was as much a rogue as a gentleman, and he deftly used the opportunity to maneuver her into his arms, holding her pressed there briefly. Grace quickly disengaged herself. She didn't mean to look at him, but she couldn't help herself.

He was blazing mad.

Grace turned her back to him, feeling both frightened and embarrassed, wishing this evening was over. She walked very careful y to the bar, ignoring a few of the girls' mean snickers.

At his table, Rathe sat with clenched fists. If he weren't the man he was, he would give in to the rage he was feeling, and haul her outside upside down and spank her soundly...then make love to her until she begged for mercy, until she was so sore she couldn't move-maybe even keep her a prisoner in his bed. The fantasy grew.

In a second, it vanished, leaving him humiliated. No woman had ever treated him this way before, much less publicly. And she was treating herself like a whore. He decided, in that instant, if she didn't bring him a drink immediately he would carry her out and fulfil every one of his dark, angry fantasies.

Dan clapped his hand on Grace's shoulder. "I don't care that you're having a lover's spat," he said. "He's sitting at your table and that makes him one of your customers. Get him his drink."

Grace went scarlet with frustrated, shamed anger, but she brought him his drink, her chin up. His blue eyes burned, unwavering, promising dire consequences. She slapped the glass down so hard half of it spil ed. He looked at the puddle, then at her. "Looks like you'l have to bring me another one.

She glared.

He downed the glass. Grace turned to leave. He caught her wrist, yanking her around and pul ing her abruptly onto his lap. Grace gasped, but couldn't disengage herself from his iron grip.

His hand caught a hank of her hair, like a leash, stil ing her instantly. "What are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing!"

Dan came over. "Rathe, I don't want any trouble here."

Rathe smiled and thrust a wad of bil s into Dan's hand. "This buy her time for the evening?"

Dan pocketed the money and walked away.

Grace felt sick. Rathe had just purchased her. She felt like a prostitute. "Let me up." She was very close to tears.

"What are you trying to prove?" he snarled. "Or are you just trying to humiliate me? Isn't that what this is al about?"

His breath was hot on her face. He smel ed of bourbon. "No," she said, trying not to break down. "I need the money."

"Enough to whore for it?"

She tried to slap him. He caught her wrist without releasing her hair and crushed her more ful y against him.