He thought about how frightened she had been after her escapade in the woods. She was sleeping so soundly she must be exhausted. And he had promised. His body was hard and demanding satisfaction, but he had promised. He nuzzled her jaw, whispering her name, not to awaken her, but saying it as an expression of deep, nameless emotion. Tomorrow was almost here, and tomorrow he would make her his.

Grace hugged her pil ow, resisting the inexorable pul of morning.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

The voice was a rough drawl, sensual and familiar. Grace thought that she must be dreaming. Then, as the last stages of sleep fled, she remembered, and she blinked her eyes wide open. Last night, stricken with terror, she had run to Rathe and agreed to become his mistress.

He grinned at her. He was standing beside the bed, clad in a barely belted silk robe. Her gaze was level with his pelvis. Gasping, she darted it to a more respectable point, behind him and to his right.

A linen-clad table was laid out resplendently with crystal and china. A bouquet of violets the exact color of Grace's eyes adorned its center; a bucket of the finest French champagne cooled in a stand on the floor. Enticing aromas were emanating from a multitude of silver-lidded dishes. "I've ordered us breakfast," Rathe said. "And I also ordered you a bath."

Holding the covers tightly to her chin, she looked past him at the steaming tub. This was it. She was taking the final step. She was going to become a man's mistress, and not just any man's-Rathe's. She peeked up at him.

His gaze was warm. Before she could make a sound, he sat on the edge of the bed by her hip. His hand touched her face. "What are you doing?"

she squeaked.

"Don't be nervous," he said huskily. His thumb moved slowly over her cheekbone.

Grace couldn't look away. Her thoughts were a mass of confusion. Yes, no, no, yes. And his thumb, his big innocent thumb, it was making her heart race.

"Grace." His voice was hoarse. Grace recognized why that was. Their gazes locked.

His palm was infinitely tender and sensual on her face. She wanted to look away from him, but she couldn't. With his free hand, he gently dislodged the sheet she was so desperately gripping and pul ed it off of her body. Grace couldn't move.

He looked at her. His gaze, warm and intense, slid over her chest, down the length of her chemise and down her bare legs. His lips were parted. In the opening of his robe, she could see his chest rising and fal ing heavily.

His hand on her face moved down her neck, like a whisper-soft breeze, just barely there. Her skin flamed and tingled. An urgency began to manifest itself in her breasts and loins, throbbing and electric. His fingers played over her throat. Grace's eyes closed of their own accord, the lashes floating gently downward. Her chin elevated, her head arched back. His thumb slid across her jugular vein.

"So beautiful," he whispered. "So soft. Grace, I'm going to make this so good for you..."

She heard his words, but didn't open her eyes, partly out of cowardice and partly because the drift of his fingertips was so exquisite. His hand moved lower, touching her col arbone, gliding, gliding...It paused, fingers splayed, just above the soft swel of her breasts.

Grace gasped as he grazed the top of her breasts lightly, teasingly. She realized that she could hear him breathing. His fingers danced to the side of one breast, and then she felt his thumb, beneath her nipple, sweeping back and forth. The bud grew tight and hard, throbbing against the coarse cotton of her chemise.

"Grace," he murmured.

She felt him grasp her straps, and she opened her eyes abruptly. His gaze was on the delicate, lace-edged bands as he moved them off of her shoulders. He slowly pul ed her chemise down over her breasts, his eyes fol owing the trail of cotton and fixing on the white shimmering flesh he had bared. Reverently, he touched each breast, and then his hands closed around them. "Lush," he whispered. "Grace, I've dreamed of this...of you..."

She moaned as he lifted her and lowered his head at the same time. His tongue darted out, flitting over one swol en nipple. Grace cried out, throwing her head back. With his tongue he began a slow, deliberate, erotic teasing, touching and tempting, flicking, again and again. Then he pul ed her nipple into his mouth and began to suck.

Grace was lost. There was no more coherence. She was in the throes of pleasure, pure, exquisite pleasure. Her head moved back and forth. She clutched the corners of the pil ow, wishing it were fistfuls of his hair. His suckling was hard and then soft. She heard a tortured whimpering sound-and then realized it had come from her own throat.

His hand was stil drifting languorously down her body, memorizing the smal ness of her waist, the ful ness of her hip, the soft curve of her bel y. He threaded his way through thick curls. Grace heard herself cry out. And then he was touching her damp, hot flesh, stroking down into glistening depths, rubbing gently back and forth. Her hold on the pil ow tightened.

Rathe lifted his head, his mouth covering hers, his tongue urgently thrusting through the lips she parted readily, eagerly, for him. His fingers never stopped in their shattering quest. "Darling," he gasped against her mouth, "you're so hot, so wet, so ready for me..." A finger entered her. Grace gasped.

"So tight," he groaned, probing now. "But you'l open for me, won't you Grace? For me, darling?"

Grace thrashed helplessly, forces within her building, carrying her relentlessly, urgently along. She felt his mouth leave her and she cried out in protest. His hands moved beneath her, closed over her buttocks, lifting her. She felt his breath, warm and moist, and then he was nuzzling her swol en pink flesh. Grace's eyes flew open, her mind managing to form a protest, her lips refusing to voice it. His tongue touched deep, slick recesses, and then began to languidly lave over them.

The pil owcase tore beneath her hands. Her world tightened, tightened, tightened, and then exploded-a mad, mindless bursting of sensation. And when it subsided, she heard her fading cries of pleasure, stil echoing.

He was there. Rathe covered her with his big body, holding her, his mouth seeking hers. "Grace, Grace," he chanted desperately. She tasted herself on him and was stunned. She could feel his maleness between them, hot and slippery and huge, and was both afraid and excited. He reached down between them, positioning himself against her entrance. "Grace, don't be afraid," he gasped. She felt her flesh stretching. "Darling, open for me. Let me in..."

She closed her eyes and tensed every muscle in her body.

He moved slowly, entering her, then paused. "Grace, darling, relax," he whispered. His hands moved over her body, light, like a butterfly, raising the hairs and making her skin burn. "Yes, darling, that's it," he murmured, pushing against her maidenhead. His fingers grazed her breast. He touched her nipple. She whimpered, and with his mouth, he caught the sound, his tongue taking hers. He entwined slowly, graceful y with her, and Grace relaxed, became fascinated, tentatively sparred with him. "Yes," he said, and his teeth touched hers. "Open for me, darling."

Grace opened her mouth, al owing him a ful , leisurely entry. Languidly, he explored; languidly, she met him. And then his body shook and he moaned, a long, male sound of anguish.

"Grace, now, let me in now," he ordered, and he plunged through her barrier.

Grace cried out in pain. They both froze. He was huge, and she could feel al of him, encased tightly in her sheath. "God," Rathe cried. "Oh, God, Grace." He kissed her hungrily and began to move.

The feeling of being stretched taut eased. The ful ness became pleasant. He began moving harder. "That's it," he gasped. "Open, open wide, take al of me, al that you can..."

Her hands found his back, shyly lying flat on hard, steel muscles, throbbing with power beneath her. He was moving rhythmical y now, determinedly, and Grace felt the pressure building again. Her fingers tightened on his skin. "Yes," Rathe cried, surging deeply. Grace felt the out-of-control spinning begin again. She heard herself cry out guttural y. She was aware of him surging deeper and deeper, and then his arms tightened convulsively around her and he col apsed, moaning her name.

She could feel him watching her.

Eyes closed, Grace gripped the sheet she had rescued from around their feet and held it tightly to her neck. Then she blinked and turned her head slightly.

He was watching her, raised up on one elbow. Grace was expecting anything but the look in his eyes. It was warm, not lustful. It was warm and sparkling and tender.

A slow smile curved along his beautiful mouth, and Grace became fascinated. His lips had a sensual line that intrigued her. Studying them now, she remembered how they felt on hers-and on her body. He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Blushing?" he drawled. "What are you thinking about, Grace?" His tone was light, teasing.

His question brought forth a very graphic image of his sun-streaked head in a place it had no right being, and she felt her face burning.

He chuckled. "Cat got your tongue?"

She met his gaze. Hers wasn't exactly wary, more intensely curious. She did not know what to expect, now that her status had been established.

And it was very hard not to look at this beautiful man who had just made her feel depths of passion she had never dreamed existed.

He was grinning, showing off his deep dimples. "Come here," he coaxed, the rasping quality of his tone reminding her of everything she had just experienced.

She looked at him. The sheet barely covered his hips. The muscles rippled beneath his dark, golden skin. Sleek he was, and powerful, the way she imagined a mountain lion. He patted the space between them.

Grace took a breath, and shifted slightly-about an inch.

He grabbed her and pul ed her up against his warm, hard body. "Umm. This is much better, don't you agree?"

She looked at the hairs on his chest. She felt his hand on the back of her head, pressing her forward, until she let her cheek come down to rest on his shoulder. "Much, much better," he said, stroking her nape.

It was better. This was...quite nice. Comfortable. Safe. Warm. His palm moved down her back along her spine. Exciting.

She didn't know what to do with her hands, caught between their bodies. She was careful to keep her feet and legs on her side of the bed.

Suddenly the mattress shifted and rol ed as he moved abruptly. And then he was sitting and she was on his lap.

She stared, almost but not quite stricken, into his eyes. One of his strong arms anchored her waist. He met her look calmly, then bent and nipped her ear.

She gasped. "What are you doing?"

He pul ed back, smiling. "Wondered if you stil had a tongue!" Then, with his, he probed into the shel of her ear, and bit it gently again.

Hot delight raced through her, while, at the same time, her hands braced against his chest. "Rathe! What are you doing?"

He chuckled. "Playin'," he drawled. "Remember, Gracie? I told you when we played you'd know it."

She recal ed their conversation, and now, understanding the meaning, went red in horror and-yes-pleasure. Then, before she had quite absorbed that, he was on his feet-with her in his arms. "Rathe!"

He was carrying her across the room, the both of them stark naked in the light of day. "Put me down!" she demanded. Her heart was racing wildly.

But its beat accelerated when he leaned over to nuzzle her breasts with his beard-roughened face. "Put me down," she faltered, her nipples tightening dangerously.

"Bad timing, Gracie," he said, as he careful y lowered her into the steaming bathwater.

She gasped. Before she had adjusted to this turn of events, she saw him lift a hard, muscular leg-and stick it inside with her. "What are you doing?!"

Half of the contents of the tub sloshed out as he settled himself opposite her. Grace blinked, for she had seen it, his maleness, stiff again-so big.

She was thinking, We couldn't possibly, could we? Knowing it was wrong, not now, in the daytime, in the bath. Yet her body was feeling tight and hot and traitorously yearning for his touch.

He got to his knees and, gripping either side of the tub, leaned close, his mouth inches from hers. "I'm sorry," he said, and he kissed her.

Shyly, she opened her mouth. She accepted the deep probing of his tongue, then began returning his attentions with growing boldness. He groaned and ended the kiss. "God, Grace, it's so hard. I need you again."

The heat in his gaze thril ed her. No matter how much she wished it didn't, it did. He lightly brushed his lips over hers. "But I'm afraid it wil be too much for you. You're so smal ." He paused, then grinned wickedly. "And I'm not exactly that."

She went pink. Did other couples discuss such things? She had lowered her lashes, careful not to look at him, and she was finding it distinctly difficult to breathe. How could he talk so graphical y? Slowly, newly aware of her body and what its heavy throbbing meant, she raised her glance to his.

She found herself staring at his mouth. He inhaled sharply.

She looked at his chest. I'm sitting in a bathtub with a man who is not my husband, she thought, and I'm feeling lascivious toward him.

"Touch me," Rathe urged huskily.

Her gaze flew to his. That hot light was her undoing. Languidly, she lifted a hand and laid it on his shoulder. His body quivered like a finely tuned bowstring. She ran her palm down his bicep, exploring the rippling muscle, the hard male flesh and bone.

He kissed her again.

His arms were braced on either side of the tub while his mouth locked with hers. Grace clasped his shoulders, unable to let him go, gladly accepting his tongue and capturing it with her own, unwil ing to release it. The heat racing through her body was more bril iant than the first time. Her heart was trying to rise out of her breast.

He lunged free of her, and before she knew it, he was out of the tub and walking away from her, putting on a robe. It clung to his wet body when he turned back, making her eyes widen and her breath catch.

He was so utterly aroused and so utterly magnificent.

"I'm afraid I'l hurt you," he told her harshly. "You'd better bathe alone."

"Oh," Grace said. Confusion gave way to disappointment.

Chapter 20.

They had finished breakfast and Grace was playing idly with a spoon when Rathe broke the silence. "I just have to run out for a bit," he said.

Grace felt warm beneath his gaze. His look was hard to interpret, because it was so thorough and so very intent. Then he rose and pul ed her into his arms, kissing her shamelessly, hungrily. When he final y left she was breathless.

Grace stared at the door, clutching herself.

She was this man's mistress.

She sank into a chair. Everything had happened so quickly. She wasn't even sure how she felt.

She looked down at herself, clad in his navy silk robe, without a stitch underneath. Indecent, scandalous, utterly improper. Al through their meal he had touched her, his hand lingering on her arm, or her knee, or her waist. His gaze had been riveted on her face. Warm, bold. Yet soft, too.

She hadn't been able to eat more than a few bites. Her heart had been lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. His scrutiny had embarrassed her, yet it had also made her pulse pound. She had been so very aware of him, as a man, sitting so close to her. In fact, never had she been so aware of another human being in her entire life.

Never had she felt so utterly alive. In his embrace, Grace didn't think, she only felt. How could she have ever imagined that a woman could experience such feelings in a man's arms? Such passion. It had not been the way she thought it would be. Never had she dreamed her own wild response. She also had not expected such tenderness from him.

Grace shuddered. She real y did not know how she felt. A part of her, she supposed, was frightened; another part was shocked. There were other feelings, too, nameless emotions which she did not want to face. She had the uncanny fear that if she did try to analyze them, she would be irretrievably lost.

She looked around the room and realized she had absolutely nothing to do. He hadn't said how long he would be gone, or that she should wait for him to return. Wel , it was the middle of the day, the perfect time to find Geoffrey and begin organizing a class.

She found half a dol ar lying atop the bureau and used it to rent a buggy at Tom's Livery, just across the street from the hotel. As she prepared to go, she found herself wondering where Rathe was; then she thought about Al en. If he didn't know by now that she'd become Rathe's mistress, he would soon. She felt she owed him an explanation, but couldn't bring herself to do it today. She was a coward.

She had no trouble finding the home of Geoff and Clarissa's family, just north of town, on the outskirts of Natchez. Smoke curled from the chimney, a sure sign supper was on. Workers were trudging in from the fields carrying their tools, and she saw an old man sitting on the porch in a rocker. "Hel o,"

Grace cal ed, stepping down from the buggy. "How are you today?"

He got to his feet and smiled. "You're Geoffrey's teacher, ain't you, ma'am? I'm his granpappy. An' thank you, I'm jes' fine."

"I'm Grace O'Rourke," she said, extending her hand.

He stared, shaking his head, but he was grinning. "They says you is different," he remarked, taking her palm.

Just then Clarissa and Geoff came peeling out of the cottage at the same time, the latter shouting her name in excitement. Grace beamed at the warm reception. After an exchange of greetings, she was led into the house by their grandmother, Maddie, who insisted she stay for supper. Knowing their fare was meager, Grace refused.

When she told them her plans to hold free classes, the entire family enthusiastical y agreed to help her organize the children.